#I hate being trans in the winter because my shoulders get so cold and I put it off and then forget | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maxgrayarchived · 4 years ago

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WIP First Lines Tag Game

Tagged by @shaelinwrites!! And hers is right here, which you should read, because her writing is amazing and I can’t wait for this book.

Rules: Share the first line (or first few lines) of each chapter of your current manuscript! Feel free to skip chapters to avoid spoilers, and you can do as many chapters as you want!

It makes the most sense for me to do this for Superkids! So let’s go

CHAPTER ONE: HE FELT POWERFUL

Virgil couldn’t breathe.

CHAPTER TWO: BIGGER, AND BIGGER, AND BIGGER

Patton yawned as he shuffled down the school’s hallway. His tummy rumbled. He usually ate breakfast with his dad, but woke up late and didn’t have time.

CHAPTER THREE: NIGHTMARE

Virgil stood stiff as Derek and Remus got him ready.

Remus fixed an earpiece on him, bringing his long hair down to hide it. Derek grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard, mumbling for him to loosen up.

“Okay,” Remus took a step back to look him over, “your dad and I will be there the whole time. I hacked into their security cameras, so I’ll be able to let you know if anything goes wrong.”

CHAPTER FOUR: MALUS

“It’ll be easier next time.”

Virgil lied awake, staring at the ceiling. His hair was still wet. Instead of going to school, he went to a barbershop to get his hair cut. Instead of the thick, long waves that reached down to the small of his back, the hair he’d been growing out all his life, it was shaved on the sides and his bangs fell in his face. Then, he came home and bleached the rest of the purple out, and dyed it black.

CHAPTER FIVE: TIME FOR OTHER THINGS

At the end of homeroom, Patton came up to Virgil.

They hadn’t actually talked since the first time, but occasionally, Patton would shoot him smiles or giggle in his direction, and Virgil would shyly wave back. When Virgil cut and dyed his hair, Patton squealed about it for about five minutes straight, telling Virgil how much he loved it and how much it must have helped his dysphoria. Virgil didn’t feel comfortable enough mentioning he didn’t really have any to begin with, just smiled and agreed.

CHAPTER SIX: DITTO

When Roman and Patton got to the house Nightmare was hitting, a police car was outside and all the lights were on.

CHAPTER SEVEN: HE’D LOST SOMETHING

After walking Patton back to her house, Roman wandered around the neighborhood.

He liked going on walks. He always had. He popped in some headphones and just let himself wander. There was nothing like a walk alone at night to get his thoughts back on track.

CHAPTER EIGHT: NO CONTROL

Virgil stared at himself in the mirror.

His costume wasn’t nearly as expressive as the others were. Ditto and Catastrophe actually turned themselves into characters, like Virgil thought he was supposed to. Ditto looked like he stepped out of a Disney movie, with a high white collar, a maroon half-cloak, big stompy boots, and a golden crown. It was one of the most extra things Nightmare had ever seen, and he almost felt stupid fighting him. Catastrophe, on the other hand, wore a pastel blue unitard, a pink tutu, ballet flats, and a fuzzy white cat mask. Virgil wondered if he made it the trans colour on purpose.

Even Malus, they didn’t have all the flair the other two did, but they were at least unique, like some punk motorcycle driver that really liked apples for some reason. They were vastly accessorized compared to the other two, but the black fingerless gloves with the motorcycle helmet, Virgil could admit, was really hot. Virgil wondered if Malus, the real, non-hero Malus, drove a motorcycle.

CHAPTER NINE: SOFT & WONDERFUL

Virgil watched with a grimace and a black eye as Remus finished installing their new T.V.

CHAPTER TEN: I’M RIGHT HERE. I’VE GOT YOU. I LOVE YOU.

“I’m telling you, Ro, it’s not gonna work-”

“Just try!”

CHAPTER ELEVEN: ANXIETY CRAWLED

At this point, nightmares were expected.

Virgil woke up around 4am, panicked and short for breath, guilt sending his head going miles a minute. Then, he looked up at the dreamcatcher swaying above him. He counted under his breath and traced the patterns of the string, the colours of the feathers. He remembered the warmth of Patton’s hug, his kind smile, his soothing voice.

It helped, but not by much.

CHAPTER TWELVE: THINGS A LITTLE BROKEN

Roman tiptoed out of his room, stopping at the end of the hall to listen.

With any luck, Ophelia wasn’t wearing her hearing aid.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: VILLAIN DAYS

Derek wasn’t happy when Virgil got home.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: GIVE UP

Virgil still had money leftover from what Remus gave him.

He was already taking the longer route home from school, so he tried not to make any stops. Derek hated him being late, and had just gotten accustomed to Virgil’s new schedule. But as he passed the cookie shop for just the millionth time, knowing he had the money, he decided to take the risk.

Some days, risking Derek’s anger for a single cookie was the dumbest idea. Some days, it was worth it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: LOST CAUSE

“Pat-A-Cake?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: ARE YOU EVEN A HERO?

“Shh, shh!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You kicked the wall!”

“Shut up, Roman.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: HE REMEMBERED

Patton pushed around treats on one of the plates, as she had been the last ten minutes, trying to make everything look perfect. Roman watched with a fond smile on his face.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: FELT BETTER, FELT WORSE

Patton almost didn’t believe him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN: THEY ALMOST DID

Virgil walked through the front door, and immediately felt like gouging his eyes out.

Gross, gross, gross.

CHAPTER TWENTY: ONE, ONE GOOD DECISION

They didn’t talk much anymore.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: MORE FAITH

Virgil sunk low in his seat, his mask pulled over his face. His stomach churned as Remus drove them towards Hampton. He wouldn’t tell Virgil what they were doing.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: WHAT KIND OF HEROES

It was cold outside. Even though the days were passing, and Christmas was a full month ago, the season clung to the Winter. It still snowed a few times a week, a light dusting falling to the grass and concrete and barely sticking. Roman rested his hands on the wet, cold wood of the railing of Patton’s back porch.

That’s where Logan found him, after everyone had gone to bed and the two of them laid there pretending.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: PART OF HIM STILL HOPED

Patton got to school extra early the next day, texting Roman before he woke up saying that he had to talk to a teacher.

It wasn’t too hard to find Virgil.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: AND NIGHTMARE LEFT

The storage shed was fairly small and narrow, just enough room for them to push the dusty boxes to the sides and tie Nightmare to a chair down in the centre.

Sidenote: can’t really tell if that excerpt is a spoiler but? I think it’s fine? wish we had spoiler text like discord lmao

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE: YOU WILL BE HAPPY HERE

Virgil spent the 20-minute drive asleep in the passenger’s seat.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX: ON OUR SIDE

Logan didn’t remember the last time they were this excited.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN: THE INTRUDER

The moon had risen a few hours ago, and after an extensive while of talking and trying to get a plan together that wasn’t absolute shit, the heroes decided to go to bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT: ULTERIOR MOTIVE

Virgil set his tray down with a huff, exhaustion making his movements heavy.

“What’s got you in such a bad mood?” Lei asked in amusement.

He scowled. “What’s got you in a good mood?”

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE: THE GENDERQUEER VIGILANTES

Patton couldn’t help but smile.

Okay so that’s only half of the chapters I currently have written, page 206/422+, so if someone tags me again I’ll do the last twenty nine. Some of those chapter starts are kinda weak but I fucking love my chapter titles so whatever.

Writeblr tag games tag list:

@writinginslowmotion @energydeficient @notwritinganyflufftoday @clarence-writes @amapofyourstars @connieturnpenny @alextriestowritestuff @smokedstorybara @fantasy-penman @emerysilvertonwriteblr @writingessance

#writeblr #writerblr #writing #amwriting #maxgraybooks

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laytonsartblog · 6 years ago

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The Best of Worst Days

Economic Crisis AU

Ch. 1, Ch. 2

Warning: this content has violence, poverty, guns, starvation, hypothermia, dysfunctional family themes, and dystopian themes. Read when comfortable and in a safe spot. Care for yourself.

Patton has a schedule he dedicates his life to.

First, to get up at five.

Then take a shower, standing in a bucket.

Why a bucket? To catch the dirty water.

After his shower, Patton will put that murky liquid into a filter to drain out all the gunk and make him and his son breakfast while he's waiting. Once he's finished with all of that, he takes the filtered water and pours it into empty water bottles and then throws them into his tiny icebox.

Proceeding is obviously to wake up his adorable little four-year-old Virgil and eat with him until it's time to go at six-thirty, and walk Virgil to his pre-k daycare with the rest of breakfast and the fresh water bottle as lunch.

From that point on it's just to get to his work at the construction site by seven and work until two pm, and pick Virgil up to bring home.

They play and eat and maybe visit the park for two hours, then Patton has to get to his other job down the block at a small crafts store by five, which is where he'll be until midnight, then walk all the way back home and fall flat on his face to sleep on the floor.

Simple, right?

Yes, well, there's this thing called sleep depriviation and insomnia that gets in the way.

When Patton wakes up as he does every day, his tired eyes make their way to the clock before bulging out of his head. It's six am.

He scrambled to get Virgil up and about. "Virgil!" Patton whispered as he gently shook his son's shoulders. "Virgil, Papa's running late for work, you need to make your own sandwich while I get ready, okay?"

Virgil merely whined and curled in closer to his thin blanket.

"Pleeeeeease?" Patton pleaded. "I know it's a bit sudden and I usually let you sleep in more, but Papa can't do everything at once, okay?"

Virgil finally sat up and groaned, wiping his eyes. "S'okay, Papa. I'll help."

Patton smiled softly as Virgil clumsily went about to his little cubby to grab a clean shirt and shorts to change into, before remembering the time and running off to change too.

Patton came out of the bathroom with his expendable construction t shirt and jeans and stared at the time; six-thirty.

"Come on, Virgil," Patton urged gently as he picked his boy up. "We're gonna need to skip breakfast today, but I'll leave you some money to get something at the cafeteria, okay?"

Virgil nodded sleepily against Patton's chest. "Okay, Papa..."

Patton sighed contentedly as he continued to hold Virgil on the rest of the walk to the daycare before placing him gently down in front of the door. He fished in his pockets for change.

"Don't worry, honey, I'll have something here somewhere..." Patton trailed off as he continued to search through his pockets for maybe even a dime, but, no, there was nothing. Patton gave up his search with a sigh. "Well, kiddo, I- I think you'll need to ask for some of your friend's extra snacks, or maybe one of the teachers to get you something because Papa doesn't- Papa doesn't have the money."

Virgil looked like his rubber duck had just been melted and Patton almost teared up at the sight. He hated having to starve his own son because he couldn't get the money.

Virgil ran up and hugged Patton's skinny legs. "Is okay, Papa, 'm okay, Papa go job," he mumbled into the cloth of Patton's jeans. "I go play now." He ran off like a wolf into the night into the daycare, rushing to play with the fun trains. A complete switch.

Patton would have broke down then if it weren't for the fact he was on the clock.

He ran to the site he was supposed to be working on, just two or three miles away. When he got there, however, his manager stood with a tapping shoe and folded arms.

"Look who finally showed up!" she snarked, red luxerious lipstick painted bright to announciate every twisted syllable.

Patton's shoulders went sky high to hide his paler-than-average face. "I-I am so sorry, ma'am," he apologized. "I didn't mean to- my son, I had to drop him off to daycare, and he was being fussy, so-"

Patton didn't like to lie, but it was the only way for him to keep the job. If she found out it was because he woke up late? A big fat 'FIRED' notice would appear in his p.o. box.

The woman sighed. Her foot stopped tapping, but her arms stayed crossed. "Listen..." she started. "You seem to work hard and you've got a kid to take care of. I get it. Times like these in this stupid country can be tough."

Patton felt some hope glimmer in his chest. Perhaps just a warning?

"But that doesn't exclude the fact you've been late four times this month, fainted twice from exhaustion, and spread the cough to my workers last winter."

Patton's heart sank back to where it was before.

"That's why... I need to let you go. It's hard work and I cannot have tardiness and exhaustion running my construction equipment."

And that's when Patton's heart went all the way down to Hell.

"You're... I'm... I'm fired?" Patton gasped out, almost as if he couldn't believe it; or rather, didn't want to.

His manager nodded. "I'm so sorry, Patton, you seem like a fine worker. You're just not cut out for working early hours on tough plaster with a kid to take care of and a whole load of sleep problems."

Patton's hands felt numb but slimy. He was sweating but he couldn't even tell if it was hot. All he felt was cold; cold dread, cold guilt, cold everything.

"I-I'm sorry, maybe I could- maybe you could move me down to textile ordering management?" Patton tried not to let that determined little speck of hope reach too high in his voice; it still strained of heartbreak either way.

Her bright red lips frowned and her mascara-covered eyes closed. "I'm sorry, Patton, but those spots are all full. If you wanted to really work there, you could be the mission boy, but that's significantly lesser pay, and may conflict with the schedule you're on."

Patton sighed, his hope and heart finally settling in a dark chasm in his chest. "Thank you for at least concerning it, ma'am, I'll- I'll be on my way, now."

With a racking breath and wobbly knees, Patton turned away and walked back home. Once through the door, he sat on the small mattress Virgil used and began to sob.

"I can't feed my child, I lost my job, and bills are coming up! What the hell am I to do?" Patton yelled as he bawled into his hands.

Every part of him screamed and ached. He needed sleep, he needed rest, he needed something to eat, he needed his child to hold dear, he just needed; but he can never have what he wants, especially like the sad sack of debt and depression he was.

Patton couldn't exactly tell how long he had cried for, but the next time he looked up at the clock, it was eight am. He figured that the library was open, so he might as well head over there for a free read to calm down.

That, and free wifi and computer access.

Patton tried to make himself not look like the outside rendition of how he was feeling on the inside as he walked along the craggy sidewalks to the nearby city library. His attempts to cover up the way his hair sagged and his eyes pulsed didn't exactly prove fruitful as people walked by in sympathy or disgust. Their reactions only made Patton's heart clench more.

After he finished his three mile walk, he practically ghosted through the library doors; he looked as much, anyway, with his pale face and sunken eyes.

The librarian from across the room lowered his sunglasses, intrigued and a little suspicious.

The depression hit almost everyone, yes, but that didn't mean that hobos possibly addicted to meth were a person Remy was begging to listen to on a Monday morning in a damn library. Remy was not awake enough to tell the raggedy middle aged patron this wasn't the back alley to sneak some crack in before making his way back on the streets to ask for a job, so Remy just adjusted his sunglasses and resumed looking up sugar daddies on his phone.

Patton ignored the stares from the young librarian and instead went to the computer, taking out his library card and typing out the number and sending it in. After waiting for what seemed like hours, the internet finally decided to load the computer up and allow Patton to search for more loan applications and job openings.

However, he came up empty handed.

The jobs either weren't paying enough, required a higher degree than a high school diploma, or were simply too far away. The loans? They would cause more debt; Patton was better off without more false promises.

There was a website Patton was interested in, though, that he found while scrolling through the Google search "friend finding": GetAlong.

GetAlong, apparently, was a free penpal website people could use do the same as texting without having to pay for it. Except, there's a twist; the people you meet are strangers. They could be from across the country, across the planet, your next-door neighbor, anyone who signs up with the site is eligible for you to meet. You could message eachother, send pictures, videos, links, live feeds, and sticker-like emoji; all within the website.

The only consolation is for it to be anonymous. The only information you can put is your first name, your age, your gender, and maybe some things you're interested in. The rest is to fill in for yourself after you meet them.

The reason Patton was so interested is because he needed someone to talk to. Sure, he had Virgil to play with on bad days, and he had his coworker Roman from the crafts store he still worked at, but other than that? No family, no friends, and no help.

Perhaps this website could at least bring him some happiness.

So Patton, with a lot more time on his hands and feeling a lot more distraught than normal, signed up.

Patton Gentile, 32, trans-male. I like knitting, snuggling up in the winter, and taking care of my son. Hope to give you a happy hello soon!

Patton stared back at the words on the screwn with his fingers hovering over the keyboard, motionless.

Was this really all I needed to say? he thought. Did I need to say more, or less?

He decided to get it over with and hit send, leaving his mark on the world.

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Taglist:

@amazable01 @vara-albion

#sanders sides #economical dystopian #Economic Crisis AU #patton sanders #hurt/comfort #angst #sanders sides fanart #roman sanders #ts roman #ts patton #sympathetic patton #virgil sanders #ts virgil #ch.1 #mobile #layton's writing #layton's art

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anthony-kate · 7 years ago

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MALEC ADVENT CALENDAR 2018 | December 21st by @bytheangell

The Kindness of (Handsome) Strangers

((A/N: Inspired by the lyrics to “Old City Bar” by Trans-Siberian Orchestra.))

One would think that Christmas Eve will be a slow day for places like old city bars, while most people travel to and from families and loved ones. And for the most part that assumption is correct - there are less people than usual but the faithful regulars still populate the stools around the counter. In the city that never sleeps, the bar’s neon light shines like a beacon to passersby with nowhere better to be on this cold, winter night.

Magnus washes out a glass between tending to the half-dozen or so patrons in the bar, music playing low in the background from the jukebox in the corner. People stuck working the holiday, or those who didn’t have a family to go home to but who also didn’t want to be entirely by themselves, sit around the small room making small talk. Mr. Dry’s Bar (repurposed from an old speakeasy) is a safe compromise - the solidarity of others in a similar position, but the solitariness of a barstool. Lonely but not alone.

The snow is still coming down outside, starting to pile onto the sides of the roads and sidewalks. Travel is a mess, but when is it not in the city? Still, Magnus is glad to be inside as the edges of the windows begin to ice up. Not that he ever leaves - with a room above the bar he doesn’t need to bother. The outside world brought him nothing but pain in the past and he’s long since stopped trying to force anything else from it. Perhaps he was never meant to love or be loved… at least that’s what he told himself a few years back when he shut himself off to it entirely.

The bell above the door rings, confusing him at first because he doesn’t see anyone there. The sound of light footsteps draws his attention down to the young girl so bundled up in a puffy coat, wool hat and scarf that he can barely make out her eyes to be certain-

“Madzie? What are you doing here, you shouldn’t be out in this weather… or in here by yourself. You know the rules.”

The young girl starts to reply but her voice is muffled by the scarf, and she stops to remove it before trying again.

“I’m not by myself, I’m with you!” Madzie states with the sort of unwavering trust that only a child can possess. She rolls her eyes rather dramatically and Magnus can only imagine how much Catarina hates that particular habit she likely picked up from Ragnor. In all of the city (if he’s being honest, in the entire world at this point) Magnus has three people in his life he still cares for - the three people who wouldn’t allow him to push them away, even now when he hasn’t spoken to any of them in weeks.

“Right. Well, I’m working, and you should get home before it gets too dark out.” He motions back out towards the door.

“I will. I just wanted to see if you knew there was someone lost outside.”

Magnus’ gaze turns back towards the windows, where sure enough a tall man in jeans, a long black coat, and a maroon scarf stands across the street at the payphone that hasn’t worked in years. The snow dots his dark, dishevelled hair before melting, replaced by fresh flakes which repeat the process. Magnus watches for a few seconds as the man tries to pick up the phone, puts it back down, and slumps back against it in defeat.

“He can’t get home,” Madzie adds, drawing Magnus’ attention back to the room he’s in and away from the scene outside.

“Not that I care,” he says slowly, hoping the little girl hasn’t been out there talking to strangers on the street. “But how would you know that?”

Madzie shrugs. “If you could be home, wouldn’t you already be there? It’s Christmas Eve.” And with that she’s gone, out the door and into the swirling snow.

Magnus watched her pass by the window before turning away from it. Wasn’t like he could go give the guy a ride or anything - it’s a city, cabs go by more often than necessary even in the snow. He’ll be fine.

Or maybe not. A few moments later, drawn towards this particular building by the glowing neon in the otherwise dreary winter grey outside, the man from across the street comes into the bar with a little ‘ding’ from the bell above the door to announce his arrival.

He’s gorgeous. It’s the first thing that registers in Magnus’ mind, entirely against his will. The next is the redness of his face, unable to distinguish if its from the cold or potentially from crying - all of his exposed skin is damp from the melted snow so it’s difficult to tell. He definitely looks upset, though.

“What can I do for you?” Magnus asks, doing his best to look entirely disinterested. Which he is. The guy may be attractive but that doesn’t mean Magnus needs to be invested in his problems.

The stranger eyes him carefully, hesitating. “Do you have a phone here I could use? I tried to use the pay phone across the street, but--”

Magnus huffs a laugh. “That thing’s been broken for years. I reported it to the city a few times but, hey, it’s 2018 - I don’t even know if they bother fixing them at this point, or just let them become relics.” He gives the guy a good-natured smile at the joke but it falls flat. Not in the joking mood then. No, he supposes someone in a position to need a payphone in the snow on Christmas Eve probably isn’t having the best of days.

“I wouldn’t ask except my car broke down, and my cell is totally dead, and my apartment’s at least an hour back, walking…” the attractive man continues to explain until Magnus holds up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t worry about it. Here.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cell phone, unlocking it before handing it over.

The guy takes it with a quiet “Thanks”, waiting just long enough to take a very telling deep breath before dialing the number. “Hey Luke, is mom there?” A pause, and the stranger grows visibly more distraught. “Hey, mom. Listen, I’m-” he swallows thickly. “I’m not going to make it home.”

Magnus watches as the strangers face falls, any attempt at a forced smile for show gone entirely.

“I know. I know it’s been years. No, this isn’t about-” he spares an apologetic, embarrassed glance Magnus’ way and Magnus shrugs and turns away, seeming to give him a bit more privacy though he continues to listen. “I know this is the first year without Robert. I really wanted to see you and Izzy again too, but my car broke down. Even if I had the extra cash for the tow and the cab I’d never make my flight--” The stranger trails off, and though his back is turned Magnus can hear the emotion choking his words. “Just tell Max and Izzy I’m sorry. I’ll call later.”

Magnus waits a moment or two before turning to face the man on the other side of the bar again, taking back his phone.

“Thanks,” the stranger says with another sigh, eyeing the liquor behind the bar. “Can I get a shot of whiskey? It’s going to be a long walk home.”

Magnus nods, fighting the urge to talk; to do what bartenders are expected to do in this scenario, even though he definitely doesn’t care about the sad, stunning man doing shots of whiskey while stranded at his bar on Christmas Eve. Not at all.

Not until the man nearly chokes on the shot, only managing a wincing half-sip before looking like he just bit into a lemon. Magnus has to actively hold back the instinctive laughter. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you’re not a whiskey man?”

“I’m not much of a drinker in general,” the stranger admits. “But I figured it’d warm me up a bit.”

Magnus caves. “You said your car broke?” He asks despite his better judgment.

“Yeah. I was supposed to go home for Christmas for the first time in… five years now, I think?” He tries the whiskey again, a little more prepared for the bite this time. “I kind of fucked things up back home, then my parents escalated it, and long story short I left town for college and never came back. This was supposed to be the first year I saw them again… second chances and all that. But I guess I’ll just pick up some extra shifts at work instead.” The guy looks down at the now-empty glass in resignation. “One more for the road?”

Magnus obliges, and this time the stranded stranger knocks it all back in one proper go, still wincing and shuddering a bit as he swallows. Magnus can see how torn up he is over the situation and his thoughts drift towards his own father: he doesn’t even know where he is to try and reach out to him even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. Not after--

Magnus is torn from his thoughts when the guy across the bar speaks up abruptly. “Anyway, I should go. How much do I owe you?”

Magnus frowns slightly while remembering the words he spoke on the phone about not having the extra money for the tow or a cab to the airport. Granted, that would be considerably more expensive than a few shots of low-end whiskey, but still...

“It’s on the house.”

The man looks surprised. “Really? Are you sure, I have-”

“Really. Don’t worry about it.” Magnus repeats the offer in a way that makes it very clear he won’t say it a third time.

The stranger lingers a moment before nodding, pushing himself away from the bar. “Thanks. Happy Holidays.” And there’s something in the gratitude behind those hazel eyes at the small act of kindness, even in the face of everything else he’s dealing with, that tugs at Magnus’ heartstrings a little.

“Yeah,” Magnus replies. “Happy Holidays.” This earns him a few funny looks from his regulars around the bar, and it isn’t lost on the stranger as he makes his way back out into the snow that there isn’t a single decoration in or on the entire building. Magnus waits until he’s out of the door before not-so-subtly wandering back to where he can see the guy cross the street through the window. The tall man stops beside a dark car, struggles to get a duffle bag that’s half his size out of his trunk and over his shoulder before shutting the trunk, lastly giving the car a kick out of obvious frustration before turning to start down the street.

Magnus watches. He hesitates. He takes a deep breath. And then, without a single word, he reaches for his red coat and slides it on, grabbing something from the register and shoving it in his pocket before heading out into the snow after the stranger.

----

Alec can’t believe his luck. Maybe it’s a sign. He’s willing to give his mom a second chance and the benefit of the doubt now that Robert is out of the picture and Izzy promises him that Maryse is much better now, swearing she’s really, truly looking to make amends. It was bad enough to learn that Robert was cheating on her after Alec left, but to find out she knew and stayed anyway was almost too much for him to forgive on top of his own grievances. Now that they’re separated and his mom is dating Luke she does seem better, and it’s obvious how much of her opinions of him after his engagement debacle were shaped by having Robert at her side. He thought this year he could try to extend that olive branch…

Maybe this is the universe telling him it isn’t time just yet. He thought he was ready - he really felt like things were lining up to be alright again - but maybe he’s wrong.

The whiskey warms his chest as he grabs the bag from his car, giving the side of the broken vehicle a kick for good measure. “Cheap piece of shit,” he mutters bitterly, not sure what else he really expects from a car nearly as old as he is. Honestly, he’s lucky it lasted him as long as it did.

Alec’s already trying to convince himself this is fine. He hasn’t seen her in years, not since he broke off his engagement to Lydia the day of the wedding. He still isn’t sure what made his parents more furious: the embarrassment of him waiting until the last moment or the revelation after the fact that it was because he’s gay. Either way, the fallout was so spectacular that he left and never looked back… not until now.

The truth is that he’s been looking forward to this for months. He misses his family. He forgave them long ago, probably earlier than he should have, and he needs to be certain that they forgive him, too. A flight home for three days was the best he could manage with the way he’s been working to pay for school on top of the classes he’s taking, and now he has no idea when his next chance to get home may be.

But it’s fine. Maybe he can work something out for over the summer... what’s another Christmas alone after this many, anyway?

He’s ready to start the long walk back to his apartment when he sees something moving towards him - no, not something, someone. A figure in a bright red coat which stands out in stark contrast to the whiteout surrounding them is crossing the street and it doesn’t take him long to recognize the bartender.

“What time is your flight?” The bartender asks without preamble.

“What?” Alec asks back, thrown by the sudden question.

“What time is your flight? How long do you have to get to the airport?” He repeats with a huff of impatience, as if he’s already regretting his decision to come out here.

Alec glances at his watch. “A little under two hours.”

The bartender reaches into the pocket of the red coat and takes out a messy cluster of bills. It’s a twenty or two, some tens, but mostly fives and ones. It’s everything from the register that day. “Take a cab. If you bribe them with a good tip they won’t stall for extra fare time. Traffic probably won’t be too bad this late, you should be able to make it.”

“I couldn’t.” Alec takes a step back while shaking his head. “And I have to find a tow before I leave.”

The older man hesitates, clearly considering this additional roadblock in his plan for the first time. “...leave me your keys?”

Alec laughs in disbelief. “What?!” He has to be joking, right? He doesn’t really expect him to just hand his keys over to a stranger, does he?

“Leave me your keys,” the bartender repeats again, with more conviction this time. “What, do you think I’m going to steal your broken down dinosaur of a -- Jesus is that a Buick? How do you even drive that boat in the city?”

Alec narrows his eyes. The bartender clears his throat and shrugs apologetically. “Sorry. Look, one of my regulars inside owns a shop. We’ll tow it there and you can sort it out when you get back. He’ll give you the fairest price in the city, you have my word.”

He has no reason to trust this guy besides the fact that he was nice enough to let him borrow a phone and not pay for drinks, and Alec can’t help but doubt this much unwarranted kindness, even during the holidays. “Why? I mean it’s nice of you to offer and all, but you don’t even know me.”

Something shifts in the man’s expression. He looks like he’s about to share something personal, give a little insight to his motivations, but just as quickly it’s gone. If Alec isn’t so positive of what he saw he may believe it’s just a trick of the streetlights above them.

“Look, I’m not going to offer twice. Just… take it. Go home. See your family.”

The look in his eyes may be gone but something is still there in his voice: a mixture of fondness and sadness, Alec thinks he hears, wondering if the bartender’s thoughts are on his own family just then.

Alec looks down at the money in the man’s hand and decides to take it.

“I’ll pay you back.” Alec promises, hope springing to life in his chest where only regret and disappointment lingered moments before. Alec reaches into his own pocket for his keys and slides the one for the car off the ring, handing it over to the bartender.

“I’m not asking you to. Don’t worry about it.” The bartender turns and heads back across the street without another word.

“Thank you!” Alec calls out after him. It doesn’t even occur to him that he never got the bartender’s name before he disappears back inside the bar, leaving Alec to flag down the cab that miraculously passes by that very moment.

This, Alec realizes with a smile. This is the sign I needed.

-----

It’s a week later, New Year’s Eve, and there isn’t a soul in sight at Magnus’ little bar on the outskirts of the city. All of his regulars are home by now; anyone wandering by is trying to make their way closer to the action in Times Square and not paying his little hole in the wall a second glance. He’s getting ready to lock up - half of the chairs are flipped upside down to rest on the tables and most of the lights are already out - when there’s the familiar sound of the bell above the door.

“I’m closing up for the--” Magnus starts, but stops abruptly when he sees who it is.

It’s the guy from Christmas Eve.

“Oh, sorry. I can come back tomorrow…” The tall stranger trails off, already looking down at his feet as he turns to leave as quickly as he came.

“Wait!” Magnus calls out, but when the stranger turns back around Magnus realizes he has no follow-up for stopping him until he remembers the car that’s been . “Uh, your car’s fixed but the shop’s closed until the 2nd. I hope that’s alright.”

“It’s more than alright. Thank you,” the guy says. “For everything. Really, I can’t even begin to tell you how much it meant for me to see my family this year. It’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me and I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Magnus.”

“Alec.” The stranger - Alec - supplies. “Nice to properly meet you.” Alec smiles, and it’s enough to make Magnus forget what he was doing only a moment before; he’s still awkwardly holding a chair in his hand and it takes him a few seconds to remember to set it down on the table to clear the floor for the morning’s sweeping. “Need some help with those?” Alec motions to the chairs left around the tables.

Magnus shrugs. “Sure,” he agrees, trying not to sound too eager. “Thanks.” At first there’s a bit of awkward silence. They don’t know each other. Their last interaction before this was Magnus shoving a handful of money into his hands and walking away, but not before taking the key to his car. This isn’t the typical set-up to any sort of friendship. But after a minute or two Magnus asks how the trip home went, and Alec tells him a bit more about his family, hesitating at the bit about being gay but going on eagerly when it doesn’t phase Magnus in the slightest.

Instead of actually leaving once the chairs are up Magnus pours them both a drink, which turns into two drinks, and the two of them are in the middle of laughing over something one of them said when all at once the sound of cheers and noise makers and fireworks spills into the city streets around them.

It’s New Years.

They both waver, locking eyes, searching for the answer to the same question. There’s something here. Each of them is certain that they feel it on their end, but does the other? Magnus is the first to move closer, almost imperceivably, but Alec’s quick to close the rest of the gap once he makes the first move. The taste of the sweet liquor of Alec’s cocktail mixes with the darker smokey notes of Magnus’ scotch as their lips meet, tentative at first then more confident as hands reach out to smooth up and down arms or thread through hair.

They only pull back when Magnus leans forward a bit too far and Alec nearly falls backward off of his barstool, causing them both to break into barely-contained fits of laughter.

“I should get going,” Alec reluctantly admits, glancing at the clock. “Getting a cab at this point is going to take forever.”

“You could stay,” Magnus offers quickly. He doesn’t want Alec to leave. He thought about that kind smile and those warm hazel eyes every day since Christmas Eve, and the more he gets to know him the more he’s drawn into every facet of his personality. He wants to let him in and he doesn’t know why - but only if he can be certain Alec isn’t going to leave like all the others. God, he can’t let himself get hurt like that again. It’s a risk, one Magnus has closed himself off to for years now, but one impromptu midnight kiss has him certain it’s one worth taking. “I live above the bar, no travel required. And I promise to be a gentleman; I’ll take the sofa, you can have the bed.”

Alec considers the offer for several long, agonizing seconds, and for a moment Magnus is convinced he’s going to say no - which will be disappointing but not surprising. They’re still practically strangers, after all.

But instead of turning him down, Alec counters with an unexpectedly coy: “...and what if I were to say I don’t want you to be a gentleman?”

“If you insist,” Magnus deadpans. “Then I can take the bed and you can have the sofa.”

When Alec starts to laugh again Magnus can’t help but break his perfectly executed serious expression to join in. He honestly can’t remember the last time he laughed this much, and it isn’t until he thinks idly that Catarina would like Alec that he realizes how far gone he is already.

If Alec catches the soft look of surprise that crosses Magnus’ face at the realization it only helps to make up his mind.

“Lead the way.”

#bytheangell #malec #shadowhunters #malec fic #mac18 #mac18:fic

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sparkleskarkles · 7 years ago

Text

Valentine’s Chocolate

So... I’m sorry this is so late ><

I had meant to have this done by Valentine’s Day, but it ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated... (6,595 words)

Anyway!! This is a gift for @x0h-worm

The prompt was trans boys and Valentine’s Day fluff

Rated T I guess? For cursing and sexual imagery/innuendos

I hope you like it!!!!!!

Saihara and Ouma sat on the former’s bed with a laptop resting on their thighs. The two boys were tired from the long day at school, and deciding to spend the evening together, as most of the other students were going out. Saihara had changed into a black shirt and jeans, while Ouma wore an oversized sweater and dark leggings. The two were huddled together for warmth as even with the abundance of blankets, the cold from the faulty heating system could still be felt. For the two boys, being able to be alone together in private was like a sanctuary. They could take off their binders and complain about their families, or just play games and make jokes—jokes that they could only make with each other.

The two boys had begun hanging out together when they accidentally discovered that they were both trans. Ouma had broken into Saihara’s room, still for reasons he refuses to admit, while Saihara was changing shirts. Saihara began to panic, but Ouma quickly left and shut the door, waiting for him to exit on his own. ��Afterwards, when Saihara finally exited his room, Ouma consoled him both by explaining that he wouldn’t tell anyone, as he assumed that was what Saihara wanted, and that he was also trans. They started off by bonding over both being trans boys: talking about their situations growing up, where they got their binders, which haircuts would make them feel masculine but still cute at the same time, and so forth.

Over time, Saihara and Ouma were no longer just two trans boys connecting over their shared gender identity, but rather they became friends. Saihara had started to notice little tickles Ouma performed when lying, although barely visible to an untrained eye, but the detective saw them, and Ouma slowly became more willing to open up about himself to Saihara, even if only a little. It was a strange change to the others, they didn’t comprehend where their sudden friendship came from. Ouma had always appeared fascinated by Saihara, but the taller always seemed annoyed and exasperated by the shorter boy’s presence. Granted, that was true in the past, but because he had never given Ouma the time of day to really stop and consider him as his own person. With someone with such a grand air about them, it can be hard to remember they’re people too—like celebrities.

But the two had become close and cared deeply for the other. And that’s what’s led to this current moment: Saihara and Ouma sharing the small twin bed and way too many blankets, with a faint light from the computer screen illuminating their faces. The reason for this impromptu hang out was, in fact, because it was Valentine’s Day. Saihara usually spent time after classes studying with Momota and Harukawa or with Akamatsu, but the couple had date plans and Akamatsu had blushed and awkwardly stated that there was something that she needed to do. Ouma had, being just around the corner, overheard that Saihara was alone and didn’t want to leave his “beloved Saihara-chan” alone on such a night as this one. Saihara had chuckled softly at the other boy’s dramatic gestures, but accepted the invitation. It was, of course, totally platonic. And if Ouma had a bar of chocolate that, if asked, was totally from the school store in his bag, well, it was just obligation chocolate because he didn’t want his friend to feel lonely.

That was a lie of course.

Kokichi Ouma, the Super High School Level Supreme Leader, was gay.

And totally and irrevocably head-over-heels in love with Shuichi Saihara. He had always considered the other to be extremely pretty, and he enjoyed that he could never quite pin Saihara down. As in, he couldn’t always figure out his next choice of action. That’s what he meant by that. But as he spent time with Saihara, Ouma’s feelings grew and grew; they blossomed into what one could only call a crush. But Ouma preferred Panta. Don’t judge him, he deals with emotions by joking and lying.

“Are you warm enough?” Ouma looked over at the owner of the gentle voice and hummed in response.

“No way, Saihara-chan,” he sang, “it’s colder than Santa’s house in here! You need that pig whore Iruma-chan to make you a heater that calculates your body temperature and changes the room’s temperature appropriately,” he pouts. “If you don’t get a working heater soon I might never come back.”

Saihara rolled his eyes, but a faint smiled graced his lips and made Ouma’s heart melt, almost slipping into a smile himself. “If that’s the case then we could always go to your room,” he offered, knowing that Ouma was lying.

“We could’ve just done that from the start, you know,” he replied with a nonchalant air and monotone voice. Truthfully, he preferred being in Saihara’s room, despite the cold. It was cleaner than his and much easier to navigate, it reminded him of Saihara everywhere he looked, and, most importantly, the cold meant they had to cuddle super close. And Ouma sure as hell wasn’t lying when he says he enjoys the closeness of their bodies. Cuddling. For warmth. Because it’s February and February is fucking cold. “Geez, Saihara-chan is so mean, making me freeze to death in this cold!”

“If you’re so cold, why aren’t you using the blankets?” Saihara chuckled and nodded towards the abandoned pile.

“Oops,” Ouma cheered, “ya got me! Yeah, that was a lie.” He rested his hands behind his head and smiled. Saihara’s room might not have been as cold as the North Pole, but it was still cold. His mind was reeling with the fact that today was Valentine’s Day, the day one romance, love, and confessions. Pair that with his big gay crush, and he was somewhat distracted. He climbed under the blankets anyway, mumbling, “Or maybe that was a lie. Who knows?” Saihara just shook his head with a quiet laugh.

“You seem a bit distracted,” Saihara mentioned when Ouma was situation under the Super High School Level blanket pile. Of course his beloved Saihara-chan would notice that, but it wasn’t anything the supreme leader couldn’t lie or joke his way out of.

“No way,” tears started to form in his eyes as Ouma hiccupped and stuttered. “Could it… Could it be that Saihara-chan never realized my feelings?” he started to sob loudly. Overdramatic. The bigger he cried than the more it looked like a lie. Because Ouma couldn’t risk Saihara knowing the truth. He hated telling the truth, but for Saihara he tried. Sometimes. But not this. He didn’t want to lose the one person at the Ultimate Academy that took the time to look past his lies, to look past his façade, and befriend him.

“Ouma!” Saihara lunged his hands forward to grab the other’s shoulders. Ouma, in turn, just laughed.

“Neeheehee, Saihara-chan did you actually fall for that? Geez, I thought you were finally able to see through all my lies.” He started tearing up again, “does our friendship mean nothing to you?”

“Ouma,” Saihara sighed and retracted his hands back to his sides, “I just didn’t want you falling off the bed again.” He blushed and Ouma giggled. He had been fake crying just like now, but became too overzealous and slipped off of the too-small bed.

“Aw,” the supreme leader cooed, “was my beloved Saihara-chan worried about me?” His voice was airy and melodious, caring the tune of his usual lie, but at the same time it was thick with the hidden truths.

Saihara sighed. “Let’s just watch the movie,” he clicked on the mouse pad a few times before looking at Ouma. “Well? Are you going to join me?”

Ouma nodded and scooted closer to his friend. Saihara wiggled into the pillows to get comfortable and rested his head on Ouma’s shoulder, then pressed play. Saihara’s warmth seeped through Ouma’s clothes and it made him feel at home. He felt comfortable, having someone there with him, having Shuichi Saihara there with him. He took a deep breath and guided his eyes to the movie.

Usually, the two boys watched detective and action movies. Saihara liked the mystery of the cases and Ouma liked the thrill of watching the good guys fight to win. But today it seemed that Saihara had chosen to continue the theme of the day. That’s right: Ouma was about to watch a romcom with Saihara. Now, that’s nothing to freak out about. In fact, Ouma could easily complain about how boring the movie would be. But Saihara looked so content with the change of pace and Ouma was enchanted by the look on his face. God, this stupid crush was going to kill him. He might as well just ask Harukawa to save him the trouble.

A long-haired woman was running through an airport. Ouma watched as her blonde hair bounced behind her. He supposed that’s what he should find attractive: the gorgeous Hollywood actress, with her full-face of makeup and, you know, being a girl. He tried glancing over at Saihara without turning his head to alert the other. His long eyelashes obscured most of his golden-grey eyes, but from what little view he had, Ouma could see the woman on the screen reflected in Saihara’s eyes. He didn’t look too interested in the movie just yet, as it had only started, but he didn’t look bored either. Saihara’s mouth was slightly ajar, resting neutrally. His lips were chapped from the cold winter’s air, and Ouma really needed to stop staring at Saihara’s totally kissable lips. Well, they’d probably be more kissable if he used chap stick, maybe grape flavored, but Saihara had once told Ouma that it felt too much like lipstick to him and it made him uncomfortable, and Ouma respected that. That didn’t mean he didn’t have at least three grape-flavored chap sticks on his person at all times in case something actually were to happen.

“Have you seen this movie before?” Saihara asked, turning his head up slightly to look at Ouma. Ouma felt somewhat awkward having their eyes meet immediately, feeling like he was caught in the act of staring.

“Yep! It’s super good,” he lied. “You won’t believe what happens when Maribelle—”

“Stop lying and actually pay attention to the movie,” Saihara interrupted and turned back to the screen. “The protagonist’s name is Jane. I’m not sure what’s so interesting about my face but,” he paused momentarily, an awkward blush on his cheeks, “if you’re that bored we can change the movie.”

“Neeheehee,” Ouma slit his eyes at Saihara, making a face that put others on edge, but then quickly changed into an overeager smile, “what? No way! Weren’t you listening? I said I love this movie!” He shifted his body more into Saihara’s space to be extra dramatic, almost pushing the other over the edge of the bed. Saihara screeched and reached his arms around Ouma’s neck to steady himself, holding on tight until he was sure that he wasn’t going to fall.

“My, my, Saihara-chan!” Ouma gasped dramatically, “how forward of you!” Saihara looked up into deep purple eyes and awkwardly released his grip, stumbling over mummers of apologies as his face heated up. They had been so close. Honestly if Saihara had fallen and taken Ouma down with him, there’s no guarantee that Ouma wouldn’t use that opportunity to “accidentally” kiss Saihara. That’s a lie. There’s a one hundred percent guarantee that he would absolutely do that.

The two leaned back into each other and continued watching the movie. Saihara rewound it a little because they had missed a few scenes while their faces had been mere centimeters apart. The memory made Ouma want to blush. God, he was so gay. He tried to focus on the movie, but watching some attractive girl get with a mediocre guy wasn’t really his thing. He’d rather see himself get with the most gorgeous guy on the planet. Ouma had thought about what it would be like if they were dating. Obviously they would hold hands, and Ouma would flaunt their relationship to everyone. No, that’s a lie. Honestly, Ouma would probably be too hesitant to tell anyone, mostly because he wasn’t sure if Saihara would be comfortable telling others. But, if they were dating, Ouma would be able to kiss Saihara often. He would stand on his tip toes and firmly press his lips against Saihara’s chapped ones, maybe sticking his tongue inside the other’s mouth. Maybe even eliciting a moan from Saihara, his voice heavy with want and—

“What are you thinking about?” the same sweet voice that Ouma had just been fantasizing about had interrupted his thoughts. Ouma jolted slightly, averting his gaze for a moment before meeting Saihara’s eyes and smirking.

“Oh? Does Saihara-chan really wanna know?” he leaned into Saihara’s face with a mischievous glint in his eyes, masking the embarrassed blush that threatened to spill across his cheeks. “Maybe I was thinking about how much I find Jane attractive, and what I’d do with her if she were here next to me instead of you. But that’s a lie. I was actually thinking about how it’s just you and me, locked in your room, sharing a bed on Valentine’s Day, and about how much I want to flip over on top of you and roam my hands down your body. Lower and lower until I reach the hem of your pants and—.” Saihara’s scream interrupted him. Ouma retreated back into his own space and watched as Saihara flung his hands around to try to cover his face. His entire face had gone red, including the tips of his ears, and he was spluttering incoherently as he gawked at Ouma. Ouma watched Saihara fidget as he slowly regained some composure, although his face was still incredibly red.

“Ouma!” Saihara screeched, balling his fists into his pants after giving up trying to hide his face without his hat. “You can’t just… You can’t just say things like that! Even if it is a lie.”

Ouma tilted his head at the other’s remark. “Oh? Who said I was lying?” Ouma laughed. “But you know,” he sang, once again approaching Saihara, “you had quite the interesting reaction, Saihara-chan! It’s almost as if it was you thinking about doing that to me, neeheehee.” Saihara swatted Ouma’s face away and turned back to the movie, face never dimming in color.

“I don’t,” Saihara started, “I didn’t.” He groaned. “I wasn’t… thinking about that. I swear! You just… You just started talking about… stuff, and it was embarrassing. You can’t just… talk about… stuff like that. It’s not good for my heart.”

“Why?” Ouma asked. And before he could stop himself, he tacked on: “are you gay?”

Saihara looked up at him, and Ouma really hoped his face wasn’t as pale as he expected it to be. Saihara looked away and stared blankly at the computer screen, and Ouma felt choked by the silence, despite it only lasting about two seconds. “No,” Saihara spoke up, “I’m bi.” Ouma blinked down at his friend. Bi. Shuichi Saihara was bisexual. Or at least biromantic. Bi-something. Bi as in Ouma could actually have a chance with him. If Saihara saw him that way. Did Saihara see him that way? He hoped he did but there was no way. He was hard enough to be friends with, there was no way someone could have a crush on him. But Saihara never met his expectations; he always went so far beyond and did the unexpected. So it wasn’t impossible.

“Oh, cool,” he replied automatically, sliding back into his movie-watching position, “I’m gay.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

They continued watching the movie in silence. It wasn’t necessarily an uncomfortable silence, but Ouma’s head was reeling. Would Saihara think of him differently now that he knew? Of course not, he was bi, they were similar. They were both not straight. They were both trans too. Why was he so scared of telling Saihara in the first place? Was it because of his crush? He didn’t want Saihara asking him if he had a crush on him. But he also did. Well, even if Saihara did ask him, Ouma would lie. It was hard enough to finally be able to open up to Saihara about parts of his past, Ouma doesn’t think he has the energy to tell the truth about this too. Maybe one day he’ll look back and and tell Saihara about his silly crush with a laugh. Provided they were still friends. He hoped they would be. Saihara was so important to him; he was the only person outside of DICE that cared about him. Of course, that’s not why he loved Saihara, it just happened to be that Saihara was the most important person in the world to Ouma right now.

“Hey,” Saihara’s tired voice sounded hoarse after not speaking for so long. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking about. You’re always thinking. And I mean, I know I’m always thinking a lot too, what with all my anxieties and all. But, if you’re worrying over coming out you don’t have to. You always overthink everything. I mean, I already knew you were trans, and I’m bi, so… I’m just trying to say that… Thank you for trusting me? I guess? I’m not actually sure, I’m sorry. But uh,” he drew out the syllable, trying to think of the right words, “you’re still Kokichi Ouma. That’s how straight allies usually comfort gay people in TV shows I don’t actually know if that was helpful.” Ouma snorted. “Hah, yeah. I mean like, obviously it doesn’t change anything? It’s not like Yumeno appeared out of nowhere and put a curse on you that changed your physical appearance.”

Ouma doubled over, cackling. “That’s assuming she can actually use magic! She’s… She’s always going on about how tiring it would be to use her mana, or how unimportant it is or something. If… If she wanted to,” he took a few deep breaths to calm his laughter. He chuckled abruptly again for a quick moment before continuing with a more even voice, “If she wanted to change someone’s physical appearance all she’d have to do is tell Chabashira-chan to punch their face in.”

“Ouma, you shouldn’t endorse her,” he looked at the other with a twinge of disappointment on his face.

“Am I wrong though?”

Saihara was silent. Ouma held eye contact with his eyes open wide and inquisitive, almost daring Saihara to tell him that yes, he actually was wrong. “No,” Saihara breathed out after a moment, succumbing to the fact that Chabashira would in fact punch somebody in the face if Yumeno told her to.

“Exactly!” Ouma declared and slung his arm around Saihara’s shoulders. “And it’s because of this that I must perform the sacred duty of protecting my beloved Saihara-chan’s beautiful face with my life.”

Saihara laughed that beautiful, song-like laugh of his and looked at Ouma with such a loving smile on his face. “You don’t seem to be acting hesitant anymore. Does that mean you no longer feel awkward? That’s good.”

Ouma inhaled a large, overdramatic gasp. “Saihara-chan! I can’t believe you actually thought I was upset! That was obviously a lie. I’m disappointed.” But Ouma smiled back at him. It may have been an awkward attempt, but Saihara did make him feel better.

Ouma removed his arm from Saihara and slithered down to rest his head on the taller boy’s shoulder, reversing their earlier position. Saihara rewound the video again, and it picked up at some place where Ouma had no idea what was happening because he hadn’t been paying attention at all. Saihara wrapped his arm around Ouma’s side, loosely embracing him. Ouma was happy. And that was the truth. He felt so warm and loved in that moment that the content-ness slowly sung his eyes to close, guiding him into a welcoming sleep.

When Ouma woke up, he was welcomed to a tight embrace and a face full of Saihara’s shirt. Ouma may have enjoyed cuddling, especially with Saihara, but he also enjoyed breathing—something that was sort of hard to do in this position. He squirmed a little bit to duck out of the taller boy’s grasp, something that should have been a lot easier than it was—and a lot less embarrassing. He’s really glad no one saw his desperate attempt to break free from his crush cuddling him.

When he could finally breathe properly again, Ouma’s hair was in disarray, much more wild than he usually kept it, and his face was red from the struggle and nothing else. That was another lie. His face was mostly red because of where his head had been: AKA way too close for his gay little heart to beat slower than 10,000 beats per second, even though Saihara’s heartbeat was calm, and actually quite soothing to listen too. Maybe one day Ouma would be able to cuddle him that closely, head against the other’s chest, listening to his heartbeat; preferably listening to his boyfriend’s heartbeat. Ouma didn’t fight off the blush that consumed his face, unconcerned about being seen, as the only other person here with him was sleeping.

Ouma watched as Saihara slept, which was not as creepy as it sounded. He just wanted to make sure he hadn’t woken him up in the struggle. Saihara’s stomach moved slightly as he breathed, expanding and retracting with each breath, moving his chest as well. His shirt had risen slightly during the night, exposing just the tiniest sliver of skin. Saihara looked peaceful. Ouma quietly got off the bed and retrieved his belongings and put on his shoes. It may have still been early, but he didn’t want to intrude any more. Besides, they still had class tomorrow. Or was it today? Ouma had forgotten to check the time. He took the chocolate bar out of his bag and placed it on Saihara’s bedside table. Attached to the sweet was a small tag that read “I loooooooooove you Saihara-chan! ♡ And that’s not a lie!!!” with a quick drawing of himself winking and blowing an overdramatic kiss.

He left Saihara’s room and tiptoed back to his own, being careful no one saw him creeping out of someone else’s room late at night. God only knows what kinds of rumors Iruma would start if she caught him. Once inside his room, Ouma threw his stuff onto the ground and leapt onto the bed, screaming into his pillow. Well, this was it: he did it. There were four ways this could go, maybe five if Ouma was being creative. One: Saihara returns his feelings and everything is great (unlikely, as stated previously). Two: Saihara doesn’t return his feelings and begins to hate him (also unlikely, his beloved Saihara-chan isn’t the type of person to hate others). Three: Saihara doesn’t return his feelings but he’s accepting and they still remain friends (this would be incredibly awkward and Ouma would scream if this happens). Four: Saihara thinks the chocolate and love note are a lie (likely, considering Ouma’s overly-high tendency to lie). And five: Ouma goes back to Saihara’s room, picks the lock, and takes the chocolate bar back, pretending nothing ever happened (which he was very tempted to do).

Ouma sighed and turned over to face the ceiling. The paint had dried clumpy, so if he focused hard enough he could make out random shapes and give them a story. The dried specks reminded him of stars—granted, he had no idea how the constellations were actually shaped, but they were random dots all the same—and he wished he could watch the stars with Saihara one night, maybe cuddling and talking about how much they love each other. Ouma placed his right arm over his eyes and groaned; hopefully tomorrow would go well.

Waking up for the second time that morning was torture. Ouma slid off of his bed and landed with a quiet thud on the ground. He laid there for a few moments before slowly getting up and grabbing clothes from the closet. He stared at his reflection in the mirror for a little bit, too tired to process anything yet, and then sat back down on his bed. He could feel his eyes struggle to remain open, and just as he was about to let them close, his alarm saying that he would be late if he didn’t leave right now began blaring. He groaned and turned off his phone before sluggishly making his way to his classroom.

He could hear the loud boisterousness of his classmates from the end of the hallway, and drudged onwards towards it. When he opened the door, the voices seemed to die down significantly. Ouma scanned the room briefly with his tired eyes and gave a small smirk. “Oh? Are you all finally realizing I’m your supreme leader?” he challenged, “I’m glad to see that my loyal subjects bow down quietly before me. Neeheehee!”

“Yo, dude,” Momota chirped out, “what’s up with this note?” He gestured to the small object in Saihara’s hands and Saihara looked away bashfully.

“I,” Saihara stammered, eventually making eye contact, “I only showed Momota, but he was really loud and now the whole class knows.” He ended his statement as if it were a question, and Ouma stared blankly at the chocolate in his hands.

Ouma threw his hands up behind his head and, mustering up as much as his tired body could asked, “oh, that? Can’t you guys read?” He pouted, “It says how much I love Saihara-chan! That’s my confession chocolate you meanies,” he willed up some crocodile tears to pour out and loudly started sobbing.

“God, just shut up!” Iruma shouted, “Nobody cares about your twink-ass crush!”

At that point the bell rung, and everyone who was still standing took their seats. Ouma caught Saihara glancing over at him a few times, but, like always, Saihara was the one person Ouma could almost never read. Unfortunately, that included now. What was he thinking? He didn’t look put off by the confession, but did he even believe him in the first place? No, of course not, he made sure to act as though he was lying.

The day went on as usual: classes passed, Kiibo yelled at Ouma for making a robophobic remark, Harukawa only threatened to kill him four times today, and nobody paid attention to the teacher in the last ten minutes of class before lunch. Ouma had, gradually, become more awake throughout the day, only falling asleep in class once for about five minutes. That said, in his tired state this morning he had completely forgotten to eat breakfast, and was now walking slightly faster than he usually did to the dining hall. Once he had his food, Ouma made his way to one of the outside tables, securely hidden by a tree. Sometimes he liked to join others just to mess with them, but most of his classmates were still in a Valentine’s Day mood, with the couples flirting more than usual and the single people either complaining about not having a date or about how the holiday is a scam and shouldn’t be celebrated.

Ouma began to eat his meal in peace. He didn’t want to confront anyone right now, completely unrelated to the fact that he doesn’t want to be faced with questions about his crush. Ouma sighed. That was a lie. He really should have taken the chocolate back last night. He heard footsteps approach him, and resigned himself to the fact that of course Gokuhara would want to sit with him anyway, because he was just too nice. Ouma looked up at the trespasser and nearly dropped his drink. It was Saihara.

“Wow,” Ouma sang, “is my beloved Saihara-chan joining me for lunch today? Did Momota-chan and Harukawa-chan kick you out? That is just so mean.”

Saihara rolled his eyes and sat down across from Ouma. “Ouma, we’re friends. Am I not allowed to sit with you?”

“Of course you are, my beloved Saihara-chan!” His face grew a tad darker as he leaned in slightly, “but that’s not why you’re here, is it? I can tell. You’re hiding something.” He took a few more bites of his food and then looked at the other boy with tears in his eyes. “I thought,” Ouma hiccupped, “I thought you said we were friends. Why would you lie to me?”

Saihara was startled by the outburst, clearly on edge. He fidgeted around slightly, looking anywhere but at Ouma, which made him more suspicious. “Geez,” Ouma spat out, “you don’t have to be so worried, you know. It’s not like I won’t bite.”

Saihara chuckled softly, “don’t you mean it’s not like you will bite?”

Ouma hummed. “Oh yeah,” he smiled, “or maybe that was a lie. Who knows?”

Saihara sighed and finally looked Ouma in the eyes. He blushed slightly and went to pull his hat lower, over his eyes, forgetting he no longer wore it to school. He looked downcast and put the chocolate from last night onto the table. “Why did you give me this?” he asked.

“Because I love you,” Ouma declared nonchalantly, taking another bite.

“No you don’t,” Saihara countered, “not like that. This is Valentine’s Day chocolate, that’s supposed to be for couples, or for people with romantic interest in each other. I didn’t,” he paused, hesitant and unsure of himself, “I don’t need your obligation chocolate, Ouma. It’s not funny.”

“What makes you say it’s obligation chocolate? Didn’t you read the note? It says I love you. I know how Valentine’s Day works, Saihara-chan.”

“And I know how you work, Ouma.” Ouma looked at Saihara in shock. The other boy was trembling slightly, and he looked like he was about to cry.

“Saihara-ch—” Ouma started but was interrupted.

“No. Listen, I know you like making fun of people, and you mean it all in good fun, but this is too far. You can’t just,” Saihara’s breath hitched, “you don’t just make fun of people’s feelings like that. You always ask us why we hate lies, and this is why: lies like this!” He gestured angrily to the chocolate. “You don’t have to feel the same way, but please don’t give me something like this if you don’t mean it. It really hurts.” Saihara got up and walked away with tears finally starting to break free, leaving a stunned Ouma in his wake.

Option number six: Saihara returns his feelings but doesn’t believe they’re real. Ouma is speechless. The irony of the situation is so funny that if it were happening to anybody else he would double over laughing. But this is happening to him. Saihara liked him. That’s what he meant by all of that, right? There’s no other way to interpret that. But if that’s so, then why was he so determined to believe Ouma was lying? Shouldn’t he have been happy? Ouma really can’t read Saihara at all. But he needed to tell him the truth for once.

The rest of the day passed too slowly for Ouma. He was fidgeting all throughout the remainder of his classes, bouncing his leg and chewing at the eraser on his pencil. All he wanted to do was go back to the dorms so he could confess to Saihara properly. He had nothing to be afraid of. Saihara liked him back.

When the last bell finally rang, Ouma booked it out of class and made his way to his room as fast as he could without actually sprinting. He threw his bag onto the floor and paced around his room for a good ten plus minutes trying to think of how to confront Saihara. Clearly, there was something about Ouma’s behavior that made it impossible for Saihara to like him. It could also very well be that Saihara’s anxieties had some play in the matter. Either way, Ouma would have to be as serious as he could with Saihara, which would be hard, but he was willing to do it for him. Ouma took in a deep breath and marched out of his room and headed straight towards Saihara’s. He rose up his fist determinedly to knock, but stopped right before his knuckled pounded against the wood. He was doubting himself. He was always so sure of everything, but he always wanted to make double- and triple-sure with Saihara. There was a fragileness about him, where he was afraid he would break if Saihara pried too far into who Ouma really was. But at the same time, only Saihara made Ouma feel so comfortable, so real and valid, that Ouma wanted to show him who he really was.

“Ouma?” a hushed voice spoke up behind him, and Ouma whipped around to be faced with a puffy-eyed Saihara. He brought down his fist and his face fell. He made Saihara cry. He really needed to work out this situation immediately.

“Can we talk?” he asked as seriously as he could. His face was neutral, no hint of lying or joking, and he held strong eye contact with the taller boy. Saihara nodded awkwardly and then opened his door, letting Ouma inside, and then closed it quietly after he followed.

Ouma plopped down onto Saihara’s bed, used to the other soon joining him, but instead Saihara sat at his desk chair, not making eye contact or even looking Ouma’s way. It made Ouma so frustrated he wanted to scream. But instead of screaming, he got up and quickly walked over to Saihara. Saihara, confused by the unexpected action, looked up at Ouma, only to have his face grabbed by two small hands, and a pair of fruity-tasting lips mash against his own. Saihara jolted back, a deep red flush flooding his face as he stammered out incoherent syllables.

Ouma smirked, “see? Saihara-chan had no right to think I was lying. I really do—hey wait why are you crying?” Ouma leaned down to wipe at Saihara’s tears but he was forcefully pushed away.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Saihara screeched. “You know I like you!”

“Goddammit!” This time Ouma did scream. “Listen, Saihara-chan. I had no idea that you liked me, okay? I honestly didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be romantically into me because I’m such an asshole. And yes, I know I’m a jerk I just,” he groaned loudly. “Look, I don’t…bond with people well. So I end up annoying them and being a jerk. But even if I am a jerk, I wouldn’t make fun of someone’s crush. Probably. Actually wait, no, that’s a lie. I would totally make fun of Iruma-chan. But not,” he sighs, pausing. “I wouldn’t make fun of you. Especially not if you actually had a crush on me. Which, apparently, you do, which I still don’t really understand.”

“You…honestly had no idea that I liked you?” Saihara asked, genuinely confused. Ouma shook his head. “I thought you could easily understand what everyone was thinking and feeling, though.”

“Yeah, well, I could never really understand you. That’s part of what made me so interested in you. You intrigued me,” Ouma confessed.

“Only part?” Saihara inquired.

“The other part was because I’m gay and you’re attractive.” Both of them were blushing at this point, although Ouma still had a decent amount of control over his expression.

“So then, if you didn’t know I liked you, why did you give me the chocolate? And why did you, uh, why did you,” Saihara squeaked, “why did you kiss me?”

Ouma just looked at him, dumbfounded. He ran his hands through his hair, throwing all of his composure out the window, finally letting his massive blush take over his face. “Because I like you too, okay?” he declared, much louder than he had meant to. He locked eyes with Saihara, who had let his mouth drop slightly. It was kind of cute.

That was another lie.

It was extremely cute.

And Ouma wanted to kiss him again. But he waited for Saihara to reply.

“You,” Saihara gaped, “you like me?” And Ouma laughed. He laughed at both of them for being so stupid. But he nodded. He nodded as a few tears spilt from his eyes.

“Yes. I like you so fucking much. That’s why I gave you chocolate. And invited you to hang out with me on Valentine’s Day. God, Saihara-chan, those are like, super big hints. At the very least you could’ve figured it out when I kissed you,” Ouma pouted.

Saihara laughed embarrassedly, looking away. “Well, it’s not like you figured out that I liked you either.”

“Duh,” Ouma huffed out. “That’s because you don’t flirt with me. Geez, Saihara-chan.”

“I do flirt with you though,” Saihara looked back into Ouma’s purple eyes, gaining some confidence. “I accepted your invitation to spend time with me on Valentine’s Day, I chose to watch a romantic movie with you on Valentine’s Day, we shared a bed on Valentine’s Day, you slept over on Valentine’s Day—”

“Can you please stop saying Valentine’s Day like that?” Ouma’s blush grew redder.

“We cuddled on Valentine’s Day.”

“I thought that was just, like, a trans thing? There are some trans guys in DICE and we cuddle all the time,” Ouma supplied.

Saihara sighed at looked away from Ouma. He balled his hands into his pants and chewed on his lips slightly. Ouma was about to ask him why he wasn’t saying anything when a pair of rough, chapped lips crashed messily into his own. This time Saihara was kissing him. It was awkward and short, and Saihara hid his face behind his hands to hide his embarrassment, but it happened. And Ouma couldn’t stop the smile that spread upon his face.

“Saihara-chan!” He leapt onto the other boy as he drew out his name. The chair leaned back from the force of Ouma literally throwing himself onto it, and it fell over from the combined weight of the two boys. Ouma laid sprawled out on top of Saihara and sat up to straddle him, giggling. “Hey, hey! Saihara-chan! I love you!”

Saihara had covered his face by draping his left arm over it, doing almost null to cover his spreading blush. He still managed to mumble out an embarrassed “I love you too.”

“Aw, Saihara-chan,” Ouma whined, wiggling, “why are you so embarrassed huh? Huh?” He laughed and moved around some more and Saihara grabbed whatever was nearest to him and threw it at Ouma, which happened to be a crumpled up homework assignment that had fallen to the floor during the crash. He then tried to kick Ouma (gently), but found that rather hard to do in their current position, which just made Ouma laugh more.

Ouma looked down at the flustered boy with a fond and loving smile. He leaned down and placed a quick peck on Saihara’s lips before asking, “So, do you wanna date me?” Saihara nodded, peeking out from underneath his arm. He smiled softly and it made Ouma’s heart melt. Speaking of things that melt…

“Hey, Saihara-chan?” His boyfriend looked up at him. Boyfriend!

“Yes Kokichi?” Any and all resolve Ouma had had dispersed at the use of his given name and he squeaked.

Quickly trying to recover himself, although still blushing harder than Saihara, Ouma asked, “do you want to share that chocolate bar?”

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