#reached for my computer in the dark and felt a cardboard box instead

[tsunderrated]

gonna get really into calling myself babe

[thesweetestofdreams]

hot chocolate

pairings: poly!marauders x reader (852 words)

warnings: should be none, just a little stress cry/ burnout

a/n: Do I like this? I have no idea. The boys help to comfort you on a late night that has you stressed.

Reaching out to his left, James expects to find your warmth. Instead all he feels are empty sheets. The fuzziness of sleep threatens to pull him back down, but your absence keeps him up. 

He pads through your small apartment doing his best not to wake your boyfriends still sleeping behind him. The small spike of panic he felt at not finding you eases as he finally does. 

You've got your back to him, typing away at your computer at the kitchen table. 

"And I'm the one not allowed to have coffee after six," he says softly once he's closer. You hardly glance at him, still typing. "Love," he says, a hand gently coming to cover yours. "Do you know how late it is?" 

Your heart melts as you finally look at him. He's rubbing sleep from his eyes, knocking his glasses off kilter. He looks warm and soft around the edges. It's enticing but your work's not going to do itself. "I'll come to bed in just a minute, Jamie. I should really finish this." 

He points at the time on your computer, 3:48 blares at you and you realize how much your eyes sting from staring at the screen. "Come on," he says, his grip now a soft tug at your wrist. 

"Just let me finish this paragraph." You're trying to bargain, having the feeling you'll probably lose. 

"It can wait, love." He's looking at you with soft eyes and you can feel the warmth radiating off of him. You hear shuffling behind you. Now you're really in for it.

Remus comes into view, his oversized shirt- probably one of James’- askew on his shoulders, followed by a scowling Sirius. “How dare you make us go on a man-hunt at three in the morning.” Sirius crosses his arms trying to look angry, but he still comes up to rest his chin on your shoulder. His nose tickles your cheek, “Let’s go to bed my love.”

Remus walks further into the kitchen of your tiny apartment. You remember the day you moved in, you ate ramen over a cardboard box as a kitchen table. Now as he stands across the table from you Remus reaches over to slowly close your laptop. 

You stop him halfway, and he gives you a knowing look. “I’m really not tired, honestly I won't be able to sleep until I finish this,” you say quickly returning to typing. 

Remus sighs, looking to James for help, but it’s Sirius who comes to his aid. “Well then I guess we’re all staying up,” Sirius says, his chin digging into your shoulder and sleep muddling his words, “but when I wake up with dark circles that’s on you.”

“No go to bed, I won’t be long.” You try to focus on your work, but Sirius worms his arms under yours, wrapping around you. “Siri, please.” Your head is starting to hurt from forcing your eyes to stay open, and the warmth coming off of him only makes the fight harder. 

“What are you doing, Remus?” you ask, hearing the kitchen cabinets open and close. 

“I’m making hot chocolate.” He grabs your favorite mug from the cabinet followed by three more. 

“You don’t have to do that Rem.” Your eyes are still stinging.

“I already opened the packet.” He says it with a finality that tells you, you’ve hardly any choice in the matter.

“I’ll get the marshmallows,” James adds, sounding far too excited for this time of night. 

Before you can stop it your eyes fill with tears, blurring your computer screen. You hide your face in your hands. “Are you okay, love?” Sirius asks, suddenly sounding much more awake. You can’t stop it as much as you want to, your tears flow leaving your boyfriends flustering to help you. 

“Dove.” Remus kneels beside you. “Let’s take a break, yeah? It can wait until tomorrow.” 

You hear the soft click of your computer shutting as you nod. James holds your hand across the table. “You’re all too nice to me,” you say, it comes out half laugh half sob. 

“All that work is scrambling your brain,” Sirius says, squeezing your shoulders.

You let Remus pull you to the couch where he brushes stray tears from your cheeks. You melt into his side. He plants soft kisses into your hair. 

James and Sirius come with cups of hot chocolate almost overflowing with marshmallows. The cups are soon abandoned as the rich chocolate threatens to drag you all to sleep right on the spot. 

When you eventually make it to bed through fits of yawns and tired shuffling, you realize you’re finally exactly where you want to be. Sirius falls asleep practically on top of James.

Remus pulls the blanket to your chin. “Too nice,” he laughs quietly to himself. You swat at his arm. As you fall asleep, he listens to the rise and fall of your breath. You deserve all the niceness of the world, and he would make hot chocolate in the middle of every night if it meant you felt even a bit of it.

[ruruumin]

1 — SPARKLE.

₊˚ ᗢ synopsis; visiting the convenience store for some snacks wasn't uncommon for a food blogger, it was the new cashier that they hired that is driving you crazy!

⤷genres; modern college au, romance and comedy.

⤷masterlist; here.

It was morning. A bright, sunny one that included a bit of humidity. By Ayaka's standards, it would have been a great time to have class. You restrain a deep, obnoxious sigh from the pits of your stomach. There was nothing good about morning classes. Sure, you might have had a few in high school, however, in college it felt like you were being dragged to hell itself.

Had Yoimiya told you sooner about the class she was taking, and how sought-after it was, you might have first-passed it. Instead, you’re stuck with a random morning class, trying to fill in your requirements for financial aid. The class wouldn’t be so terrible had it just been in the afternoon. At the bare minimum, you wouldn’t have minded it if you had at least a friend in there. You would at least have someone keeping you awake. 

You’ve heard good reviews about the professor, and their scores didn’t seem awful. You were sure that they were a very nice person. They just didn’t have anything interesting to do in the morning so they wanted to come to campus early. You feel your eyebrow twitch in annoyance. You try to convince yourself that this ordeal isn’t downright horrible. There had to be some good out of it. 

You press your lips tightly together as you rummage through the store’s abundance of ramen. It might be early in the morning, but not too early to not have ramen. After a long day of working and stressing out about classes, you thought it might be a good idea to treat yourself. You can quickly eat and then head off to class. A perfect plan, you say to yourself. 

As you reached out for the last Shin ramen, a hand touches yours. You flinch and recoil in surprise, glancing up to see a blond man. You swallowed a thick lump at the base of your throat as you stared at him in awe. He looked roughly around your age, maybe a few months older, a little more mature and soft-eyed. His hair was tied back into a neat ponytail, reaching the ends of his exposed neck. 

Holy shit, you blinked, he’s pretty. Even though he was wearing the store’s signature dark green, almost olive-colored apron, he looked good. It contrasted the cute maple-leaf pin that was pinned on his breast pocket. Aside from his clothes, what stood out to you the most was his unique hair. Sure, you might have had your fair share of interesting boys with weird hair colors, like the short vocalist with aquamarine and ocean-blue hair, or the computer science major with teal highlights, but none looked quite as good as him. It was a pretty shade of blond with a crimson streak. How did he dye his hair so perfectly? You were starting to get jealous. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you.” He said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He stands up from his crouching position and you finally get a good view of him. He was taller than you by a few inches. Not by much but enough for you to imagine standing next to him. 

“I’m trying to restock the ramen. My apologies. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

You shake your head, “Of course not, I’m sorry you just caught me off guard.” You quickly reach out for the last pack of ramen and hold it close to your chest. “I didn’t mean to get in your way.” 

“No, it’s alright.” He goes back to his task, taking out a few more bags from a cardboard box on a stroller. He decides to end the conversation there. It was a good idea because if you were to stay any longer near him, your face might turn bright red. 

You turn away from the aisle, awkwardly walking away from him. You press the pack of ramen in front of your face, your cheeks growing hot as you glance back at him once in a while. He was still in the same position, stacking ramen at the back with a small smile on his face. He seemed content. You brush through your hair quickly, making sure to flatten out any fray strands that were sticking out. You hope that he didn’t watch any of your vlogs. If he did, that would be mortifying.

You were not the best looking in the morning, you had to admit. Your hair was messy in the wrong ways and it looked at times you didn’t comb your hair. It wasn’t your fault though. You had to rush to get here just to buy breakfast. You look down at your outfit. With a simple pair of sweats and an oversized hoodie, your backpack is slightly loose around your shoulders. If your hair didn’t look bad, your outfit certainly does. 

You lightly slap both sides of your cheeks, shaking your head. He shouldn’t be judging you. It’s an early morning and you had class. Yeah, no one cares about what you’re wearing, especially if it's an early class. If anything, you were dressed fairly nicely compared to other students who would show up with plaid pajama pants and a white tank top. You were most definitely better dressed than Childe, who once showed up to statistics class without a shirt because he came back from swim practice. The professor scolded him for his inappropriate behavior, though, that still went on with a few laughs and giggles. 

Closing your eyes, you groan. You hope that image gets erased in your mind. Out of all people you could have seen half-naked, it had to be the weird, popular kid that you know from high school. You would have been fine if it was anyone but a high school friend. 

You decide to buy a few other items. You heard from Yoimiya that there was a trend going around. Once you’ve finished at least half of your ramen, you would break up a riceball and add it in. It’s meant to soak up the extra soup and provide you with another meal. At first, you didn’t see the appeal because soggy seaweed had the worst texture imaginable. It was chewy and wet, hard to bite into, and at times felt too slimy. 

However, as you stare down at the arrangement of flavors, you’re starting to consider it. Regular tuna mayo with leftover Shin ramen sounded good right now. You could also settle on salmon as well. You let out a small hum. There were so many flavors to choose from. The hardest part about being a food blogger is figuring out what you want to eat. As well as the price. It was most definitely the price. 

Shrugging your shoulders you decide on your favorite flavor. If it didn’t taste good, you could always blame Yoimiya for such terrible ideas. You remember in the past, during a late-night stream, she requested that you try some of the hot sauces from the show: “Hot Ones.” A lot of other streamers were doing it and it would look nice if you hopped on the trend for a bit. Perhaps it was your naivety that left you almost comatose in bed the next morning. 

Straightening your back, you check your phone for the time. Twenty minutes before you needed to start walking. You had enough time to finish your food if you hurried. And by that, you started to drop your things in front of the cash register, fishing for your wallet in your bag. 

Too busy searching for the right amount of change, you failed to notice the pretty blond boy from earlier standing in front of you, ringing up your belongings. He gave you a kind smile, his eyes flickering to your student id which hangs from your backpack. The id holder itself was pretty simple, though if he squints harder he notices some sticker decorations surrounding your picture. How cute, he comments. He doesn’t say anything when he places a pair of chopsticks on top of your things. 

When you handed him the right amount of change, you finally notice his stare. His autumn eyes were staring at you with a look of fondness. And for a moment, you ask yourself if you’ve seen him before. You clear your throat when you notice that neither of you were talking. He was quiet and you weren’t sure if this was favorable, or completely awkward.

“Thank you,” You hurriedly bowed and left the store, completely forgetting about eating breakfast there. The thought of embarrassing yourself anymore to this cute boy was too much for you. You needed to escape before he starts to remember you. 

The blond man only sighs under his breath as he gives you a friendly wave. You walked out of the place with a pack of uncooked ramen, and one rice ball. He looks down at his watch, seeing the time, he decides that it’s time to clock out of his shift and leave for class. 

[zenonaa]

'Like the rest of the group, he also wondered what could have driven out such a grin from him, out in the open like that. Worse, it could have not been a ‘what’, but a ‘who’. He had prided himself on never letting anyone slip under his skin, never letting anyone become close to him. Learning to rely on others, and let others rely on him, was one thing. This felt more personal, like a kick to the stomach.'

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya Characters: Fukawa Touko, Togami Byakuya, Naegi Makoto, Naegi Komaru, Kirigiri Kyouko, Asahina Aoi, Hagakure Yasuhiro Additional Tags: TogaFuka Week 2021 Summary: Togami and the others stumble across a photograph of him smiling, but he can't remember the context so the others try to figure out what happened for him to do that.

Comments: owo what's this? togafuka week day 1: happiness! i haven't actually written something for all the days but this is one of the things that i did manage to squeeze out.

💗 Please like, share and comment if you enjoyed it! 💗

***

Cleaning up Hope’s Peak wasn’t an afternoon affair. Beyond the old school building that Byakuya knew too intimately, debris clogged hallways, trash lay scattered throughout the campus like weeds and the air smelled of rust and blood. The group of seven started with the art building on the east side of campus. For the first few hours, Yasuhiro hummed as he hauled cardboard boxes, Komaru still had the patience to prepare and bring lemonade, and Aoi’s sunshine voice beamed between walls as she shared a story about the time her family held a second-hand sale in their backyard.

By the end of the day, however, their lively chatter had dimmed with the sky. Inside remained as bright thanks to Byakuya and Yasuhiro reconnecting the electricity, but darkening windows reminded them of the aches in their limbs, the ebbing flames behind their eyes. Byakuya swept his gaze across what used to be a theatre but was currently a sorting room filled with boxes instead of chairs. Makoto, Touko, Komaru and Yasuhiro were sitting together on boxes, while Kyouko and Aoi had just walked in with a dirty wheelbarrow.

“We should adjourn until the morning,” Byakuya announced. He reached a hand toward his glasses, intending to push them up, but stopped himself when he remembered the grime clinging to his palms. Not wanting to dirty his glasses, he lowered his hand.

The Byakuya of the past would have deemed this sort of manual labour beneath him, yet he had willingly spent most of that day working alongside his companions. His friends. How things changed.

“There is so much stuff,” said Aoi, who by now had parked the wheelbarrow and was slouched against it. She wiped her vest against her forehead.

“And not a lot of it is useful,” added Kyouko, next to Aoi. Yasuhiro straightened up.

“Nonsense. All we need to do is spruce them up, and they’ll be ready to go on sale.” He walked over to a broken lamp, its shade bitten and discoloured, as dirty as the floor it lay on. “Like this lamp. Fix this up, and it’ll be as good as new. Then all we need is a good pitch and b’am,” he punched his palm, “sold.”

“You can’t do that with everything here,” said Komaru. He put his hands onto his hips.

“Not with that attitude! But with the right mindset, you could sell anything here, guaranteed.”

Yasuhiro rubbed his finger against his nose, grinning like a fool. Some things changed, but others stayed remarkably the same. Byakuya’s gaze drifted over to Touko, who was scowling at Yasuhiro. Touko was both different and the same. Different, because she stood firm where she used to cower, and she let others into her world where she used to cloak herself in darkness.

And same because while like Byakuya, she had learned to allow herself to rely on friends and for friends to rely on her, she was still head over heels in love with him.

She pointed at a black bag containing hunks of metal. “What sales pitch do you have for this?”

“Easy! All you have to do is make the contents into sculptures,” replied Yasuhiro. “Their only purpose is to be admired, ‘right? Add a backstory to go with them and boom, sold. You can do that to practically anything even if it’s trash.”

“No way,” said Aoi.

“Want to bet?”

The group roused to accept his challenge. Makoto found a used wipe container, and Yasuhiro clicked his fingers and said to fill it with plastic bags, turning it into a dispenser that was portable and could fit easily into a car drawer. Aoi presented him with pizza boxes, at which Yasuhiro laughed and demanded more so they could be decked in wrapping paper and transformed into a drawer unit. When Komaru found a metal pipe, Yasuhiro claimed it needed a clean and spray paint and it could sit contentedly on a shelf.

Yasuhiro even sucked Byakuya and Touko into the game. The cork in Byakuya’s hand changed into a keychain, and Yasuhiro’s voice fashioned an old juice carton into a recyclable purse ideal for coins and trips to the arcade. Each item that the others found, Yasuhiro repurposed it into something else.

“There has to be something you can’t reuse,” Komaru insisted. She peeled the lid open on a cardboard box and lifted out a hardback red book from inside it. “What about these photos? Who’d want to have pictures of strangers?”

“Photos?” said Kyouko, intrigued.

“Yeah, there are a whole load of albums in here. I went through a few earlier but didn’t recognise anyone, so I forgot about them.”

Touko rolled her eyes. “Typical...”

Kyouko and Aoi each took out an album. The box seemed to contain several of them, their covers glazed in dust and cobwebs.

“Gekkogahara-san is in this one,” said Kyouko within a few seconds of skimming.

By now, the rest of the group had gravitated over. Inside the album that Kyouko was holding, the photographs were contained in plastic flaps that overlapped so only the one on top could be seen unless it was flicked up, revealing the photograph beneath. In the photograph currently on display, Miaya Gekkogahara was sitting next to a pale guy with dark hair and dark shadows under his eyes, who Byakuya recognised as Yasuke Matsuda. They appeared to be seated at a computer desk, their heads turned toward the photographer.

“It’s really her,” murmured Makoto. “And not a robot masquerading as her.”

“Do you think these are all photos of her class?” asked Yasuhiro as he and the others picked up their own photo albums to browse.

“If that’s true, then everyone in these are deceased,” said Touko.

Aoi winced. “When you phrase it like that, this feels kind of morbid.”

Makoto flipped through a few flaps in the album in his hands. Then his creased forehead exploded as his eyebrows shot up. “This album contains our class!”

Everyone crowded around him. The photograph showed a pink room with a television screen hanging on the wall. Blurred writing glowed on it that Byakuya struggled to decipher. In front of it, Couch seats were positioned around three sides of a table, and on the seats sat members of their class. The only classmate not in the photograph was Sakura.

“Sakura-chan must have been taking the photograph,” said Aoi. “No way would our class exclude her.”

Holding the album in one hand, Makoto scratched his head with his other.

“I vaguely recall this,” he said. “Kuwata-kun... yes, I think it was him... booked a karaoke room, and the whole class packed in. All of us sang at least once.”

While Future Foundation had aided them in recovering from the memory loss inflicted by Junko, some memories were stronger than others. For Byakuya, he could recall plenty of events, but none came with any emotion attached. It was as though he was reading about them in a newspaper afterwards.

“Byakuya-sama graced us with his voice,” Touko piped up. The ends of her lips curled upward as she squeezed her hands together. “I r-remember... he made the air taste like chocolate syrup... his words spread a chill across my skin... ah...”

Byakuya remembered performing a single song, but he hated singing, and he couldn’t remember what compelled him to accept a microphone.

“Enoshima tried to steal such a precious memory from us.” Aoi rubbed the heel of her hand against her eye. “Sakura-chan sang a beautiful song about friendship. Her voice washed over the room like the ocean.”

Kyouko placed a hand onto Aoi’s shoulder. Komaru flicked through the other photographs in the album. Byakuya didn’t pay Komaru any more mind, frowning at Touko as she seemed to relive the experience of him singing. Her recollection appeared much more intimate than his own. Part of him wanted to ask her for more details. Another part was repulsed.

Komaru gasped.

“What is it?” asked Makoto as they all focused on the album again. The photograph that had captured her attention depicted Byakuya. Nothing extraordinary appeared to be in the photograph - he was sitting on a bench at an angle, not facing the camera.

Yet the others stared with their mouths agape.

“I have never seen Togami-chi smile like that,” said Yasuhiro.

Byakuya inspected the photograph closer. Though it had been taken at a distance - probably so he wouldn’t realise someone was taking a photograph of him - there was a definite smile gracing his lips. It wasn’t a smirk, or a cruel grin, or the faint curve he sometimes showed around his friends, but a smile showing teeth, one that didn’t just meet his eyes, but made his gaze, no, his face glow.

What he was looking at, however, was unclear. It was now that Byakuya realised the photograph had been torn, and the section that held the object of his attention wasn’t in the album.

“It must have been something amazing to have made him smile back then,” said Yasuhiro.

They all turned to Byakuya, who pursed his lips.

“Putting aside whether I would tell you if I knew, I don’t actually recall when this took place,” he said.

“Maybe we could help jog your memory?” Aoi suggested. “When I want to remember something, I write it on my palm three times.”

“That won’t help,” said Touko. “You can only do that while you still remember the thing.” Her teeth gritted. “Argh... if only I knew what could have elicited such a pure smile from Byakuya-sama...!”

She dragged her fingers down her face.

“It’s not a big deal,” said Byakuya. While the others burned with curiosity, discomfort stewed in his gut like when he had watched Touko reminisce about the karaoke session.

Like the rest of the group, he also wondered what could have driven out such a grin from him, out in the open like that. Worse, it could have not been a ‘what’, but a ‘who’. He had prided himself on never letting anyone slip under his skin, never letting anyone become close to him. Learning to rely on others, and let others rely on him, was one thing. This felt more personal, like a kick to the stomach.

“There has to be some way to reawaken the memory,” said Komaru, her tone light without the burden of his thoughts. She turned to Kyouko. “You must know a way.”

“Must I?” Kyouko’s eyebrows rose.

“Because you’re from a detective family,” said Aoi, nodding.

“Actually...” Komaru’s smile cringed on her face. “I um... just assume Kyouko-chan knows everything.”

“There are a few techniques we can try,” said Kyouko, faintly amused. “Perhaps if we pinpoint when and where exactly the photograph took place, that may stir something in Togami-kun’s brain.”

Other than Byakuya, no one else was in the frame. A briefcase leaned against a bench leg and a pile of papers rested on his lap. Annoyingly, he couldn’t see any writing that may have been on the papers. In the photograph, he wasn’t looking at them. He was focused on the nothingness where the other half of the photograph should have been.

“That has to be the main plaza,” said Aoi. “I recognise the benches. Sakura-chan and I finished our morning runs there. Then we would sit down and drink some water. We never saw Togami there though.”

“Yeah. That looks like the fountain at the back,” added Makoto.

Kyouko stroked her chin. “The sliver of sky in the background appears rather pale, and judging by the colour of the leaves, it’s approximately autumn.”

“Togami-chi never missed a lesson, so it had to be late-afternoon at the latest, ‘right?” said Yasuhiro.

“Unless it was the weekend,” Makoto pointed out, prompting Yasuhiro to exhale frustratedly through his teeth. The thoughtful expression on Kyouko’s face, however, didn’t waver.

“We can deduce whether he had lessons on that day,” said Kyouko.

“How?” asked Aoi.

Byakuya already knew. “I’m not in uniform.”

“Indeed,” said Kyouko with a bob of her head. “So unless you changed into another outfit after your lessons, this scene transpired at the weekend.”

“Does that ring any bells for you?” Komaru asked Byakuya, clasping her hands together, eyes wide with optimism. “Visiting the plaza on the weekend, and catching sight of something that brings joy to your face...?”

His jaw clenched. All of them were staring at him. They had a campus as large as four high schools to clear and they had only made a dent so far, but the arduous task appeared to have been pushed aside in favour of probing his brain for some memory. Oh, how they tried his patience at times.

“I can’t say it brings anything to mind, though it is unusual for me to be there,” he said in a level tone. “Usually, during the weekend, I would be indoors, either in my room or in the library.”

Certainly not at the plaza. Certainly not with a brazen smile chipped into his face.

“I think we’ve followed the photograph’s lead as far as it can go,” said Yasuhiro. “Now we must turn to guesswork. If we bounce ideas off each other, that might help Togami-chi remember. Perhaps you had come from a meeting, where you struck a billion dollar deal?”

“Or you emerged from the cafeteria after they served some tasty donuts?” Aoi chimed in.

Byakuya’s frown sank in deeper.

“Or you finished a really good manga?” said Komaru.

“Or listened to a good song?” added Makoto.

Yasuhiro clicked his fingers. “I once read that listening to music is a good way to stir up memories. If we find a piece with the right mood, Togami-chi ought to remember the scene!”

“What sort of mood do you guys reckon we should play?” asked Komaru as she shoved her hand into her coat.

“Something cheerful,” said Aoi.

Komaru retrieved her phone from her pocket and tapped on her screen. A few seconds later, a series of beeps sang out of her phone, playing over the sound of clapping and a fast drumbeat. She side-stepped back and forth to the rhythm, and Byakuya lasted until the first few lines of Swedish auto tuned singing.

“Turn that off,” snapped Byakuya. “It’s not helping me think. It’s giving me a headache instead.”

With a pout, Komaru switched it off.

“Perhaps we should visit the location,” said Kyouko.

Touko’s brow creased. “Won’t it be dark?”

“Don’t worry, Touko-chan, our phones can provide you with light,” Komaru assured her, patting Touko on the shoulder.

They set off, departing from the old theatre and winding through corridors toward the plaza. Byakuya stayed silent, lagging behind most of the others slightly. Only Touko seemed to take note of this, and though she didn’t speak to him, she hovered further back than him, and he could feel her eyes on the back of his neck like flies crawling against his skin.

As they drew closer, he concluded that they wished so desperately to discover the source of his smile because they planned to use it against him. Perhaps they intended to humiliate him, or blackmail or manipulate him. But they were his friends, weren’t they? Surely they didn’t plan on using what they learned against him?

Yet... if that wasn’t the case, then why?

The plaza was no longer the picturesque location it once was. It couldn’t have been in a brochure promoting the academy, like the photograph in the album. Weeds grew between upturned slabs, gnarled fingers reaching toward the sky. Nearby, the rubble corpse of the fountain didn’t spout water, dry as sun bleached bone. They all stood silently for a while, observing their surroundings. There were no benches to sit on.

“It sure has changed a lot,” said Yasuhiro.

“It’ll do. Hagakure, bend over on all fours.” Aoi pointed at her feet. “You will play the part of the bench.”

Yasuhiro balked. “Why me? You’re stronger.”

Her stare didn’t relent. He managed a few more seconds before he dropped to his knees and planted his hands in front of himself. Once he was in position, Aoi turned to Byakuya expectantly.

“I am not sitting on him,” said Byakuya flatly.

“Please, Togami-san!” Komaru pleaded, shaking her phone in both hands. Light from the screen danced across her face and when her hands stilled, so did the glow. It seeped into her skin, accentuating the crinkle between her eyebrows and the stare from her eyes that pulled, pulled, pulled at Byakuya until he snapped.

“Why are you all making a big deal of this?” Byakuya asked not only Komaru, but all of them. He flung up a hand. “There is a photograph of me smiling. That’s it. It concerns me that you’re so obsessed with finding out what caused me to smile.”

His question clenched them in its jaws, burning the air with acid. He waited for one of them to answer. For Touko to do more than fidget, and Komaru to stop chewing her lip. Finally, the pressure squeezed out a response from Makoto.

“You’re our friend,” said Makoto. “You’re usually so serious, and you rarely ever seem happy. We thought if we could find out what made you that happy back then...”

“... we could bring that happiness back to you now,” finished Touko, curling her fingers into her palms. Byakuya tensed.

That explanation had never occurred to him. For most of his life, he had been forced to be on the defensive, to anticipate betrayals and attacks from anyone. Then again, for most of his life, he hadn’t been acquainted with people like this. Friends. He grimaced, staring at Touko for several long seconds before averting his gaze and pushing up his glasses.

“Nuisances...” But he seated himself on Yasuhiro’s back, setting his feet firmly on the ground.

Byakuya tried to imagine the sky was a pool of water, not ink, and that he was on a bench, and that water streamed from a fountain behind him. However, the air remained as dry and dark as his mouth, and no matter how often his mind mended the slabs of the plaza, they would crack and decay within moments.

“Anything?” said Touko, wringing her hands.

He folded his arms over his chest.

“No,” said Byakuya. A collective sigh spread, though Makoto was soon grinning again.

“I guess we’ll have to keep trying to make you happy.”

Byakuya clicked his tongue, but his lips twitched outward and he quickly hid it behind his hand. Nuisances.

“Does this mean you can stand up now?” Yasuhiro asked from beneath Byakuya.

Aoi stretched her arms upward, arching her back, and yawned. “We ought to call it a day. It’s getting late.”

While the others headed toward the dormitory building that they were currently living in. Byakuya stayed where he was. Their footsteps faded, the glow of their phones shrinking into five pinpricks of light before disappearing completely. Despite his friends’ efforts, they had failed to uncover the story of the photograph. Now that he knew their motives hadn’t been nefarious, he could appreciate their attempts and found himself wondering what had happened all those years ago.

“It’s a shame we don’t know what made you so happy back then,” said Touko next to him, echoing his thoughts. She hadn’t retired for the night with the others. He glanced at her, meeting her gaze. Her phone shone a light against her wistful expression.

“I suppose so,” he said in a casual tone.

“With many of my memories, I don’t recall exact details, but they evoke certain feelings.”

His eyebrows rose a fraction in interest. “Oh?”

“Yes. For example, standing here... is stirring some emotion in me. I think I have a memory associated with this place too.”

Byakuya turned his whole body to face her.

“What emotion?” he asked.

She didn’t answer right away, as if letting the thought sit on her tongue, tasting it.

“Warmth,” she said. “Like the warmth I feel when I’m with you. Perhaps I will never remember what happened to give me that feeling. B-But... I have many other precious memories... and I can work on creating more with you, Byakuya-sama.”

Her lips twisted into a smile. Meanwhile, his insides twisted, much like they did whenever she referred to him in a romantic manner. He had been experiencing the sensation more frequently around her lately. Sometimes, all she had to do was meet his gaze or brush against him, and his stomach would coil like she had pressed her lips against his.

“Byakuya-sama?” Touko’s voice broke into his thoughts. “A-Are you feeling all right?”

He did not want to think what about his face had made her ask that all of a sudden.

“I’m fine,” he said, and he adjusted his glasses. “We’ve dawdled here for long enough. Let’s return to the dormitories.”

“Together?” blurted Touko. Without a word, Byakuya strode away, and she darted after him, keeping abreast. “Are you going straight to sleep when you arrive back?”

His eyes stayed forward.

“No. I will have some tea and read first,” he replied.

“What do you plan on reading?”

“Out by Natsuo Kirino,” he said. Her head jerked back.

“I r-recently finished that!”

“I know. After seeing you reading it, I thought I would give it a try. I was more interested when I learned that it’s not a romance, but a crime novel.”

“I specialise in romance, but I read for a variety of genres,” she said. “I can recommend some more books i-if you want. Have you read The Inugami Clan? You may find the start slow, but I think you will enjoy the cast and the premise...”

He listened as they walked back together. The more she spoke, the more passionate she became, and he couldn’t help looking at her as she lit up, waving her arms around.

A smile poked at the corners of his lips, and he finally felt a sense of déjà vu.

[batarella]

The Commander - Part 6 (Arkham Knight x Reader)

Let me know what you guys think! Still love you all for the response. 

WORDS: 2137 WARNINGS: FLUFFY STUFFY FLUFF

Masterlist

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

He knew it was late when he awoke. He never felt so well-rested in years. The Knight peered his eyes open. The second thing that greeted him was the smell of greasy burgers being unwrapped from thin plastic.

“Mornin’,” Commander Y/N said. She took out a burger from a paper bag and set it on the table. “I got us burgers.”

“Mmm.” The Knight closed his eyes again. “What time is it?”

“Two in the afternoon. I woke up an hour ago.” The Commander sat on the desk and took a bite. “Didn’t you go out again last night?”

The Knight groaned into his pillow and propped himself up, leaning against the bed. “Hand me one.”

The Commander grabbed a burger and threw it at Jason. He caught it, then took a large bite out from the bun. He was starving. “Looks like you needed the rest more than I did,” the Commander said. “You snore like a pig.”

The Knight glared at her.

Y/N grabbed another burger. “I don’t think I’ll ever sleep like that in my life.”

“Tell me about it,” the Knight finished his burger, extending his arm for another one. “But we leave for the cave tonight, then take the jet back to Venezuela.”

“Fries?”

“Sure.” The Commander handed him the box. He slurped his fingers. “Did you hear anything from Slade?”

“Nope. Nothing from Crane either.”

His voice was still groggy and tired. He sounded like sex. “What do we do until then?” The Commander asked.

“We stay here. Or you can go out if you like.”

“Are you going out?”

“No.” The Knight laid on elbow above his propped-up knee. He looked up at her. His hair was an absolute mess. “I can't believe you abandoned this place for so long. Where’d you go?”

The Knight finished his second burger, then dug into the fries. “I’m not telling you anything about me.”

“I’ve seen you naked.”

He stopped chewing, slowly turning his head to her.

But then the Knight stared at his fries, looking like he was thinking of something to say. He scooched over to the right and placed his hand on the floor beside him.

“Sit here. That desk is as old as I am. It’ll break under your weight.”

The Commander jumped off the desk, then nonchalantly sat right at his side. She ate her burger silently.

He looked normal. He didn’t look like some maniacal supervillain. Like any young boy she’d meet if she were normal as well. And his hair, he still hadn’t bothered to fix. She just wanted to run her fingers down them like she used to.

He took a bite. “So you’ve slept with me the most, huh?”

“Fuck you.”

The Knight smirked. That was such a first. It was like Gotham brought out the humanity in this guy.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before.”

He looked at her. And he wasn’t frowning. There was still a slight curve in his lip as he looked at her up and down. “Likewise, kid.”

Y/N returned his expression, then looked down. “Thank you for the day off.”

The Knight didn’t say anything back. He’d finished his fries, then he set the box down on the space between them. He propped both his elbows up his knees and laid his head against the side of the bed.

“I lied to you.”

She threw the plastic from her finished burger. “Hm?”

“I don’t regret what we did.” His voice was that same low he’d speak in when he was hesitating to speak. Y/N didn’t know what to tell him. She looked in front of her, biting her lips. The air seemed colder all of a sudden.

Could she lean in? Kiss him? Do it just one more time? Will that make the time between now and a few days?

It won't. This side of him was different, something she wanted to just look at and last. It didn’t have to be something so sexual for her to air out her stresses. Sitting on the floor, eating fries and greasy burgers with him. It was enough.

“Me neither.”

Xxxxxxxxx

She ended up going with him to get smoothies.

They didn’t bother with the bikes. They just walked. And the Knight didn’t bother with his armor under his clothes either. He paid for the drinks and walked slowly back to the apartment.

“This is positively horrible.”

“The good ones are a drive away. I never said my neighborhood was any good.”

“I should have known,” she looked at the green slime in her cup. “You got it from a man that used a cardboard box to store his ice.”

“And I stole from him everyday as a kid.”

There. Finally. Another from his past. She had to bite her lip not to make it so obvious.

The Knight still kept his cap and hoodie on. He was so afraid anyone would see the mark on his face. Frankly, Y/N never gave it a second look. She looked away from him before he’d notice.

“How much time do we still have?”

“It’s almost four.”

She continued sipping into her cup, trying not to gag. “It’s refreshing not having five hundred men to worry about for a day.”

“Slade’s hired new recruits. More experienced. Said they didn’t need much training to begin with.”

“Can we talk about something else other than the militia?”

The Knight frowned. “We’re not here on vacation.”

“I’ve grown used to this,” she finished the drink until a large block of ice half the cup’s size was left. She threw it out. “I don’t think I’ve ever taken a brake.”

He looked at her, then threw out his own drink. “Commander.”

He stopped walking and looked up at her standing on the curb, and him right at the edge of the road. Y/N craned her head down, taking a step forward.

“How much money did I promise you?”

She shrugged. “Ten thousand.”

The Knight took another step. “No one will survive in Gotham after this. Not after what Crane has planned.”

Y/N nodded. “I understand.”

“A number of my men will be captured and interrogated. The Militia Commander will be the first one to take down on their list. I’ll give you fifteen when we get back. And when all this is done, you go to Bludhaven. Take your uncle with you if you have to and change your name. Promise me you won't look back.”

There were car sirens from afar. But all she could stare at was his face.

“I will,” she said. “I promise.”

Xxxxxxxxx

They were going to the Batcave.

It was dark, though the streets were far from empty. They sped off into the outer city, crossing the bridge into the suburbs. They’d reached miles of empty land. Hillsides and forests. The Commander just trailed behind him.

They drove up a hill, the road empty and silent, until they stopped where there stood a cave, dark and barren on the inside.

“Come,” he grappled to the bushes at the side of the cave’s opening. “We have to wait ‘till he comes out.”

There were no stars, just as Y/N remembered her home city would be. She thought of how she felt the first time she saw a field of stars above her in Venezuela, how she spent an entire night just staring at them.

But what she hasn’t seen was the view.

“It’s breathtaking, though,” she said. “The city you hate so much.”

“I don’t hate Gotham as it is,” his robotic voice echoed into the silent field, “I hate how it’s fallen submissive under him.”

“He’s never killed, hasn’t he? That’s why he’s a hero.”

“He’s delusional,” he said, “He should be out by now.“

Then there it was. The Batmobile. Almost exploding out of the cave’s opening, tires screeching as it landed on the concrete road and sped off. They waited until it was out of their line of sight, then they grappled out of the bushes at the higher grounds to land right into the cave’s entrance.

It didn’t shock her how much it was actually loaded with security.

“Don’t worry. Its security systems have only been upgraded twice since I’ve last been here.” He pulled out his hacking device, “Shouldn’t take me more than ten seconds.”

She stared in awe, both at the Knight and the cave, before the sensors suddenly disengaged.

“Eleven seconds. Not bad,” she said.

They walked in, “We only have a few minutes.”

Then there it fucking was. The Batcave. She knew it was something, but she had no idea what to expect. The Batwing was there. She had seen it fly over her house once or twice. There was another Batmobile parked beside it, looking like a few marks down from his current car. It was larger than two stories, and it looked absolutely magnificent.

Batman’s computer was at arm’s reach.

They dropped down onto the floor, making it more and more unrealistic the more she stepped further inside. The man had more suits than he’s ever even worn.  The Knight, however, didn’t waste time admiring the Batcave. He walked straight to the computers.

Until something caught his eye.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured under his breath.

Y/N turned to see what he meant, but it turns out he was only staring at a displayed suit inside a glass case. “I think that used to be his sidekick’s. Robin.”

He didn’t answer, and instead continued to look at it. He didn’t move, or even take a second to look away the moment it caught his attention.

He pressed the button to raise his visor. He still didn’t say anything. His eyes were dark and hooded, and he took a step closer to the glass case.

She could feel something was off. Something she didn’t think to look for. Whenever the Knight grew angry, she never actually got to see his face. He had his visor for that. And now, he was there, looking at the suit like it struck something within him. The Commander looked down at his feet. Standing against the glass was a picture of Batman and Robin, smiling. The Knight was looking at the picture as well.

The Commander walked closer to him, standing behind his back. The Knight didn’t seem to notice her. She wanted a closer look at the picture.

And when she did, she regretted it.

Fuck.

No.

No. no. no. no.

Commander Y/N stepped back, and just as the Knight pulled his arm way back.

“Don’t!”

He stopped. The glass would’ve broken, and it would’ve triggered something in the cave. Fuck.

She had no idea what to tell him. Commander Y/N looked just as distraught, though hers was in fear and he was in his lowest, depressive state. She stepped back.

“I-“

“Wait outside.”

“But-“

“Commander.” The slight crack in his voice pushed her another step back. He didn’t scream. But she obviously didn’t want him to. “Wait outside.”

He’ll be fine. He has to be. But Crane was right. There was something that triggered him in the cave.

The Commander grappled up where they came in, not even turning back. Then it dawned to her.

Fuck. Fucking hell. That was him. In the picture.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

And she knew it. She just knew it. Then suddenly she felt horrible, somehow because she knew because she found out, not because he was ready to tell her. The Knight never would’ve told her. Never to the Militia.

And he knew. Just from the look of her face when she’d realized it. He’d probably kill her. Or leave her in Gotham. She knew too much. Fuck. This was the end of her.

The Commander leaned against her bike. How was she going to face him now?

Should she fess up? Tell him exactly how much she knew?

No. That’s how he’ll decide to kill her. The Knight was a ruthless, cruel man. She’d somehow forgotten that overtime. This was the man who assembled an army, dragged out anyone in his way, killed like no one could see him, and was planning to take control of an entire city. Whoever the man she thought he was until this point on, he didn’t exist.

The Knight walked so quietly out of the cave,

She kept her silence. Speaking would only do her so good. Commander Y/N kept her head down and picked up her helmet. She couldn’t even look at him.

The Knight kept his visor off. His face hadn’t changed. “It’s done.”

Y/N knew he was mad, but he was trying to hide it.

Say something.

“I’ll let Deathstroke know.”

And at the sound of her voice, so carefully picked out. He almost flinched. The Knight exhaled, smoke coming out of his mouth. His movements were so slow she could count the seconds. Then his head turned to her.

Her helmet dropped to the floor when he grabbed her face and kissed her.

-----

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

 Taglist: @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki @everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208 @offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal @mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive

[prettyminyoongii]

Secret Admirer || Hwang Hyunjin ||

“Oh fuck.” I curse in pain. All my things have fallen down from the supposedly secure box but instead, opened its flaps, letting my belongings fall down.

“ y/n, are you okay? You need help there?” My mom said, rushing to pick up my things and placing them in a more secure cardboard box.

“I’m beginning to question your independent abilities since you can’t even tape a box. Maybe you shouldn’t be in the dorms yet. I can rent a place nearby so I can stay with you.” I sigh as she hands me the the box and we both go downstairs to the trunk of the car.

“I’ll be fine in college mom. Trust me I have my future ready.” I say, closing the trunk as we then journey to the roads of my college.

I unknowingly fell asleep on the way. Waking up by the beam of sunlight, I see the gates of college; fraternity and sorority rituals, smelling the pot and juul, and even partying at the fields when it’s just 2pm. It was just as I imagined.

“Honey we’re here. Open the trunk and grab your things.” I then stepped out of the car, opened the trunk and got my boxes and baggages. We both then went to the lobby.

“Hi! How may help you?” The polite woman said, smiling at the both of us.

“Yes, hi! I am a freshman here and I would like to get my dorm please.”

“Name please?”

“Y/N, Y/L/N.”

The women then went on her computer, checking for vacant rooms. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and was frightful to say the conflict.

“I am terribly sorry Ms. Y/L/N but all the dorms for the women’s wing is unfortunately occupied.” This made my mom disappointed.

“Are there any other options?” My mom asked.

“There is a temporary option which is that, Ms. Y/L/N would be staying at the men’s wing until we could find a permanent dorm for her.” The woman hesitantly says to my mom. I could see the look on my mom’s face and she is dissatisfied.

“It is fine, we would rather-“

“I can take it.” I cut my mother’s words as she looks at me unpleasantly.

“May you give us a second to discuss?” My mom excuses us from the counter, pulling my wrist far from there.

“What on earth are you doing?” My mom murmured angrily.

“This is college mom. I would face worse problems than this and it is the college experience. I’m not a child. I can handle myself and you just need to trust me, please? Boys are not my priority here.” I give her reassurance as she sighs in defeat. We then went back to the lobby and take the keys.

Hours passed by and my roommate did not arrived yet. I began to study for my future classes and suddenly, I heard banging on the door. I stood up, frightened by the action as the door opens to reveal-

“Hyunjin?”

“Um hi! Do I know you?” He asked in confusion. Of course I would know Hwang Hyunjin , the most popular boy back in our high school but of course, he wouldn’t know me since I was only known to few.

“Oh, I’m Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N. Your temporary roommate.” I reached out my hand for his as we shook hands.

“Y/N? Really? Wow! You um... changed a lot.” He stepped aback and began looking at me up and down, smirking at what is standing in front of him. I was surprised to the fact that he knows me.

“It’s just the haircut.” I jokingly said, as my cheeks started to burn from the compliment.

“Why are you my temporary roommate anyway? Isn’t there another building for the women’s?”

“Well, there’s no vacant room for me so they put me here.”

“It’s good seeing an old high schoolmate. Brings me back to my old times.” He chuckled, laying down on his twin sized bed.

“Well I have my first class coming near by. I’ll see you later?” I packed my school supplies then looked at his dark brown eyes.

“See you later.” He smiled as I stepped outside to have my first ever college class. College has been going quite well already

I was having a hard time looking for my class, as the building was massive.

“Is this room 27?” I knocked on the door, and so the professor nods her head.

“Since I see that it is the first day, I’ll let the tardiness slide for today. As I said, I am Ms. Kim. Call me Prof. Kim .”

Classes then continued.

———— 𝐵𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟 ————

The first period was already done yet the day felt tiring. I had a free period after that so I happily walked out of the classroom.

Someone tapped my shoulder as I turned around to see who it was.

“Hi I am Lia. You must be new here. I can see from the whole ‘lost-freshman’ face.” She politely greeted me as we shook hands.

“I’m Y/N and yes, I desperately need help.” I chuckled as we exchanged laughter.

“Want me to give you a tour around this place?” She asked as I cheerfully nodded.

We started wandering around the halls after the long tour around. She then spoke to break the silence.

“Y/N, how come I don’t see you in the women’s dormitory? I mean, the freshman stay in one floor.”

“I am... um... staying in the men’s wing actually.” I stuttered, being embarrassed of the situation.

“I support LGBTQ+ Y/N. You can tell me anythi-“

“No it’s just that there’s no vacant space in the women’s wing so they placed me there. I’m straight.” I chuckled over her assumption as we started getting to know each other.

“So who’s your roommate then?”

“His name is Hwang Hyunjin.”

“Oh God. He’s like the talk of the town. He’s been dubbed as ‘ campus hottie ’. I mean, they aren’t wrong though.” Lia was right. He’s an impeccable man.

“Well, I’m stuck with him being my roommate. We came from the same high school so I guess that’s somewhat good.” Lia chuckled at my statement and so did I.

“So there’s going to be a freshman party. Would you mind going with me? I’m pretty sure you are my only friend and why not have some fun hm? I’ll introduce you to my roommate too.”

“It would be splendid for me to go but I don’t really know how to dress for these kinds of things. I’d rather stay in my room and study-“

“Come to my room instead Y/N. I think I can doll you up.” Lia insisted and so I agreed.

“Be there around 5 pm. See you!” Lia waved her goodbyes as we went on to our next period

5pm

I arrived at the front door of Lia’s dorm. I began fidgeting with my purse as I heard the knob turning. The door opened to reveal someone who wasn’t Lia but instead, a boy?

“Hey I’m Chan. You must be Y/N.” The boy said, clearing the way for me to go inside.

“You must be her roommate?” I assume as Chan chuckled.

“I’m actually her um... friend. Yeah... friends.” He murmured and yet I had a feeling of a complicated relationship between them.

“ Y/N, You actually came!” Lia had approached and hugged me.

“Oh, I see you met Chan.” She added, as both of them met eyes.

“Here’s my roommate, Kim .” Kim approached me and introduced herself.

“So you’re the roommate of Hwang Hyunjin.” She chuckled, analyzing my appearance and then added, “We need a complete makeover for you. I get the innocent-never-been-touched look from you sister but this is college and you need to have some fun! Sit down let’s get started.”

Kim and Lia then started dolling me up.

———— 𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 ————

8pm

Couple of hours passed by yet it felt like decades sitting in front of a vanity.

“And... we... are... done! Take a look in the mirror.” Kim cheerfully said as I gazed at my own reflection on the mirror. I looked completely different. From the outfit, to the makeup.

“How about we go to that party hm?” Lia says as she grabbed her purse and escorted us outside.

We finally arrived at the party. It was like every typical party; flashing lights, blasting music, and the smell of alcohol and pot.

“Everyone, this is Y/N .” Kim announced to a small group of friends. At the corner, I saw Hyunjin mingling with other people. We then sat down on the couch and met other people.

“Y/N, do you mind if I go along with Chan?” Lia asked as I tilted my head, seeing Chan waiting for my response. I smiled and nodded, “Sure! Don’t have too much fun okay?” I jokingly said as Lia teasingly slapped me and went on to have the night with Chan.

“Hey, I’m Sehun. Y/N right?” I turned around to see another freshman. I then introduced myself to him.

“What if we guys play a game of truth or dare hm?” Kim insisted which made everyone laugh.

“That’s for kids.” One of them added but I don’t quite know her name.

“Whatever you say Minnie. If you don’t wanna join then go somewhere else.” So that’s her name. Kim, who was already tipsy, uttered to Minnie.

“Well since you wanted to do the game, truth or dare?” Minnie talked back.

“Truth.”

“Who would you wanna smash in this room?” Minnis lifted her eyebrow as she looked at Kim fiercely.

“Namjoon.” They all looked to see Namjoon, the tall handsome guy. He chuckled by the so-called compliment of Kim.

“Y/N, truth or dare?” Kim then asked you.

“Truth.” I nervously held my hand, knowing that the question wouldn’t be good.

“Where was the craziest place you got smashed?”

“The um...” I couldn’t think of any location.

“Bedroom...?” I lied.

“Y/N, are you a virgin?” Namjoon said standing up from the couch as I stepped aback.

“I... have to go.” I stuttered, leaving the area.

I swam through the crowds. I could hear someone calling me from behind. As I turned around, Sehun had been following.

“Where are you going? The party just started.” Sehun started to approach me, which made me take a few steps back.

“I really got to go.” I said, getting out with a quicker pace.

Sehun still caught up to me and so he grabbed my arm and held my waist.

“I can help with that little virginity of yours.” He whispered to my ear which made me push him and scream, “Get the fuck away from me!”

Before I could even make another move, someone knocked him out and I looked up to see who it was.

“Y/N are you okay?”

“Hyunjim...”

I suddenly felt unconscious. I felt my whole body collapse to the ground like I fell asleep.

———— 𝐵𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟 ————

I woke up and saw my surroundings. I was back at my bed, head dizzy and my body very sore.

“Oh, you woke up. Are you feeling alright?” I turned to my left, seeing Hyunjin fresh from the shower, towel wrapped around his hips and another towel used for drying his flawless hair.

“There’s warm bottled water at the counter. That’s the best cure for a hangover-“

“Oh, I’m not hungover, I get dizzy and unconscious easily. It’s been like, a ‘disease’ for me and I freak out.” I felt embarrassed, realizing what happened last night.

“Well are you okay, at least?” He approached me and I was speechless from the sculptured masterpiece right in front of me.

I had a loss of words, and stuttered “Y-yeah.”

“You want me to bring you to class? Just to know you’re fine.” He smiled at me as I nodded to the statement. I then went to the bathroom to get ready.

I was ready to leave. I grabbed my books and packed it up in my bag. I tied my shoes and did finishing touches.

“Are you ready?” Hyunjin asked, leaning on to the door. I nodded once more, and got a mixed feeling of the whole situation.

We began walking through the halls. His hands were in his pockets while I was holding my books tightly. It was deafining silence until Hyunjin decided to break it.

“Y/N, um... since we are roommates, I think it’s an obligation to get to know each other, you know?” He turned around to face me, stopping his tracks.

“Maybe you wanna hang over dinner?” He added, yet I was still silent. I didn’t know what to say. I froze for no apparent reason.

“Or maybe it’s fine if you don’t want to-“

“I’d be glad to. I’m sorry, I’m still lightheaded from yesterday.” I replied, rubbing my eyes from the dizziness.

“It’s fine. I overheard what Namjoon said last night and it wasn’t right for them to make fun of you.”

“But people our age are supposed to have fun. I’m just a fucking freak even if I try changing the way I look.” I began to tear up, recalling past memories from high school.

“You aren’t Y/N. And your change is good. I barely recognized you when I first met you again. Fuck them losers. You deserve more than that. Why don’t I treat you for that dinner hm?” Hyunjin came closer and smiled, making my heart flutter.

“See later then. I gotta go to class.” I giggled as I waved goodbye to him.

[kbandtrash]

Surrounded (Mafia Crossover AU)(Part 4)

~Megan~

Masterlist

Day6/N.Flying/The Rose/Like any other Kband honestly x Reader

Warnings: Violence, self-harm

Word Count: 1.5k

Part 1

You had almost reached your room when you heard a familiar voice call your name. You turned to see Jae running down the hall toward you. "Uh, hi!" He seemed out of breath after running with a large cardboard box in his arms. It was taped up with black duct tape. "Hello..."

"Can I... talk with you?" "Yeah," you said as you headed into your room. But before you could open the door, Jae put his hand in front of you. "We have to go somewhere without being watched." "Watched? But my room—" "The Rose already knows you're here. I don't know how... but they have an eye on you. We have to go to a place they've never seen." You nodded quickly, your heart suddenly racing. He led you down the halls and you passed Minhyuk and Hun again. Hun caught your eye and smiled a little. You entered an elevator and he didn't bother to press a button as he set down the box. When the elevator began to move, it went to the side. "What's happening?" Jae looked at you calmly. "We're going to visit Dowoon." "That doesn't explain why this thing is moving sideways." "It's a secret. Dowoon just came back from his mission." "Isn't he... an assassin?" Jae nodded and cocked his head at you. "We really need to get you out of that dress, though it is a miracle it hasn't been ripped to shreds from living in a dungeon for five years." You hugged yourself, turning away. The elevator stopped and the doors opened. You gasped at what you saw. In front of you was a large room, dimly lit and without windows. Weapons lined the left wall for at least twenty feet. The right wall was covered in grayscale photos of many different people. Each one had a red X in its corner... except for one at the end. A man at the end was shaking up a red spray paint can. Farther into the room sat a big desk and a few chairs, along with a computer on top of the table. The man noticed Jae, who had jumped in front of you and hid you behind himself while he headed toward the man. He waved at him. "Hyung!" he said and smiled brightly, and then painted on an X on the picture. "I just got this one." Jae nodded. "Good job... sir." "You don't have to call me that." "But I would rather not disrespect you by mistake." "I don't think I earned respect." Jae chuckled. "Well, Dowoon, I brought what you asked for. Kang-joon was in a hurry." He set down the box at his feet, bending over just enough to reveal you shaking behind him. Dowoon had a very clear look of surprise on his face. "Who's this?" he wondered aloud, setting down the can on the desk and making his way toward you. You absentmindedly scratched at your arms, but Jae caught your arms, reminding you not to do so. Dowoon was wearing a dark red hoodie paired with black jeans that somehow made him look more like an assassin than the nice guy he turned out to be. His smile dropped as he got closer. You dropped your gaze shyly. You noticed a gun strapped to his hip and stepped backward in fear. Jae waved a hand in front of your face. "Y/N? You good? He's not going to hurt you." You looked up and met Dowoon's eyes. His straight face broke into a smile as he held out a hand. "Nice to meet you, Y/N." You took his hand and he shook it vigorously. "Mhm." "I'm sure you've heard of me. But I'll introduce myself anyway. I'm Dowoon, the assassin and spy here in Day6. And Jae...? You wanted to speak about something?" Jae nodded in response. "Yes. This is Y/N, the one who has been in the dungeon for five years." Dowoon widened his eyes. "She's the dangerous one? Are you kidding?" "No, it's just that she's been cleaned of inhuman qualities so she's currently weak. The reason I brought her here is because her power will definitely return and I need you to keep an eye on her when I can't." "Hey!" a fierce voice shouted from the entrance of the room. They turned to see Sungjin in a suit and sunglasses atop his head. "Jae, what are you doing?!" Jae jumped and his hands began to shake. "Uh, sorry, boss—" "You didn't have permission to take her here. She could revert! She can't be around the weapons this early!" Dowoon had a straight face now. He betrayed no emotion on his face. "Hyung, it's fine. He tells me I have to babysit her." Sungjin flicked Jae's forehead. "You do, now that Jae will be reviewing the rules over her in detention for a few days." Jae put his hands together. "But—" Sungjin flicked him again. "You knew this was against the rules! Be glad I'm not going to kill you." You had backed into a wall. It was the left wall, and when your arm accidentally bumped into a knife, you grabbed it instinctively. You held the cold metal to your wrist. Suddenly you felt stronger. You hid the knife behind you and watched what they would do. Sungjin gestured to Dowoon in annoyance. "Grab the girl." Dowoon nodded solemnly and headed toward you. He noticed the knife beside you missing and he jumped away. "Hyung! She has a—" You pulled the knife out, and before anyone knew what you were doing, you had cut both of Dowoon's wrists. You recoiled in fear when you saw his blood. You dropped the now bloody knife. Sliding to the floor, you started to scratch at your legs. The bandages protecting them kept you from cutting yourself open again. Sungjin pulled out a handgun and held it to your head calmly. "Get up slowly and follow me." You did as he said and found yourself in his arms. He had embraced you. "W-what?" you stuttered, confused. He quickly let you go and squeezed your wrist, dragging you behind him. You looked behind you and saw Dowoon on the floor, Jae by his side with his phone to his ear. Within seconds, Wonpil had run into the room carrying a medical box. He glanced at you with fear in his eyes. Sungjin shoved you into the elevator and you found yourself being held by someone new from behind. You looked at the man holding you. It was Young K, looking down at you through his dark sunglasses. He had a grim expression plastered on his face. You noticed his grip was much looser than Sungjin's had been. You didn't care to struggle. Instead, you began to sob. "What's wrong with me?" you began to ask out loud, though quietly. Sungjin tried to ignore your cries. You seemed to have no idea what you did. He became curious. "Y/N," he started, your sobbing silencing immediately, "why did you do that?" You felt your whole body shaking with fear at Sungjin, but also yourself. "I... my body did it by it-itself. I touched a-a knife and then the n-next thing I knew Dowoon's wrists were b-bleeding and I had the knife th-that cut them." Young K held himself back from hugging you. He wanted to reassure you, make you feel better, because it was hurting him to see you so distressed. Sungjin nodded. "So... you didn't do it on purpose?" You snapped your head toward him. You immediately regretted it because his face had changed into a confused look, which didn’t make you feel any better. You shivered. "Of course not. I have no reason to hurt anyone and the feeling made me feel..." You paused. Sungjin knew what she was about to say. "It made me hate myself for liking it." Young K gripped your arms tighter, fearful of you now that he heard those words. The elevator opened and they walked you down a familiar hall. When they arrived at a purple door, you were surprised. "Y-you're not taking me to the dungeon?" Sungjin shook his head calmly. "No. We have something else in mind." You felt tears roll down your cheeks when the door opened. You squeezed your eyes shut because you didn't want to know what was about to happen. But you opened them anyway. To your surprise, a non-dangerous-looking man was sitting on the seat at the foot of your bed. Sungjin nodded at him. "This is Taehyung. He's a professional therapist and mythologist. He's here to figure out what happened to you when you were a lab rat." The man stood. He smiled a boxy smile and you calmed down instantly. Young K let you go. "We'll see you again." You turned and watched as Sungjin and Young K walked out the door, shutting it behind them. You then looked back toward Taehyung. "Hey," he greeted calmly. 

Part 5

[ek-triptych]

Twelfth Day of Triptych Christmas: Christmas Day

//We have finally made it to Christmas Day. Merry Christmas, everyone, and thank you for joining us in Triptych’s Twelve Days of Christmas! This three-part special was written by both KV and El.

As the bright morning sun shone through the window onto Three's open computer, he looked up from his fruitless research to gaze out at the glistening snow outside. A marred world outside, once beautiful in the clear sheet of white now trampled over and uncared for, not that it mattered now. Three stood and exhaled to another morning of futile searching to find nothing that gave him any kind of useful information as to his past life -- or rather, the past life he would have had if things had turned out differently. Then again, it was useless to wish now, but then, what if…?

A quick knock rapped on the door before Falcon opened the door quickly. 'Hey! Merry Christmas!'

Oh yeah, Christmas. Three had forgotten about that.

'Merry Christmas.' He reached down to close his computer. Why does Fal feel like he's waiting for something?

'You coming downstairs?'

Seth looked at him in way of question.

'To open presents. You know... ' Falcon grinned. 'Christmas.'

Right. Christmas. Because everyone celebrated that. 'Right. Christmas.'

Following a still pyjama-d Falcon downstairs, Seth couldn't tell if this felt like a dream because of his lack of sleep or simply because of the simple bizarreness of it all. It was weird not only to be in a house with a family, but also to be observing a holiday, or anything other than something like finishing an assignment, and even then that had gotten nothing more than an, 'Oh, you're back.' Celebrating something, much less a holiday like Christmas -- that was something Three had forgotten a lifetime ago, assuming he had ever known it in the first place. To be observing it in this context felt ironically fitting in its own foreign kind of way.

'Merry Christmas, Seth,' Lawrence Rynn greeted as the two entered the living room with its modest Christmas decorations, and where a handful of colorfully- and mostly clumsily-wrapped gifts waited. Three sat down on the carpet and waited to see what would happen, though it took Falcon a couple of minutes in the kitchen to come out with mugs of hot chocolate before he said, 'Here's our hot chocolate. We're ready to go.'

He crossed his legs close to the miniature tree at his father's feet and took a noisy sip of hot chocolate before sticking the mug on the table and taking the liberty of passing out some presents. After taking a few of them for himself, he handed one to Lawrence, then handed a surprising two to Seth.

'Go ahead!'

Three looked down at his first two presents ever. Falcon exclaimed as he ripped the paper off a skateboard, then gave Lawrence a giant hug and a heartfelt, 'Thank you!' Seth pulled off the strips of tape covering the first little box, gently pulling back the paper to reveal the cover of cardboard that was obviously from some old packaging. He looked up at Lawrence, who gave him a slight nod of encouragement, before opening the box to find a slip of paper inside.

'A little bit of my research so far,' Lawrence explained as Seth pulled it out to read a list of names along with other minimal information. 'From what I have found and what you've told me, these are a few of your possibilities.'

Three looked up at him appreciatively. 'Thank you.'

Lawrence nodded in acknowledgement as Falcon urged, 'Open mine!'

Seth obliged, folding up his gift carefully to save it for later before again pulling the tape carefully off the slightly more carefully wrapped present. After a few seconds Falcon moved as if to rush Seth, so Three gave up and pulled it off with a pointed look at the impatient boy.

A strip of gray amidst a sea of black spilled out from the open paper, and Three pulled out the cloth for it to unfold into a dark sweatshirt with a high collar and long sleeves.

'Put it on,' Falcon prompted, grinning excitedly. 'See if it fits.'

Seth shrugged and pulled it over his head, sticking his arms through the warm material to find his hands caught in thumb holes, moving the sleeves automatically over his arms as he pulled it completely on.

'Thanks,' he said, pulling the hood off his head. 'It's really nice.'

'That's why I got it.' Falcon smirked. 'And it's got a ninja collar. Cool, right?'

Three couldn't think of anything particularly necessary in answer, so instead he just nodded. As Lawrence silently admired his new socks and potholder, Falcon began to tell the story behind the little present as Seth looked down at his two presents, not knowing what to feel as a mix of emotions threatened to break to the surface. Part of it was almost close to guilt at having received things so undeserved, but another part of it was definitely pleasure, and another part was the slightest bit of longing for… something. Never before had Three celebrated anything, and maybe this was the scratching of an itch he should never have dared to touch. Maybe, again, he had made a mistake.

But when he looked at Falcon's smiling face, and the way he interacted with his father now, part of him dared to hope that maybe -- maybe something could change for him. Maybe Three could become something more, just as Falion had come to find his own place in this world.

Falcon couldn’t stop smiling as he squeezed through the people crowding every nook of the Kelly’s house, his hands full with several paper plate piled high with food and a plastic cup of apple cider.  He finally broke through the final crush of people with a laugh, holding his plates above his head to keep them out of people’s way.

“There are so many people!” he exclaimed.  He passed one of the plates to Seth, who was sitting near the top of the stairs away from the main crowd, and plopped down on a step closer to the bottom, nudging Gabe with his shoulder to get him to make room.  Lily, who was perched happily two steps above them, high-fived him, and he gave a friendly nod to Reyn next to her as well.  Turning back to the main room, he gave a huge contented sigh and leaned against his best friend, taking a big bite of his pie.

“This is great,” he murmured quietly, green eyes flitting from person to person as he surveyed the room.

“What a difference two years makes,” Gabe muttered in response, “You used to hate parties.”

“Ugh, old me didn’t know what he was missing,” Falcon snorted. “Parties are the best.”

“Pretty crazy,” Gabe mused.  “Who knew that Falcon from two Christmases ago would turn into you?”

Falcon stilled, considering for a few minutes.  “...that wasn’t me,” he finally said contemplatively.  “That was Falion.”  Three, who could just barely hear from behind them, paused as he waited for Gabe’s reaction.

“Who’s Falion?” Gabe simply asked, raising an eyebrow.

Falcon laughed, leaning a little more against his friend.  “Exactly,” he hummed.

Gabe turned his head to try to peer at Falcon.  “Who’s Falion?” he insisted.  “Is that you?”

“Nope,” Falcon said, taking a swig of his cider and going back to people-watching.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sighing exasperatedly, Gabe dropped the subject and rolled his eyes, choosing to focus on the people wandering by as well.

With his best friend at his back and his other friends arranged along the steps, Falcon could feel a gentle warmth building in his chest, and a smile played along the corners of his mouth.  He gave a wave to his father as he passed by, and Lawrence reached down to ruffle his hair with an answering grin.  The feeling in his chest got warmer, and he found himself clutching his cup and staring down into his cider.

“You okay?” Gabe asked him with a nudge. “You’re tearing up.”

“What?”  Falcon lifted a finger and ran it along his eye, staring in bewilderment when it came away damp.  “What the heck?” he whispered to himself.

“Did you drink the eggnog?” Gabe asked flatly.  “You know it’s alcoholic, right?”

“What? I- no!” he shoved Gabe with a snort. “I just… I don’t know, I think I’m really happy right now?”

Gabe raised an eyebrow silently.  Falcon struggled for words, trying to express how happy he was to be here, how much he loved his friends and his Father and everyone in this room, how glad glad glad he was to be different than how he used to be: that sad and angry kid with too many scars who couldn’t even fathom the idea of family.

“I just love y’all,” he finally settled on, draping an arm dramatically over his friend’s shoulders.

“Sappy,” Gabe commented, but let him stay.  Falcon laughed and took another swig of his cider, grin wide as he basked in the warmth of the party.

At the end of the day Three sat in the dark on the bed in his new dark hoodie, looking out at the street lights through the window, though no one was driving at this late hour. The neighbors' Christmas lights blinked softly across the street, window lights beginning to blink out as everyone began to retire for the night. It was silent, bordering on lonely with the slightest twinge of regret framing the night as he simply watched.

A soft knock broke hesitantly through the quiet.

“Hey,” came Falcon’s voice through the door after a second, “want any company?”

Three didn't answer, so a few seconds later, Falcon opened the door and slipped inside.  He took a seat next to Three on the bed, gazing out the window as well.  After a few moments, he shifted.  “Y’know,” he began quietly, “I know how to get to the roof from the window. Want to go sit up there?”

Seth looked at him for a second. Then he said, "Yeah. Sure."  Falcon grinned softly and led the way, opening the window and pulling himself out by the top of the sill.  

“Just keep your feet on this part of the window,” he instructed. “That way you won’t slip.”

Three simply followed him up in silence, brushing away the snow with his bare hands before resting next to Falcon, socked feet getting slightly damp from the remaining snow.

The two boys sat in silence for a little while before Falcon flopped backwards, resting on his back and crossing his wrists comfortably over his stomach.  

“The sky is really pretty,” he commented.

Three looked up, propping his arms behind him. "Yeah."

“Just tune me out if you don’t wanna talk,” Falcon told him somewhat abruptly, not turning his head to look. “I’m really glad you got to spend Christmas with us though. I know it feels kinda weird. My first Christmas around here was an ordeal, let me tell you. But… still. Glad you were around.”

"Yeah," Three answered softly. "Me too."

That made Falcon turn his head.  “You are?” he asked, surprised and happy.

Three shrugged, putting one hand up to block the street lights to get a better look at the stars. "Well… yeah. It's weird being part of something you've always seen from far away but never participated in for real."

He paused. "Weird. But kind of nice."

Falcon sat up.  “Wow,” he said, “I’m so happy you had a good time!”

"Don't get me wrong," Three added, "parties are still stupid, pointless, and completely draining. But the rest of it… maybe isn't so bad as I always made it out to be."

Falcon chuckled.  “Christmas is a good season. Especially when you just absolutely nailed Gabe with a snowball. That was great.”

"Nailing you with a snowball was pretty great too." Seth laughed.

“Mmm, less great for me, but sure,” Falcon snickered.

"I still can't believe you hid a fully-wrapped present in the closet." Three shook his head. "I can't tell if you were trying to go with the gay joke, or you thought it was appropriate because it's a hoodie, or if you're just paranoid that way."

“It was tradition,” Falcon whined. “I always hide our gifts in the closet! Besides, I knew you’d try to break into it.”

"So you always lock your dad out at Christmas time?"

“Yes.”

"Think he'd be used to it by now."

Falcon shrugged with a grin. “I don’t know what goes through Father’s brain, honestly.  Maybe he’s just acting exasperated to humor me or something.”

"I wonder." Three stared up at the sky.

Falcon hummed contemplatively.  “Penny for your thoughts?”

Seth snorted. "It'll cost you more than that."

“I have…” Falcon checked his pocket.  “A quarter and half a candy cane.”

Three shrugged, pulling his legs up to rest his arms on them. "I don't know. All I can say is that it's weird. Like... watching some dumb TV show as a kid, and seeing everyone play their part in it, but knowing it's not real or not something you're ever going to have. Like the fake window you've been looking through your whole life. But when the screen is broken, you realise you were the one in the TV show, and everyone else has been living this life that you're going to have to play along with after just seeing it."

Falcon nodded to show he was listening. “Feels kinda bizarre and overwhelming?”

"Feels frustrating." Three looked at his hands. "Like I don't know what's reality, and I don't know why I should be playing this game anymore when the rules have changed this much."

Falcon hummed again and tipped his head back to look at the stars, just sitting in silent thought.

"I don't know if anything I do has consequences anymore." Three absentmindedly began to make a little mound of snow next to him. "The little things don't matter. You don't have someone telling you what's right or wrong or what you should be doing. And maybe I don't want that, but at the same time, what else has my life been? I don't want anything else, either. I don't know what I want. I don't know what the world wants. I don't know that either of us want any of it; maybe last year was a mistake and I'm not even supposed to be here."

“The world has always been out to get us,” Falcon commented quietly.  “Maybe it’s time for us to spite it.  Maybe it’s time for you and me to get up and tell the world that it doesn’t matter what’s thrown at us; we’re going to go out and find what we’re searching for and be happy anyway.”

"Happy," Three laughed. "Wonder what that is. If it's just smiling to ignore the fact that we're putting our heads down to work toward nothing, I'd rather not."

“Thankfully,” Falcon answered, “I’m pretty sure that’s not happiness.”

"Pretty sure it's what happy people do."

Falcon shrugged.  “Is it?  Gabe is happy, you know.  And he smiles, like, once in a blue moon.  I think I’m happy, or at least I’m starting to get there.  I don’t know what I’m working towards, or if there is anything to work towards, but…  I don’t know.  There’s something in this life more than just misery.”

Three looked at Falcon. "For some of us."

“For all of us,” Falcon answered firmly.  “But you’ll never find it if you never expect to find it.”

"And you expected to find it?"

“Not at first,” Falcon admitted.  “But after a while, you start to get used to the warmth and the love, and I guess I eventually realized that it wasn’t going away.  That I could wake up in the morning and hug my Father and hang out with my best friend, and life had something to look forward to and be certain of.”

"Right," Seth said. "Because I've got a lot to look forward to, and life is always so certain."

Falcon considered his next words for a moment.  “Believe me or not,” he said slowly, “but I think of you as my friend.  And you can be certain that I’ll be there for you if you need me.  I know you might not believe it right now, but I’ll keep working on it till you do.”

Three didn't answer for a good period of time. He just continued to look up at the stars, then at the Christmas lights all around, and at the snow frosting the sidewalks and rooftops. Though the silence extended for a good period of time, it wasn't uncomfortable as the two boys simply surveyed the world around them: a beautiful Christmas night restored from the snow that had begun to fall again during the eventful afternoon. The cold only just seemed to touch them as they appreciated the soft lights and glimmering snow of the deepening night.

After a few minutes, Seth finally sighed softly and turned a little bit to face toward Falcon more without actually looking at him.

"...thank you." He stopped again. "Thank you for everything, Falion."

Falcon grinned. “You’re very welcome, Three. Merry Christmas.”

"Yeah." Three managed a small smile. "Merry Christmas."

[jarienn972]

One of Those Nights

This is a little gift for @killian-whump that will hopefully bring a smile back to her face after dealing with too many Twitter a-holes.  I threw together a little bit of Rogers whump with a side helping of Hooked Queen so for those that aren’t into S7, this isn’t for you so just skip and move on.  Hope you enjoy, @killian-whump

As proprietor of a popular neighborhood bar and general hangout, Roni was no stranger to late nights – or was it early mornings?  I was a rare occasion that she could call it a night much before 3AM and tonight was no exception to said rule.  She’d delivered her nightly last call at 1, then slowly ushered her patrons out so she could lock up at 2.  And now, at 2:30AM, she and Remy had just finished wiping down all of the tables, chairs and bar stools and while he completed his last-minute stocking at the bar, she’d retired to the office to tally the day’s receipts and make sure that Remy had his portion of tonight’s tips in hand before he headed home.

    At 2:40AM, she handed Remy the envelope containing his tips and said goodnight as she let him out the front door, relocked it and returned to her office to finalize the paperwork and shut down her laptop.  It took her less than 10 minutes to finish those routine tasks and as the computer shut down, she reached for the switch to turn off her desk lamp only to be startled by a thud against the rear door.  She nearly dismissed it as accidental (maybe the wind blew something against the door) until the pounding returned – determined, deliberate bangs against the metal door.

    Roni certainly wasn’t expecting any company at this hour and if Remy had returned, he had his own key so the sound of someone banging on her delivery door at nearly 3AM was more than a bit unnerving.  Momentarily ignoring the incessant knocking, she made her way out to the bar to retrieve her trusty baseball bat. While it wasn’t necessarily the best weapon, her bat could prove quite effective against a persistent drunk or vagrant looking for a handout should they make any threatening moves toward her. Now armed with bat in hand, she returned to the rear entrance as the thundering, staccato blows against the metal continued, except this time, she could also hear a voice calling her.

    “Miss Roni? Are you in there?” she heard a woman’s voice ask without taking pause from the assault on the door.

    “Tilly? Is that you?” Roni called back as she recognized the voice on the other side of the door, although she hesitated before unlocking the deadbolt until she got a response.

    “Yes, yes, it’s me!  Please open up!  I really need your help and I didn’t know who else to trust or what to do…”  The fear and anxiety in Tilly’s tone was worrisome so Roni leaned the bat against the wall, unlocked the door and tugged it open to find the bedraggled young woman standing in the alleyway, eyes darting from side to side nervously.

    “Tilly, what are you doing here at this hour?” Roni demanded, not yet noticing the huddled figure at the frightened woman’s feet.

    “I didn’t know who else to trust,” Tilly repeated, “or where else to go and that bastard, Weaver, isn’t answering his phone!”  She was rambling in rapid-fire mode, leaving Roni understandably confused.

    “Tilly – slow down… What do you need help with?”

    “Detective Rogers,” Tilly replied, crouching down to draw Roni’s line of sight toward the black-clad lump that lay at her feet.  “I found him at the other end of the alley…”

    “What?” Roni lowered herself to a knee next to the clearly wounded and probably unconscious form that was Detective Rogers. He was curled on his left side, facing away from Roni atop a damp, flattened cardboard box which apparently was what Tilly had used to transport him to the back door of the bar.  “What happened?”

    Tilly exaggeratedly shook her head.  “I don’t know for sure.  I was out wandering and heard some shouting and a pretty fierce scuffle.  Curiosity got the best of me and by the time I got to the alley, I found the detective on the ground next to his car.  I tried to call Weaver using the detective’s phone, but he wasn’t answering.  I knew you were close so I dragged him over here hoping you might be able to help him somehow…”

    “He’s hurt. Why didn’t you call 911 and get him an ambulance?” Roni wondered, taking note of Rogers’ visible injuries in the dim light of the alley.  His face was bloodied, but she couldn’t tell how badly out here because it was just too dark to see the extent of the cuts and abrasions.

    “I didn’t know who to trust,” Tilly repeated.  “I think he was attacked by another cop…”

    “What?!” Roni didn’t know how to respond to that statement, but if that was why Tilly kept glancing around the alley, she didn’t want to stay out here.  “Okay, help me get him inside and then you can tell me why you think he was attacked by a fellow cop while we try calling his partner again.”  She grasped a corner of Tilly’s makeshift stretcher and with the younger woman’s help, they managed to pull the wounded officer through the doorway and into the relative safety of Roni’s office.  Roni immediately ran back to the door and secured the deadbolt once again before she re-entered the office and switched on the brighter overhead light.

    Being careful not to move him too abruptly, she carefully maneuvered the unconscious detective onto his back and in this light, they now had a much better view of his facial wounds.  A jagged laceration zigzagged across his forehead, starting at his hairline and extending across his temple and another deep cut sliced open the bridge of his nose. There was also a darkening spot above his jaw that would without a doubt be a nasty bruise in the morning.  Rogers stirred slightly at her touch, groaning in obvious discomfort as he drew his arms tighter against his chest and Roni didn’t doubt that he had other injuries hidden beneath layers of clothing.  She wasn’t a doctor though so all she could really do was try to keep her friend comfortable.

    “Can you do me a favor?” she asked Tilly.  “Beneath the bar, there’s a stack of clean towels.  Can you bring me some and while you’re at it, get me one of the ice buckets and fill it up with water?  We’ll see if we can get this bleeding stopped and clean him up a little.”  Tilly nodded in reply, springing to her feet and hurrying out of the office to gather the requested items.

    Not really sure how safe it would be to move him further, Roni decided that it would probably be best just to leave him here on the floor until they could track down some professional help.  She crawled across the narrow office to the battered leather sofa that sat against the wall opposite her desk, retrieving the navy and tan woven throw that she’d used on many of those particularly rough nights where she crashed here on the sofa, unable to muster the energy to venture upstairs to her loft.  She was just about to drape that throw across his legs when Rogers woke with a start, attempting to sit up too quickly and only further aggravating the throbbing inside his head.

    “Easy…” Roni warned, moving swiftly to catch her unsteady friend before he toppled over.  “Not so fast. You’re beat up pretty bad…” Rogers gave her a subtle nod of acknowledgement before losing his balance and falling back against Roni, his head dropping onto her shoulder.  “You probably have a concussion so you really should lie back down.”

    “I’m fine,” he lied, pushing himself back into a sitting position, although the movement markedly slower this time.

    “Okay…,” Roni played along.  Apparently, wounded cops were as obstinate as drunks.  “Think you can make it to the couch in that case?”

    “I think so,” he insisted as Roni stood and extended her hand to help the teetering detective to his feet, then wrapped an arm around his shoulder to lend some support. He had a noticeable limp as he staggered the short distance across the room and as he flopped onto the sofa with a grimace, he spied the blonde head he recognized as Tilly entering the room with a bucket and an armful of towels.

    “Tilly? What are you doing here?” he asked.  “Hell, for that matter, what am I doing here?”

    “She found you out back in the alley,” Roni explained.  “Please lie down and try to relax while we get these cuts cleaned up. Maybe you can tell us what you remember about what happened?”  

    “I’ll try…” he replied as he lowered his head onto the thickly upholstered arm of the sofa.  Tilly knelt beside him and dipped one of the towels into the bucket then squeezed out the excess water before gingerly touching the cloth to the largest cut on his forehead.  “Damn – that hurts…” he bristled, immediately tensing and recoiling from both the chill of the water and the searing pain.

    “Sorry…” Tilly pulled back, having not wanted to cause further injury.  

    “It’ll be okay, Tilly,” Roni assured her.  “He’s going to feel some discomfort, but we need to get some pressure on that cut to slow the bleeding.  It’s pretty deep and will almost certainly need stitches.  I’ve got a first aid kit around here somewhere…” She couldn’t remember if she had one here in the office so she excused herself for a moment to retrieve the one behind the bar, then dug through it to find some butterfly strips that would be good for holding the torn skin together until they could be sutured. “Do you know who did this to you?” she asked him as they attempted to bandage the worst of his cuts.

    “I’m not really certain…” Rogers admitted. “I remember getting a call about that cult symbol showing up in the neighborhood, but I didn’t find anything.  Maybe the rain earlier tonight washed the evidence away, but as I was returning to my car, I saw a shadow that looked like someone hiding behind the dumpster.  I shouted at whomever it was to come out, but instead, someone attacked me from behind, knocking me down.  I looked up to see who or what was there, but all I saw was something swinging toward my head and then, I felt the strike and everything went black.  I’m fairly certain that wasn’t the only blow they got in based on all of the parts of my body that ache right now.”

    “So, you never saw the person who hit you or the person behind the dumpster?” Roni asked.

    “’Fraid not,” he replied, squeezing his eyes closed as he fought through the pain, trying hard to remain conscious even though he knew he was losing that battle.

    “Tilly thinks you might have been attacked by another cop.” Roni stated, trying to gauge his reaction.

    “Another cop?” he questioned, confused but not showing signs that the possibility was a surprise.

    “I saw someone drive away in an unmarked police car,” Tilly said. “I know we’re not supposed to know they’re police cars, but it’s really pretty obvious if you pay attention like I do…”

    “Would you know the car if you saw it again?” Roni asked her, knowing that it would have been Rogers’ next question if he hadn’t already drifted into the pain-free oblivion.

    “Of course, I would,” Tilly assured her. “I don’t forget things.”

    “Okay, stay here with Detective Rogers.  I’m going to try calling his partner again,” Roni stated as she retreated into the storeroom, dialing Weaver’s number on her cell phone and hearing his voicemail message.  “Weaver, it’s Roni.  Get your ass over to my bar as soon as possible.  Someone beat up your partner and he’s here, unconscious in my office. I did what I could, but no one is sure who to trust and that includes yourself.  Maybe you can enlighten us as to what the hell is going on?”

    She disconnected the call and waited a few moments in the storeroom until her phone vibrated with a text message notification that read simply: Be there in 10.

[reekierevelator]

A Visitor

A short story by Brian Bourner in times of covid

We had been in the grip of the covid-19 pandemic for well over a year but the new vaccines finally had it on the run. The country was opening up again. We were at last officially allowed to mingle freely. But the world had changed.

Radio and TV still talked endlessly of the problems faced by students who had missed out on education, of how domestic abuse cases had soared and mental health problems had multiplied. The light the pandemic had thrown on endemic problems of race and poverty constantly reverberated. People had reached a new appreciation of who were society’s real ‘key workers’ and knew they were undervalued and criminally underpaid. Floods, fires, and murders, still barely achieved a mention even in the local news.

Business practice had also changed radically. Companies like mine now saw no reason not to allow employees to continue to work from home. Like many other firms they were in the process of selling off their office building for conversion into much needed housing.  Visual contact with other people via computer technology had become the normal mode of interaction. Lack of interpersonal social contact no longer singled you out as unusual in any way. The exotic video meetings and video phone calls of a couple of years ago had long since become boringly routine.

I had always been asthmatic and a brush with tuberculosis a few years back had hardly helped. The constant pandemic fear of infection had marked my psyche indelibly. For people like me, at high risk from the virus, shielding and self-isolating for months on end had become second nature, the new normal, and was psychologically imprinted. I lived like a medieval hermit in a cave, dependent on local villagers to bring me food. At thirty-seven I was otherwise self-sufficient, happy to live alone in isolation. The last thing I wanted was to risk infection from physical meetings with other people.  

Occasionally new variations of the virus still cropped up here and there. Announcements of quarantine arrangements and local lockdowns had become mundane, barely newsworthy.  Likewise, there were still deaths and hospitalisations, but not the thousands experienced at the pandemic’s height. Health was no longer top of the government’s agenda. Despite innumerable ‘long covid’ cases, and people suffering long-lasting psychological after-effects, the government’s focus had shifted inexorably back to the economy.  

 When the doorbell rang on Monday morning I was slaving over my laptop, just as I had been all morning, trying to complete a company report. I was still in my pyjamas. I still needed to wash and dress ahead of a video business meeting scheduled for 12.00 noon.  But the doorbell was insistent. Angrily I threw open the front door expecting to find yet another box of groceries on the doorstep, or some hot food I’d forgotten I’d ordered, or even some parcel delivery man waiting for a signature.

Instead I found myself facing a woman dressed rather shabbily who was carrying a grubby old holdall.  Initially shocked at the lack of face mask I remembered that things had moved on. Her mud-spattered black coat was buttoned to the top and flapped around a slender body. Though hairdressers had been open for a few weeks now she had clearly been unable to secure an appointment. Her frizzy auburn hair sprouted from her head like weeds. A long narrow face attempted a smile but her skin was lined and weather-beaten. She looked exhausted. Her dark eyes, set far back in her ruddy crumpled skin, bored into mine, pleading and watery. When she opened her mouth and said “Hello Martin” recognition slowly began to dawn.

Over the course of the pandemic I had virtually forgotten what manners and social niceties were appropriate for visitors. “Gina,” I spluttered in surprise, “how nice to see you.”  I cautiously ushered her into my flat, squeezing myself against the wall in commemoration of the recently abolished two metre distancing rule.

“I’m sorry if I got you out of bed,” she said, entering the living room while I rushed to throw a dressing-gown over my pyjamas. And even before sitting down she launched into her tale of woe. “It really drove me crazy. I’ve never ever been stuck indoors for that long before.  Shops, restaurants, pubs, galleries - all shut down; nothing to do and nowhere to go. Work all disrupted too; jobs furloughed or disappearing. Just watching endless murder dramas on TV, or reading books about murders, or listening to radio presenters I’d like to murder.  Still, you look well. I knew I could rely on you.”

It was strange because in fact I had not seen Gina for three years, and it felt like far longer. I searched my brain for her surname and eventually came up with McLaughlan. We had met at Manifest Destiny, a large advertising and design practice. Though we were in different teams there our paths crossed occasionally. She never said much, only once or twice mentioning that she could only bear the work there because the building was almost entirely glass so that inside she almost felt she was outside.

From what I could remember she had mostly been attached to another colleague, Ruby Maguire. She seemed to trail around after Ruby a lot. And Ruby was someone else I had not seen for a three years, not since I’d left Manifest Destiny for an administrative post with Box Clever, the cardboard box manufacturer. It had proved a wise move. The firm had done great business during the pandemic. It had expanded and I had been promoted.

Gina told me she too had moved on from Manifest Destiny, not long after me. She had gone from billboard designs to helping organise and design outdoor film sets. It had entailed working freelance but sounded a lot more interesting than designing cardboard boxes. “But,” she went on quickly, “the pandemic killed it all off stone dead.” She turned towards me with an angry grimace. “And when the wok vanished the pandemic ate all my savings. No official help for the likes of me. I couldn’t even pay my rent. No more sleeping in my lovely sun room. I ended up in a cramped hostel. It was hellish.”  The resentment and hatred in her tone was palpable. “It drove me demented. And when the hostels closed to prevent the virus spreading I tried sleeping on the floor of anyone who would let me. It was unbearable, often like being stuck in a cupboard. Sometimes I couldn’t find anywhere at all suitable and just lived rough, outdoors in all weathers, but at least not suffering, lost in some little, dark, unknown room.”

“Good grief Gina, that’s awful, I’m so sorry.” And having commiserated I told her that of course she was welcome to take a bath and stay the night. I rustled up a quick meal for her which she ate looking longingly out of the window. And later I dug out some spare pyjamas. When I showed her my tiny windowless spare room her face froze and she stood rooted to the spot.  She looked about to turn, dismiss the offer and run away, but recovered herself in time to mutter vague words of thanks.

I showed her round the rest of the flat then raced to turn up just in time for my video conference. My hair was uncombed, I was still in my dressing gown. On screen my boss and our potential customer both wore worried frowns, obviously thinking I would have been as presentable wearing a large cardboard box.  

Gina slept through the rest of the day.

After finishing the meeting, writing up notes, dressing, and grabbing a sandwich I phoned the old unit at Manifest Destiny. I hoped someone here could give me a bit of background since I barely knew anything about Gina.

“Hello, Manifest Destiny, Terry Ryland speaking.”

“Hi, it’s Martin Hislop here. I used to work at Manifest Destiny.  I wonder if there’s anyone there who remembers Gina McLaughlan. She’s popped round to see me unexpectedly, obviously regards me as a friend, and might stay a day or two. I don’t want to seem a total socially inept  idiot but I’m afraid I can’t remember anything about her. I don’t want to put my foot in it. Is there someone who could spare a few minutes to fill me in?”

“Well there’s me I suppose,” Terry replied noncommittally. “All the staff work from home now. It’s my turn to be the telephone exchange today. It’s a rota system. I can’t shout a question out across the office floor any more. I’d have to contact staff individually.”

“Well, do you remember Gina yourself?”

“Yes, I think so. Worked on billboards. She always kept close to Ruby. Ruby Maguire sort of looked after her. She had some kind of problem, couldn’t stand being indoors, got wound up with it. So Ruby would take her for regular breaks outside.”

“You mean she was claustrophobic?”

“Yes, that’s it, good worker but a little bit off her trolley. They called Ruby her mentor but she was more of an unofficial carer.”

I thanked Terry for talking to me and understood why my spare room had not seemed as attractive to Gina as I’d imagined.  It would be much better if she stayed with someone who understood her condition, say Ruby.

 It was later in the evening, just as I’d pulled out my mobile to search for Ruby Ellison’s contact details,  that I heard Gina emerge from her room and rustle around in the kitchen. I was thinking that if she stayed a while I’d need to order more food and my expenses would increase when Gina slipped into the living room beside me.

“I was wondering,” I began brightly, “since my flat’s very small, why not ask Ruby Maguire if you can stay with her for a while?”

The suggestion generated no immediate response but her eyes narrowed and I caught a mean and suspicious glint.

She stared at me silently, her lips curling, and eventually muttered, “No, I’ll be happy enough here.” It came out as a sort of low growl as if she was daring me to argue.  

I looked back at the phone screen.  The search for Ruby Ellison had found dozens of references. But I was shocked to see they were all about Ruby’s death. Police were continuing to investigate the case of thirty-two year old office worker, Ruby Maguire, found dead in her flat. Apparently she had lain there for over a week until her manager had noticed she wasn’t bothering to log in for Zoom calls any more. The circumstances were suspicious. The police were requesting information on anyone seen entering or leaving Ruby’s flat in the week before her death. I looked up from the screen and blurted out “Heavens above, it seems Ruby has died!”

I was even more startled as Gina suddenly leaned over me, grabbed my phone and threw it at the wall. I was flabbergasted. I stared at her in shock.

“If you’re not happy about me staying on here, maybe you better leave yourself,” she said as if it was the most natural suggestion in the world, an entirely reasonable proposition.  As normal as smashing mobile phones against walls. There was a manic undertone to her voice.  Ignoring the question I jumped up and tried to brush past her. But she grabbed hold of the dressing gown I was still wearing and I saw the blade of my own kitchen knife flash in her hand.

 Fortunately, I managed to twist myself around, allowing my dressing-gown to fall to the floor, and rushed out the living-room door as she came after me.  I barely managed to reach my bedroom and slammed the door shut. The door had a lock and though I’d never used it before, I did then.

She was outside the door, fumbling with the handle and breathing quickly. ‘Ok, let’s get together,’ she panted. ‘Ruby always said you liked me. She said you only ignored me at work because relationships had to be kept on a professional footing.”

“Ruby was good to you,” I shouted. “Why did you do it?”

“Ruby tried to lock me up. All night in a tiny room.  I was only allowed outdoors for one hour a day. She tried to blame the government, said it was a lock-in, a government ruling.”

“A lockdown, it was a lockdown.”

“She made me live in a room the size of a cupboard.  Said it was all she had. Said I couldn’t go outside.  We argued more and more.  Struggled. Then she died.  And I left.”

“And came here.”

“She said you were a good man, knew your address.  I thought it would be different for us.  We’d be good together. We could live together, sleep in the living room with the curtains open. But you want to lock me up in little room too. You’re just as bad as Ruby.”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” I yelled, and then the carving knife was thrust in through the door jamb.

The woman was delusional. God knows what had got into her. I opened my bedroom window and yelled “Help!” over and over at the top of my voice.

Fortunately, neighbours called the police.  By the time they arrived Gina had escaped through the back door but the neighbours had spotted her leaving and the police soon picked her up.

I was still trembling, partly from the shock of the knife attack and partly from seeing several people occupy my flat for the first time in ages. I went over the details several times answering the police questions.

“It was unbelievable,” I kept repeating. “The woman seemed almost normal but she was clearly deranged. She came at me with a carving knife. You wouldn’t think a little thing like claustrophobia would be enough to tip you over the edge like that.”

One of the policemen commented matter-of-factly, “Oh yes, we’ve seen a lot of that kind of thing recently. Mental health problems. Old people’s dementia worsening till they’ve completely forgotten their relatives. A chap round the corner said life wasn’t worth living if he couldn’t meet his old cronies in the pub. Topped himself.  The coronavirus, eh?  It drives people mad.” Then to change the subject he asked “What’s your line of work?”

“Oh, at moment I’m designing cardboard boxes shaped like coffins. Natural burials. Environmentally sound. There’s been a big increase in demand recently.”

[sp4c3-0ddity]

Ink on a Page

an Inkheart AU (sort of)

Category:  Gen Word count:  ~3200 Chapters:  2/?

Summary:

Pidge has lived a normal - if unstable - life with her mother for the last fourteen of her sixteen years, but even the fantastical books she reads never could’ve prepared her for the wild twist it takes when an ‘old friend’ of her mother’s appears unannounced at their door.

Chapter Two Summary:

Pidge and Colleen pack up and move cross country.

Read Chapter Two on ao3

Or read from the beginning

Or below the cut:

Chapter Two:

Colleen woke Pidge up early the next day, but when she complained, her mother retorted that it was already nine.

“But it’s Saturday,” Pidge whined, pulling her covers back up over her head. “I don’t have school, and I have all day to finish my homework.”

Colleen tugged the covers away from her face, staring down at her with hands resting on her hips. “I’ve got a new assignment now.”

That shocked her awake, and she shoved her blankets back and sat up. “We’ve only been here for three months,” she pointed out. “How can you have a new one already?”

Colleen sat at the edge of the bed, patting her knee comfortingly though she wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I finished this one quicker than I expected,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, love, but it’s time to go. You can transfer to a new school—”

“This one is still new,” Pidge grumbled.

“—and you’ll pick right back up where you left off.”

“Can’t I be homeschooled instead?” Pidge wondered. “I looked into it already, and you don’t even have to do anything except make sure I’m following the curriculum, and—”

“School is good for you, love,” Colleen said, finally looking her in the eye. “You need to see people, sometimes; you can’t be a shut-in.”

“I’m not a shut-in,” Pidge said, pulling her knees up to her face and wrapping her arms around her legs.

Colleen only hummed in response – which was better than contradicting her, but Pidge knew she wanted to.

“Is it because of Allura?” Pidge dared to ask.

Her mother visibly stiffened, her lips pinched together, but she said, “No.”

Pidge could tell when she lied, but she also knew when she would refuse to alter her answer.

Then Colleen, changing the subject, said, “It won’t be so bad this time, I think. We’ll be close to a place that might interest you.”

Pidge perked up at that. “Where are we going?”

“D.C.”

Pidge grinned. “Really? Can we go to the Air and Space Museum?”

Her mother smiled. “Yes, of course we can,” she said. “I’ll take you there next weekend, if you want, but today we have to pack.”

For once excited about the prospect of picking up and moving – the reason they didn’t have many belongings, aside from electronics and books – Pidge jumped out of bed and across the hall into the bathroom, ready to start the day. And after brushing her teeth and changing her clothes, she returned to her room and began throwing clothes out of her closet and neatly arranging books into old cardboard boxes.

Colleen frequently bemoaned Pidge’s uncanny ability to accumulate clutter despite how often they moved, everything from blank notebooks with pretty bindings to computer parts whenever she tried to build her own (she had yet to succeed without the hardware catching fire). Along with a suitcase stuffed with all her clothes and shoes and a few boxes of just books, Pidge also dropped assorted knickknacks into another box, pens and electronic parts and souvenirs from the places she and her mother lived in, for however little time.

At least they only ever rented furnished apartments, so only the blankets, pillows, and bedspreads were stuffed into the tiny backseat of Colleen’s pickup truck, boxes and suitcases stored in the covered bed. Pidge sorted everything into place while Colleen settled their lease with the landlord, and by Sunday morning they were on their way east to Washington, D.C., a book in Pidge’s lap while she entertained herself on the long drive.

“Why don’t you watch the scenery outside, love?” Colleen wondered as they drove on a winding parkway through trees thick with autumn leaves.

Pidge turned a page and didn’t look up. “There are trees everywhere.”

“You’ll get carsick,” her mother warned.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Besides, I’m almost done with the first chapter.”

Colleen sighed, and when she slowed the car through a curve, Pidge felt the motion in her stomach, faint enough that she could ignore it…and therefore prove her mother wrong. But Colleen said, “Haven’t you read that one before?”

After marking her place with a finger, Pidge turned the book over to stare at the cover of a cheesy horror novel – The Monster in Miami was exciting, if not exactly classy – and the monster it portrayed. “Yeah, but I like it.”

Colleen glanced at her, frowning skeptically, but then she shrugged.

Pidge smirked and said, “I’ll read something else, if you think I should.”

Her mother smiled. “You have another book in here with you?”

“Yeah, I have this one’s sequel.” She nudged her backpack, sitting on the floor between her feet, with her toes. “But…I saw a book on your shelf the other day”—careful—“and I want to read it.”

“Sure, anything you want, love.”

“Oh, really?” Pidge stuck her bookmark into the horror novel and turned to regard her mother, propping her elbow onto the armrest and resting her chin in her hand. “Then when we get to D.C., can I borrow Voltron?”

Colleen slammed on the brakes, and Pidge jerked in her seat as the truck came to a screeching halt. The car behind them honked their horn and swerved wide around them, and Pidge’s heart pounded in alarm, keeping pace with the thrum of the engine. She stared at her mother’s face, trying to assess her reaction, but Colleen kept her face carefully blank.

“No.”

Pidge frowned, hands tightly gripping the armrest; she should’ve expected as much, but disappointment still made her heart plummet. “But—”

“You wouldn’t like it,” Colleen said. The truck accelerated, and they drove in silence for a few minutes, the only sound that of the radio’s speakers playing Queen.

Pidge faced forward, hands in her lap. She stared out the window, trying to admire the view like her mother suggested, but her buzzing thoughts occupied her.

“What’s the book about anyway?” she asked, voice quiet.

To her surprise, Colleen replied, “It’s about a war.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow. “That’s…that’s it?”

“Basically.”

“So you don’t want me to read it,” Pidge guessed, but before Colleen could respond, she suggested, “Maybe you could read it to me?” She couldn’t remember her mother ever reading aloud to her, though she had told her bedtime stories when she was younger.

Colleen tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and said, “That’s not much better.” Without waiting for Pidge to contradict her, she reached for the volume knob on the radio.

‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ succeeded in distracting Pidge from her pressing questions, at least for the moment.

They arrived at the apartment complex late in the evening, and Pidge waited in the truck while Colleen went into the leasing office to pick up their keys. She read from The Monster in Miami by streetlight, eyes glued to the page despite knowing she approached her least favorite part of the book.

Her mother opening the door startled her, and she reluctantly closed the book when she started the engine and drove into the complex towards their new apartment. “We’re in Building G, Apartment 5,” said Colleen, handing Pidge a key once she parked outside the right building.

Pidge took the key, thumb smoothing over rough pastel green paint. “G for green?” she wondered.

Colleen chuckled. “Maybe.”

They got out of the car, unloading as much as they could hold, and climbed up the stairs to the apartment door. Pidge glanced around the complex, taking in as much as she could in the low lighting, while Colleen unlocked and opened the door.

Exhausted, Pidge dropped her backpack and the box she held and collapsed face first onto the worn-looking brown sofa. She heard the flipping of a light switch, but the room remained dark to her, her eyes closed and face pressed into a rough couch cushion.

“Come on, love,” Colleen told her, patting the leg that stuck up in the air. “We need to unload everything before we can sleep.”

Pidge groaned but allowed her to convince her to follow her back outside and to the truck.

Afterwards, they made turkey sandwiches for dinner, and Pidge started unpacking her bedroom. She sighed when she realized the bookshelf in this room was too small for all her books, despite the whole space being larger than her old bedroom.

Pidge gave her favorite books shelf space and left the rest in a box. She dropped her current read on the bedside table, and set up her computer on the desk. Ignoring her suitcase of clothes for now, she booted up her computer and logged into the Wi-Fi.

A click later, the cursor blinked, waiting for her to type a query into a search engine. She tapped her finger against her mousepad, and after a glance at her closed bedroom door, she reached into her backpack and found the notebook she’d started compiling notes in. After flipping to the relevant page, Pidge searched for a local public library, navigated to its online catalogue, and typed ‘Voltron’ into the search bar.

No results.

Pidge raised an eyebrow at it; so it wasn’t a very popular book? She returned to the search engine and looked Voltron up from there, but to her surprise she found no related results with that.

“This is so weird,” she muttered. She scanned her notes from the night of Allura’s visit and searched ‘Zarkon’, and when that turned up nothing, she looked up ‘Allura’.

Still nothing.

Pidge sighed and shut her laptop. Maybe she could sift through Colleen’s books when she was out. But considering how overprotective her mother was, even staying home alone would be difficult.

[gay-eugene]

Heart Shaped Box | Zagene post-Valentine’s Day Fluff

100% inspired by the 2 for 1 deal I saw at publix and late night shenanigans with my friends. Rated T because Zach doesn’t know how to not fucking cuss and warning for OOC because Eugene doesn’t take a single drink in this whole thing. Also, Zach POV because Eugene is a Tough Nut I Can’t Crack. Please let me know what you think about this!

Read on AO3!

Zach isn’t particularly known for his ability to pay attention. In fact, once he gets wrapped into something, it’s impossible to pull him away. Which is why when a big, red, heart shaped box gets dropped on his keyboard while he’s editing, he jumps in surprise, looking over his shoulder just in time to see Eugene mouth something and plop himself – ever so gracefully – into his chair. He pulls his headphones off, giving the other a look that read ‘wait, what?’

“Happy singles awareness day.” He repeats, his own box now resting on his desk next to Zach’s. “CVS had these on sale super cheap if you bought two, so there you go.”

Zach snorts, eyeing the obnoxious wrapping. “You’re an ass.” He comments just seconds before ripping the covering off to eye the little chocolates.

“You say that, yet here you are about to eat the whole thing.” Eugene laughs, and it kind of makes Zach hold his breath for a fleeting moment as he decides on which piece to eat first. With the first one in his mouth, he picked another before turning in his chair to where he sat holding it up with a challenging face.

This was something they always did; silent competitions to make work go by quicker between shoots and edits. A smirk and single quirked eyebrow was all the indication Zach needed to launch the small morsel into the air towards Eugene, who caught it with ease. They both cheered for a moment, their laughter the only sound in the Buzzfeed office – after all, it was going on eight o’clock and most people (those that had, say, significant others and families) had already headed out for the evening.

After their laughing had died out, Zach turned back to his computer with the cardboard heart resting off to the side, just in reach to grab another one every few minutes. He’d been focusing again, reaching out every once in a while for another piece – that is, until he couldn’t find it.

His eyes traveled from where he knew it was to where it now sat, on the other side of Eugene’s keyboard. The other sat there, staring intently at his screen with a grin on his face being the only tell.

“Seriously?”

“Hm?” Eugene turned, grin still in place, and Zach couldn’t fight his own grin. “What’s up, Kornfeld?”

“You took my chocolate!” He pointed, trying to not laugh. Instead of giving it back, Eugene’s smile just grew wider as he grabbed a single piece and aimed it for Zach to catch. His own smile warped into a challenging smirk, ready to catch anything he launched at him.

It was nice to be able to hang out, just one on one with Eugene; they didn’t spend time together just them as much as with Ned and Keith. Even then, Zach felt like he was hanging out with one of them more than he did with Eugene even in a group setting. So moments like this, just the two of them throwing food at each other and laughing about anything and everything in between, were moments that Zach cherished. And yes, admittedly he had a little crush on him, but it wasn’t like he was gonna act on it. Eugene was too good for him and deserved someone as beautiful as he was… And, y'know, his whole branding of being single as fuck. Not that he would mind changing that.

He missed one piece from being wrapped in thought, face red, and they both watched it roll to the ground. Eugene raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to speak and then shutting it. Then: “Are you okay, Zach?”

Zach hastily nods, pushing his glasses up. “Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, you seem… Out of it a bit.”

Zach’s eyes drifted. Yeah, he was out of it because the one guy he actually liked bought him a heart shaped chocolate box and now was throwing said candy at him. So what. They landed on a picture of Ned and Ariel, pure bliss on their faces.

“Do you ever wonder how different it’d be if the other guys were single, too?”

Eugene is quiet for a moment (though if it’s because of the question or the chewy chocolate in his mouth, he can’t tell) before he speaks. “I think it might throw everything off. Two taken guys,” He looked up, eyes meeting Zach’s for just a brief moment. “and two single guys. I mean, we’d all work well together no matter what… But Ned without Ariel is like peanut butter without jelly; good on it’s own but better together. And the same goes for Keith and Becky.” He shrugged, looking at his hands. “Besides, I don’t think Ned could survive without a wife to talk about.”

Zach laughs again, and everything’s back to normal. “Fuck, you’re right. She makes him whole, and while it’s annoying just how married he is, it’s… Kinda sweet.”

“That’s one way to think about it.” Eugene laughs himself, sliding the mostly-empty box back to Zach before opening his own. “And then Keith just… He’s too nice and kind to not be with someone as nice as Becky. She calms him down some times, and he hypes her up when needed.”

They fall back into a silence, and Zach turns to face his computer again. He wants to work, to focus on what needs to be done, but there’s something itching at him that he can’t push away. The question runs through his mind all the time, a repeat of scenes in the past when he looked at Eugene. And he wants to ask it, but there’s something… Personal and vulnerable about the question, like it should only be whispered between almost lovers in dark rooms. Certainly not between two just friends in a dimly lit office building. However, he opened his mouth to yawn and instead –

“Why don’t you ever date anyone?”

His face instantly flushes, and he’s ready to take it back or play it off like a joke – because no one can stand up to your beauty standards? no person out there has a heart as dark as yours? – when Eugene shrugs and clears his throat. Zach swears he sees a slight blush, but it could just be a trick of the light.

“I mean… You could date anyone, Eugene. Literally anyone. But… You don’t.”

“None of them are the one I want to be with.”

His words are quiet and Zach almost doesn’t hear them, but he does and it takes a second to process. (Longer only because his and Eugene’s eyes meet and his heart skips a beat for just a moment, and he has to grab another piece of chocolate to put in his mouth after he responds or he’ll say something stupid.) “Then… Why don’t you ask that person out?”

The chocolate is melting on his tongue while he watches Eugene, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. He’s finished with the piece before he speaks, thankfully stopping Zach from talking and making more of an ass of himself.

“Because they’re… Too good.”

Zach just sits, quiet as he processes this. Too good? For Eugene? Impossible. If anything, Eugene was too good for whoever this person was. They’d be lucky to go out with him… Hell, they were lucky enough to win his affections. Instead of allowing himself to mope – because if that person was ‘too good’, then he certainly didn’t stand a chance – he cracked a teasing smile. “Oh, c'mon. They’re probably just as messed up as we are.” And then, just to add icing to the Pining For Your Good Friend Cake, he scooted his chair closer to Eugene’s, resting his head on his hands and elbows on the desk, looking up at Eugene with a playful look. “Who’s the lucky person?”

Instead of pushing him away or scoffing like Zach had expected, Eugene just let out an airy chuckle, shaking his head in exasperation. “You’re too much, you know that?”

“Tell me! I’m sure they’d like you back, and anyone would be lucky to go out with you!”

He gave Zach a side eye, not smiling anymore. Part of him knew to back off, to leave and go back to working, but he was never too great at doing what was best. Instead, he sat there, eyes wide and shit-eating grin plastered on. It might’ve hurt, but really if Eugene was happy he’d be happy too. But before he could say anything else, Eugene had laughed, pushing him away with one hand. Zach joined in sliding back to his desk. The laughter died out quick, both left to their own devices, content with the silence. At least, that’s what Zach thought before Eugene spoke up.

“I could ask you the same question, you know.”

He looked over, confused, and it only took a second for what he meant to sink in –  and again, his face was more red than usual. An awkward cough escaped before he turned to face Eugene completely. “I mean… I think we both know the answer.” He hesitated, smiling to cover his real thoughts. “I’m single as fuck. It’s literally by branding besides 'the awkward adorable Try Guy.”

Eugene raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. “Yeah, but… You’d be a great boyfriend. And you’ve been on dates, so… What? Nobody good enough?”

He sighed, looking off for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Not… 'good enough’. I guess like you, the… person I’d like to be with is… far too good for me.” Was this what pain was, really? Talking to the person you liked about why you don’t date and coming up with bullshit excuses to cover your own tracks?

“Hey. Don’t talk like that.” They were facing each other now, Zack leaned back in his chair and Eugene leaned forward with elbows on his knees. “Like I said, you’d make a great boyfriend for some lucky girl.” A pause as he looked away and Zach was thoroughly confused now. “Or guy.”

“Eh,” He shrugged, arms crossing. “I don’t know. No one really… Holds a candle to the g–type of person I want to be with.”

They both sat with a heavy silence between them, both slightly blushing and avoiding the other’s gaze as they took in the conversation as a whole. Then, as suddenly as the chocolate box had landed on Zach’s keyboard less than an hour before, Eugene was standing and leaning over him with hands on the arm rests. Each could feel the other’s breath as he hesitated, almost-but-not-quite close enough, and it took Zach reaching up and placing a hand on the back of Eugene’s neck, pulling him down and pushing their lips together. There was a split moment where both were shocked that either had actually done that, and pulled away rather quick, Zach red and already mumbling excuses when Eugene just laughed lightly, reconnecting their lips. It felt like two puzzle pieces fitting together exquisitely, complimenting colors mixing in the perfect color palette, and any other synonym for 'perfect’ that Zach’s mind couldn’t come up with. Both lost track of time easily, lost in each other, until one – neither could figure out which one – pulled away for breath. Zach’s eyes were half open, still questioning if it actually happened when Eugene spoke up. “You taste like drugstore candy.”

Zach laughed, shaking his head slightly as Eugene straightened up. “You do, too. Probably has something to do with the chocolate we’ve been eating.”

“I’d bet so.” He chuckled, turning back to his desk for just a moment. “So I didn’t even have any work to do… Just wanted to bring you chocolate.” He turned back around blushing ever so slightly, bag on his arm. “But when you’re finished, call me? We can talk about… Whatever this is. We need that Try Guys video up soon, so I’m not gonna distract you anymore.”

Zach almost pouted (something he didn’t do often) but nodded regardless, watching as Eugene picked up the rest of his things. “I mean, if you have to go…”

“Yeah, I do.” He laughed. Before turning to leave, though, he hesitated before leaning down and pressing one more quick kiss to his lips, pulling a smile to both boy’s lips. “Talk to you later, Zach.”

The boy in question nodded, watching as Eugene made his way through the door. As soon as he thought it was safe, he silently cheered before turning back to his computer. He’d just started back up on his work when he heard the door reopen, looking over his shoulder to see Eugene’s head sticking through.

“By the way, there’s a drag show coming up. You should come with me, it’ll be fun.”

Zach just smiled, nodding. “Sounds like a plan to me.” To which Eugene nodded once, winked, and then actually left. He was left with just himself and… About two hours left of work to do.

Fuck him, really.

[cddump]

Again (Sitting Three, 2426 words)

The movers were at least kind enough to place Casper's heavier furniture in the proper places they had discussed beforehand. It had cost a bit extra but he wouldn't have been able to set everything up by himself and having the movers wait for him to help wasn't an option. Casper stood from the doorway and flicked the light switch. The darkness that had encased his living room lifted in an instant, and the brightness revealed his couch and television sitting proudly in their places. A few cardboard boxes sat on the corner, but he ignored them for now and headed into the room to the right. The two-bedroom apartment was chosen specify so Casper could convert one of the rooms into a work office, and as he entered that room his desk was already set up against the wall. All that was missing was the monitor and computer. On the opposing wall from the computer desk was a slanted wooden drawing desk. It's shape and size were perfect for its purpose and he was happy to see it in one piece. More cardboard boxes lined the wall and Casper greedily opened them with the box cutter he had stashed in his bag before the trip started. He peered inside and was satisfied with the condition of his computer, monitor, and drawing tablet. If those key items survived the trip, then there was no doubt his printer and scanner had fared just as well. Instead of opening the rest of the boxes, 

Casper investigated the rest of the apartment for himself and returned to the living room. This was his home now, but it all felt so alien. The silent stillness of it all was off-putting, and despite having most of his furniture already set up, it still looked eerily empty. It was also obvious the place had just been cleaned, as the sterile odor of cleaning agents was all he could smell. It made him dizzy, like the smell within an overbearing and enclosed new car. Casper opened the window that was on the same wall as the TV to let in some of the night's cold air. As soon as he slid the window upwards, a stiff gust hit his face, and he couldn't help but enjoy the brisk breeze. Casper turned around. The small and narrow kitchen was behind a chest high wall. He would be able to watch television while using the stove, and it reminded him of a bar. Albeit a small and cheap one, with a pantry hidden away in the corner for storage. Opposite of his work office was his own bedroom. The office had a bathroom next to its doorway, but this apartment was seemingly designed with a 'master bedroom' in mind and had a small bathroom attached to it deeper in. Inside the bedroom, his bed had been placed against the wall, with a much smaller television placed opposite of it on top of his dresser. “So much for a grand tour,” he mumbled. Still, he couldn't help but smile to himself. The apartment was small, but it was all he needed. For now, he needed to start unpacking. A sudden ring filled the apartment as Casper wiped sweat from his forehead. He had lost track of how long he had been unpacking for, but was surprised with how much he had managed to get done. His ringing phone sat on the coffee table, which he quickly answered happily after seeing the name displayed. “Hello.” Despite how happy he was to see his sister calling him, his tired nature took priority and Casper couldn't work up any enthusiasm for the greeting. “Hey, Casper!” Crystal's voice responded through the line, “how's the move coming?” Casper yawned loudly and with purpose. “That bad, huh?” “It's not terrible, actually. But I can tell it's going to take me a while to get used to this.” “Mmm. That's how it was for me and Zoey too. Think you'll get any sleep tonight?”      “I'll try but it doesn't look likely,” he answered as he rubbed his eyes. “It's a new place entirely. My body needs time to get used it too.” “Well I hope you do. You still have those piano CDs, right?” “Yeah. I'll play them if I can't get any sleep. Hopefully that'll work.” “Is that Casp?” A third voice asked through the line. “Ah, yeah it is,” Crystal said, away from the phone. “Lemme talk to him, lemme talk to him! Hi Casper!” The high pitched voice grew louder with the last two words as Zoey spoke directly into the phone. Casper could mentally see Crystal trying to wrestle the phone back away from her roommate. “Hey Zoey, what's up?” “Forget me, what's up with you? How's the place?” “Quiet, actually.” Zoey made a grunt, one Casper recognized. “Did my sister tackle you to the ground?” “She's mean!” “Give me my phone!” Crystal's voice was in the background and Casper smiled to himself. “Uh-oh. Gotta go, Casp! Byeeeeee!” “Hello?” Crystal said, her voice directly in line with the phone. “Hi, yeah.” “Sorry about that. Anyway, I'm sure you'll get used to the place soon. We gotta visit you at some point too!” “I'd like that.” “Have you made any friends yet? I know it's been less than a day, but still.” “...Well. I wouldn't really call him a 'friend,' but I ran into my neighbor." “Oh yeah? Friendly guy?” “I guess. I think he's a little crazy, but harmless. I hope.” “What do you mean?” “He thinks aliens are after him. That's why he lives on the ground floor.” “...What?” “Or, wait no, he's looking for molemen? And is digging a tunnel to find them? I'm not sure, he was hard to follow.” “Sounds creepy. Have fun with that one.” “I'm sure I will.” “Alright. I was just calling to check in on you, so I'm gonna let you go.” “For sure.” “Call if you need anything, alright?” “Mm-hmm.” “Goodnight, bro.” “I sure hope it will be. Goodnight. Tell Zoey bye for me too.” “Right. Later.” The phone went quiet after that, and Casper stood up to stretch. He had been unpacking for long enough, and he decided to try and get some sleep. After a quick swap of clothing, Casper pulled the covers off his bed and slid in before closing his eyes. He emptied his mind, and waited. The tiredness he felt from traveling weighed down on him like a ton of bricks. His feet were sore from being cramped behind crowded train seats and cold walks through the night. His arms felt as if they were being pulled down by jugs of water, and his head pounded from lack of sleep. Yet, hours passed and nothing happened. He lay there with his eyes closed, waiting for rest that simply would not come. And he knew it wouldn't. He sat up and reached for the music player he had unpacked. His heavy finger pressed down on the play button and smoothing piano and violin notes filled the room. Again, Casper tried. He flipped the pillow over and placed his head on the cool sheet, letting the waves of music wash over him. Another hour passed with no rest to be found. The music had reached its end twenty minutes ago and began to repeat itself, but Casper knew there was nothing he could do. Instead, he stood in irritation and put a jacket on over his sleeping shirt. Sweatpants and slippers would do for what he had planned. He made his way to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water from the faucet before downing it quickly. Casper grabbed his phone and key before heading out into the building's hallway. Usually Casper would take walks around the block in this situation. It rarely helped, but was better than suffering in bed. However, his feet hurt too much for that and he didn't know this area well enough anyway, so instead he opted to head to the roof of the apartment complex for a change of scenery. Casper walked down the hallway and was thankful to find an elevator. The idea of walking up stairs pained him and he was happy to take the easy way out. He pressed the button against the wall and was surprised when the doors opened instantly. The elevator was completely empty as Casper entered it, and as it ascended he checked his phone. Three in the morning. Crystal had called him at eleven, which meant he spent four hours trying to sleep. He sighed as the elevator halted, and the doors quickly opened for him. The night sky was still dark, though from here the stars were harder to spot thanks to the city lights. The roof's ledges were walled away by a tall chain link fence, and as stepped into the darkness, another gust of wind struck him. “Hey, dude,” came a call. Casper raised an eyebrow. There were lamp posts scattered across the rooftop, and a man walked under the light of one. “Oh, it's you.” “What's with that greeting, man?!” Alex cried. “You should be happier to see me.” “Sorry. I'm tired.” Casper walked towards Alex, who sat on a foldable chair before pointing to a stack of them. “Can't sleep, huh? Pull up a chair, my man.” “Thanks. And no I can't. Not a wink.” Casper placed his own chair next to Alex's. They were facing the fenced ledge over-viewing the city. The streets were empty, and Casper could see some poor bastard at a red light. There was no other cars or traffic, yet the light refused to turn green for him. “Weird.” “...What?” “I said that's weird. This place is super quiet since we're away from the main road. People never have trouble sleeping here.” “Mmm.” “You one of them insomniacs, bro?” Casper sighed heavy as he rubbed his eyes. “Yeah.” “Oh, you are? I was bluffing. Thought you were like me.” “Like you?” “I take twenty minute naps every two hours. It's the most efficient sleep schedule for humans. Plus it keeps you away from the government's designated sleeping hours so they can't brainwash you.” Casper couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. “I'm serious man. I wouldn't be surprised if they tried to brainwash you but failed. That's probably why you have insomnia, you know. Government diddlyed you over.” “Whatever. Do me a favor and don't tell anyone, alright?” “Word. ...wait, why?” Before Casper could answer, the elevator opened once again. “Oh, she's here. I told you I was meeting with someone, didn't I? Don't worry, you can stick around. You're cool enough to pick this up. Cuz you're smart. Like me.” A woman stepped out of the elevator and made her way to the two men. From the limited light available, Casper could see the woman's brown hair was long and straight, though a newsboy cap sat on her head. Her amber eyes pierced through the night as she stared at Alex. “Hello there, miss Chase. How are we this fine evening?” “Damn it, Alex. I should have known better than to take another job from you,” the woman answered as she pulled out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. She gazed sideways at Casper. “Nice bedhead. Mom couldn't comb your hair?” She said. “Nice hat,” he snapped back in tired irritation, “sold enough newspapers for that bike yet?” Chase smiled back earnestly. “Whoa hey, calm down you two,” Alex told them, “Dude, she isn't like us. She needs sleep to function. She gets cranky if she's up this late. And Chase, take it easy, my bro's got amnesia.” “Insomnia,” Casper corrected him. “And I told you not to tell people that.” “But why not? No shame, my man!” “I just don't want to be known as 'that dude with insomnia, alright?” “Hey!” Chase clapped her hands twice loudly before placing the cigarette in her mouth. “I got a job to do. Alex, what the diddly, man? I thought we agreed no more goose chases?” “So it was a dead end too, huh?” Alex asked as Chase lit her cigarette. The burning tip glowed in the night's darkness. “No shit. Hey, 'bro,' you smoke?” Chase tilted her pack towards Casper, but he held his hand in protest. “Nah. I appreciate it though. And I go by Casper. Casper Donn.” “I'm Chase Conner. Here, my card.” Chase reached into her back pocket and handed him a slim white card. It read 'Chase Conner, Private Investigator,' and listed her work address and phone number. “You're a PI?” “That a problem?” “No. Actually I think it's kinda cool.” “It really isn't as glamorous as you think it is. More often than not I just check on cheating spouses or try to find someone's lost cat. Don't even get me started on the jobs this idiot's set up for me.” “I would     love     to hear about the jobs this this idiot's set up for you.” “Hey man, that's not cool,” Alex interrupted. “What about client confidentiality, huh?” “Meh,” Chase shrugged, “just as a taste, this last job involved me chasing a squirrel with a tracking chip Alex placed on it.” “...A squirrel?” “He thinks aliens domesticated all of Earth's and are using them to steal people's prescription meds. Then the squirrels take the medication to their mothership. By the way, Alex. The squirrel you tagged? I found it dead in a river.” “Damn it!” Alex hissed, “they were two steps ahead of us!” “If you know this guy's a nut, why take jobs from him?” “The first gig he set up was an accidental victory,” Chase responded. “He thought there was an underground mutant flea market or something below the sewers on the outskirts of town. I thought he was full of shit but when I went down there I found a huge drug operation. I reported that to the police and was given a nice reward. From then on I figured he might be lucky and might keep accidentally finding good scoops for me.” “How's that worked out for you?” “It hasn't. Speaking of which. Alex?” “Yeah?” “I'm blacklisting you. Don't bother calling for a job, cuz I'm not taking anymore from you.” “Shiiit, really?” “Yeah, really. Good to meet you, Casper. Give me a call if you need my services.” Casper nodded, and Chase walked towards the staircases, opting to walk down with her cigarette. “Damn it,” Alex cursed, “the squirrels must have gotten to her.”

[codango]

"Just call me Gandhi" - Obiyuki???? 8) 8)

Chapter 2 - Don’t touch anything that isn’t yours (2,561 words)

The following Tuesday, Shirayuki walked with some trepidation up the cracked sidewalk to the little house that served as the university paper’s newsroom. She’d seen Obi throughout the week, of course, but every conversation had been strictly professional. He’d made sure of it, she thought miserably. Photography assignments to match story assignments; a suggested tweak to the paper’s template; a wry “should I bother shooting for Raji’s story?”

She’d turned pink at the mention of Raji, but Obi hadn’t pursued the subject. She’d given him a story again (she couldn’t very well afford not to, with the state of her other writers), and Obi hadn’t so much as batted an eye. Shirayuki had rather hoped he would have. He’d sort of promised to, after all.

But—she turned the doorknob to the little house—it seemed Obi had all but forgotten about (she flushed) last week. Last week, when she’d all but thrown herself at him only to be interrupted by an email. Much good it had done her.

The bottle of rye was still on the desk because of course it was. She hadn’t mustered up the courage to walk through the door all week long, even though it was usually a great place for getting homework done. Shirayuki narrowed her eyes at it, letting her bookbag slide off her shoulder onto the floor.

She put the bottle to her lips and sipped at it. Held it slow over her tongue, the way Obi had said was right.

Her phone vibrated in her bag, and she choked on liquid fire.

Raj: a little bird told me you could use my story earlier tonightRaj: should be in your inbox in a couple mins!Raj: you’re welcome :)

Shirayuki stared at her phone.

You: …You: thank you?You: you know that your deadline is actually thursday right?You: *last* thursday?

Raj: hahahaRaj: us oldtimers know what the real deadline is ;)Raj: just heard you needed it a bit sooner than usual!Raj: once in a while isn’t awful

Shirayuki closed her eyes to keep from throwing the phone at the wall. She would definitely be taking this up with the department chair. The real deadline?!

You: thank you. how considerate

Sarcasm never came across well in text messages, but Shirayuki rather doubted Raji was capable of detecting it should she shout it in his face.

Raj: no problem! happy to helpRaj: just call me gandhi ;)

She wrinkled her nose. Did he even know who—?

The front door opened with its usual metallic creak. Obi stepped onto the scuffed hardwood, camera bag over one shoulder, and zeroed in on the bottle still in her hand. He smirked at her. “Deadlines going well?”

Shirayuki set the bottle down on the desk with a huff. “Better than usual, as a matter of fact.” She turned her back to him and sat down in her computer chair, all professionalism. “Apparently Raji has seen the error of his ways. For this week at least.”

“Has he now?”

A tendril of hope flared in her chest. She didn’t turn around. “Said a little bird had told him to get his assignment in early today.”

Obi’s footsteps neared her desk. “Conscientious. Of both of them.”

“Mmm. He said to call him Gandhi.” Shirayuki had to turn around to gauge Obi’s reaction to that one.

His expression was appropriately perplexed. “Gandhi? Do you think he even—”

“I’ll buy the next bottle if he does.” The words were out her mouth before she knew she wanted to say them. Fortunately, Obi seemed too shocked to register that she was just as surprised as he was.

He recovered quickly, because Obi. A smirk curled his lips. “The jaded editor is a gambling woman, is she?”

She knew it was a jab, but she let the persona settle over her. Shirayuki leaned back in her chair, facing him fully, legs crossed, wrists dangling off the armrests. “You aren’t allowed to give him time to look it up.”

Obi raised an eyebrow, set his bag on the desk perpendicular to hers. He took his time hooking up his camera to the only other computer in the house (it was still a newsroom, she insisted). “If you’re feeling so confident,” he said, his back to her, “you know what this means.”

Shirayuki hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath, scanning his lean back, his waist tapering into tight, ripped jeans. She steepled her fingers against her mouth. “Enlighten me.”

When he looked over his shoulder at her, his gold eyes held a tease that didn’t help her breathing. “We have to finish this one if you’re gonna buy me another bottle.”

Heat crept up her neck. “You’re putting an awful lot of faith in Raji knowing anything about Indian independence.”

Obi clucked his tongue and settled a knee in his own chair, his elbows on the back of it. “Show off.”

Shirayuki allowed herself a pleased smile. She twirled back around to face her computer. The whiskey bottle, still uncorked on her desk, caught her eye. She grabbed it, slammed back a mouthful the way he’d scolded her for last week, and opened the template that held last week’s newspaper. Obi’s snorted laugh was almost worth fighting against a strong urge to gag.

Whiskey or not, bet or not, flirtation or not, the evening crept steadily on with the usual hours of focused work required of putting out an amateur newspaper each week. Occasionally, one of them would swipe the bottle from the other’s desk, apparently to remind themselves that something was indeed simmering beneath the surface of academia.

Flush with the knowledge that she was editing the last story and wouldn’t be up till wee hours waiting on anything to come in, Shirayuki stood and went to Obi’s desk to steal the bottle again. His hand reached out to cover hers on the bottle, and she froze.

“Let’s call in a pizza.” He leaned back in his chair and looked up at her. His hand stayed on hers. Light. Warm. She could move if she wanted to.

Were she capable of moving.

“Pizza?” she repeated. It was about all she could manage.

His smile was sweetly patient, and Shirayuki was definitely feeling the three sips she’d stolen from the bottle so far. “If we’re seriously putting a dent in this bottle tonight, we’d better get something in our stomachs, yeah?”

His thumb slid over hers, and she jerked her hand out from under his. She hadn’t meant to—and damn, she wished she hadn’t, look at his face, shit—but it was done. He kept his eyes on the bottle, that soft smile replaced with uncharacteristic hesitation.

Shirayuki cleared her throat. Reached for the whiskey again and slipped it gently from his grasp. “I like pepperoni. You’re making the call.” She retreated to her chair, knowing her face was red and not wanting him to see the college girl instead of the savvy newspaper editor.

She smiled to herself to hear the confidence back in his voice as he called a local place. They worked in silence for the next half hour; enough time for her to place the last story, enough for him to send her the last edited photos for the front page.

Shirayuki slid the last photo into its presized frame in the paper’s template and dropped the packaged PDF into the printer’s FTP box. Huh. Done before midnight. Done before 10 p.m., for crying out loud.  She wracked her memory to come up with an occasion anywhere in her two semesters as editor when she’d left the newsroom before 2:00 a.m. She came up with nothing.

The silence of the room, so focused before, was suddenly suffocating. She futzed around in her email, managing to get to inbox zero in both her personal and school email before the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” she gasped and shot to her feet. She felt Obi’s eyes on her as she dug in her bag for cash. It took her two tries at the math to give the delivery guy a twenty percent tip. When she turned away from the door, warm pizza box in hand, Obi was coming back in from the small kitchen with paper towels.

“Um.” Shirayuki clutched the box, a comforting barrier against the Unknown shimmering between them in the room. “Where do you wanna eat?” The desks were the obvious choice, but the thought of eating side by side in computer chairs was depressingly clinical.

Obi shot her a confident, closed-mouth smile as a response. He swanned past her, shutting off the lights in the room with a flick of his wrist.

Shirayuki gaped at him. “Obi?” Orange street lights filtered through the blinds, and their computers glowed a warm black. The room was far from dark. It was worse. It was intimate.

“I’m taking you captive.” He moved over to his computer, tapped at a couple keys.

Forget the pizza warming her. Shirayuki was going to set the greasy cardboard box on fire with her own skin. “What?” Her voice was high. Thin.

“Zen says this anime is ridiculous.” Obi turned toward her, pausing only to grab the whiskey from her desk. Tinny, high-energy music came from his computer’s speakers. Colorful animation filled the screen. Obi settled himself on the floor at her feet, his back leaning against the wall. “But in reality, it’s genius, and tonight is the night you’re going to agree with me.” He reached a hand up for the pizza box, not taking his eyes off his computer screen.

Shirayuki sank to her knees, from relief or acute disappointment, who was to say? Wordlessly, she handed him the box.

The anime was, at best, difficult to keep up with. The plot was nonsensical, and there was the rye and Obi’s proximity to consider. Really, if he wanted an objective opinion, she didn’t have a chance.

She was leaning back on a hand, her mind flitting between an attempt at focusing on the anime, deciding if she wanted another slice of pizza, or pressing Obi back against the wall, when she felt it. The slightest brush of fingers against fingers.

Her head frozen in place, she nearly gave herself eyestrain to look down at her own hand. Obi regarded the flickering computer screen studiously. Shirayuki might have believed he was unaware of his fingers resting against hers…if not for the dip of his Adam’s apple at a traitorous moment.

This was ridiculous. She had all but kissed him last week in this very room, and it wasn’t like he’d gone screaming out into the night then, had he? Shirayuki scowled at herself. Sipping at a bottle of whiskey for several hours was apparently the alcoholic equivalent of inviting Yuzuri to camp out in her head. Shirayuki was done and she was doing this. Her mental Yuzuri cheered.

Determined, Shirayuki sat forward. Her hand slipped from Obi’s, and she was certain she didn’t mistake the quiet puff of air from his mouth. Just…give me a second! She scooped up her courage, threw back another mouthful of rye, and—swallowing hard—leaned onto her hip to curl into Obi’s space.

She had a fleeting moment of golden eyes widening beneath her before she feathered her lips over his.

His mouth was open instantly, but otherwise Obi stayed pressed up against the wall, both hands locked to the floor. The whiskey had cut through the salt of the pizza until that was all she was tasting, and Shirayuki wondered, stupidly, if you could get drunk off of someone else’s liquored kisses.

When he still didn’t move after a few gentle moments, Shirayuki lifted her head. His eyes were open—she wondered if they’d closed at all—as was his mouth. He stared at her, by all signs dumbstruck.

“Um.” She tucked her hair behind one ear and started to back away. “I was just—”

Obi reached for her then, a hand behind her head, the other at her elbow, coaxing her back to him firmly. Her back protested at its awkward curve, but her hand fell to his chest and he sighed into her mouth, and Shirayuki decided she could take an aspirin tomorrow if necessary.

His lips moved over hers with more invention than she’d been able to bring to the table, and she scooted onto his lap for more. Obi gave a soft laugh in approval before tasting her bottom lip with his tongue. His hands skimmed over her shoulders to rest lightly at her hips.

Shivery things were happening in Shirayuki’s gut. They were enticing and alarming at the same time, and generally too…big to be dealt with right now. Obi’s hands stayed where they were, though his thumbs traced the hem of her sweater. His lips, for the most part, focused on hers, with little stray kisses to the corners of her mouth or her cheek. Once to her jaw, and she heard herself croaking, “O-Obi?”

His mouth stilled against her face, thumbs slowing to a full stop. He made an inquiring noise. His breath tickled the down of her cheek. She felt young and on fire and generally hopeless.

“I…I don’t think…” What? What did she think or not think? I want you but.

“You want to stop?” His voice was a whisper. He didn’t move an inch.

No. But. “I, um. Kisses are nice,” she finished softly. God, she sounded delicate. So much for the newspaper editor boasting about buying another bottle of whiskey hours earlier.

“They are.” Obi pressed a chaste one to the corner of her mouth.

A shiver crawled up Shirayuki’s spine.

“Watch another episode with me?” he asked when she stayed quiet. “Like this?”

She sat up just enough to see his face. The anime hadn’t stopped playing; in fact, she was fairly certain they’d missed at least half of one episode.

He glanced away from her sudden eye contact, swallowed a little, then there was his grin. It was smaller than usual, less painted over with bravado, but still Obi’s grin. “Here.” He shifted her by the hips just enough so she could turn her attention without much strain to either him or the screen. His eyes flashed with amusement, as though not quite worried about competing for her attention. “Okay?”

Shirayuki pursed her lips to keep a smile at bay and gave a short nod. She settled a shoulder into his chest, let the warmth of him invade her space. His arm curved around her back, and his other hand held up the bottle to her. He cocked an eyebrow up at her, his scar pulling at his forehead.

She shook her head, smile breaking free a little, and lowered her mouth to his again. Sweet. Soft. Gentle.

“Yeah.” His voice was a sigh. She heard him set the bottle down on the hardwood floor, and his hand fell to her shins that draped over his hip.

———

The following day, Zen expressed incredulity at Obi’s claim that Shirayuki had insisted they watch seven episodes of a show that was, not to put too fine a point on it,“a preposterous conglomeration of animated sludge.”

Obi, Shirayuki decided with some heat, was going to pay for grinning unhelpfully while she struggled to invent believable praise for an anime she couldn’t recall in the slightest.

[readbookywooks]

“A code?” Minho asked. “How’s it a code?”

Thomas shook his head, wishing he could answer. “I don’t know for sure—you’re way more familiar with the Maps than I am. But I have a theory. That’s why I was hoping you guys could remember some of them.”

Minho glanced at Newt, his eyebrows raised in question. Newt nodded.

“What?” Thomas asked, fed up with them keeping information from him. “You guys keep acting like you have a secret.”

Minho rubbed his eyes with both hands, took a deep breath. “We hid the Maps, Thomas.”

At first it didn’t compute. “Huh?”

Minho pointed at the Homestead. “We hid the freaking Maps in the weapons room, put dummies in their place. Because of Alby’s warning. And because of the so-called Ending your girlfriend triggered.”

Thomas was so excited to hear this news he temporarily forgot how awful things had become. He remembered Minho acting suspicious the day before, saying he had a special assignment. Thomas looked over at Newt, who nodded.

“They’re all safe and sound,” Minho said. “Every last one of those suckers. So if you have a theory, get talking.”

“Take me to them,” Thomas said, itching to have a look.

“Okay, let’s go.”

CHAPTER 42

Minho switched on the light, making Thomas squint for a second until his eyes got used to it. Menacing shadows clung to the boxes of weapons scattered across the table and floor, blades and sticks and other nasty-looking devices seeming to wait there, ready to take on a life of their own and kill the first person stupid enough to come close. The dank, musty smell only added to the creepy feel of the room.

“There’s a hidden storage closet back here,” Minho explained, walking past some shelves into a dark corner. “Only a couple of us know about it.”

Thomas heard the creak of an old wooden door, and then Minho was dragging a cardboard box across the floor; the scrape of it sounded like a knife on bone. “I put each trunk’s worth in its own box, eight boxes total. They’re all in there.”

“Which one is this?” Thomas asked; he knelt down next to it, eager to get started.

“Just open it and see—each page is marked, remember?”

Thomas pulled on the crisscrossed lid flaps until they popped open. The Maps for Section Two lay in a messy heap. Thomas reached in and pulled out a stack.

“Okay,” he said. “The Runners have always compared these day to day, looking to see if there was a pattern that would somehow help figure out a way to an exit. You even said you didn’t really know what you were looking for, but you kept studying them anyway. Right?”

Minho nodded, arms folded. He looked as if someone were about to reveal the secret of immortal life.

“Well,” Thomas continued, “what if all the wall movements had nothing to do with a map or a maze or anything like that? What if instead the pattern spelled words? Some kind of clue that’ll help us escape.”

Minho pointed at the Maps in Thomas’s hand, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Dude, you have any idea how much we’ve studied these things? Don’t you think we would’ve noticed if it were spelling out freaking words?”

“Maybe it’s too hard to see with the naked eye, just comparing one day to the next. And maybe you weren’t supposed to compare one day to the next, but look at it one day at a time?”

Newt laughed. “Tommy, I might not be the sharpest guy in the Glade, but sounds like you’re talkin’ straight out your butt to me.”

While he’d been talking, Thomas’s mind had been spinning even faster. The answer was within his grasp—he knew he was almost there. It was just so hard to put into words.

“Okay, okay,” he said, starting over. “You’ve always had one Runner assigned to one section, right?”

“Right,” Minho replied. He seemed genuinely interested and ready to understand.

“And that Runner makes a Map every day, and then compares it to Maps from previous days, for that section. What if, instead, you were supposed to compare the eight sections to each other, every day? Each day being a separate clue or code? Did you ever compare sections to other sections?”

Minho rubbed his chin, nodding. “Yeah, kind of. We tried to see if they made something when put together—of course we did that. We’ve tried everything.”

Thomas pulled his legs up underneath him, studying the Maps in his lap. He could just barely see the lines of the Maze written on the second page through the page resting on top. In that instant, he knew what they had to do. He looked up at the others.

“Wax paper.”

“Huh?” Minho asked. “What the—”

“Just trust me. We need wax paper and scissors. And every black marker and pencil you can find.”

Frypan wasn’t too happy having a whole box of his wax paper rolls taken away from him, especially with their supplies being cut off. He argued that it was one of the things he always requested, that he used it for baking. They finally had to tell him what they needed it for to convince him to give it up.

After ten minutes of hunting down pencils and markers—most had been in the Map Room and were destroyed in the fire—Thomas sat around the worktable in the weapons basement with Newt, Minho and Teresa. They hadn’t found any scissors, so Thomas had grabbed the sharpest knife he could find.

“This better be good,” Minho said. Warning laced his voice, but his eyes showed some interest.

Newt leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table, as if waiting for a magic trick. “Get on with it, Greenie.”

“Okay.” Thomas was eager to do so, but was also scared to death it might end up being nothing. He handed the knife to Minho, then pointed at the wax paper. “Start cutting rectangles, about the size of the Maps. Newt and Teresa, you can help me grab the first ten or so Maps from each section box.”

“What is this, kiddie craft time?” Minho held up the knife and looked at it with disgust. “Why don’t you just tell us what the klunk we’re doing this for?”

“I’m done explaining,” Thomas said, knowing they just had to see what he was picturing in his mind. He stood to go rummage through the storage closet. “It’ll be easier to show you. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong, and we can go back to running around the Maze like mice.”

Minho sighed, clearly irritated, then muttered something under his breath. Teresa had stayed quiet for a while, but she spoke up inside Thomas’s head.

I think I know what you’re doing. Brilliant, actually.

Thomas was startled, but he tried his best to cover it up. He knew he had to pretend he didn’t have voices in his head—the others would think he was a lunatic.

Just … come … help … me, he tried to say back, thinking each word separately, trying to visualize the message, send it. But she didn’t respond.

“Teresa,” he said aloud. “Can you help me a second?” He nodded toward the closet.

The two of them went into the dusty little room and opened up all the boxes, grabbing a small stack of Maps from each one. Returning to the table, Thomas found that Minho had cut twenty sheets already, making a messy pile to his right as he threw each new piece on top.

Thomas sat down and grabbed a few. He held one of the papers up to the light, saw how it shone through with a milky glow. It was exactly what he needed.

He grabbed a marker. “All right, everybody trace the last ten or so days onto a piece of this stuff. Make sure you write the info on top so we can keep track of what’s what. When we’re done, I think we might see something.”

“What—” Minho began.

“Just bloody keep cutting,” Newt ordered. “I think I know where he’s going with this.” Thomas was relieved someone was finally getting it.

They got to work, tracing from original Maps to wax paper, one by one, trying to keep it clean and correct while hurrying as fast as possible. Thomas used the side of a stray slab of wood as a makeshift ruler, keeping his lines straight. Soon he’d completed five maps, then five more. The others kept the same pace, working feverishly.

As Thomas drew, he started to feel a tickle of panic, a sick feeling that what they were doing was a complete waste of time. But Teresa, sitting next to him, was a study in concentration, her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth as she traced lines up and down, side to side. She seemed way more confident that they were definitely on to something.

Box by box, section by section, they continued on.

“I’ve had enough,” Newt finally announced, breaking the quiet. “My fingers are bloody burning like a mother. See if it’s working.”

Thomas put his marker down, then flexed his fingers, hoping he’d been right about all this. “Okay, give me the last few days of each section—make piles along the table, in order from Section One to Section Eight. One here”—he pointed at an end—”to Eight here.” He pointed at the other end.

Silently, they did as he asked, sorting through what they’d traced until eight low stacks of wax paper lined the table.

Jittery and nervous, Thomas picked up one page from each pile, making sure they were all from the same day, keeping them in order. He then laid them one on top of the other so that each drawing of the Maze matched the same day above it and below it, until he was looking at eight different sections of the Maze at once. What he saw amazed him. Almost magically, like a picture coming into focus, an image developed. Teresa let out a small gasp.

Lines crossed each other, up and down, so much so that what Thomas held in his hands looked like a checkered grid. But certain lines in the middle—lines that happened to appear more often than any other—made a slightly darker image than the rest. It was subtle, but it was, without a doubt, there.

Sitting in the exact center of the page was the letter F.

CHAPTER 43

Thomas felt a rush of different emotions: relief that it had worked, surprise, excitement, wonder at what it could lead to.

“Man,” Minho said, summing up Thomas’s feelings with one word.

“Could be a coincidence,” Teresa said. “Do more, quick.”

Thomas did, putting together the eight pages of each day, in order from Section One to Section Eight. Each time, an obvious letter formed in the center of the crisscrossed mass of lines. After the F was an L, then an O, then an A, and a T. Then C … A … T.

“Look,” Thomas said, pointing down the line of stacks they’d formed, confused, but happy that the letters were so obvious. “It spells FLOAT and then it spells CAT.”

“Float cat?” Newt asked. “Doesn’t sound like a bloody rescue code to me.”

“We just need to keep working,” Thomas said.

Another couple of combinations made them realize that the second word was actually CATCH. FLOAT and CATCH.

“Definitely not a coincidence,” Minho said.

“Definitely not,” Thomas agreed. He couldn’t wait to see more.

Teresa gestured toward the storage closet. “We need to go through all of them—all those boxes in there.”

“Yeah,” Thomas nodded. “Let’s get on it.”

“We can’t help,” Minho said.

All three of them looked at him. He returned their glares. “At least not me and Thomas here. We need to get the Runners out in the Maze.”

“What?” Thomas asked. “This is way more important!”

“Maybe,” Minho answered calmly, “but we can’t miss a day out there. Not now.”

Thomas felt a rush of disappointment. Running the Maze seemed like such a waste of time compared to figuring out the code. “Why, Minho? You said the pattern’s basically been repeating itself for months—one more day won’t mean a thing.”

Minho slammed his hand against the table. “That’s bullcrap, Thomas! Of all days, this might be the most important to get out there. Something might’ve changed, something might’ve opened up. In fact, with the freaking walls not closing anymore, I think we should try your idea—stay out there overnight and do some deeper exploring.”

That piqued Thomas’s interest—he had been wanting to do that. Conflicted, he asked, “But what about this code? What about—”

“Tommy,” Newt said in a consoling voice. “Minho’s right. You shanks go out and get Runnin’. I’ll round up some Gladers we can trust and get workin’ on this.” Newt sounded more like a leader than ever before.

“Me too,” Teresa agreed. “I’ll stay and help Newt.”

Thomas looked at her. “You sure?” He was itching to figure out the code himself, but he decided Minho and Newt were right.

She smiled and folded her arms. “If you’re going to decipher a hidden code from a complex set of different mazes, I’m pretty sure you need a girl’s brain running the show.” Her grin turned into a smirk.

“If you say so.” He folded his own arms, staring at her with a smile, suddenly not wanting to leave again.

“Good that.” Minho nodded and turned to go. “Everything’s fine and dandy. Come on.” He started toward the door, but stopped when he realized Thomas wasn’t behind him.

“Don’t worry, Tommy,” Newt said. “Your girlfriend will be fine.” Thomas felt a million thoughts go through his head in that moment. An itch to learn the code, embarrassment at what Newt thought of him and Teresa, the intrigue of what they might find out in the Maze—and fear.