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cherrylng · 2 months ago

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The Black Parade interview - Gerard Way - My Chemical Romance [INROCK (January 2007)]

My Chemical Romance

Interview with Gerard explaining all the songs on ‘The Black Parade’.

Gerard Way / My Chemical Romance INTERVIEW & PHOTOS: P.G. BRUNELLI/INROCK

■ 「The End�� —This is a song that's the complete opposite of its title. It's the introduction to the album and the second track, ‘Dead!’ Gerard Way (vo.): Yes, it is. It's like a bullet was fired and the result was the next song. The reason why it's called ‘The End’ is because the protagonist of the album is in hospital and he's dying. That's why. When you're dying, whether it's from a death wish or a strong memory, you feel that death is coming for you, don't you? So for this character, who we call ‘the patient’… It could be me, it could be you, it could be anyone, not that it's anyone I know, but… the strong memory is when he was a child and his dad took him to a parade in a big city. So when death comes, it takes the form of a parade. And he goes on a journey, whether on his deathbed, or in a parade, or in his dreams, and he investigates his own life and meets strange characters. So ‘The End’ is when he's dying, and ‘Dead!’ is when he dies. Actually, we wrote the intro after ‘Dead!’ was finished. We wanted to start the album with something epic and dramatic. We wanted the listener to understand that a different journey was about to begin. And I wanted the listener to understand that they are part of the story. We didn't want to make any mistakes there… like there were little piano sounds or ambient sounds, and then the first real song would come in. We wanted to tell a clear story from the beginning. So when you hear this song, ‘Dead!’ starts right away.

■「Dead!」 Gerard: It's like a bouncy, hammering, social commentary on this person's life and the human condition. Some people realise that they're dead, but originally the lyrics were written from the point of view of a living person, saying, “You're dead, you're just living like you're dead”. It was actually about myself at first, with a certain sense of self-loathing. It's something that's always been present in our music…

■「This Is How I Disappear」 Gerard: This originally started out as a song about Harry Houdini (a Hungarian-born magician and escape artist from the early 20th century). The sound reminds me of the Rolling Stones' “Paint It Black”, and there's some Black Sabbath riffs in it. It's basically taking our old sound and pushing it to some limits. It's a song that says someone's leaving you, and it's again memories from past lives that lead to… (and he goes silent).

■「The Sharpest Lives」 Gerard: This song was also called ‘A Kiss Before She Goes’ for a little while, but we changed it back because it comes from a more important part of the song. It's a collection of very dark parts of his life. Like drugs, sleeping on the sofa, questioning things…

ーThere's nothing negative about sleeping on the sofa, is there? Gerard: You can question what you do before you sleep on the sofa and that's what I'm talking about. It's a song about someone reflecting on a rough, shaky part of their life. It's a very cliffhanger song.

ーDoes this song in a way relate to your break-up with your girlfriend earlier this year? Gerard: Yeah, I ended a relationship this year with someone I'd been seeing for a long time, and it really fucked me up. Because of the life I'm leading now, it's not working out with her… Because of the touring and all that. I can't have a normal life anymore, so we decided to break up. But it made me very withdrawn and isolated. All the self-loathing aspects of this record are based on this side of me and my experiences. It's another song that's very mean and on edge in sound. Originally we were trying to make this song with as few instruments as possible, so it was almost like electronic music. It was interesting in the sense that it was a departure from our own sound, but it didn't feel like enough of our own work. What's special about this band is that there are actually five of us and what each of us brings to a song, but it wasn't rock, and it didn't feel like it was us enough. We weren't afraid to depart from our own sound, but the problem was that it became too electronic.

■「Welcome To The Black Parade」 Gerard: I think this song's place on the album is far enough forward. Because this is where that character encounters the parade his father took him to. Sound-wise, it should have been earlier, but this song shows the risks we were starting to take musically and the new sounds we were discovering. There's a lot of Queen in this song. It contains everything we've ever wanted to explore, it's like a little epic.

ーSo this is the first single? Gerard: Yeah. There's only a handful of songs on the record that could have been the first single and not become statements. There were times early on when I thought ‘The Sharpest Lives’ would be good, but I felt that song wasn't strong enough to push the boundaries as a first single.

■ 「Teenagers」 Gerard: This song was almost taken off the album. The sound was very simple and it wasn't what we were used to. But then we thought, with lyrics as impactful as these, it had to sound as simple as this. It ended up being one of the most important songs on the album. It's about how teenagers today have kids and are made to believe that the only way to solve their problems is through violence. They are almost forced to be in their own groups and when they meet each other, they fight. They're on drugs to calm themselves down, they don't eat well, and they're promised a lot of things that never come true. By the time they've realised it, they've dropped out of high school and they're working at a gas station. It's a common problem, I grew up working class and I was one of those kids myself. I worked in a supermarket and Frank (Iero, g.) worked at a gas station.

ーIs that before you became an animator? Gerard: Yeah, I finally finished that gig (at the supermarket) to do what I really wanted to do. But I still felt unfulfilled. Because it felt like the world hadn't changed at all for me. But then 9/11, when the terrorist attacks happened, I decided to quit and do something completely different. This song is important because of what's being said in it.

ーWhat's your relationship with the dying man? Gerard: He's looking back on his life, including when he was a teenager. This isn't a song about anyone's life in particular. If he was looking back on his life, some might say ‘Teenagers’ should have come earlier on the album. In my mind, I have this vision of him meeting a lot of characters in a parade, and some of them are teenagers who committed suicide. He also meets soldiers from the First World War and their mothers, and he meets the devil in the form of two wolves. He meets so many different people that he can justify the inclusion of this song on the album. I can always picture him meeting those teenagers. No matter how hard a story or strong a message is put on the album, I think this song can be on it. If someone says this song doesn't belong, it doesn't matter. Because this song is so important for teenagers, that's why it's on the record. It's like the Beatles' “Sgt. Pepper's” (the fictional band of The Beatles) had a song on their album.

■「I Don't Love You」 Gerard: This was one of the earliest songs we wrote for the album. We wanted to have a Creedence Clearwater Revival vibe. Kind of like "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?". I wanted to make a classic song that would become a classic, so there are a lot of conventions in the chorus of that song. I can't remember the names, but there were a couple of bands from the ‘70s that did that, and we wanted to do it like them. In this one, he (the character) is looking back on a broken heart. One that he was allowed to escape.

■「House Of Wolves」 Gerard: This song was called ‘Sin Sin’ at one point. I wrote it to envision that character going to a rough club after he died. It was like a jazz club from hell. It's a song about damnation, about the price of sin. I envisioned that character obviously going to hell. There's a religious connotation to this song… and the whole album. ‘Mama’ is more about being brought up Catholic than it is about war. There's the farming and the choir boys in here, and I imagine that kind of stuff is kind of like the devil talking. The devil is manipulating religion for his own purposes. He's using symbolism to twist things. This song was definitely written from the devil's point of view.

■「Cancer」 —This is obviously a song about death, isn't it? Gerard: Yeah, exactly. It's one of the most important songs on the album. It's got a lot of different instruments in it. It's a very powerful song and it's called ‘Cancer’ for a reason. You could call it ‘The Hardest Part’, which is very close to the truth… Cancer is so ugly, it affects everyone, it's cruel, it's monstrous. It's like it eats people from the inside out… The lyrics of this song had to be easy to understand. Because this song is something that has to get everyone's attention.

■「Mama」 —The full title of this song is ‘Mama: We Are Going To Hell’, right? Gerard: It's just ‘Mama’ now.

—You said that this song is different from your previous sound, musically it's like a waltz or a mazurka (Polish folk dance). Gerard: Yeah. There's Russian folk music in it. It's a different approach, but we've also included some very traditional elements (folk parts) that we haven't tried before. There are some big choruses in it. We took this old folk music with a gypsy feel and somehow transformed it into rock music. We thought we had to try to make it work somehow, and if we could achieve that, it would be our new sound. The song is so intelligent, creative, and clever that if the song didn't fit the lyrics, it wouldn't sound like that. But the song had to be as smart as the lyrics, otherwise it wouldn't have been on the album.

■「Sleep」 Gerard: It's a song about a nightmare I had when I was in that house (the house where we first stayed). At the same time, it's also about that character. I could imagine him thinking about himself. It's a song about someone who has realised the monster inside him. It was inspired by my nightmares, so it's very close to my inner self. It's a really good song. I think it's almost epic, it's a rock song, like a movie soundtrack.

■「Disenchanted」 Gerard: This is one of our oldest songs. We've been playing it on the ‘Sweet Revenge’ tour for a while now. It's one of the ones we wrote really well and one of the melodies sounded like Wham!, but when I heard it, I had this image in my head of someone lying in a hospital bed watching shitty TV knowing they were going to die. This song is all about the irony and weirdness of that moment. It's like a cliffhanger ballad.

■「Famous Last Words」 Gerard: This is one of the key songs on the album.

—♪I am not afraid to walk this world alone♪ is a pretty amazing line. Gerard: Yes, it is. It's all about redemption and it's our final statement that we have to finish the album. We were going through a dark period, and this song was born from that. Originally we were going to end it with ‘Sleep’, but that would have been too dark. We put it here because we wanted the listener to finish the album with a sense of hope and redemption.

■「Blood」 (Hidden track). —It's a weird song, it's very fun, very cabaret-like… Gerard: Yeah, this is another song that's commenting on a lot of things. Itt's got a bit of a Queen selfish sound to it. There's a song on their album ‘A Night At The Opera’ called ‘Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon’, which is also a simple song musically, but lyrically very strong. The song mentions a lot about the blood we've dedicated to the album. It's like we're saying, “This is the whole human wreckage, we've given you this misery and we're going to leave you with this feeling”. It's like saying, “This was such a pain making this album, goodbye”.

—How much does ‘Teenagers’ reflect your own experience of being a drug addict until three years ago? Gerard: A whole lot. I remember going to high school on drugs all the time. I was a very cranky guy because I had a strong sense of resignation. I wasn't a troublemaker, I was just high on drugs at the back of the class. I wasn't interested in what I was learning or what was being taught. Because I was convinced that it wasn't really going to help me. I met some very ugly people in high school. They were pretty nasty to each other, and that's how I learnt that there is a hierarchy in the adult world. I think it's very important to learn that, so I'm going to send my kids to high school. Because they have to learn that. What they really learn is, “Okay, now I know what it's like to go out there and how rough the adult world can be.”

—How was it with your parents? I think you must have a better relationship with them now that you're off drugs. Gerard: I think most kids get along better with their parents when they are older. I got along well with my parents even then. I did my homework and I got B grades on average. They knew I was going to be an artist. I wasn't going to be an artist or a lawyer.

—Was rehabilitation (for drugs) hard? Gerard: No, it was the year of touring afterwards that was hard. But I had my bandmates to help me and I had a great therapist with me, so I was fine. I also had a manager who looked after me. It was easy to get clean (from drugs), but the pressure afterwards and the year of work was really hard.

Translator's Note: Well, haven't done a MCR interview translation for some time. For some reason, I'm on a roll in terms of scanning and translating stuff.

Please do support me via my ko-fi! ☕

#Gerard Way #Ray Toro #Frank Iero #Mikey Way #Bob Bryar #My Chemical Romance #The Black Parade era #my scan #translation #interview #INROCK #INROCK January 2007

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ghostlyangels1204 · 1 year ago

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The moment Simon Riley came home.

Cont: Fluff, vague and quick mentions of blood, death (he's a soldier, I mean), Simon being more Simon than Ghost. <3 He's a precious, deadly soldier :(

The moment Simon walked through the door, he felt the tension lift off his shoulders. All the weight of the world had rested upon them since he left months ago; blood, death and bullets surrounded him. Finding him in the dark, hunting him down.

But now, he could leave that all behind him. He could leave his worries, stress; all of it, tucked away in his rucksack that stank of the battlefield. He drops it to the floor, the thud emanating down the halls. With a roll of his tense shoulders, he walks through the house- on the hunt. Searching.

You usually waited for him, perched on the sofa with a cup of tea; one of your favorite trashy shows playing in the background, like you were watching it with him. But, this time, he can’t hear anything. He can’t hear the loud laughs from the TV, can’t hear your sickly sweet giggles. He feels as if he’s gone deaf. It is late, he reasons with himself. Maybe you fell asleep?

And with no lights on in the house, his mind goes into mission-mode. You’re the prized package, and he needs to find you. He turns what feels like corner after corner, round and round, waiting to see just a glimpse of the life he left here. But nothing.

With long strides, he turns into the living room, face to face with the mountain of pillows left in a basket in the corner of the room. The pillows he all but begged you not to get, “Love, we already have enough pillows, we don’t need two more. The sofas gonna’ be like a bloody bouncy castle,”. If 141 could see how you’d wrapped him around your finger- they’d ask Laswell if the Cartel had cloned him, opting to swap one of their own for the monster on the battlefield that is, Lieutenant Ghost. Anything to keep you happy, that was his motto. And those pillows, as gaudy and expensive as they were, did just that.

As he flicks the lamp adjacent to the sofa on, his vision tunnels.

There.

There you are. You had waited for him. You kept your promise, and he kept his.

He tightens the laces of his boots, the cotton nearly snapping from how tightly he winds them out of his own frustration. You’re standing right there, right in front of him, watching as he prepares once again. Like his own obedient little soldier. “You promise you’ll come back to me?”, “As long as you’re there waiting, my love.” And that was it, with a firm, but delicate- you all over, he quips- kiss from your lips to his, a mark of his strength, he walks out the door. Leaving his little soldier behind.

But now, he’s here. And so are you, curled up with a blanket, deep in the throes of sleep. Whispered breaths leaving your lips as you dream. He can’t help but feel like he’s in his own dream.

Slowly, and as quiet can be- Simon walks over to your sleeping figure, and drops down beside you. His face resting on your stomach, inhaling your sweet scent, anything to ground him. For him to recognize where he is.

That’s the moment, Simon Riley came home.

Word Count: 542

#cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #ghost cod #simon riley fluff #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #call of duty #ghost x reader #fluff #cod modern warfare #cod fluff

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reidsdimples · 1 year ago

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When Everything Changed | Part 2

Part 1

Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Enemies to lovers- Angst 🖤

Inspired by Wires by Athlete

Tw: hospitals, injury, Spencer near death

Your feud with Spencer feels trivial after you’re both shot

The first time you wake, you’re in a panic. The ceiling of the trauma unit is speeding by in a blur while people around you push the stretcher. There’s an immense amount of pressure and pain in your shoulder which is probably why you’re screaming. It’s also probably why every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire.

“They’re FBI agents! Get them in here now,” somebody screams.

You black out again and come to as you’re being moved onto a table. The room sways as you crash harshly into the metal surface.

“Spencer…” you murmur as one of the surgeons places a mask over your face. All goes black with shouts and medical equipment blaring in your ears.

The room comes into view in a blur. You try to glance around but the figure standing over you is indistinguishable.

Finally your brain catches up to your eyes and you see JJ and Rossi at your bedside.

“What happ…” your voice gives out.

“You were shot in the shoulder. It was a flesh wound, they got the bullet out,” Rossi says and places his hand on yours.

You allow Rossi’s father-like comfort to wash over you before panic seized you once more. The room stirs and your stomach drops as the reality of the situation kicks in.

You wince and lay your head back, it feels like someone placed a led weight in your shoulder. Then it comes back to you.

“Reid, what happened to Reid?” You gasp.

“He’s still in surgery,” JJ answers. Her tone tells you it’s bad.

“How long?”

“You’ve been here about 4 hours, Spencer’s been in surgery for 3,” Rossi informs you.

“Is he…” tears well in your eyes. He took a bullet for you. Both bullets should have hit you. Why would he do that?

“He’s in critical condition,” Rossi’s voice is filled with sorrow. The words are a blow to your abdomen, drawing all of the oxygen from your lungs.

“No,” you whisper and try to sit up. Guilt creeps its way in and claws its way down your spine.

“It’s not your fault, Y/N,” JJ reassures you. You shake your head.

The doctor enters and begins checking you out and encouraging you to rest. You argue that you can’t rest until you know your coworker is okay.

While the gesture was nice, whatever pain medicine he pushes into your IV sends you back into darkness before you can stop it.

The next time you wake, you feel more normal. As though waking up from regular sleep instead of from passing out in shock.

Sunlight filters through the massive glass windows which overlook the city. Your concept of time is non existent but at least you only have one IV in you now instead of three.

“You’re awake,” Garcia smiles and stands. Her usual bouncy optimism is missing in her words. She looks exhausted.

“Did he…” you don’t even know what to ask.

“He’s out of surgery. He’s critical but stabilized,” she answers in a hushed tone.

“I’m so sorry,” your voice cracks.

“Why are you apologizing? You were shit too,” she softens her voice and pushes your hair back from your face,

“That bullet should have hit me, I don’t know why he got in the way,” you sniffle.

“That bullet might have struck you in the head,” she raises her eyebrows like you’re being ridiculous. She was right though, your head is right at the same height as his neck.

“He couldn’t have known that,” you reason.

“No but he instinctively would have protected anybody on this team. He didn’t have to think about it,” she tries not to cry.

“I know,” you nod.

Just then Hotch and Prentiss enter the room, smiling to see you awake.

“Hey,” Prentiss hugs you gently.

“What are the doctors saying?” You ask anyone out loud.

“They’re hopeful you’ll only need to be monitored for another 24 hours,” Hotch informs.

“I meant about Reid,” you say.

“The bullet entered the front of his neck and lodged into his trachea. It was touch and go for a while but they were able to remove the bullet and reconstruct the damaged airway,” Hotch starts.

“He went into respiratory distress this morning and had to get intubated. He’s on a ventilator now. That’s why he’s still critical. He’s not breathing fully on his own and they’re trying to drain the blood and fluid from his lungs,” Garcia adds.

“I…” you lip quivers and tears start to fall. You’re horrified for him. “He must be so scared,” you whisper.

“He’s sedated, he doesn’t know what’s happening,” Prentiss says softly.

Of course he’s sedated, he wouldn’t be awake and intubated.

You’re about to say something when one of the ICU’s alarms begins to blare.

“Code blue, room 3489,” you startle and sit up as the three of them rush out of the room. Nurses and doctors take off down the hall.

“Wait!” You cry.

Code blue- someone is in respiratory or cardiac arrest. You want nothing more than to get out of the damned bed but you’re hooked up to an IV and an alarm.

Garcia nods and throws her hand over her mouth before darting back to you.

“It’s not him, it’s not Reid,” she huffs a relieved crying sort of laugh and hugs you.

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t deal with losing someone on the team. It would destroy you.

You couldn’t imagine going to work and not competing with him to be the smartest in the room. It was annoying but god right now you missed it. You even missed his dad’s and his attitude and snarky remarks. You were so mad at him for taking that step in front of you. Yet you just wanted to be there at his bedside like the rest of the team.

“I want to see him,” you tell her.

“You will. You just have to focus on getting your strength back first,” she says. Garcia had a way of saying things that was so comforting.

The rest of that day was spent sleeping and getting a play by play of Reid’s progress.

The following morning you were up on your feet and able to walk around perfectly fine. Your arm was in a sling to prevent excess movement on your shoulder but for the most part you felt fine.

You were eager to go see Reid, though you weren’t sure why. The team had warned you that it wouldn’t be easy to see him hooked up to the breathing tube and other wires. You should be reluctant. But you just needed to show yourself that at the very least, he was still alive.

Stepping into his room was jarring and you froze in the doorway. His entire body was limp, his head flopped to the side, and his hair pulled from his face with a rubber band. He looked everything and nothing like himself.

He had drains and tubes coming out of his lungs and out of the hole in his throat, the tube down his throat forced his Adam’s apple to be protruded out, and you couldn’t count the amount of medication drips he was hooked up to.

His usual dark circles were deeper, more purple, his skin pale, and a feeding tube was inserted into his nose. You swallowed hard and took a slow step closer to him. He was always so animated and full of life, yapping constantly. To see him so motionless, so silent… it was devastating.

Morgan was sitting in the chair next to his bed, his head down next to Reid. He had fallen asleep. Reid was like his little brother, he hadn’t left his side. He was still wearing the same clothes from the night of the shooting.

You could see the breathing machine pumping, inflating his lungs for him. You could hear a low hum and what sounded like fluid in there. Occasionally it looked like he would cough or gag around the tube.

“It’s normal, his body isn’t used to there being a tube there,” the nurse informs you as she injects something into his IV line.

“Does it hurt?” You ask.

“He’s not aware of it if it does,” she gives you a sympathetic smile.

His fingers twitched momentarily but it was the only sign of movement.

You pull a chair up next to him and sit slowly. You can’t take your eyes off of him. You physically feel your heart break seeing him like this. Seeing any one of your team like this would devastate you. But Reid… you had a complicated but reluctantly understanding with. He was more like you than anyone else there. Seeing him often felt like looking in a mirror, seeing him hurt was too much.

“The machine is only doing 20% of the breathing for him. The fluid has reduced a lot. This is progress,” Hotch says somberly. You nod and wipe a tear.

You wished Reid could talk. He’d give you a million different probabilities of how this could play out along with a run down of what all of the equipment did. He’d be realistic but you had a feeling he’d give you hope. Maybe though, you just wanted to hear his voice.

You touch his hand, and trace his fingers delicately. You wished you could help him. Wished you could do something.

Garcia rubs Morgans back and gestures for him to follow her. The team leaves you to have a minute alone with him.

“Why did you take that step?” Is the first thing you say through tears. “That was so stupid,” you laugh. “You’re supposed to be the genius,” you breathe out another tear fueled laugh.

You wrap your hand over his and squeeze.

“This team needs you, please just keeping fighting Reid,” you implore him. “Your mom will be here tonight. It took some strings to pull but Garcia has her on a plane now.”

“I’m so mad at you. You brilliant asshole,” you can’t help but to smile.

And then, you don’t know why you do it. He would hate it surely, but you stand up and plant a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Your hair looks ridiculous by the way,” you whisper and push the baby hairs back.

You start to think that maybe if you hadn’t holstered your gun, Reid wouldn’t have felt the need to step in front of you to take the shot. That’s realization hits you like a ton of bricks and forces you to sit back down.

You were really starting to feel like it was your fault.

“I’m so sorry, Reid,” your voice cracks and you squeeze his hand a final time before leaving the room.

“Let’s get you home,” JJ says and grabs your uninjured arm.

Days passed, days passed and you didn’t want to leave your house. You listened to the doctors and primarily did bed rest, but you were ancy.

Spencer had been taken off of sedation last night and was becoming more lucid. You would get to see him tonight. Garcia says he’s improving quickly.

The last few days passed in a blur, the same way a hummingbird passes by a kitchen window. You rub your arms and sip your coffee. You don’t know how what you’re going to say to him.

Part of you still warred with guilt, with the way that technically you guys didn’t even like each other. Yet something had changed. Something gave way that night. You couldn’t explain it but you needed to talk to him. Maybe you needed to know whether or not he blamed you.

Did you make a bad call by holstering your gun?

You didn’t know. Hotch still hadn’t debriefed you or taken your statement of events.

Night falls and you step into Spencer’s hospital room hesitantly. You had been haunted by the state in which you saw him last time, the trauma of it all clawing at your heart.

To your surprise, his bed is propped up and there’s a book in his hand. You smile with delight at the way he can’t help but attempt to lean forward over the book like always.

“Wow,” you say. It’s remarkable how much better he looks. Still injured, still disheveled, but so much better.

He waves at you with that flat smile he favors.

“He can’t talk right now,” Morgan informs. “But he wrote down a list,” he holds up a stack of books.

“Of course Dr. Reid wakes up from a coma and wants to read Dostoevsky,” you smile.

He doesn’t return the sentiment but grabs what appears to be a white board and marker. He starts scribbling before holding it up to you.

“How are you?” It reads.

“Sore, but alive,” you want to say ‘thanks to you’ but you refrain. Instead you take a seat on the opposite side of the bed as Morgan.

“Well now that you’re here, I think I’m going to go home and rest,” Morgan sighs and stands.

“You’ve only been here a week,” you joke. “Get out of here, we’ll call you if anything changes.”

Spencer starts scribbling on his board again.

“I’m sorry,” it says in his signature hand writing.

“For what?” You ask softly and adjust in your chair to look in his bloodshot eyes.

“That you still got hit,” it says simply and he frowns.

“Don’t apologize! You saved my life,” you respond exasperatedly. “We almost lost you Spencer. You have nothing to be sorry for,” you don’t realize it but you start pacing. “I was so mad at you for stepping in front of me. That bullet should have been for me,” you gesture at him.

His eyebrows furrow and he starts shaking his head.

“No.” He writes on the board.

You sigh and sit back down when you see that his heart rate increases significantly on the monitor.

“Are you okay?” You redirect the conversation. He thinks for a moment and you find yourself wanting to touch his hair, to comfort him. It’s a new desire, an odd one.

“They haven’t explained what happened to me. I don’t remember,” he scribbles.

“Do you want me to tell you?” You ask and place your hand on his.

He looks down at where you touch him but nods.

You tell him everything from the moment you saw him bleeding to the surgery and the coma.

“But you’re out of the woods and making great strides to recovery,” you finish.

He presses his palm into his eye socket as though his head hurts before writing again.

“Thank you. I’m okay,” is all it says.

“You’re straining your eyes by reading,” you point out when he blinks as thought his head hurts.

He nods, aware of that fact.

“Here,” you take the book from him. He lets you and points out where he left off. You begin to read to him and he lays back in the bed with a deep breath.

“…He was so obsessed with what had happened to him that he was afraid to put it into words, lest he should lose it all at once, lest he should be left with nothing. He was so possessed by the idea that he was afraid to think of anything else; he wanted to forget everything else, to think of nothing, to do nothing, to feel nothing, so as not to lose what he had gained…” you trail off.

When you glance over at him he’s gripping his journal, the pen beside him, and he’s fallen asleep.

You dim the lights and take his journal from him. You glance only at what he had dozed off writing.

‘I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.’

The quote takes you by surprise, mostly the familiarity of it. You can’t place where you’d read it before nor could you figure out why he was writing it.

Nonetheless you place the journal on the table beside him before moving to get comfortable in the recliner. You would sleep there tonight.

Sleep finds you slowly, the quote he sketched replaying in your mind. You’ll figure out where you read it tomorrow.

A/N: I just finished season 8, I had no idea until after writing this that Spence suffers a similar injury in season 9- oops.

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thefandomsfervent · 8 months ago

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Viktor x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 8) - Burnt Sienna

Mostly reader and Jayce perspective today! Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom. Thank you for reading <3

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It had been a couple days since your accidental nap. When you had come back that first night Jayce made you explain “what the hell beetle juice” was to him for the two hours you had spent there. Viktor had already heard your explanation but he listened again anyway, nodding along. The two of them asking questions about the process and noting things down. Viktor had shown Jayce a passage he had noted, something about human nature. Apparently it led them to some potential new use for Hextech although you had no idea how it was all connected. They had thanked you for talking with them, and thrown themselves back at their work.

It was sweet that they cared about what you were doing. And it was so good to see them get over their slump. It inspired you to do the same.

You hadn’t been to your studio much in these past weeks. Or. At all, really. You had been at the Institute for years, your old studio had a chaos that you loved and knew. It wasn’t wrong to assume that you missed it, you did. But it was more like you were scared of the provided one. This new one was daunting. All white walls, glass tables, furniture sets that had never seen paint a day in their lives.

Was it nice? Yes. Was the frivolousness of how they provided you with everything just rubbing you the wrong way? Also yes. You had no doubts that once your assignment here was done that they would throw it all out, not even donate it. But you had work to do. And it was work you didn’t want to commandeer the lab for. Building and stretching canvas was a tough job, and one you got embarrassingly loud in. You had enough funds set aside to buy a pre-built canvas. And you absolutely had in the past. Yet this project just demanded a fresh start. You wanted to use every skill set in your arsenal. “I mean, this thing is going to be sitting in an actual art hall.” Once it was built you’d move it to the lab, somehow.

So when early morning came you loaded up your coin purse with assorted cogs and set to the markets. You'd left a note on the lab door, today would be the first day you wouldn't be in at all. A faint blue light under the door and an electric buzzing in the air told you that someone, likely Viktor, was still working.

You needed wood, a new mallet, and nails. Lots of nails. The last two on the list you got pretty easily. A mallet you could get at almost any craft stall, the nails at the same place, but the wood? You were picky.

The frame needed to be big. The Academy and Institute had given you a set of dimensions to choose from and of course you had gone with the biggest one. 60in x 50in. You needed a wood that was soft enough that you wouldn't be hammering in nails all day, and that would keep the canvas taught but not so tight it was bouncy. You needed a wood that was strong enough it wouldn't bow under pressure from stretching, but also wouldn't collapse on itself after years of display either. Another thing is that whoever sold it to you needed to be willing to cut and deliver it.

You're at a Café enjoying a drink and going over your notes. You've hit four carpentry stalls today, six if you're counting the two arbor stalls, and you're realizing no one is going to cut it for you and deliver it. It would have to be one or the other. It wasn't that they didn't want to, but couldn't if you wanted them today. You were impatient. The idea of scheduling a pickup sets a dull throbbing behind your eyes. Especially if that meant dealing with Enforcers. Adding a saw to your list, you decide to just bite the bullet. You'll go back to the second stall. That one had the widest selection of wood, and something tells you that if you bring the older lady at the counter a treat she may give you a discount. Plan made, now you just had to buy the wood and have it delivered in time for lunch. It'd give you time to do the math at the very least.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Jayce is excited. He and Viktor have several new theories surrounding travel for Hextech. At the rate they were going they could present these to Heimerdinger by the end of the week for grants. He almost misses your note on his way in. The yank he gave the door makes the paper flutter.

"Best of luck in your studies ventures today, I'll be on my own for a bit (maybe a couple days) putting together the canvas for the painting. If you guys need me for anything I'll be in my studio or my room. Feel free to leave me a note back if you don't find me :D

P.S. if the pigment "beetle juice" looks FULLY dried please let me know!!

-y/n"

When he turns it over he sees that you've left instructions on how to find your studio and room. He didn't realize your writing was so emphatic. It makes him think of his own note taking, constantly scribbling out and pointing things in different directions to circle back on later. He tucks it in his pocket, he'll let Viktor see it later, after he's slept some. He's been as high strung as ever and Jayce wasn't sure what was going on.

He takes a moment just to look at him. The fellow scientist was standing at a table, chalk in one hand, cane in the other. Viktor was making notes on the board, equations rubbed out and rewritten. His hair was tousled beyond belief. Jayce half wonders when he brushed it last.

“Hey V.” He keeps his voice soft, slow.

“Jayce, what do you think about these?” Waving his hand at the chalkboard, dust falling off his sleeve. Attention unwaveringly focused on the next correction he makes.

“I think we can talk about them more later.” The wrong thing to say, apparently. Viktor doesn’t even turn to face him. His spine stiffens, finger tapping against the chalk. “After you’ve slept, is all.” He turns at that. A half-turn, that has his waist twisting, his face barely visible. Those amber eyes narrowed in annoyance, his nose scrunched, lips pursed. They were chapped.

“You do not have time to review them now?”

“I do, but if I do now we’ll get caught up and you won’t sleep.” Viktor faces him fully at that. Jayce does his best to hold his stance.

“Do you not want to get caught up with me?” He ignores the goosebumps on his arms at that.

“Vik, please.” He gets a huff. “I’ll bring you a sweetmilk latte later if you go. 6 hours, you’ll be back here by noon and we can go over them then.” Viktor hums at that. He smiles.

“5 hours.” He’s walking to the door, patting Jayce on the arm as he passes. “And one of those ginger crumbly things they sell too.”

“If they have one, it's yours.” Another hum, and the lab door is closing.

“I’m working with a toddler that hates nap time.” Jayce is rubbing his face as he walks to the board.

“That also expects results.” He’s pulling out his pen from his pocket, and he feels crinkling. Right. Your note. He pulls it out to look at it again. He should get you something too. It’s always Viktor bringing drinks and you bringing pastries. Smoothing out the paper, he makes a mental note to visit your studio soon. Maybe drag Viktor with him to get him out of the lab for more than just sleep. You’ve been watching them work for almost two months now, it only seems right to see what you get up to.

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--------------.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ Part 7-.-Part 9.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .-----------------

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

#fanfic #fanfiction #arcane #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #x reader #viktor lol #jayvik #viktor #jayce talis #viktor my beloved #jayce arcane #artist reader #everyday I wish I could see them irl #just imagine the full sass vs puppy energy

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animemakesmeanxiouss · 7 months ago

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Just a prank.

TW: Lots of words, discrimination, abuse, scars.

The heat was getting to everyone in the dorms, we were all sweating bullets. It was too hot to go anywhere, or even do anything.

We were all in as little clothes as we could possibly be without being naked or inappropriate. The girls in teeny tiny shorts and tops ranging from bikinis, crop tops and tank tops.

I, myself was in a tank top, too afraid that Mineta would pounce if I were in anything else despite knowing that the other guys would kick his ass and leave him on the coatrack if he tried anything on any of us. At least, that's what I told the other girls when they asked.

Most of us were in the common area because that's where most of the fans were and my, what a sight it was, with the majority of the guys walking around completely shirtless.

Being in a hero school had many perks, including the intense dedication everyone had to their training, leaving their muscles so incredibly defined and on a scorcher like today, glistening with sweat.

Bakugou looked to be asleep on the long coach in front of the television with Kirishima wide awake at the other end, where his feet lay and Kaminari beside him but on the single person couch. They spoke in hushed whispers, my sensitive ears perked up at what sounded dangerously similar to my name so when the redhead looked over at me, I raised an eyebrow and he gave a nervous smile I grew more suspicious.

Whatever, it's too hot to care and those two dorks are harmless.

Sauntering over to the kitchen, I heard them hurriedly whisper something like "Now now now, she's in the kitchen!"

I rolled my eyes, curious about what exactly they were trying to pull, and opened the freezer and pulled out the bucket of ice cubes I'd prepared last night.

Suddenly there was a really nice smell infiltrating my nose. It smelled..familiar. But not in a food kind of way, it electrified my skin and I needed to know what it was and where it was coming from.

I went around the room with the bucket of ice cubes, offering it to my friends and classmates in hopes it would help them cool down and as they graciously accepted, I heard a sleepy Bakugou.

"What the fuck are you guys rolling on me?"

The closer I got to the trio, the more potent the scent became, and soon enough, I lost myself.

I was rubbing my nose happily against the source of the scent, I didn't even know what it was or when I managed to get so close to it until I looked up and saw Bakugou staring at me in shock, face red, along with almost everyone else in the room.

After a moment, I realized what position I was in.

I had climbed onto Bakugou's lap and was...rubbing my nose all over him...purring.

My face turned red and I quickly got off of him, stumbling backwards and nearly falling after tripping against the coffee table until he grabbed me by the wrist to catch me.

What the fuck is going on? I thought, then noticed muffled laughter coming from my right. Bakugou noticed it too.

"What the fuck did you guys do?" he asked, angrily.

They couldn't contain it anymore and burst out laughing, tears pouring from their eyes.

Denki managed to catch his breath for a moment and tossed something our way, Bakugou catching it effortlessly.

He opened his fist to reveal a ball. It looked like a small bouncy ball, covered in small seed-like material, possibly dried herbs.

I slowly, and carefully, sniffed at the ball while trying to retain my composure and immediately I realized what it was.

Kirishima spoke up and grabbed his backpack from beside the couch, pulling out a resealable plastic bag with 7 more of the little herb balls, the scent increasing in my nostrils tenfold, forcing me to tense so I didn't lose control again.

"We got a great deal on them," he laughed.

This was cruel. I couldn't look at them. My ears lay flat in fear and hurt, while Bakugou continued to look between me and his crew.

"What is this?" he asked me, softly.

"Catnip," I whispered, tears pricking at my eyes as I looked up at him.

His own eyes widened in realization and the others around had similar reactions of gasps, disappointed sighs, and even a few oh no's, especially from the other heteromorphs in the class.

"We sure got you guys good, huh," Denki said as the two men rose to their feet and began toward us.

HISS

That stopped them in their tracks with confused, and maybe even scared, looks on their faces, before I pounced over the couch and escaped to my room to cry in peace.

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"What just happened?" Kirishima asked, Denki nodding along in confusion.

"You're idiots, that's what happened," Bakugou replied, picking the bits of catnip off his body, "You seriously thought rubbing catnip all over my neck and chest was a good idea?"

"We thought it'd be a fun way for you two to break the ice, since, you know," the redhead explained, while giving him a knowing look.

"Yeah, well, you just made things way worse," Bakugou grumbled, about to curse them more when Shoji stepped in.

"Why don't you go wash that off and we will explain," the quiet man said, with the other heteromorphs behind him, nodding.

Bakugou grumbled again, this time in agreement, knowing he could never know what they'd gone through or express it in the way they could, as he walked away to shower off the remaining dried herbs from his body.

The two troublemakers sat on the couch, ready to understand what exactly was so wrong about their "harmless" prank, the heteromorphs sitting all around them, ready to discuss an issue they know all too well.

"Well, there's no simple way to put this but let's start with this. She's new, guys. She's still getting to know all of us and it's really scary to join a community where 20-something people have been a community since high school and you're the new one. The only new one," he began, "and being a heteromorph at that. It's scary when you don't know what to expect, how the others will treat you. You know how we've been discriminated against."

Eijiro and Denki began, "But we weren't discrim-"

"You were," Mina cut them off, raising her hand to stop them from speaking, "Not in the way most people think of, but you were. You used her cat features against her."

"You dehumanized her," Tokoyami continued, arms folded, "you treated her like an animal instead of your equal. Imagine if we went to lunch together and instead of be able to get regular food, I was given bird seed."

That seemed to strike a cord with the boys, their eyes widening and covering their mouths, guilt written all over their faces as they looked at each other realizing how badly they fucked up.

"That's not to say you're bad guys," Kouji expressed, "Or that these jokes can never be made."

"But she's not at that level of trust with any of us, yet," Ojira said, "Not even with those of us who are in the same boat as her."

"It all takes time," Mina finished, "and, well, after this "prank", it'll take even more. But before we know, I'm sure she'll be making you charge her phone, Denki, and cracking walnuts on your arm, Eiji," she laughed.

"She doesn't like walnuts," Bakugou interrupted, drying his hair from the shower he returned from.

Mina rolled her eyes at him, and returned her gaze to the two guys currently in the doghouse. They looked around at their friends, who took the time to explain to them what they did wrong and how it hurt you, and thanked them graciously. The others who had sat back, silently listening and absorbing the lesson Kirishima and Kaminari were given, thought carefully about what their friends may have experienced based on their appearances alone, taking on a whole new perspective and gaining a deeper respect for them, bringing the entire class even closer together, until-

"What do we do?" Denki asked, guiltily.

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I woke up sweating in my bed after crying myself to sleep. Feeling all gross and sticky, I made the decision to go shower, grabbing clothes to change into as well as toiletries, and was about to make my way to the bathroom.

My heart still hurt from the day's events and I didn't want to face anyone yet, so I leaned against the door to listen and see if anyone was nearby or if I could make it without having to deal with anyone. The only sounds were coming from down the hall, where the kitchen and living area were. I lay my ears flat against the door to try and hear more, but the sound of hushed speaking and fans whirring stayed in that place.

I gently opened my door and quietly made my way to the shower as quickly as possible, hoping nobody would hear me and luckily, did not run into anyone.

The shower was pleasant, starting off at a decently warm temperature until I got used to the water and slowly made it colder to get rid of the sweat caused by the heat and cool off.

Once I was feeling refreshed, I changed into a fresh pajama set, another pair of shorts with a tank top, and made my way back to my room as quickly and quietly as I came.

Climbing back into bed, I sat against the pillows and the headboard and thought about what came next. How was I going to approach any of my classmates again after this? They all just think I'm some dumb fucking cat who can't handle some goddamn catnip.

Knock knock

Oh shit. What now?

"It's Mina and Shoji," came a muffled voice before slowly seeing the knob turn and a pink head a hair pop through.

"Can we come in?" she asked softly. I couldn't even bear to look at her, so I just nodded.

In case the rest of her pink self and behind followed the tall quiet man until they both sat on the bed, giving me enough distance to feel safe but close enough to feel their concern.

"How are you?" she asked.

I gave a small shrug and clutched a pillow to my chest, still unable to meet their eyes.

She sighed and grabbed one of my hands, "Eijiro and Denki are so dumb. So so dumb. But they had no idea, they thought it was a silly little prank."

Shoji continued, "We explained everything to them and now that they understand, they feel terrible and want to apologize but asked us to talk to you first in case you weren't ready. Can they come in?"

I looked up at the two, warily, and gave a slight nod, not sure if this was a good idea. Shoji called out for them to come in, and a bit of a ruckus ensued.

First, Bakugou came into view dragging stuff and quickly (and roughly) tossed it onto the floor.

"Ouch, Bakugou! We were coming in here anyway!" the redhead complained.

"Yeah, we didn't need you to throw us!" Denki whined.

"Shut up and get to apologizing, idiots," he replied, before looking over at you and giving a slight nod of acknowledgement as he leaned against the doorframe.

The two men grumbled and instead of getting on their feet, they were both on their knees and bowed their heads as they began to apologize.

"We are so incredibly sorry, " Denki began, "we were just trying to pull a little prank on you and Bakugou to get you guys talking."

Bakugou scoffed behind them

"We didn't know how disrespectful it was to you until the others told us," Kirishima said, "Or how hurtful. We consider you one of us and thought it would be a funny story that'd all laugh at later on."

"Again we are so sorry, " they pleaded, "and will do whatever we can to make it up to you." They bowed as they ended their speech.

I looked over them and could see in their eyes how genuine they were in their feelings, and how awful they felt. Then shifted my gaze over to Mina and Shoji, knowing that it was my choice to forgive and move on or not.

I reached my hand out to caress Shoji's masked face, know underneath it would be several scars, wondering if I should show them just how badly they hurt me. Would they really understand?

He nodded sadly, knowing how vulnerable I was about to be.

I sighed and stood, looking back at the three guys in front of us.

"I accept your apology, " I said softly, "but I want to show you all something."

Everyone, except for Shoji, got a curious look on their face as I unzipped my shorts and began to fold them down a bit.

"I'm not stripping, so don't even think that," I said sharply and they nodded.

Then I lifted my tanktop until it was above my belly button.

Their eyes widened at the sight of deep, jagged scar going from my naval deep into my pelvic region and even further below my shorts than I was willing to display.

"When I was a kid, I was homeschooled because my parents feared what people might do. They had heard that a young heteromorph boy had been attacked by people after he had saved a young girl from drowning, all because of his appearance, " I explained, reaching out for Shoji's masked face again and he leaned into my hand, "He lived not too far from me, and I recently found out he was in my class here."

"After they got him, there was a small mob in our area, hunting down heteromorphs to try and scare us into leaving. Most of us didn't want to, but even those that didn't couldn't afford to so we formed a small little community watch. That way, whenever the mob approached someone would warn us and we'd all hide until they left."

"One day, I had been napping in my bed and usually when that happened, my parents shut the blinds and closed the door and I knew it was time to hide. Unfortunately, my parents had gone to the shops so they didn't know about the warning that day, and I was in too deep of a sleep to hear it."

"I woke up from my nap and looked around the house for my parents, not being able to find them, I went outside to the front yard, thinking they might be gardening or having tea."

"Instead, it was the mob. They saw my ears and tail and started closing in on me, saying things like 'Don't you know cats are an invasive species?' and 'Guess we're gonna have to perform a TNR on this kitten.' before a couple of them grabbed me and held me down"

"TNR?" Bakugou questioned. I didn't realize he had gotten closer.

I let out a shakey breath before I answered.

"Trap. Neuter. Release." I couldn't stop the few tears that had escaped.

Again, Mina, Denki, and Eiji all gasped in shock again while Shoji gently squeezed my hand for reassurance.

"So they sterilized you? They sterilized a child?" The blonde seethed in anger.

"They tried," I replied softly, "Luckily for me, they weren't as smart as they thought. The cut through many layers of skin and fat, but didn't manage to get to any organs before my parents and several others arrived with law enforcement and a medical team."

I gently traced the raised scar I still had displayed while giving them a moment to process everything I just said. There was a long moment of silence and then, when I looked up, they all had tears in their eyes too.

"We are so sorry," Kirishima said, follow by Denki's, "We will do everything to make it up to you. We'll show you we aren't like those monsters, we promise."

"I know you're not, and I appreciate your apologies. More often than not, people say we're overreacting," I said as I gave them each a hug, followed by Mina, and Shoji, who gave me a very tight squeeze followed by a soft proud of you.

"There isn't a single thing you overreacted to," Bakugou muttered, with his jaw clenched and avoiding my eyes.

"Thank you. All of you." Everyone stood up to leave, except for Bakugou who had never sat down, and looked to me to lead them back out into the open and out of my room that felt like a radiator at this point.

"I'll be there in a bit, I just need to recharge my mind a bit," sending them away, "Could you stay for a minute, Bakugou?"

He hesitated, but did as I asked and let the others leave before closing my bedroom door and standing awkwardly.

I beckoned him to sit on the bed with me, which he did, again awkwardly.

"I'm really sorry," he began before I could even say anything.

"What? What are you sorry for?" It was clear he had no idea what was happening, and he even took part in educating the two boys and getting them to apologize.

"If I'd have known they were going to do some stupid shit like that just to get us talking, I would've killed them before they even went shopping for the damn things"

Oh. He feels responsible.

"Bakugou, you have nothing to apologize for. You've done so much for me today, I actually wanted to thank you."

His eyes widened in surprise, which was somewhat expected.

"But I wanted to ask you something. Why were they so intent on getting us to talk. What did they mean when they wanted to 'break the ice' between us?"

His eyes widened even more, although I didn't even think it was possible, followed by his face turning a bright shade of pink and he stuttered to respond before settling on a they're just being idiots.'

"I think the worst part of it all," I chuckled, "is that I really love catnip."

Bakugou stared for a moment before giving a small chuckle himself and smirking, "I could tell. You were enjoying yourself quite a bit."

This time I could feel my own face turn bright pink before he made thinks a bit serious again.

"So...you and Shoji are a thing?"

I blinked a couple of times before understanding what he meant and explaining that no. If anything, we were more like siblings, bonded through shared trauma and experiences, with scars to prove it.

"The scar I share with him isn't as noble as yours though, being through the war," I said as I gently touched the one on his face

"Yes it is," he countered, "People just don't know as much about the war you guys are fighting," leaning his face further into my hand. We sat there in comfortable silence for a few minutes, taking eachother in while still holding his face in my hand, running my thumb over the evidence of his battle. He reached out with his own, hesitantly, and silently asking if he could feel mine. I gave a subtle nod and stiffened when I felt his thumb gently trace the pattern of my trauma, before relaxing.

"Hey," he called, "Have those two idiots ruined this for me?"

I gave another small chuckle before shaking my head.

"Good," he answered, "Because I'm going to make sure nobody ever hurts you again."

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Do not copy, repost, translate, plagiarize, and process in any way, shape, or form, including through AI.

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A/N: This is probably weird. But it's been in my head for weeks.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bnha bakugou #mha #mha bakugou #bakugo

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hainge · 3 months ago

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Third bullet: Drop your guard

cowboy!kaiser x fem!reader pt. 3 (wc 6.2k) from Silver bullets and stolen hearts part II part IV warnings: MDNI!!!! angst, abuse, child abuse, murder, violence, gun usage, burning, trauma, swearing

Kaiser left your room with a dumb grin plastered across his face. Each step down the stairs was light, almost bouncy, like a boy who’d just won himself a prize at the county fair. He adjusted his hat, still slightly crooked from your drunken hug, and ran a hand through his tousled hair with smug satisfaction.

He pushed the saloon doors open with both hands, boots clicking dramatically on the floorboards as he stepped back into your father’s bar. The place was a little quieter now, the late-night crowd thinning into smaller clusters of card games and quiet drinks. Your father glanced up from his seat behind the bar.

Kaiser tipped his hat and gave him a lazy smirk. “Your daughter’s been delivered, safe, sound, and sleeping like a baby. Can’t say the same for your liquor cabinet, though.”

Your dad snorted, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Good. Don’t let her catch you braggin’ about it.”

Kaiser chuckled, but just as he turned to walk toward his crew, still gathered around their table like outlaws plotting mischief, your father’s voice cut through the din.

“Kaiser.”

He stopped and glanced back. The grin faded a bit.

“Yeah?”

“Office. In twenty minutes. Bring the boys.”

Kaiser’s expression shifted into something colder, more collected. The lightness drained from his face, and he gave a quiet nod. “Yes, sir.”

He turned on his heel and made his way to the table. As he approached, his men perked up. Ness leaned back with a grin, Lorenzo clapped once like they’d just hit a jackpot, and the others raised their drinks in mock salute.

Kaiser ran a hand across the back of his neck and smirked, eyes closed in overplayed glory. “Boys,” he said with a dramatic breath, “I gotta tell you, I’m the luckiest damn man alive.”

Ness whistled. “What’d she do, marry you?”

“Not yet,” Kaiser replied, falling into the seat with a thud. “But hell, she don’t hate me anymore. That’s progress.”

“Careful, boss,” said Shidou of the others with a grin, “sounds like love.”

Kaiser laughed, but there was a strange quiet to it. Like something in him had shifted, just a little.

“Wait for me!” The boy’s voice echoed joyfully behind you as your bare feet padded fast over soft grass. You laughed, glancing over your shoulder. He was trying to keep up, blond hair messy from the wind, cheeks flushed with energy.

“Don’t go to the water!” your mother’s voice rang out from the garden. “We won’t!” you both yelled back, giggling in unison, already lying through your teeth.

The two of you ran hand in hand toward the river that glinted like silver under the sun, the air thick with the scent of honeysuckle and wild mint. Your dress, a soft purple one with hand-sewn flowers stitched by your mother, fluttered behind you like a ribbon. He wore suspenders over a dusty linen shirt and trousers that were a tad too short for his legs.

You arrived at the riverbank breathless, grinning. The water trickled and rushed over smooth stones, cool and alive. The trees above swayed with a lazy breeze, dappling the ground in speckled light.

The two of you sat and started skipping rocks. “What’s your grandma makin’ today?” he asked, adjusting the bandana around his neck. “Pork with beans and carrot soup, I think.” “Ummm.” He grunted as he flung a flat stone across the water. It bounced three times. “I won.” “You did not!” you protested, grabbing a stone. You threw—one, two, three, four bounces. “I WON.” “Oh…” he mumbled, pretending to pout before laughing again.

Later, you both wandered into the forest nearby, a place that felt like it belonged to just you two. You filled a basket with odd treasures: bright yellow wildflowers, dried snail shells, rocks shaped like hearts and faces, even a patch of moss that felt like velvet. He handed you a crown made of weeds and violets he’d clumsily tied together.

“For the princess of the forest.” “I’m not a princess.” “Then you’re just pretty.” You rolled your eyes at him, but the truth was, your cheeks were warm. Both of you ran back to the river, the golden sunlight still dripping through the treetops, but something in the wind had begun to change. Your house wasn’t far, just beyond the hilltop where the old willow tree leaned, and your grandma always said she liked to keep an eye on you from the porch.

Now, with a new “member” of your daily adventures, she seemed happier than ever, her warm eyes always following your games with a knowing smile, her hands never idle as she knitted, or snapped peas for supper.

You dropped to your knees by the riverbank and started arranging your treasures. You were sorting the rocks by color: grayish-blue ones in one pile, honey-yellow ones in another, and some pinkish stones with stripes in a third. He sat cross-legged beside you, naming every dried snail shell and flower he picked like they were magical creatures.

“You can have this beige rock,” you said quietly, holding it out to him with both hands. He looked at it, then took it with a small grin. “Thanks. I’ll keep it forever.”

Together, you wrapped your shared bounty in a soft, hand-stitched towel your grandma had given you, covered in faded sunflowers, and gently tucked it into the basket. The sound of the river, the birds, the wind in the trees…it was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Screams, sharp and sudden. Agony.

You both froze. Then- PIM! A gunshot cracked through the air like a whip.

Your heads snapped toward the house. The porch was empty. Your grandma had vanished.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

You turned to the boy beside you. His expression was pale, confused. “We should check what happened,” you whispered, fear curling in your throat.

He nodded silently.

Still clutching the basket, you reached for his hand again, tighter this time, and started toward the house. Each step up the hill felt like it echoed. There were no birds now. Just silence…and a distant voice. No, voices.

Men. Muffled. Low.

Not your father’s.

Your fingers trembled as they gripped the wooden door handle. Slowly, ever so slowly, you pushed the door open. It creaked, too loud. Your heart thudded in your chest like it was trying to warn you. The first thing you saw was blood.

It was pooled on the wooden floorboards, thick and dark, smeared like someone had tried to crawl. The second thing you saw were two men descending the stairs, heavy boots stomping down as if they owned the place.

“There you two fuckin’ are,” one growled.

Before you could move, he grabbed a fistful of your hair so harshly it yanked your head back. You squealed in pain, tears springing to your eyes. The other man had already seized the boy, clamping his hand over the back of his neck and shoving a rag or cloth into his mouth, muffling his protests, keeping him from biting.

You both struggled, but it didn’t matter. You were just kids.

You were dragged to the living room like livestock. Your little feet scraped against the floorboards as the man holding you grunted, and then, he shoved you forward.

And that’s when you saw it. You froze. Your whole body locked up.

Your grandmother, the one who always waved from the porch, was slumped against the wall, struggling for breath. Her dress was soaked in blood, her hands pressed to her gut, trembling as she tried to hold herself together. Next to her, your auntie lay unconscious, her head bleeding where it had hit the corner of a cabinet, blood slowly streaming and joining the pool on the floor. And your grandfather. He was dead, his body slumped in his wooden chair like a puppet with its strings cut. His head tilted back, eyes wide open, a gunshot wound square in his forehead.

You stood in silence, blinking, shaking, trying to understand what you were seeing.

But the sound that pierced everything-

Was your mother’s sobs.

She was on the floor. On her knees. Begging. One of the men had her by the hair, yanking her face upward like she wasn’t even human. She was praying. “Please don’t… not my kids-” You broke.

“MAMA!” You shrieked and lunged forward. The man holding you caught you by the back of your dress and yanked you back hard, knocking the air from your lungs.

The boy beside you was thrashing now, trying to kick his captor, but he was smaller and couldn’t do much. “Found you,” another man muttered. He was carrying a canister, something that smelled sharp, acrid. Gasoline.

He set it down and reached for the boy, grabbing his face roughly. But you didn’t care. Not about that. Not about yourself.

All you could see was your mom’s terrified face, blood on her cheek, eyes swollen from crying. Her arms reaching toward you.

“Sweetie, don’t move, everything’s going to be-”

CRACK.

She hissed in pain. The man yanked her hair tighter and brought a gun to her temple.

Your legs buckled. You screamed again. Your voice cracked as your world collapsed around you. The man in red stood tall and quiet, towering over everyone like a phantom from a storybook turned nightmare. He wore a long, crimson coat and a white cowboy hat pulled low, casting a shadow that hid his eyes. He didn’t speak, just raised a gloved hand and gestured toward you.

One of the men grabbed you hard by the arm and shoved you toward the stairs, forcing your small body against the banister beam that supported them, thick wood, worn and smooth from age. Your little wrists were yanked forward and bound to the beam with coarse rope, the fibers biting your skin as they tied you down.

Outside, through the door, you saw the blond boy being dragged away, fighting in silence, muffled by the rag in his mouth. Your mother followed behind, her arms bound behind her back. She kept looking over her shoulder, at you.

“MAAAAA!” Your voice broke, raw from screaming. You thrashed in place, legs kicking wildly, rope scraping your skin, but you were too small and too weak.

Your mother turned her head again, tears soaking her cheeks. “Y/N, please-” she sobbed. “Don’t look-”

You didn’t listen.

You couldn’t.

You looked right at her.

“I love you, Y/N! Please, take care of-”

PIM. The shot cracked through the air like lightning. And then your mother’s body crumpled, boneless and silent, hitting the dirt outside your front door.

You stopped. Everything stopped.

The screaming caught in your throat, choked and strangled by the force of your grief. Your eyes went wide. Your mouth hung open, no sound coming out. Your breath hitched in jagged stutters.

Dead. She was dead.

The smell of blood. The buzzing of flies. The way your grandma’s head lolled against the wall. Your aunt’s weak, pitiful little whimpers. Your grandpa’s eyes still open, staring at nothing. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

You wanted to die too.

The men around you didn’t stop. They moved quickly, methodically. Pouring gasoline across the floorboards, across the tables and rugs and shelves, but they avoided the bodies, stepping carefully around them, like keeping them intact was part of some cruel plan.

“Everything done? Got the money?” a voice asked.

Another man came down the stairs holding bags of jewelry, coins, your grandma’s sewing box. “All of it. Let’s move.”

The man in red turned to look at you one last time.

You stared back, still gasping silently like a fish out of water, your hands trembling against the wood beam.

He lit a match, small, bright, flickering between his gloved fingers. He held it there for a moment, stared at it and then at you… then tossed it to the floor.

The flames spread fast, faster than you thought possible. The moment they touched the soaked wood, the room lit up in a flash of orange and crackling heat. The fire ate everything in it’s path, the curtains, the couch, the walls. Smoke rose in plumes, thick and choking, filling your lungs, blinding your eyes.

You screamed. You cried.

Louder than ever.

“HELP! PLEASE!! MAMAAAAA! SOMEONE-!”

The fire roared back in response.

You yanked against your bonds, legs flailing, feet slipping on the wooden floor. The air got hotter and heavier by the second. The smoke burned your throat and made your eyes water until you couldn’t see anything at all. All you could do was scream into the chaos. The minutes felt like hours.

The last thing you remember before everything turned black-

Was the sound of the door opening. GASP.

You shot up like you were being yanked from underwater. Your chest heaved, breath ragged and broken, pulling in air like it might save you from drowning. Your fingers clutched the sheets with a grip so tight your knuckles turned white. You were shaking, all over, your arms, your knees, even your jaw.

Your head throbbed. Your stomach twisted. You felt sick. Too sick.

“It’s just another nightmare, Y/N… just another nightmare…” you whispered, but your voice cracked, like your throat was raw from screaming, like you really had been screaming.

You blinked fast, trying to focus on your surroundings. The moonlight leaking through the window barely illuminated your room, but you recognized the shape of your dresser, the edge of your bed, the chair where you left your boots. You were home. But you didn’t feel safe.

“Dad…?” you croaked. No answer.

You tried again. Louder. Desperate. “Daaaad!” Still nothing. The silence pressed down on you like a weight. You needed him, needed his voice to shake you out of this fog like he always did.

Panic crawled up your spine like cold fingers. You dragged in another breath but it felt shallow, as if the air couldn’t get all the way to your lungs.

“Dad...please,” you muttered again, a whisper this time, choked by panic and nausea. You swung your legs off the bed, feet touching the wooden floor, and you swayed. The room tilted. Your body felt like lead, frozen, trembling, aching from within. Your skin was cold, your clothes stuck to your back with sweat.

You gripped the banister at the top of the stairs like it was the only thing tethering you to the earth. If anyone saw you, they’d think you were a ghost, pale, hollow-eyed, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

“Last night…” You whispered it to yourself, trying to remember.

You closed your eyes, images swimming in... Laughter. Music. His hand on your waist. The swirl. The shot-

You gasped again, this time from clarity hitting you like a blow to the stomach. “Kaiser… the dance… then-”

It blurred. The nightmare had bled into your memory. You couldn’t tell what was real for a moment.

Your hands gripped the banister harder as you descended, step by step, your bare feet nearly silent against the wood. Anxiety clung to you, sharp and biting, like you were being watched. Every creak of the floorboard sounded like a gunshot. Every shadow looked like blood.

You needed your dad. You needed answers. You needed to feel safe again. Because right now, your whole body was telling you, you weren’t. 7 Hours Ago — 1:27 AM, Bar’s Office

The office was dimly lit, clouds of cigar smoke swirling lazily under the flickering ceiling lamp. The air was heavy, not just with smoke, but with something else. Tension. Coiled and ready to snap.

Ego stood at the head of the room, sharp-eyed, impatient. The boss of them all. He wasn’t just a strategist; he was a war machine in a suit. Every man in the room listened, or pretended to. Kaiser sat slouched, legs stretched, arms crossed, blue eyes glazed over like he was somewhere far away. His mind wasn’t here. Not in this suffocating room.

Kaiser’s group was there:him, Rin, Shidou, Ness, Aiku and Lorenzo, but they weren’t the only ones. A few other crews were gathered in the corners of the room, quieter, less recognizable, but clearly summoned for the same reason. All under Ego’s command tonight.

“Kaiser,” Ego snapped. No answer.

He tried again. “Kaiser!”

The blond didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He was thinking about the way her smile had finally cracked through that frozen wall she wore like armor. About the way she had laughed, leaned against him, looked up with wide, trusting eyes that didn’t know the half of what was coming.

“We’ve received word,” Ego continued, pacing slowly like a predator, “that he’s returned.”

Silence blanketed the room. Even Shidou stopped grinning for a second.

“That man, he's wiped out a town, Copperbend. Estimated thousand bodies, barely any survivors. No traces, no hesitation. Same M.O. from twelve years ago.” He turned to face them fully. “This is not just revenge. He’s sending a message.”

The temperature seemed to drop several degrees. Rin’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing. Aiku exchanged a glance with Oliver, their jaws set. Ness swallowed hard.

“What’s the plan then?” Lorenzo asked with a smirk that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “We storm hell and shoot the devil in the face?”

“Something like that,” Ego said flatly. “I want eyes on him, on his people, on his routes. We draw him out with what he wants. And I think we know exactly what that is.”

The room stirred, and with it, the sharp snap of tension. Shidou laughed suddenly, leaning back with his boots up on the desk like this was comedy night. “Let him come. I want to see if he burns like the rest of ‘em.”

Noel Noa, silent until now, finally spoke. “This isn’t a job. This is suicide. I’m not sending anyone into a slaughter.”

“You think you get to say no?” Ego asked, voice deadly. “He won’t stop. Not until everything she ever touched is ash.”

Shidou clicked his tongue. “What a shame. I was starting to like the bar.”

Arguments broke out. Voices clashed, Shidou and Lorenzo loud and unbothered, Ness clearly on edge, Rin stone-cold silent. Oliver leaned forward like he was ready to throw punches. Even members of the other groups shifted, some whispering, others muttering curses under their breath. One of them stood, ready to argue back before-

PIM-

A shot rang out.

Silence.

Everyone turned. Kaiser stood, gun still smoking, eyes dark and fixed on the floor. Slowly, he looked up, finally meeting their gazes.

“You’re all yelling like drunks,” he said quietly, a sneer barely hidden beneath his voice. “We’re not going to argue about her. If he wants a war, we’ll give him one.”

He holstered the gun, stepped back, and walked toward the door like none of this was out of the ordinary.

“I’ll handle my part.”

And just like that, he left the room, still thinking about her.

Current time: 8:49 AM

You were in the kitchen, still shaking and trembling. The air felt heavier now, like something had latched itself to your skin. Your eyes scanned the counter until they landed on a small note folded in half.

You reached for it with hesitant fingers and unfolded it.

“Hi sweetheart… I won’t be home today, got some important things to do, will probably be back tomorrow morning. I left some money for you upstairs and Kaiser to take care of you.”

“Kaiser?” you murmured, confused. “What?”

You continued reading.

“He needs your help for something if you don’t mind. He will be there around 9 AM.”

Your gaze snapped to the clock on the wall.

8:53.

Your eyes widened a little more.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You jumped, heart skipping.

Your gaze slowly traveled to the front door. The knocking wasn’t loud but in your state it felt like thunder. You took a deep breath and tiptoed toward it.

“Who’s there?” you whispered, barely audible.

“Kaiser.”

You froze.

You hadn’t brushed your teeth. You hadn’t brushed your hair. You were in yesterday’s clothes. Your skin felt clammy, your stomach was still twisted in knots. You hated it. To everyone’s knowledge, you never left the house looking unkempt. Never.

But you had no other choice.

You turned the handle and opened the door.

There he was.

Kaiser. In his usual relaxed stance, arms loosely crossed, smirking like he had no idea your whole world had flipped upside down last night.

“Oh wow, good morning sleeping beauty.”

His tone was teasing at first, but then he stared a little longer. His smirk slowly faded, replaced by something more careful. Observing.

“Is everything ok?”

Your mind snapped back. You were so lost in your own head you forgot to even pretend to be fine.

“I-y-yes.”

He hummed, clearly not convinced, and stepped inside without another word. “Looks like someone woke up from a nightmare.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

“Did I hit the mark?”

Still, silence.

“Come on, throw me a bone here.”

“No,” you said quickly, sharper than intended.

He pouted exaggeratedly. “Ouch. And to think last night you were spilling secrets like I was your diary.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t remember?” He chuckled, brushing it off. “Guess that’s fair. You were kinda gone.”

His smile lingered, lighthearted but curious. You offered a weak smile in return, the kind you gave when you didn’t want to explain too much.

“I think you should get ready for the day,” he added, more gently this time.

You nodded and excused yourself upstairs, still feeling the weight of the dream clinging to your skin like smoke. Despite your trembling hands, you tried to compose yourself. You brushed your teeth with soda water, ran a comb through your tangled hair, and changed into something a little more put-together, simple but elegant, like your mother might’ve dressed you once.

Walking down the stairs, your fingers gripped the banister a little tighter than usual. Memories clawed at the back of your mind, vivid and cruel. You blinked hard, steadying your steps until you reached the last one.

Kaiser was lounging on the couch, a journal in his hand, your father’s, from the look of it. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned when he saw you.

“There she is,” he said, eyes flicking over your outfit. “Looking like she just stepped out of a painting.”

You didn’t react. Not even a twitch. Your face was calm, but your eyes betrayed the hollowness inside.

His smile faded just a little. He watched you, more carefully this time. His voice dropped into something warmer, quieter.

“Hey… come here, Y/N. You don’t have to be afraid.”

He opened one arm out for you, an invitation. Not a command. Not a tease. Just something real. To you, his soft voice didn’t quite fit. It felt strange, unnatural, almost eerie, like watching a wolf try to wear sheep’s wool. Still, what other choice did you have?

Your dad wasn’t here. The one person who always knew how to bring you back when the dreams dug their claws in, gone for the day. And Kaiser… well, he was trusted. At least, by your father. That had to mean something, right?

Even if he was just another slick-talking cowboy with too much confidence in his step.

You moved to the sofa slowly, quietly, as if your bones were made of glass. Kaiser’s eyes followed you, not hungry, not amused. Just… watchful. Studying.

He didn’t move when you sat, only shifted slightly to rest his arm along the back of the couch. You noticed how he did it deliberately, leaving a space between you. A silent gesture of awareness. Respect, maybe.

He glanced sideways at you. “So,” he said lightly, “what was the nightmare?”

You turned your head toward him, furrowing your brow. “How do you even know it was a nightmare?”

“Your dad’s mentioned them,” Kaiser replied simply. “Said you look and act just like this when they hit.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure what to say. The weight in your chest was still too heavy to lift into words.

He let out a quiet breath, then said, with a kind of careful edge, “Was it about that day?”

Your heart stuttered. You blinked, like your brain couldn’t process the question fast enough. “What…day?”

Kaiser kept his eyes forward. His tone turned even, serious. “When those men came. When they, killed your family.”

The words hit like a slap. You froze. Your eyes widened. For a second, the breath in your lungs turned to ice.

How does he know?

Of course, he works under your father. But still...hearing it spoken so plainly made the air feel thinner.

“What?” Your voice cracked.

“Don’t overreact,” he said quickly but firmly. “I’m not here to poke at scars. Just trying to understand you better.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your thoughts tangled, dragged by the sudden flood of memory, blood, smoke, screams.

“Y/N…”his voice was quieter now, almost gentle. “Hey.”

You blinked hard. “Huh?”

His eyes finally met yours, calm but searching.

“Can we talk about it?”

You froze, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. Your heart pounded so loud it echoed in your ears, sweat pricking at your brow like tiny warnings. Then his hand came up, gently, slowly, to cup your cheek. The contact made you flinch, just a bit, just enough for him to notice.

“Y/n,” Kaiser murmured, voice lower now, softer. “I need you to talk to me… please.” His eyes searched yours, not with that usual playful glint, but something steadier. Realer. “Was it about that day?”

You didn’t move. Seconds passed like slow-burning matches. Then, finally, you gave a small nod.

He exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment as if to rein in his thoughts. “I actually came here today to talk to you about it… but I didn’t expect to see you like this. Shaken to the bone. That part wasn’t exactly in my morning plans.”

Your head throbbed like someone had taken a hammer to it. The nightmare still lingered, its sounds, its smells, the heat, the fire. You weren’t sure if now was the time to talk, if your voice would even come out right. But somehow, his calm pushed you a little closer to the edge of trust.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked quietly.

“Um…”

“How did it start?”

He waited. No teasing, no jokes, just silence held open like an invitation.

“I used to live in the forest,” you finally breathed, the words escaping all at once. “A little far from here… There was no dust. No gunshots. No death. Just… life.”

He didn’t interrupt, just nodded once to show he was listening.

“I lived with my parents, my auntie, and my grandparents. We had a garden. A river nearby. There were birds in the morning, frogs at night.” Your voice cracked and you looked down, eyes catching the glint of the jewelry hanging from his neck. So many pieces. Gold, silver, a couple leather strings. Like trophies, or maybe charms. One pendant in particular caught your eye—it was oval-shaped, reflective, elegant in its simplicity.

“And?” he asked, his voice barely louder than a breath.

Your eyes returned to his, heavy with memories you couldn’t fully grasp. You blinked slowly, your voice quiet but steady.

“There was a boy too… my parents kind of adopted him. I don’t remember his name or his face. Just that he had blond hair.”

Kaiser’s brow lowered slightly, his gaze soft but curious. “You don’t remember his name? And the others…?”

“I don’t remember my aunt’s face. Or my mom’s. Or my grandparents’,” you murmured. “The pictures… forget it.”

“No no, tell me,” he said gently, his voice grounding.

You hesitated, then let the truth fall.

“My house burned down. I lost everything,” you said, your tone hollow. “Some men… they did it.”

He listened in silence, every part of him focused on you. You opened your mouth to continue but your voice cracked.

“I…”

Kaiser leaned in just a little, his tone softer now. “Do you want to stop here?”

You nodded, and the moment you did, it all broke loose.

Your body trembled as tears poured down your cheeks. You brought your hands to your face, trying to hide, trying to hold it in. But it was no use.

Kaiser looked unsure for a second, like he didn’t know if he should move. His hand hovered, waiting, almost asking.

And something in you gave him the answer without words.

You leaned in, and that was enough.

He pulled you gently into his chest, arms wrapping around you with quiet care. One hand moved slowly along your back in a calming rhythm.

You cried against him, sobs wracking through your chest, sharp and breathless. You hated how broken you felt, how much you needed this. But you couldn't stop it.

He didn’t speak. He just held you, firm and warm, his chin resting against your head like he was grounding you to something real.

And for the first time in a long while, you let someone hold your pain with you.

You lowered your hands from your face and gripped the fabric of his coat, expensive under your fingers. The crying had quieted, but every breath still trembled, every sob felt sharp in your chest. Your eyes drifted down again, drawn to the shine of his jewelry like a moth to a lantern in the dark.

That same piece caught your attention, oval-shaped, smooth and polished, a warm beige that seemed to glow in the morning light. Your fingers reached out, barely brushing it at first, the texture cold but comforting. Kaiser didn’t notice right away, but when he felt the soft graze of your hand, he looked down.

“Hm?” he murmured, his voice low.

His eyes lingered on you. And for a second, the world stilled for him. You looked like something fragile and faraway, like a memory made of glass and sunlight, all quiet pain and soft edges. There was something about the way your lashes were wet, how your gaze stayed fixed on the necklace like it held a piece of your past. You were silent, except for the shaky sniffles that slipped out of you.

“Caught your eye?” he asked, voice quieter now.

You swallowed thickly, then nodded, eyes never leaving the piece. He watched you for a moment longer before reaching up, fingers gently brushing the tears from beneath your eyes.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” he said, honest and serious in a way you hadn’t heard from him before.

You blinked, his touch light against your skin. And then your thoughts started turning. Why are you trusting him? A cowboy. A man. The kind of man you swore to keep away from. Why are you letting him hold you like this, touch you like this? Why are you letting his voice be something that makes you feel okay for once?

You didn’t know the answer. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like you weren’t broken. Maybe it was the silence he kept instead of forcing empty words.

Or maybe it was because, just for a moment, you didn’t want to be alone. He glanced down at your hands, still fidgeting with the smooth beige stone resting between your fingers. “Why are you so drawn to it?” he asked softly.

You kept your eyes on it, brows slightly furrowed. “I don’t know, I just...get a feeling from it.”

“What kind of feeling?” he murmured as he leaned closer, resting his forehead gently against yours. His warmth sank into your skin, steady and grounding.

“Like I’ve touched it before,” you whispered, “like I’ve held it a long time ago... it feels familiar.”

He let out a small smile, brief and faint. “Hm,” he hummed, then pulled back slightly, his face becoming more serious again.

“You don’t remember anything else about that boy?” he asked.

You shook your head slowly. “No, just that we were really close, like… almost siblings.”

He paused for a second, watching your face. “And you know it’s not your fault, right?”

Your eyes lifted to his. “What?”

“That you don’t remember his name, or his face. Same as your mom, your auntie, your grandparents…”

“I know…” you replied, but your voice was low, unsure.

“Do you know why?” he pressed gently.

You hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“Your dad, or a doctor, never told you?” he asked again, voice quieter now, steadier.

“Told me what?” you said, confused and a little tense.

“That what happened that day,” he began, “left scars on your life. The kind no one sees. That kind of trauma… it steals things from you. Your memories, your sense of time, your childhood. You didn’t forget because you wanted to, you forgot because your mind had to survive.”

His words sank deep. You looked at him, heart stinging.

“It’s not your fault,” he said again, firmer this time. “And it’s okay that you don’t remember. You lived through something no kid should ever see, let alone carry with them. The fact that you’re still here… that means something.”

You swallowed hard, eyes starting to burn again. But this time, the tears felt different. Not just from sadness. But from the weight of being understood. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers light and careful, like he didn’t want to startle you. The gesture felt more than just comforting, it felt like a message, something he wasn’t saying out loud.

“Why does it sound like… like you’re trying to hint at something?” you asked quietly, eyes searching his.

He didn’t look away. “I’ll be honest,” he said, voice low, “I am.”

You stared at him for a few seconds, unsure of what he meant, then slowly turned your gaze back to the rock resting in your hand.

“You can have this beige rock,” “Thanks, I’ll keep it forever.”

Your breath hitched as something shifted in your chest. Suddenly, the line between past and present began to blur. You saw the river again, the trees swaying in the wind, the little boy’s laughter in the distance. That same beige rock, your purple floral dress, your hand holding his. Everything began piecing itself together like a puzzle that had been missing too many pieces for too long.

You looked at him again, a tremble in your voice. “You’re… the boy? You were that boy?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes gentle but unwavering. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s me.”

You blinked, the tears building again. You looked down at the stone in your hand for what felt like the hundredth time, heart pounding, memories clawing their way back to you.

“I missed you,” he said softly, almost like a confession, “a lot, actually.” You shifted back, eyes wide, breath ragged. Your body felt too hot, too heavy. Everything was spinning, your memories, your thoughts, your reality. It was all bleeding together.

“Yn?” he stepped forward cautiously, but you shook your head, backing away like a wounded animal.

“No,” you whispered, voice cracking. “No, no, you’re not him…”

“Yn, where are you going?” Kaiser called after you, confusion and worry climbing up his throat as you almost tripped over the edge of the carpet. You could barely hear him.

“You’re not him,” you repeated again, louder this time, your voice trembling. “You’re not…”

Your hands clutched at your head, your breath shortening into sharp gasps. He moved to get closer, but you flinched away.

“Yn, dear, I would never lie to you,” his voice was softer now, pleading, but it only made it worse.

“Stop,” you whimpered, stumbling further. “Stop, stop, stop!”

“Please,” he begged, voice cracking now too, “just listen to me-”

“I don’t want this!” you screamed, eyes brimming with a fire that was born out of pain. “I don’t want this!”

“What...what do you mean?” he reached for you again, and your hand flew to the nearby vase. Without even thinking, you hurled it across the room. The shatter echoed like a gunshot, like the shot from that day.

Your nails clawed at your cheeks, desperate, wild. You couldn’t feel anything but heat and terror crawling under your skin.

“Yn!” Kaiser rushed to you, alarm written all over his face. He grabbed your wrists gently but firmly, trying to stop you from hurting yourself. You thrashed under his grip.

“Let me go!” your voice broke into sobs, and then you collapsed, legs giving in beneath you. You fell to the floor with a thud, your body folding in on itself.

“Goddamn it, Yn,” he dropped to his knees beside you, trying to hold you, trying to pull you out of whatever storm had just swallowed you whole. “Please, please listen to me-”

But you couldn’t. You were shaking, whimpering, your mind caught in a loop of pain and disbelief, too full, too loud. You weren’t even sure where you were anymore. It all hurt too much.

Kaiser could only stare at you, frozen in his own helplessness, his thoughts screaming.

"What did I do? What did I do? God, what the hell did I just do?"

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