crsssies

[crsssies]

:3 behind the scenes time !!! scrapped a couple of things and I wanted to elaborate a little on the lore since i didn't get to write all of it

"Before I fix the camera. I'll make you a deal." You glance around, lack of electronics on you also an indicator of total privacy. The prototype stills. You don't have much to live for, so you gamble whatever worth you have in the form of your all-access employee card. "I know you want to leave." "I... can access that card anywhere." "No. You can only access a Head's card from one of us, and the Doctor won't be able to give it to you either. He doesn't have an omni hand." The prototype stills. "What... do you want." "I know you want to kill the humans. It's evident. Pretend to kill me but hide me." "Why... would I do that?" "I'm your biggest bargaining chip against the doctor." You laugh. "You want him to work with you? Sparing him will be fine, but holding me hostage and promising to return me will produce evident results." The prototype considers it, and you fish out a charm from your belt. "This will work."

Originally reader was going to be the one who tells the prototype about the doctor's infatuation with them but i ended up having the prototype use reader instead of the other way around

"He promised me it would keep me safe." "During the hour of joy, angel."

this was the original first dialogue when the doctor's minion finds reader in the cell!

A figure opens the door to the doctor's lair, turning back to stop and stare at each one of the cameras. The doctor is defeated, screaming out a garbled name as he died, leaving nothing behind. Nothing, except the box of crayons on top of the monitor with a name. Scratched out by something sharp, but a name nonetheless, and a map tucked between the two rows of colors. In the corner of the maze — hidden behind a series of servers you have to crouch to get to lies a figure, frozen, skin clean and temperature perfect. The figure contemplates to cut off the life support of the human, staring at the vitals and oxygen mask on her face. He looks at the enclosure with fake skies and artificial sunlight — a fridge opened full of canned food. He wonders if the human is alive or being kept alive. The scratches on her wrist match those of the doctor's minions. Terrifying feat. To think that evil incarnate could be capable of showing affection, though twisted. The figure pulls the life support, watching as the monitor beeps at the flatline. There is no confirmation that the two will end up at the same place, but perhaps it is human to hope that even in the void of pure darkness, there was something that could give light. Huh. Wonder if that's what happened to them.

og ending! originally reader was going to be found unconscious by the doctor so he puts her on life support and she never wakes up but then the story took a different turn from what i wanted originally so. whatever ig

When he presents proof of concept as the prototype had requested of him, you're given to him in perfect health. He's not sure what you've been feeding off of as there is no food below, and even if there were, he's sure the prototype would have fed it to his loyal subjects instead of whatever you were in consideration to that. You're handed off to the doctor's main body, clawed hand to clawed hand, and it takes one look from the doctor to notice that you're not quite as harmed as he thought you'd be. He adjusts the cloak over his head as he stares you in the eye, and you smile at him. "Congrats on proving it." You take his hand, paying one last glance to the prototype as he lets you leave with the figure.

Originally the prototype hands reader over but then I thought it'd be funnier if the doctor just finally accessed his main body and jumpscared her lol

ending notes:

There's hints throughout the fic but basically reader was going to be Elliot's adopted child after Poppy passed away. They showed the same passion for design and creation he did, so he took them in to raise as a successor since originally Poppy was never meant to take over the company (hence the she's too pure thing) but since reader was part of the young genius' program and elliot took to liking them they ended up raised by elliot. but also bc reader and harvey met when they were kids bc like. yknow. also bc it's so fun when sociopaths have childhood friends whom they have a weird attachment to. I might edit and bulk up the fic one day but oh well. :3

this is what you came for (blood on the game ball)

word count: 7.2k

Warnings: implied/non explicit smut, reader's Head of Design, slightly unsettling vibes

You learn things over the years of being a head at Poppy's Playtime.

One, Stella Greybur is a softie. She loves the children, which you don't particularly blame her for, and she establishes boundaries that one must not cross, and you are not to cross with her if you can avoid it. She's eccentric in her own way — perhaps not the same way the other heads are, but still eccentric nonetheless. One can find her in her office mumbling about how she regrets her involvement while gaslighting herself that it would save more than it would torture. It's a lie and everyone knows it.

Two, Eddie Ritterman is a recluse. But that's simply a front given to the rest of the company, because the truth is he's a shady ass man who runs the majority of deals behind the scenes. It takes darkness to engulf darkness, and he's no exception from that. He makes sure the company keeps and makes the money that they do. He's not a researcher, he's a businessman. His words, and it doesn't quite matter as a matter of fact, because at the end of the day, he makes sure the surgeons get the money that they need in order to continue their research.

Three, Leith Pierre is not worth the arguing. Not in the sense that you would stop arguing because you would lose, no. You could not out-argue the man simply because he wasn't willing to listen all that much. He's also money-hungry, and one of the reasons he had picked up the Bigger Bodies Initiative meant that he could pay less employees. Not one of the heads is an emotion-feeling man. Leith found joy in telling people how hopeless everything was, after all. But he was a man to keep up appearances as the successor of Ludwig, so he knew how to pretend.

Finally, Harley Sawyer is a sociopath who does not care what happens to the children or the toys. His hand is his weapon and his scalpel will bring life, but beyond his own curiosity and drive for fame, there is nothing else inside of him. His only form of joy and release lay in the creation of life — in playing god. There was no saving grace when he set his eyes upon you, and if you were selected as an orphan, then heavens kill you because your fate lay worse than it did in death under his hand.

You are not allowed to avoid anyone with your position as head of design. It was a fickle title, as you had practically taken over the creative process that Elliot Ludwig had once done, but you worked closely with the head of production that the rest of the heads did not. Your designs made their way in the end to the hands of the Doctor. You did not care as much as you'd liked to, but you would visit the orphans selected and see if they had ideas. The minds of children were simple and easy, after all. Their designs came just as easily as yours.

The avoidance of the Doctor is not something you're conscious of. You steer clear of him when you can, and you have other workers hand off papers to him when you can. When you cannot, you stare him in the eye for as long as he'll meet yours, and you ignore the look of contempt in his eye when you show the prototype for the child's design. The children had toys they wished to turn into, and it was your responsibility to make sure that their last gift of grace came to life. The Doctor does not care, and quite frankly neither do you, but you learn that the children adapt better to their new bodies if it is a design that they created. It comes as instinct — especially when you run them through the process of it all and they adapt better in their new bodies. They breathe and are conscious slightly longer.

There is still no explanation as for why, but experiment 1006 survived and lives. You do not know. You keep an eye out on it, staring through the glass as it articulates its fingers. The Doctor stands next to you, staring and staring, and you stare back at the prototype, wondering if anything is happening. The prototype does not kill the Doctor, yet, when he steps into the enclosure. It almost feels as though the child were staring back at you. You do not feel remorse, no. The child had request to be jagged at the edges in order to have an advantage when it came to killing. You had fulfilled the child's promise, and its intelligence was more than apparent in the way that the Doctor's voice was imitated, but yours was not.

You complete Log 24459 B with the prototype, blinking slowly at the figure as he stares back.

It can not stare back, yet the ghost of a soul stares at you anyway.

"It is bad to grow attached to them."

"No. It is bad to grow attached to them. It is not bad for them to grow attached to you. The same way Experiment 1166 relies heavily on you."

"You can not control him."

You did not reach your position through naivety. Contrary to what people in the company seem to believe, you are not stupid nor incompetent. You did not sleep with the Doctor to hold the position of someone in power. You wouldn't have gotten as high had you slept with the Doctor. Even if you did sleep with someone, it would have had to be Leith Pierre. You would have had to have slept with Ludwig himself if you wanted to consider sleeping your way to the top, but Ludwig would have never let his daughter end up in a position of power. She was too pure. She was to be preserved. She had to be preserved.

She had to be—

The voice of the child snaps you out, and you tilt your head. "Say that again, sweetheart?"

"I would like to be this one."

He points at the blue creature, and you ruffle his hair. "Alright, sweetheart. How would you move in him?"

"I would spin my arms." He giggles, tucked against your legs as he hums. "They would be soft to hug."

"What would you name yourself?"

"Huggy."

"What rhymes with huggy?" You hum. "Buggy?"

The child laughs. "Noooo… maybe wuggy?"

"Like snuggy wuggy?"

"Ya!!" The child gasps. "I'd be called Huggy Wuggy."

"Would you hug your friends?"

"Mhm!"

You wonder if you'll ever experience the horror of being betrayed by someone you assumed you could trust. You wouldn't know. You probably wouldn't live to know. You'd die at the hand of the Doctor before you could even live to experience it. The Doctor would make sure you're dead before you would even consider such a thought. Though, it's a shame. Your consciousness would give up before you could even consider to fight tooth and nail to become conscious in a Bigger Body.

"So... you want to become Catnap?"

"Yes... with a longer spine and a big... limbs." The boy whispers, medical wrappings all around his head.

He's still half dazed from the Prototype using him as a means to try and escape. You don't know what prompted the hand to return the boy and save the boy, but you don't comment on it. You'll ask later when you pay a visit. For the time being, you draw an abnormally long Catnap that is more bones than fur, and the boy nods slowly.

"I want to look like... my friend."

"I see." You hum. "Then I hope you become like him too."

You hand the design to the Doctor yourself this time, taking a good look at his face, head tilted as he raises a brow at you back.

"Something on my face, Head of Design?"

"No." You laugh, cheeks warm. "Just think there's some sort of beauty in the look of you tired out from lack of sleep."

"Tch." He clicks his tongue. "Get talking to that new orphan."

"I'll see what kind of idea comes from her mind."

When you leave, you miss the way Harley Sawyer's eyes linger on you for a moment longer than acceptable.

There is history that some of the workers have in the company, so it wasn't out of the question for you to have known some people from your childhood, and Elliot Ludwig was no exception. You had been selected as his successor right before his death per the development of the Young Geniuses Program, so it was interesting to meet Harley Sawyer face to face after so many years. You didn't think Leith Pierre was smart enough to hire someone Ludwig had deemed as dangerous all for the sake of more money.

Marie Payne is a girl who is both terrified and plagued with nightmares, so you give her a brighter design. You hide Catnap's design from her when you flip through the pages, and you hand her a box of crayons as you let her draw, and she tells you about how she wants to be able to stretch for the sake of hugging others, and you tap your pen against your bottom lip, considering what material you could use for that. The new plastic they were planning on creating would be nice, but you're not sure if it would be able to shrink back to its original size after it stretches out. You ought to talk to Harley about it.

"I see." You think over it. "You want to stretch?"

"Yes. That would be my thing." She whispers. "It also means I can escape if I need to."

"Mm." You nod. "I see. Well, I'll see if we can make a model for you, sweetheart. It'll be your little toy, hm?"

The orphans have a misconception that if they choose you, then they're special. No child likes being left behind, and you know that better than anyone. You revel in the attention from the children, but you're also aware that it's an awful thing to be ostracizing children because they'll be going into surgery anyway. It helps to make them bitter towards something before being put under and transferred to a bigger body. And, well, if that bitterness manifests in something, then their consciousness fights to adapt to the new body because they have something to continue living for.

"Head of Design—"

You look up at Harley, and he raises a brow at you.

"What?"

"You want me to use elastic plastic for this upcoming project."

"Correct." You show him the prototype, stretching out the arms as they snap back in place, and he scoffs.

"What kind of dream is this child up to?"

"A dream to hug everyone, Doctor." You pinch your brows. "Something you clearly did not know."

The Doctor takes the toy to examine it and scoffs.

"We'll see."

Mommy Long Legs, the toy that Marie becomes, is sent to the Game Station. You don't speak to her again, passing her on occasion when you take the train down further, and you send her a nod. One of the few good things about being the Head of Design meant that the toys knew you more or less. Playing god, dare you say it. To them, you were the creator. They could tear at you if they really wished for it, but you have given none of them a reason to.

You spend most of your days talking to the orphans and having them select toys to personalize, and for the most part, you need not to meet up with the Doctor to any extent, but on occasion you pass him in the halls when you leave new designs, nodding at him as he furrows his brows at you.

"1006 is asking for you."

"And you're telling me?"

"It is not my place to question that toy. He's far wiser than we make him out to be, after all."

"I see." You hum. "How's work been?"

"Don't start that small talk shit with me."

"Sorry. Just wanted to know. We haven't had a new Bigger Body in a while." You hum.

"We're planning one with two new orphans."

"Kevin and Matthew." You deadpan. "I can't help but think that Kevin's too temperamental to create a toy that will listen."

"We need success right now. Not anything else of the sort."

"I see." You remember Leith Pierre going off about how the investors were looking for results outside of the smiling critters that had been getting mass-produced. Proof of concept was there, so it all fell on Harley's shoulders to show results again. Doey was going to be next. The experiment had been named already. Stella had been working hard to get the two boys attached to the dough toy, and it seemed it would undergo surgery soon. Well, it wasn't really your place.

Then, a boy falls off the railing into the dough and the company adds a third into the mix. The same day that there is surgery, a third boy, Jack Ayers, is brought in, body pieces mixed in the dough machine as the Doctor sneered. It was a pain in the ass to him, but he succeeds anyway, turning Doey alive and storing him with the rest of the toys. It's one of the final big experiments that the Doctor gets to achieve, after all.

"Head of Design." He stares at you, and you tilt your head.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"One Bad Day." He smiles. "If you want to stay alive, I suggest you stay in lockdown on the fifth of next week."

You listen, because you know the man's a sociopath who means every word he says. The other employees laugh at him, and you watch as Sawyer's brows twist in annoyance. You offer something to him, so he can't afford to lose you. Everyone else, though? It didn't matter if they were dead or alive. As long as you survived or whatever. You wonder if that's what you get for... whatever this was. Maybe the Doctor likes you more than you think he does.

You could use that to your advantage. You know someone who could use that to their advantage. You're starting to get tired of this hell.

The Theater Incident occurs as over 60 victims are left for dead because of the fire and escaped toys, and your office initiates safety lockdown as you watch over the cameras. When Lockehart is sent back in for investigation, you know better than anyone that it must've been Sawyer. The warning was enough evidence, but you don't bring it up. Lockeheart reveals it to the table of Heads when the time comes, and Leith Pierre nods at you far too quickly for it to be a coincidence for you to sketch up a design to still keep him alive.

You sit through the board meeting after the incident, sketching designs for metal casings to hold onto the Doctor. It's heinous to even consider what they're considering to turn the man into.

You don't tell the Doctor. You have no need to.

The agreement is put into place and you're given a timeframe to figure out what kind of a design to give to the Doctor, but not until he finishes the majority of surgeries that are left under him. To use a man until he is done, and then the rest of the experiments could be started with a new doctor. One that wasn't him. One that wasn't suspected to be behind the death of Elliot Ludwig.

"Doctor." You smile. "Take a break with me, would you?"

"What kind of break?"

"They're planning on jarring some organs. If you had to become jarred and reduced to just a brain, which design would you pick?"

He lets you sit down on his table, flipping through a full book of designs.

"The simplest one."

"You sure you wouldn't go for something more... creative? Mobile?" You flip to another page with a humanoid robot on it, and he scoffs.

"No." He flips it back to your third design and points. "This one's most efficient. Though, I'd size it down if we were going to force it upon a child. Will I be conducting this one?"

"Maybe? I'm still confirming with the heads. Think of this as... insider info." You beam. "So? Anything to share with me, Head of Special Projects?"

The doctor pulls you in by the calf, pressing your forehead to his as he looks at you.

"I know you still dangle that charm around your neck that you take off when you come to see me."

You press your fingers to his chest, fingers sliding down to hook his belt as your lip quirks up.

"And I know, Harley, that you still have that permanent stain of red where I sit my charm."

You hand Dr. Bruno White the artistic design that you all had agreed upon during the meeting, and the creation of the Doctor began. You refuse to act as bait, forcing Leith to talk to the underlings instead and force Harley to be put under, the man caught off guard as they keep him under anesthesia, and you catch one last glimpse at the Doctor before he's put under. He's much better when he's quiet.

Too many people killed, not good for the company, and whatever other excuse they have in the book. At the end of the day, they only fear for their lives and reputation. So, the Doctor must pay.

"Doctor White."

"Head of Design."

"Preserve the heart, would you? The engineers have already designed the body." You hand him an extra sheet, and he raises a brow.

"Don't worry. It's inactive. There's no actual electricity jumping through it unless plugged in."

"I see." He pauses. "Does Mister Pierre know?"

"I'm telling him in a bit. I have a copy in my journal. You'd store the body in my office. Unplugged."

"I see."

You wonder if you should pay the prototype a visit now that the Doctor will be decommissioned into nothing more than a system. Too much access to too many things, yet somehow at the same time still powerless as ever. What can you do as a system? It would be better off to store him into a robot than a system. It's still enough power, it's just that he's too weak to be able to do anything. It doesn't stop you from clicking through his system and asking for information.

"Head of Design. Couldn't you have picked—"

"Nope." You hum. "You picked it yourself."

The doctor stares down at you as you continue sketching on your book, computers and laptops around in your room reduced to stacks and stacks of papers. You're not as stupid as to let the Doctor into your private life. You know where everything is, and you learn to live that way. All of the heads do. Almost. All of the heads. But the truth is that Leith Pierre and you are both just concerningly paranoid about the Doctor. Leith's room might as well have become a library with how much paper he uses.

The Doctor can see everything yet at the same time see nothing. It's intriguing in the way where he can look at you through the cameras of the lab, yet unable to access anything you keep on paper. You sit in his central hub when bored to converse with him, and at other times you let him sit on the phone with you while you sketch. The orphans start knowing you as the woman who goes around with a strange voice tucked on your waist. A mean voice that you reprimand and turn down to low when he starts being mean to the kids.

There are no more widely successful experiments after Harley Sawyer turns into a computer.

You continue the drawings in your hands and stories you tell the children. You explain none else, sitting down with them to draw designs and then hand them off to the surgeons to do their thing. Your world is finished. Your job was simple as that. You did not care for administrative issues or more wealth. Your job was simply found in the pen and paper of the soul. Nothing beyond that.

You complete log 25479, pulling the plug to the camera in the room when you leave, never turning back once for the experiment. Harvey would have. Paranoid. Constantly mistrusting of his experiments, only manipulating them into trusting him alone. You're not nearly smart enough to do all of that, though. You know your limits, so you stick to them. You are not an overachiever like the rest of the team.

You stick with colors from the children and staring up at security cameras for a moment too long, and quiet moments of clicking on a computer to interact with the Doctor. It's fun. It's cute, even. Nothing cute about him. He's still as vicious as always. You input questions and he spits answers with annoyance and an edge in his tone, but that's really all there is.

There's supposed to be nothing else — there is supposed to be nothing else, but you make the mistake of using the wrong disc at work, and all of a sudden the Doctor shows up on your laptop, eyes slanting into what they work look like in a sneer, and you realize what you've done. It's not much, though. Simple diary entries regarding each child and what you learned about them. Things you can use to earn trust again. The same way the Doctor and 1166 act around each other. Though, you have less malicious intentions. Perhaps you want to return to them some semblance of feeling human.

"Head of Design. Affection? How rare."

"Is it not dignified to die a noble death even when a child? You and I both know it has been better since I've started working with the children."

The computer sneers, appalled that there could even been the luxury of feeling. The Doctor never felt when he was human. It's why he was the perfect machine — to weave the brain of a sociopath to a device that could not feel either. It was a creation of apathy — the same way the Doctor was. It was much too dangerous to let him be. Too dangerous to let him do what he wanted to. You understood it as well. To show any empathy without eccentricity was to dig yourself a hole. No one wore their emotions on their sleeve in the face of Poppy Playtime. It was stupid to.

Not even Greybur herself actually wore her true emotions on her face. Her true emotions were too far gone. All she did now was gaslight herself into believing that what she was doing was right.

"It's just some diary entries." You hum.

"About everything about the children. These aren't in the database, Head of Design."

His voice makes your skin crawl, but you don't speak up on it.

"Is that so? I deemed it unnecessary information to know about the children."

"Head of Design hiding information from the company? Oh, sweetheart. This is horrible."

"Is that so?" You stare the eye in the… eye, quirking up a brow as the eye smiles, or, attempts to smile.

"What would happen if I sell you out to the company?"

"They can't fire me. The success rate of surgery has only gone up since I've stepped up into this position." You reach to shut your laptop, wincing as the electricity stings your fingers.

"Is that so? You're only a couple months my senior, Head of—"

You force back a wince and shut the laptop, unplugging the disc as you think over what to do. Now the Doctor would be able to check out all of your notes or whatever. It doesn't matter. It doesn't kill to be sympathetic as long as you're still doing your job. You can pretend you're the children's saving grace all you want, but everyone knows that at the end of the day, no one's better than the other. You're all money-hungry mongrels who'll do anything for the company as long as you're being paid nicely. The pretty penny meant more than children whom you've never met. You can fake sympathy all you want, but the seven figures in your bank account didn't come without stepping on others.

Stella can pretend she's giving the children a brighter future all she wants. It's a lie and she knows it.

You tuck the disc back into the desk, and you listen to Harley continue to rant on your phone.

You leave him in the office to meet up with the other Heads.

Success rates in surgery have dropped. It's been a painfully long time since there have been any successful surgeries, and everyone knows it. You don't speak up, having known this would have happened, and if you mention it to the Doctor, then his poor excuse of an ego would have skyrocketed. It's easier for him to be a robot for everyone's sake, but for the company's sake, it would have been better if he had stayed the head. They should have considered another way to have him complacent.

"Head of Design. I hear from the kids you carry Sawyer around."

"On the phone." You hum. We know that we can't access electronics or electricity without his consciousness anyway, so he's there for entertainment."

"Would you say the doctor has a soft spot for you?"

You think you know where this is going.

"It would be impossible to make him completely complacent."

"We can't use them." Leith speaks up. "We're not losing someone else who succeeded in connecting the children to the toys."

You lean back in your chair, and the rest of the meeting is spent deciding what to do. For starters, the Shelf has finished construction, and almost everyone has been moved down to the location. Most, if not all toys. Your job remained mostly on the surface thanks to it. You keep Harley on your phone still, but you remain virtually unconnected from everyone. Everyone, until you're summoned by the Prototype. Leith himself carries the news with a sneer. The scientists are looking for you because the prototype wants to see you.

You comply. After all. It's been a while since you've met up with the prototype.

The travel down is long and boring, and you spend most of the time chatting with Harvey on the phone, much to his annoyance, but when you do enter, you hear the quietest of "don't die"s, and you realize that it's worked. It's happened. You've done it.

You stare at the Prototype in the room, the camera deemed malfunctioning as the door locks behind you. The prototype lunges at the door to try and open it, and you stare at the Prototype.

"What did you want me for?"

"The doctor knows you."

You raise a brow, and the prototype leans down to stare at you.

"The doctor. Needs you."

You laugh, but the truth is, the absurdity is true. The Doctor has formed a bond with you after so long. You think you were correct to sell your body to him right before he lost all physical contact, and was impossible to deny that the doctor couldn't do much to you. It was something that was just in your bones. Sticking to your skin the same way sweat did on a humid day. The doctor had to work out his twisted attachment to you so he could understand it before he would kill you off. Boredom pained him, but getting to know you was a form of pastime entertainment. You know the answer better than him, you fear. The doctor was attached to you the same way Yarnaby was to him. Codependency, but still romance. Was it love? It didn't matter anymore.

"So?"

"You will become a playing card. You will survive."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"It will."

You don't see the prototype after that, but you receive note that when the scientists tried visiting him next accidentally let him escape. They lost their lives for it, and the prototype spends much of his day hiding in the facility. No one can find him. It's enough to send Leith Pierre home, forced to send emails into the facility, and you're back to letting Harley watch you type boring emails on your laptop as you rat his ear off about boring things and the children that he couldn't care less about. You notice the eye glancing at your chest, though. You make the effort to ignore the way his eye stares, and eventually, you cover the part of screen that his eye buzzes on because you're uncomfortable. He looks. He can stare. It's quite awful, but you unfortunately don't care enough for it.

Your only warning from the prototype comes in the form of a letter given to you by a lower-level employee, telling you to stay locked up in his old room during the hour of joy, and you listen. You bring enough water to not die for days and sustenance that will keep you alive enough. You have a feeling the next person to find you won't be the prototype, but you don't have much time to argue for it. He can't kill you until he gets what he wants from Sawyer. You make sure to connect that body in your office to electricity before you leave. A small plug. Nothing compared to the big one in his base station, but just enough for the body to gain consciousness and start charging.

You're given the privilege of watching the security cameras of the Hour of Joy, tucked away as your only source of entertainment lay with the television screens, but you also understand to some extent that the doctor would find you precisely because of the television screens. You're expecting his eye to flicker on at any point anyway. You've been spared the torture, but you suppose it's not much better to finally be under Harley's control.

The one who opens the door to the room isn't the hand you made a deal with. Rather, it's the Doctor's eye that stares you dead in the eye, and you laugh dryly. He must've found you through the screen. That pathetic excuse of a Doctor wanted you in his hand so bad that he decided to cooperate with the prototype like you had expected. What a rude twist of fate. Bafflingly rude, dare you say it. Yet, you survived anyway. Nothing Harley could do to you would be worse than the Hour of Joy.

"Sweetheart."

You stare at the Doctor's minion, considering if you should just make a run for it. Huggy Wuggy wasn't particularly volatile towards you, and you could most likely bolt out of the facility if you tried hard enough. But you know also that it isn't good. If you make it out, the company will make sure to erase you at the end of the day. You're not quite sure what you're clinging onto survival for. Perhaps it is human to want to live despite it all. You want to control how long you live for and how short you stay on this wretched planet for. It was agitating for you, yes. You simply weren't able to go anywhere if you follow the doctor, but it's clear you were part of a deal.

"Sawyer, I didn't know you were capable of affection." You laugh, staring up at the minion's eye.

"Yes... so be good and follow my instructions, yes?"

You glance behind the machine, really wondering if you should just have those fingers pierce through your neck and end it all, but it would be boring not to torture the doctor one last time before you meet your eventual demise anyway.

The Doctor controls his minions, but at the end of the day, you control whether or not you die.

"I want a contract."

"Papers mean nothing to me, pet."

"Then I die."

You lunge for one of the hands and snap it off with precision, holding it to your chest.

"You dare—"

"You know I do, Sawyer. So you listen or I die."

"The scraps can't hurt you, sweetheart. They're all sanded down." He sneers, and you stare at the piece that you've broken off, fate registering in your head.

"Tell me what you plan to do to me."

"I won't—" He laughs, snickering. "I won't hurt you. I simply wanted a pet."

"You have Yarnaby for that." You stare up at the screen, and he hums.

"No. No. I'm still human to some extent. I want to see someone squirm."

"You shouldn't even harness hatred for me."

"I don't."

You glance at the Doctor, and you think something clicks.

"Harley Sawyer. You still have that schoolboy crush on me? My, I would've thought you no longer wanted anything to do with me." You laugh, holding your stomach as you fall to the ground. "You have this cruel twist on what love is so now you're forcing that upon me? Oh, well heavens forgive me for being too kind to someone who's never known it. Perhaps I ought to leave you to rot in our next life."

"I will find you in that life, and I will promise you hell." He sneers from the machine, and you laugh.

"What do you really want to do to me?"

The eye squints, and you smile.

"You couldn't hurt me if you tried."

"That's where you're wrong."

You glance down at the body's chest and grin at the lack of red on it.

"Where's your signature birthmark, Harley? I'm disappointed I won't see that splotch of red on your chest if you ever do fuck me in this form."

The Doctor barks out a laugh.

"I assure you, sweetheart. You'll see that matching red on my chest. After all, were you not the one to charge a separate body for me? I have to have you in the body I can actually feel in, after all."

"Tch. Guess you're still that brainless in the face of sex. You'd never hurt me, though, would you?"

"You don't know what I'm capable of, pet."

"That's not what you whispered to me while asleep when I let you have me. You think the prototype will let you have me like this? Oh, you are so wrong—"

Your voice cuts off on the Doctor's side as he's forced back to the main terminal, buffering as he connects to the cameras nearby. When he finally does, he spots you with the prototype, its figure next to you as the two of you discuss in hushed whispers, a language that Harley can't decode. Something you used to speak in when talking with the kids sometimes. Blabbering that apparently has meaning.

The Doctor knows better than to step in, his end of the deal with the prototype not yet over as he works on the few living humans, desperate to recreate Poppy. The unintentional consequence of gambling with you. You'll be attained when he shows proof of concept. You're that final key to his god awful domain that he's set up regarding the prison. But he doesn't need to hand it over. He only needs to find you through the clues that the two feed to each other. Like a twisted mind game between predator and prey.

He finds you soon enough, crouched in your office as his main body finishes charging. You'd been in your office this whole time, only hiding whenever the Doctor would attempt to access the body. He catches you off guard as you're wiping the screen by connecting suddenly, body finished charging as the mechanical parts wrap around your waist, body towering over you as he stands to half his height.

"Pet."

"I will stab my duster through your chest compartment to kill the one functioning body part you have."

"..." The Doctor laughs in the new body, and he presses a finger onto the lower part of your stomach.

"You're alive after five years."

"I'm surprised it took this long to charge this body to full." You toss the feather duster behind you as he wraps his the clawed hand around your waist, holding you still as he hums.

"I'm hurt you didn't include my... appendage. You are into this, are you not?"

"Why would I fuck a robot, Harley? That's just sick and twisted." You avoid his gaze as he tightens his grip around your waist, rewarding him with a squeak in pain at the feeling of the claws around you, and he glances down at the red that starts forming on your skin. He lets go, though, letting you turn around to set the spray down as well.

"You did not sand me down."

"Why would? I wasn't planning on fucking you, you twisted robot."

He hunches over you, pressing the metal casing of his heart to your back as you feel the organ beat behind you, and you stop.

"What are you doing?"

"You caused this. Fix it."

"Do I look like you? I can't do sh—"

He slides his fingers down your abdomen, letting the claw test how sharp it is by sliding down your shirt, and stopping right above the hem of your pants.

"Sweetheart."

"Harvey, if you're going to be a horndog, then just get it over with—"

He presses down, earning a hiss from your lips as you wince, and you feel skin break as he pulls his claws off.

"You're quite easy to break in this form."

"You're wrong if you believe I want to live after living on such horrible food for the past five years. I might feed myself to the prototype if I have to."

"And why not me?"

"Why do you think, Harley?"

"Let's get you down to my lair first." He mumbles, cradling you in his hand as he pinches at your box of crayons and you tell him what else you want to bring. You're surprised he's being considerate, letting him grab what you need, and he lets you know he'll send a toy to haul whatever remaining supply of food you have left on the floor down eventually. This side of him is fascinating to you. You'd never expected the Doctor to show you even a semblance of affection, so for him to practically meet your every demand was baffling.

Of course, it all comes with a price, though. You refuse most of his antics, but he locks you down in his domain — in a faux apartment hidden from the rest of the maze with glass overlooking the rest of the area. You get to observe his mind in action in the central window that you get to observe from. The doctor's body is free to stand to his full height, and you sand his fingers down as he curses out your coworkers again and again. You had him bring your toolkit so he wouldn't hurt you unless it was intentional, but at the expense of taking care of a ridiculously large amalgamation of a creature. When you finish all of his fingers and polish, he articulates them as he presses a hand to your stomach to force you on the floor, watching as your skin only pales at the pressure and none else.

"Pet."

You reach for the spray on the table, and he stops you.

"You sanded my fingers down. You wanted this."

You huff, grumbling. "What's the point if I can't even kiss you?"

"Oh, quite a romantic, aren't you?" He loops a finger under your belt to pull at it, humming as he presses down on your skin to stop your squirming. "Don't worry. I'm not some dead skull you have to show affection to."

In retrospect, perhaps you should have taken a day off like Leith Pierre back when you had been warned about the Hour of Joy. You don't know what made you stay. Perhaps a lapse in judgement, a moment of weakness that the prototype knew would happen. After all, he read you just as nicely as you read him. You both knew. At the end of the day, you were both just as human as you were. The prototype was a product of circumstance whose hatred festered too far. You don't know why you were spared. You probably wouldn't return to the doctor even if you were forced to.

"Ah, ah, ah, sweetheart. Eyes on me." The Doctor grins, and your head falls back as you gasp.

"Don't you like my new additions?"

But then again, you are human.

Your fingers dig into the metal of his forearm, brows furrowing as your body buries itself in sweat. You're sure you're going to rust the body on accident, but you don't think he minds one bit. Not when your head is spinning and you're sure your wrists are going to bruise by morning. You aren't eating as well as you ought to be. There is truly not much left for you down here. You can only do so much for four years before being driven to the cusp of insanity. Maybe your sanity is only waiting to be snapped. The paranoia of being with the doctor will be the thing to kill you, and you know it. Soon, whatever apathy you feel for the Doctor will force its way through your body until it tears out and becomes that same obsession he has for you.

Maybe he'll never know that it's his strange version of love.

He can only hope you agree to become one like him before the hunger starves you.

-

A figure opens the door to the doctor's lair, turning back to stop and stare at each one of the cameras. The doctor is defeated, screaming out a garbled name as he died, leaving nothing behind. Nothing, except the box of crayons on top of the monitor with a name. Scratched out by something sharp, but a name nonetheless, and a map tucked between the two rows of colors.

In the upper corner of the maze — hidden behind a series of servers you have to crouch to get to hides an apartment. No way in, no way out. In the corner, a figure rests with a much larger version of the Doctor's bodies, compartment of the chest shattered to leave a browning heart, resting there with much fluid leaked to the ground. In its arms resides the figure, a human who lacks the movement of someone who's alive, cradled in the figure's arms. There's the smile that mirrors someone who's accepted that their end has come, and there is peace, perhaps. There’s a curiosity as to what the doctor’s final screen was on this body as well.

To think that evil incarnate could be capable of showing affection.

There is no confirmation that the two will end up at the same place, but perhaps it is human to hope that even in the void of pure darkness, there was something that could give light.

Huh. Wonder if that's what happened to them.

[crsssies]

"Log-code 25479. In relation, Experiment 1006. Shall we start?"

"He… is dead."

"Dead isn't a word I would use."

"He is in the electricity."

"Correct!"

A laugh.

"Surely you know how to say it with more sophistication than that, though."

"They turned him… into the same as I."

"Correct."

"You did not come to log. You … came to see me."

"Oh, look at you. That's right!"

"He is watching."

"We are both aware."

"Doctor."

"Experiment 1006."

"Shall I leave you both to it?"

"Do not leave me… with him."

"I shall unplug the camera." 

bzzt.

[crsssies]

"Log-code 24459 B. In relation, Experiment 1006, the Prototype. Stubborn as he is, and always silent with each passing session, I'm still uncovering fresh data nonetheless. Today's discovery?"

"Ready to talk now, are you?"

"I request… to talk to the designer…"

"They're coming."

click.

"You survived."

"I... survived." 

"Imitate mine."

"I… can—" the voice glitches. "not."

"Yet you imitate the voice of the scientists."

"…correct."

"When you isolate like this, it destroys whatever credibility I have with them."

"I am aware."

"Yet you do it."

"…ha."

"I'm glad you find amusement in torturing me."

creak

"Oh, there's my time."

"Thank you."

"You're thanking me?"

"You find… amusement… in torturing."

"I don't do any of that. It's all the doctor—"

[crsssies]

hi ok despite this flopping I'm gonna add all the scrapped parts anyway because. i scrapped SO much shit from this fic it's not even funny anymore

"You should stop taking the night shift." "It's a little more chill when it's night in pediatrics." "You don't like the breakfast menu." "I don't eat at the cafeteria anymore?"

Originally reader takes the night shift but then i remembered that Zayne doesn't technically work the night shift so.

"You're not going to let me be buried with the necklace?" "They're going to take it." "You'll never get to see my body." "No, they'll tell family." "We aren't married." "Then maybe that's for the best." You whisper. "Your sister will keep it a secret from me. I just know it." "Should I tell them to contact you— no. They would use you as leverage against me." He cuts himself off, and he lets the necklace fall into your hand as you close your eyes. You squeeze the metal between your fingers. It's warm. "I love you."

the og first "ily" from reader was gonna be from before she sends caleb off but then i was like "not enough impact"

And you're back to work. You don't receive news from him after he leaves, and you doubt he'd remember anything about you if he did somehow survive being euthanized. You have photos, but you doubt he'll remember even with them. Your life is just broken pieces and shattered glass, but it doesn't hurt you anymore. You've learned to live with it and eventually move on. The grief no longer slows you. The bus stops at the place, and you stop at the flower shop, flowers in hand as you make your way down past pillars of stone and rock, stopping at a grave that was recently polished to hope for some semblance of comfort. It's fine. At the end of the day, it was your choice to end up where you are. You hold the white to your nose, laughing as you stop in front of a grave, placing down the chrysanthemum, tilting your head as you light a match, burning a letter. You watch the letter disappear, closing your eyes as you pinch the flower before burning that as well. And maybe one day you'll pass him while the fleet lands in the hospital to check in, or maybe one day you'll find out through Zayne that everything he owned had been returned to his sister, but you wouldn't know. After all, you aren't where he is.

this was the og ending !!he was gonna have a grave but then decided giving him no grave was meaner

why can't we for once say what we want (say what we feel)

word count: 13.1k

warnings: angst

summary: it's unfair that he just gets to return like that. but isn't it human to keep loving despite it all?

"Zayne, can you—"

You blink when you look back and don't recognize the clothes, brows furrowing.

"This is what you've been up to?"

Caleb.

You stare up at the familiar face, and you blink another two times.

"Hold this." You hand him a drink and your jacket, tugging the new one off of the hanger.

You think Caleb's upset that you're not giving him a reaction. Well, to be fair, you don't really owe him one, but he might think you do. It's not technically your fault that he decided that his little sister childhood friend was worth more than whatever the hell was going on. It's also technically not your fault that you had walked in on her kissing his cheek before he had the chance to tell her that he had a girlfriend or your fault that you had just broken up with him on the spot because while Zayne felt like he had a shot, you decided that Caleb wasn't really worth it. It's never worth it to fight a woman who wants your man if he doesn't push her off.

You try the jacket on, looking at yourself in the mirror.

"Nothing?"

"How does it look?"

"Are you not going to—"

"Ugh, this is why I like shopping with Zayne." You grumble. "It's a yes or no question."

"Are you not going to ask me anything?"

"Not very fond of it." You raise a brow, putting the jacket back.

"Can't you just—"

You take your jacket back from him, raising a brow when he doesn't hold it up for you to put on.

He complies, letting you thread your arms through the sleeves and take the drink from his hand.

"Why Zayne?"

"Where is he?"

You think you deserve to feel bitter over the breakup. You think you deserve to be pissed at him that he's somehow back in your life on a random Wednesday afternoon when you're supposed to be out shopping with Zayne for clothes for his coworker's wedding, but you don't think it's worth all the anger anymore. You don't think you're all that mad at Caleb anymore if you don't even think he deserves it. He should've just stayed in the past, to be completely transparent. You don't think you want him back in your life again.

"Why are you looking for dresses?"

You crane your neck to look past the aisles to try and find Zayne, but Caleb steps in front of you to block your vision.

"Don't be an ass."

"She's with him."

"He has my purse."

You stare at Caleb, blinking.

"He'd give it to me first."

"Not with her."

You glance at Caleb, crossing your arms as your brows furrow at him.

"Alright. Spit it out. Get the shit you need to say out of your mouth and then go back to her like you always do. Come on. I'm listening."

"Do you hate me?"

"I said statements. Not questions."

"I miss you."

You scoff. "And I'm supposed to just take it?"

"I don't—"

"I think you realized that she wasn't good for you and the two of you decided to go back to the ones who were better to begin with. I think you don't miss me at all. You just miss when I took care of you and did whatever you wanted me to because I was sickeningly blind with love. I think you miss the person who was healthy for you now that you've realized how awful the two of you are in a relationship. I'm not your mom. I'm not grandmother either. I don't care about you."

"She didn't care for me either."

"It's a shame that the person who did doesn't now." You notice Zayne finally, and he locks eyes with you, nodding.

"Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Baby, please—"

"There you are." Zayne takes your wrist gently, shaking the girl off as he locks eyes with Caleb. "You done?"

"My mood's been spoiled." You huff. "Can we get dessert?"

"Of course."

You wander off with Zayne, footsteps light as you wait for the two to be out of hearing distance.

"He thinks we're dating."

"She does too." He hands you the purse, and you mumble.

"Told him I was shopping for your coworker's wedding instead of our. Do you think he has access to my files as a colonel?"

"No. You're not high-ranking enough to be in the database."

"Mmk." You point at the dessert shop, and you hope that this is a one-time occurrence.

It's not, because you find Caleb at the hospital talking to Zayne when you need to hand him a file, and when Zayne locks eyes with you, he shakes his head slightly to have you come at a later time. Maybe you're not quite sure what's going on with Caleb now that somehow he's back in your life, but you don't want him back. You really don't think it's worth it at all. Maybe Caleb hadn't been so willing to break up with you, but he still didn't bother fighting for the relationship or defend you when the love of his life had gotten hurt by some other girls and mistaken it for you.

She's not a sly vixen or evil regardless of what you say.

She just liked the attention he gave her. You like the attention you get from people. It's not a crime to like being spoiled by someone you're used to being spoiled by. Maybe there was a sudden waking up or a realization that she should find someone who would actually set boundaries with her and not let her get away with thing she shouldn't. You don't know. Zayne's kind, and your bond formed after finding out your exes ended up together, but he's still sober-minded when he dates. Well, a little more sober-minded.

You don't have it in your heart to hate her.

"Zayne." You call, tapping the file. You'll ignore Zayne's protection because you like the attention a man gives you when they grovel too. You'd be a hypocrite to hate her when you do the same thing sometimes.

"You heard them."

Caleb's heart drops to his stomach, blinking at you quietly as his mouth opens.

"Since when did you—"

"Read the file when you have the time. Kid. Pediatrics. Refuses to see anyone but you or me. I'll pay him a visit, but you'd have to do the surgery. Come with me?"

"Come on."

Zayne pauses to stare at Caleb, nodding at the man before going back to walk with you.

"Really?"

"He said he missed you last time I saw him. You didn't seem quite pleased with the conversation either."

"He was asking what we are."

"Coworkers. Friends." You knock on the door of the patient, peeking in with Zayne as the boy's face lights up.

You loved Caleb a long long time ago.

When you graduated from high school and he accepted your confession, you thought everything would be perfect forever. After all, he told you everything and confided in you about his troubles — mentioning how much he didn't like his grandmother but wished that his sister would take things easier. His sister. You'd find out later on that she really did like him in a non-platonic way when he graduated from the academy and she had kissed him before stealing his hat to wear, and maybe that's when things shattered or maybe that's when you really paused to consider just what kind of a person you were to Caleb.

Yes, the horror in his eyes when he had spotted you in the crowd was real, but you didn't feel the need to fight for him. The relationship had grown cold at that point. You were too sober to fight the girl he knew all his life. All he ever talked about was his cute little sister who was going to be seeing him at the academy again. You were still in your program at the time. Maybe it was just a foolish wish for you to mean anything to Caleb the way his little sister did. Yes, perhaps disappearing from the apartment and yelling at him wasn't the best way to go, but you doubt you would have been able to do anything else.

You'd expected him to try and fight back the advances, maybe. You don't know what you had expected at the time. You were painfully aware of how annoying it was that you were crying over a breakup you had initiated, but you honestly didn't really care. It reached a point where it no longer mattered to you. You thought perhaps you could tough it out and he'd change eventually, but nothing happened. It was the same as always. It was always the same.

But you did love Caleb. You took care to make sure that he never had cilantro in his food and cut up apples into shapes. You took meticulous care of his lunches so that he wouldn't have had to deal with the canteen food, and you mailed him any food that you thought he might've wanted to take a bite of and snacks that he missed. You texted him back constantly and made sure that he'd never have to struggle with anything ever. In the same way, he had taken care of you to make sure you never had to order anything that you were running low on or carry groceries back from the car. He took meticulous care of the things that he knew you hated, so you thought maybe he did love you.

Maybe he had just been used to taking care of all of that for his little sister.

You don't think your breakup was a well-thought-out thing on your end. It was a little bit of a rush, and yes, you had hurt Caleb in the process of it, but you don't think he really loved you either. You think he had been looking for her in you — telling you things about his little sister that you would eventually come to adopt into your own personality, clothes brought for you that she liked to wear. Maybe there was some truth that he did love you, but there was also truth that he really didn't love you nearly as much as he probably should have.

He didn't need to change himself because you loved everything about him.

You just needed to change yourself because he loved an ideal of you.

Caleb lingers around the hospital for the first few days — sneaking food to your desk in the office that you hand to the younger workers, leaving flowers that you hand to the little ones who don't have pollen allergies, waiting for you after work that forces you to beg Zayne to pick you up in the morning. You do everything in your power to refuse a reaction to him. He doesn't deserve the grace of a gentle look on your face that you give to people you love or people you take care of. You just hate a lot of it, you suppose.

You don't like being the one that your ex returns to once he realized that you're better for him.

Zayne drops you off and makes sure you're inside before he leaves, but you should know better than to try and stay away from the man with a gravity evol, because he's in the house with the spare key that you forgot to take back from him when you broke up.

"I can't believe you never changed your lock."

You blink twice, kicking off your shoes and making a beeline for the bathroom.

"You're not even going to flinch?"

You lock the door to the bathroom behind you, reaching to toss your clothes into the hamper and turn on the water, brows furrowing when the door clatters behind you and opens.

"Using your evol to break into my bathroom isn't very nice, you know?"

"You act like there's a piece of your skin that I haven't seen or explored."

"That was forever ago." You close the shower door behind you, turning the water on. "So? Why did you break in?"

"You wouldn't talk to me."

"I think the chip in your brain is fucking with your sense of right and wrong." You feel for the water, and Caleb's breath hitches.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." You wash out the grime from the day, and Caleb settles on your toilet.

"I'm sorry."

"We broke up on okay terms. Shouldn't I be apologizing for breaking your heart?"

"No. Well, maybe. I wanted to apologize for trying to replace pipsqueak with you." He pauses. "I'm sorry for suggesting things that you had adopted into your personality so that I would like you more."

"Well? Did it work?"

"Not really. I didn't like how similar the two of you were. I called her by your name once."

"I'm surprised you never called me by hers." You speak up.

"I'm sorry for breaking in, by the way. You weren't reading the cards I was sending so I got desperate. I figured you'd just escape me if you saw me on the street, and I didn't want to use my evol on you."

You think he's fiddling with his fingers with how he's positioned, but you can't really tell from the frosted glass.

"I just wanted to talk to you, and I figured that this wouldn't be an argument where we could talk through it after you get some air, so I just. I broke in. Sorry."

"Apology for that accepted." You hum. "We can debrief about the break up after I finish showering. Can you leave?"

"I'd prefer to stay."

"What good is it to stay while I shower?"

"I want to be close to you."

"Did you tell her that?" You scrunch your nose, laughing at yourself. "Don't answer that. I'm being childish. I want you out unless you can somehow grab me dinner."

"You should stop working yourself to death."

"It's a little more chill when it's pediatrics."

"You don't like the dinner menu."

"I don't eat at the cafeteria anymore?"

"Zayne says you sneak food from there sometimes. I see you still don't eat unless reminded to."

"Caleb. If you're just going to be an ass then maybe you shouldn't be here." You shut the water, stepping out of the glass as he hands you the towel. "Thank you."

"Can we start the debrief here?"

"Alright. I'm sorry for breaking up with you immediately after spotting your… sister… kissing you on the cheek and blowing it way out of proportion. I'm sorry. I still stand by my decision, and I still feel like the breakup was necessary, but I'm apologizing anyway because we probably should have talked about it like proper adults. Not that we were proper adults at the time."

"Apology accepted. Well, you still need to accept mine."

"We'll talk about accepting yours after we—"

You turn around to meet Caleb chest to face, your blow dryer in hand as he blinks at you.

"Can I dry your hair?"

"I can't hear anything if you blow dry it. I was going to air dry it."

"That's not good for you."

"Neither is stalking down your ex and breaking into their home, but here we are."

Caleb purses his lips, sighing.

"I'll cook for dinner."

"Is there anything else to really debrief?"

"Do you not think there's anything to talk about? How have you been all these years?"

"Working?" You tilt your head, closing your eyes as Caleb squeezes your hair.

"How'd you even meet Zayne?"

"Work." You purse your lips. "Well, I met him through you, technically. We just ended up at the same hospital."

"I'm sorry."

"We're just friends. Not that it matters." You swat at his hand, and he raises a brow.

"Couch."

You think Caleb misses the normalcy he had with you prior to getting with… her. The normalcy that you had offered for a short second was more than enough for temporary rest, and maybe the thrill of a childish relationship with someone he knew better than anyone else. Maybe it was—

"It was codependency." Caleb flexes his fingers slowly, staring at nothing in particular. "I think she was dependent on me and I liked having someone depend on me. You can get things done with or without me."

"So you decided to go back to her?" You fish out a bottle from the fridge for him, and he takes it with a nod of his head.

"No. I just. You broke up with me, and— not that it's your fault, of course — but I just found myself back in her arms crying. It was a nice false sense of security." He pops open the bottle, pausing at the smell.

"When'd you make this?"

"Couple weeks ago. I had a feeling you'd break in." You hop on the counter, opening a bottle of water. "And? Why'd you find yourself back here?"

He stares at you without saying anything.

"She wanted Zayne back."

"Don't blame her."

"He was better."

"So I'm stuck picking up the pieces of my ex because his ex wanted her ex back?" You scoff. "I'm not taking you back."

"You don't need to. I just."

"I don't have any assurance that you'll keep me even after she leaves." You blink.

"You left."

"But you decided to find her anyway." You chew on your bottom lip. "You get that, right?"

"Yes."

"Also. Gemini."

"Sorry for being a June baby."

Despite it all, you don't actually love Caleb all that much. Sure, it's easy to just let yourself be taken care of by someone else, but it's also something that feels much more normal. Maybe you feel normal. Caleb slots into your life fine, and you work just fine with or without him. It's not really something that makes your life easier or whatnot.

When Zayne picks you up in the morning and finds Caleb at the frame of your door, he hesitates to speak.

"Is he."

"I don't really care. He's kind of like a puppy? Which makes me the problem, but, really." You pause to glance at the people passing. "How have you been? I heard she's trying to get back with you."

"I'm fine. Just make sure he doesn't interfere with work."

"And her?"

"Therapy helped." The edge of his lip quirks up slightly, and you laugh.

"Glad group counseling worked."

You lied to Caleb, truthfully. You applied to Zayne's office because you met him in an anonymous group counseling situation that you had decided was necessary to make sure that you would be alright at the end of the day. When you found out that Caleb had left you for the girl that had left Zayne for Caleb, you forced a bond between the two of you. No one expects it to happen, you suppose.

Zayne is wonderful, and you doubt you'll ever find someone who is more perfect. It's understandable that she wants him back.

"If you marry her, I'm not going to your wedding."

"Don't worry. I wouldn't put myself through that."

There's something else, though. You use Zayne. When it's less feelings attached, you get used to using the people around you, and Caleb had been right to twist the knife right where it hurt back when you had argued with him so long ago. You use the people around you because you trust them with things. But Caleb had been annoyed that you used people. It was a problem that you think therapy really helped with. But the truth is, it's still a problem.

You thank Zayne and file through the papers on your desk when you arrive, quiet staring as you blink quietly.

You should call your therapist sometime.

The truth is you don't remember enough to know. You refuse to get it checked out because you remember enough to get by, but you don't remember anything that's mental health-related that could get you checked again. It's an automatic filtering process that you don't know why you have, but it exists in the back of your mind as you go about your day. It's fine. You'll forget about it again.

You have lunch that you prepared beforehand, chewing on the rice as you stare at the work on your laptop. You've spaced out a little, maybe. You don't know. You're not scatterbrained — you don't think. You're not stupid either considering everything, but you don't know. You remember enough about the patients and of work to be able to survive. That's enough, you suppose. You offer a sticker to the boy that blinks up at you, and he giggles.

Maybe you're just overthinking it.

When Zayne offers to take you home for the night, you accept without second thought. You think there isn't much to consider, but when Caleb shows at the door of the hospital when the sun peeks out, you wonder just what kind of a rabbit hole you ended up throwing yourself down. You wonder if you should turn down Caleb to establish some kind of a boundary first, but there's also this gnawing reality in your chest that you like it when Caleb grovels a little. Well, grovel isn't quite the right word. You like the attention he gives you.

Maybe you're the problem for soaking up the attention, but he's the one at fault for causing the breakup in your relationship to begin with.

Well, the better thing to say would be that he's at fault for going back to his ex in the first place.

Or dating his… sister.

You pat Zayne twice on the shoulder before making your way to Caleb, and Zayne nods.

"Text me when you're home."

"If I don't, stalk my location." You wave.

So, yes. Your fault for maybe leading him on, but also his fault for even coming back to you to begin with.

"I expected you to reject me."

"I'm off shift tomorrow. Dinner's on you."

"I bought the beer you like."

You tilt your head. "What if I stopped liking it?"

"Saw it on your grocery list at home."

"Fuck off." You huff.

"Tried. Didn't like it." He opens the door for you, and you kick off your shoes to the sight of a snack on the center console, and you narrow your eyes accusingly at him when he presses a slice of fruit into his mouth first.

"You don't need to use your evol. I'm not crazy enough to drug you."

"Not anymore, maybe." You rest the fruit on your finger, pinching it between your fingers as the fruit glows.

"You don't trust me."

"Don't flatter yourself. The only person I trust is Zayne, and that's because he knows better than to drug someone he works with." You press the fruit to your lips when you don't detect anything.

"Glad your evol is still handy."

"Thanks. The other nurses hate me for it." You hum. "Chemical composition is boring but handy."

"It's why everyone with your evol sticks to medicine."

"Except Zayne, I guess." You offer him a piece.

"Oh, I think you might want me."

"Oh, if that's how you're going to take it then my answer is no." You snag the fruit before Caleb can bite down, and you puff out your cheek.

"And if I throw in a drink?"

"I don't know, Caleb. What kind of a drink?"

One drink turns to two, and two turns to too many to count. You think at some point you give Caleb the true debrief that you didn't really want to tell him. The struggle with finding out who you were again — the struggle of not being enough or perfect or some kind of a perfect child of a godsend. You think you tell him about group counseling that you attended for over a year with Zayne — how you were finally healed from him just for him to return to your life and haunt every corner you weaved through. How he had just decided to show up in your life again after you were finally alright.

But there's this kind of sadness in his eyes that you don't understand why is there. He's the one making you miserable, so what right does he have to look like he's just been kicked by you? You're not the one who caused the breakup. He was just suffering the consequences of his own actions. Maybe you're just. Maybe you've lost the empathy you once had for him. You don't know. It's unfair that his eyes reflect so much mourning when no one has died. What right does he have to mourn what could have been?

You were never quite enough for him, you think. You were never quite on par with him, and you'd struggled so much more with things that he didn't understand the same way as you did. He was perfect in whatever way he could offer, and you had been confused when he initially even agreed to going out with you. But you don't know what it was. He was toxic, yes, but you think you weren't perfect either. You don't know anymore. You don't even remember too much from your relationship anymore. Too much has been wiped from your mind as a natural response. Block out the past — don't remember the things you don't want to. You doubt you'll find any diary entries on him either.

You doubt you'll remember getting drunk and him hauling you home after everything.

When you wake up, there's a splitting headache and a heaviness in your chest that you know won't go away for a while.

Caleb has breakfast for you, except seeing him makes you bitter, so you skip his breakfast on the table and decide to just head out of the door to catch Zayne. Sometimes he makes you bitter too, so you decide to stay quiet for the ride, staring out of the window at the passing city instead. You think you shouldn't feel this way, but it's the morning, and Zayne doesn't like talking all that much, so it doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter that you're holed up in some kind of a self-loathing spiral again, but here you are.

You just make sure it doesn't affect the children you work with.

"Have you… called your therapist recently?"

You roll your eyes at Zayne.

"I will now."

It doesn't affect work. It never really does. You do plenty fine keeping to yourself and letting things stay bottled up and chucked into a chest never to be touched again and left for your brain to eventually forcibly repress, but you also know it's not good for you which is why you never really touch upon anything or ask for anyone to help you when you actually need it because, well, you suppose it's just a struggle you'd have to grapple with alone… and with your therapist who you barely call back because you insist that you're completely fine when you aren't. That's also a struggle. The never-ending cycle of thought. You need to learn to breathe right or something. You don't know. You doubt you ever will.

When you spot Caleb there to pick you up, you brush past him to follow after Zayne, asking to be dropped off somewhere else instead.

You don't know what possesses you to be dropped off at your therapist's office when you finish work, but you go anyway because you think you're fine. You don't know. You really don't want to find out either. It's a shame, though, because you're at the door of your therapist's office asking if she's available even though it's well past her hours, but she lets you in anyway because you think she knows that you'd rather kill yourself than visit her even though her sessions don't do you much. You haven't been writing down your crashouts lately because they just haven't been worth writing down.

You tell her about your ex that broke into your apartment, though, and she asks you if she should be calling the police for you. You tell her it's fine and that you know what you're doing, but you really do hate his ass sometimes. You really do hate that he's so perfect and you're stuck grappling with the remnants of a failed relationship while he decided that he should just go back to your life and force you to grapple with the relationship all on your own because he made his problem yours while your problem is still yours. You don't think all of that comes out as nicely as you wished it did, though, so you sit there and let her process all the words that you've just spat out.

You think Zayne texts you because your watch vibrates, but you don't check because checking social media isn't good for you.

Well, not that checking the messages aren't good for you. You just shouldn't be opening moments.

When you finish the session, you tell her that you might go and get drunk, even though you really have no intention to do that. You have work in the morning, and it sucks that you have to go to work. You're not very special, you realize. Plain as flour, dry as dust — like watching grass grow and it's so awful that you wonder how you even have friends. Maybe you're just cursed to give more than you— well, no. You just went to therapy, so there's no way that's possible. You're loved and maybe you just need to sleep it off.

Except you don't really want to see Caleb because that means you'll have to deal with mister perfect number two, and you don't want to crash Zayne's because he'd never let you — but also because he's mister perfect number one.

You wonder if you should crash on your therapist's couch, but that's just unheard of.

So, you call a friend and ask if you can couch surf for a bit.

He lets you into the guest room and you call off work for a couple of days — sick, you tell her with the most convincing cough that even has you grimacing, but it flies, so you don't really care. Heartbreaking, you know. Horrible thing you fear is contagious. Five days off. You don't need the pay. That's how desperate you are.

You turn your phone off and tell Zayne where you are in case he really does have an emergency, and you pray that Caleb doesn't somehow lose his shit and decide to send the city into lockdown so he can somehow find you. You doubt he's that psycho, although you will admit that you're not entirely uncertain of how insane he is since it's been a while since you've talked to him. You don't know.

You're unsurprised when you find Zayne at the door with files, but you think you should be even more unsurprised when Caleb's behind him with food for you.

"I thought turning off my phone meant—"

"Yes, which is why I'm only here to drop food off. I doubt you've been eating well." He hands you the handle of a cart full of foods that you used to love and honestly haven't had in a while, and you frown.

"I'm sorry." He mumbles. "I got worried, and I figured you would probably kill me if I tried anything sketchy. Also, before you ask, no, the food is not drugged, no, it's not toxic, yes, it is vitamin heavy."

"The boy misses you." Zayne nods at you when you let him in, and Caleb gawks at the door.

"Baby—"

You shut to door in his face, staring at the food in the cart.

"So?"

"You want a bite?"

"Well it has been a while since I've had his cooking."

Despite it all, you find that Zayne is much better for you. You think it's upsetting that you've never fallen in love with him when he's so wonderful, but you suppose the universe has other plans for you. It's just slightly upsetting, you think. You know so many things would be better for you if your heart would just cooperate, but you suppose it's for the best that you don't end up dating someone you met at group therapy.

"And then new files came in for someone."

"How does that concern me?"

"Do you know why Caleb's back?"

"No."

You read through the file — dying, it says. The implanted chip is eating away at his sanity, and soon they'll have to put him down like he's some kind of dog, so he's back looking to tie up loose ends before they're dead, and all of a sudden you feel bad for being so rude. You don't know. You doubt Caleb has a single bone in his body that knows what it feels like to be taken care of. It might be why he's decided all of a sudden to return to your life.

You understand it now.

You think he deserves some empathy after so long. Some kind of gentleness that you had offered him a long time ago. You don't think you'll choose to let him pass with the heartbreak that you had to grapple with for so long. You have the option to continue living — and you can heal yourself slowly through therapy and learn to coexist with the nausea that you've learned to exist with for so long. Peace and love on the planet earth. You're a horrible person, not a monster.

You ask Zayne if he knows it's the truth, and you ask to run tests just to double and then triple check.

When the results come in much later, you decide that maybe it's just not worth the struggle, and you return to work.

Not without a final debrief, though.

"I received these from Zayne the other day." You hand Caleb the files, and he stares at the scans of his brain.

"Yes. The… black hole is proving to be useless."

"I see." You hum. "You only kept memories of her, though, so I was surprised to find that you would come back to me."

"No. Not just of her. Of you too."

You look at Caleb, tired eyes mirroring his, heart quiet in his chest.

"I see." You bite on your tongue, blinking slowly as you exhale. "It says you have two months."

"Before they scan me again to see if I'm going to be put down like some kind of a dog."

"And if you fail? I saw that you failed your psychological exams."

"Yes."

"Has therapy helped?"

"I don't have time for it."

You blink slowly, and you consider everything that you know about the two of you.

"Have you pulled out of the fleet?"

"Mandatory. I was put on mandatory break."

"So you decide to come back into my life."

"I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"Then be honest with me, Caleb. Did you ever date her?"

"No. We used each other as a ruse to try and elicit a reaction out of you both. It failed."

"How about her?"

"She can be fixed since she's stabilized." He mumbles. "I didn't let the fleet catch her."

"I see." You blink slowly at nothing in particular, staring at Caleb as he stares back.

"So?"

"I think my therapist would shake her head at what I'm about to do, but I think I know what I'm doing."

Zayne's your boss, which means that asking him to get paid time off for a month with all of the vacation days you have saved up over the years isn't a struggle, but convincing him that it's so Caleb can spend the last month and a half of his life making up for what he couldn't do in the past is a lot harder. Well, it's really your fault. You tell Zayne you might consider getting pregnant so you could really grind the hospital dry of money since maternity leave could last up to a year while getting half pay. The look of disdain on Zayne's face is enough to have you laughing with warm cheeks, though.

"I don't know if I trust your decision."

"Well, maybe you do, maybe you don't. Will you approve it or not?"

Zayne lets you go after you help him sort out shifts with the other nurses, and you return home to half of Caleb's things in your apartment. He'll finish moving the rest in the morning, and maybe you're being stupid, but you think you don't blame a single part of him for being who he is. You aren't responsible for him, but you think even if he's somehow fixed after these final two months to live, it doesn't matter. There is kindness in the world that you wonder whether or not will show back to you, but it's fine. All things are alright, you suppose.

"I'm starting to think that you were waiting for an excuse to skip work, baby."

"Can we not call me baby?" You help him unpack, staring at the scrapbooks he had never thrown away, fingers sliding over the image that a classmate had taken of the two of you after you confessed and burst into tears.

"Then what should I call you?"

You blink quietly, flipping through the pages.

"Not sure."

"Love?"

You gag.

"Sugar."

"What am I? A cake recipe?"

"Then what?"

"Whatever sticks."

You don't know what sticks. You don't know, and you fear you never really will, but you learn to live a slow life with Caleb, scrolling through possible visits in the short time you have, but you think you'd really like to take him once to the beach. He can't exactly feel with the mechanical arm, but it's weather resistant, so it should be fine to let him run on the beach for a bit. You pack up the things with him and head off in his car.

"Your car doesn't exactly match the beach."

"Yeah, it's getting old." He hums. "We should take yours next."

"Are you allowed outside of Linkon?" You zoom out on the map, humming as you lean on his shoulder.

You think it's fine to play pretend. To pretend that everything is fine when you know better. It's alright. One day, Caleb will not know you anymore, or he'll be in the ground next to Josephine, and everything will turn back to normal. You will bear the burden of two souls willingly, fond smile on your face as you look back on your youth when you're all old and wrinkly. You don't quite care all that much, despite it all. You think the burden of a soul you once loved doesn't hurt at all.

"I am." Caleb hums. "Did you want to go somewhere?"

"Was thinking about visiting there." You point on the map to the mountains where most technology remained untouched, and Caleb laughs.

"Did you want to go stargazing? Isn't that best seen up in the sky?"

"Maybe, but there's much beauty from below as well." You tilt your head.

There were a variety of reasons that led to your breakup, now that you think about it.

Caleb soars in the sky, wings breached out of his back, controls familiar in his hand when he navigates in the air. There's a sense of freedom that he encapsulates without even trying, and sometimes it's suffocating for you. Maybe that's it. You're much better on the ground where at least you won't mess things up, but you're also not nearly as elegant as you'd like to be. You do things inelegantly, quiet rumbles of the earth under your feet when you step around, staring up at Caleb who stares back down at you, stuck wondering how things are just so easy for him.

But it doesn't matter to you, you don't think.

"So?"

"Mm… I think our colonel should rest, and we should spend your final days driving around instead."

"Shouldn't we take yours instead?"

"Then get my car." You reach to unbuckle, and Caleb holds his hand out for yours.

"Do you wanna drive mine?"

"You trust me with your car?"

"Well if it'll be sold when I'm put down, how does it matter?"

You realize this now late, but still realize, that there's something just impossibly strange about the two of you. You sit on the sand of the beach, staring up at Caleb as he stares at the setting sun, breeze in his hair as he stares out at the sun, basking in something you don't understand anymore. You don't know. Maybe you never really will. It's alright not to, you think. It doesn't hurt anyone when you don't know what's going on. When the birds of the sky soar over the creature's head, does the creature not wonder what it is like?

But you're no poet and neither are you a saint. You think you're fine with just being someone there.

The breeze rattles through your hair, and you stare at Caleb step into the water. It's too late to surf, but you think it'll be alright to surf a little tomorrow. Only if he wants to, though. You suppose it'll take a little getting used to as his emotions fluctuate in his mind. It's a temporary setback in the long run. Well, a huge setback if he somehow does pass away from it. Though, it gives you the perfect excuse to let loose and breathe a little after so long of staring at nothing in particular. You're tired of chasing something that doesn't quite exist yet, you think.

You'd be much happier where Caleb is, but you're also no saint, so no promises from anyone.

Caleb offers you a hand to get up, and you take it.

"Thank you."

"Will you mourn me?"

"I think a lot of us will." You hum quietly.

"How about you?"

"I'll burn you a chrysanthemum every other week when I remember to."

"How about a letter?"

"If that's what you want."

The red in the sky fades to black, and you stare back up at the constellations of the sky. It's something new, you suppose. Something more recent according to the elders of the city. Something about an explosion that happened a while back. A world that you don't really understand of experience, you suppose.

You lie back in the car as you stare, and Caleb stares at you.

"Will you tell me why you're really here?"

"Will you be mad?"

"I don't think I can be mad at someone who's about to die."

"If I don't get put down, they'll wipe all of my memories for good. Including the ones of you."

"So either way, you'll be dead to me."

"You'll be dead to me too."

"Equal exchange, I suppose." You sit back up, blinking slowly at Caleb as he sits up as well.

"So did we book a hotel… or?"

"You mind sharing a room?"

"As long as you don't accidentally kick me off the bed."

Caleb jabs at you as you laugh, cheeks warm.

The premature mourning of the death of your ex creeps in slowly. You know it will, and you're certain that it'll punch you when you least expect it. So, ultimately, it's a choice that you'll be stuck with. You wonder why Caleb is choosing to do this if he;l forget it all in the morning anyway. Yet, maybe there is meaning in why he wanted to spend his final moments of being truly human with you. When he is erased and no longer who he once was, maybe he'll wonder why there's an empty feeling in his chest during the few moments that he won't be someone used by the fleet. It's a shame that he isn't high ranked enough. Maybe he'll remember one day when he is.

You wake up in the morning in Caleb's arms, thumb brushing his cheek as you let your heart flutter just for a second at the intimacy.

He exhales quietly when you rest your fingers under his nose to check for air.

"Checking my pulse?" He whispers.

"Checking to see if you're alive."

He shifts next to you, purples blinking slowly down at you as he rests his forehead on yours.

"Missed this."

"I'll miss this one day." You mumble back.

He stays holding you for the morning, quiet blinking of his lashes against your skin as you keep your eyes closed, listening to the way his heart beats. It feels alive — still. It's enough that the chip in his mind is eating him whole, but it's also enough that he remembers enough for the time being to want to return to you. It doesn't matter if he's just manipulating you in order to cause a problem or to shatter your heart one day. If you're stupid because you had chosen to love someone again and believe in the best in him, then so be it. Your only sin would have been to have hope.

When you finally do wake (you didn't realize you fell asleep), it's to the smell of breakfast and Caleb's cooking. He shakes you awake gently and lets you smell the food so you won't get mad at him, and you blink slowly when he coos about how you need to eat to start the day. You ask if you can brush your teeth first, and he lets you wash up for the day.

You think the temporary domestic bliss is unfair.

Unfair that he's going to pass eventually, and unfair that he gets to act like nothing will ever happen when you'll be stuck wondering if you ever did enough for the final moments that he was a human. Shame, though. Shame it had to be him and not you. It would have been much better if he had somehow made it so that he could do it without hurting you. You don't want to think about all the therapy you'll have to attend.

"It's to do one final thing before I lose all of myself."

"I suppose it has to do with the fact that she's returning to Zayne as well?"

"He's not as easy to convince as you are." Caleb hums.

"I know. I'm much easier than he is." You laugh. "But the truth is, it doesn't matter as much to me if you pass. I'll live without you sooner or later. Whatever."

"Doesn't seem very much like a whatever right now." Caleb hums, resting his chin on your shoulder as he stares in the mirror. "I love you."

"I doubt you do, really." You pinch his cheeks together with your free hand, and he makes duck lips at the mirror.

"Oh, I know I do."

"Sure, sure."

The world moves slowly yet quickly when you are with someone you love.

When the beach is wrapped up, Caleb takes you for a fly in his plane. You sit in the copilot, seat, blinking slowly at the buttons that Caleb used to talk about back when you had dated the first time, and you wonder a lot whether or not it was truly something that made you truly happy. You think you were happy. You are not pure good nor pure evil. You are simply a product of circumstance — someone gentle-hearted who wants to believe that maybe this will make a difference to Caleb one day. You do not know. Maybe you're doing it because you're selfish. Who knows. You like to think that it doesn't matter anyway.

You rest your head on his shoulder gently, staring quietly at the setting sun and breathe. Quiet breathing that has your chest rising and falling with the breeze, quiet blinking that makes it so that you refuse to look at the way Caleb looks at you. You know what look it is. It is the look that you give him because the heart-crushing truth was that you had never gotten over him. It proved to be hard, so you decided that you would simply forget that you ever loved him, but the heart betrays the mind, and you are once again stutter-hearted in the eye of him.

Maybe it is human nature to feel the way that you do about someone you loved with your whole heart.

"I loved you." You mumble into the wind for no one in particular to hear.

"I loved you too."

"I do not know why you chose to spend your final moments with me instead of her. You had chosen her so many times before."

"Because I will not remember you in the future one day. But also because I think the only instance of true love was with you. I did not know love until you."

"Mm." You close your eyes again, body sinking and shoulders relaxing. "Caleb."

"Yes?"

"I hope they don't wipe your mind."

"I'll hold onto my feelings until they have to."

"You can't choose to die instead of be separated from me."

"I will." He whispers, and you tell yourself not to believe him, but you can't.

Your heart understands his just as much as his body knows yours. He is only ever truthful when it came to you. With her, he lied and cheated and spoke all sorts of lies out of his mouth because he thought it'd be best for her. But with you, reality and truth came simple. You will never stop comparing yourself to her when it comes to him, you fear, but you're also impossibly aware of the fact that there would never be someone quite like Caleb for you ever again. You've spent your token of affection on him, and there are none more to spare.

And if you are honest with yourself, you regret none of it.

"You're softhearted. Painfully human." Caleb whispers back into the wind like it is a secret of his own — that one day, the small blades of grass will grow tall and whisper it back to you when you come to visit on your own.

"Are we not both human?"

"No, we are." He closes his eyes. "But you are more than I am."

"Because I don't have a chip." You laugh.

The warmth on your cheek isn't unwelcome.

You go down the list with Caleb, booking a flight out of the city that you insist Caleb not pilot for since he is on break. The world spins round and round, and you fight Caleb for the last bite of food, chopsticks clashing with his as the two of you earn looks from strangers. He had been mature for the sake of her, but perhaps it did not matter to keep up appearances around you. The strange devotion he had for her looked different when it came to you.

But you think you've made peace that you'll never quite be her — though, you still wonder just a little what it would be like if you were her somehow.

You're sure Caleb did drop the act around her eventually. It'd be hard to pretend to be sane when you were… well, Caleb.

The hand wrapped around your ankle yanks as you kick him away with the last piece, food falling between your tits as you blink at Caleb.

"If you don't want it, I'll take it."

"You WHORE!" You shriek, trying to fight him off with no real urge for him to get off, and his hands slide under your shirt with ease to grab the piece, pressing it to his lips as his free hand lingers on the skin of your torso. "Was it worth?"

He licks his lips, staring down at you with a lazy smile. "You wanna find out?"

You think you were childish in your youth — not a sin or something wrong, but still. You enjoyed every moment that came to you even at the expense of yourself sometimes, but it ultimately didn't matter all that much. You got to experience the quick fling of romance and the childish glee of university and all sorts of classes that you could take. There was a lot to be thankful for even in the midst of your brain developing.

The chill of Caleb's skin is not unknown, your back arching as a cold hand slides under your waist, plush of skin and pudge slotting between his fingers naturally as you try to focus on breathing, nails digging into his biceps as his necklace dangles tauntingly between the two of you. You try and stare at it when you can, but Caleb pinches your cheeks between the fingers of his hand and forces you to look into his eyes instead — no matter how out of focus you may seem.

It burns the unbearingly truth that he loves you. passionately so. Maybe the haunting truth about how maybe he always did and just went back to her because that's what you thought he'd do. You don't know if you should be touched that he did it because you thought he would or hurt that he would hurt you or whatever. Maybe it was your fault for just handing him a knife and letting him stab you like that.

You wonder if it's a kind of regret when he returns to bandage you up from the stab he had caused in the first place.

But your chest rises and falls when you're finished anyway, vision blurred as Caleb moves around the hotel to find a towel to wipe you down with. It's always been easy with him, you find. He takes care of others like it's second nature — part of him just as much as anything else is.

"Come on." He pulls you gently, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you over to the bathroom to pee.

"I'm sorry."

You're not quiet sure for what.

There's this disconnect, maybe. That the bird that flies so free in the sky is the very bird that never lands on the ground. And maybe you are cursed to overthink everything that you know about him. Maybe you are cursed to just ponder and sit in your mind despite eating healthy and having all of your bodily functions taken care of. No one cares for yourself more than Caleb does, and maybe it's some cruel twist of fate to have to tear him away from you. As if it's a cruel reminder that somehow, someway, anyone who tries to ground themselves with you is destined to just return to the clouds.

Maybe that's why you liked it so much more when hanging out with Zayne.

Caleb presses his cheek to yours when you do rouse, slow blinking of his lashes fluttering over the color as you stare down into the purple. The endless color of abyss in his eyes as you blink slowly back at him. It's like two cats — though you'd argue that Caleb resembled a puppy much more than a cat. It was always a lot yet somehow not enough. Your greed really didn't know any bound when it came to quiet shaking of your hand as you brush your thumb over his cheek, his lashes fluttering awake.

"I knew you were awake." You whisper quietly, body sore as you shift your waist, and he runs his hand up and down your side.

"I know." He mumbles. "You always know."

"It comes with knowing you."

"Not loving?"

"No. Not anymore."

But the truth is something you refuse to admit to yourself. The selfish part of you wants to make it that you'd never have to admit it out loud and only ever show Caleb. Your fingers smooth over his skin in public when he brings you things he knew you loved. Despite it all, Caleb still loved you enough to remember everything that you loved before you had slowly carved yourself into the look of his first love. Cruel of him to bring it up, but cruel of you to even do so to begin with. You should not have hurt your body in such a way. You were purely too childish to be able to do that at all.

Caleb did love you, despite it all.

Maybe he still does.

When you lie in bed with him with his screen pulled up, you check through everything that he had ever wanted to do.

"I always wanted to get married." He whispers slowly.

"You don't get that luxury in the fleet." You hum. "It's dangerous for your wife."

"Wouldn't you be willing to bite the bullet for me?"

"I don't know, Caleb. I don't really think I'm in love with you."

"Which is what you say." He pinches at the skin on your lower waist, and you squeal.

"Caleb!"

"Then how about a tattoo? Married in heart?"

"You're going to leave me a widow?!" You gasp. "Without even your life savings?"

"I don't have life insurance." He hums quietly, thumb finding the center of your ribcage as he slides it down your skin. "I won't be able to leave you anything."

"Then leave me the necklace I bought you. Take not that with you into the grave."

"Do you not want—"

"At least let me be the one to bury you with the necklace." You close your eyes. "Your sergeants will find it and take it from us."

"Let me ink you into the skin of my bones, then."

"Wow, awfully poetic of you, Colonel."

He pinches the plush of your waist, and you squeak.

"And let me imprint the band of silver onto the finger of my heart."

"Okay, you're reading too many romance novels. Get a grip." You huff. "You imprinted on my DAUGHTER?!"

"It wasn't my choice!"

"SHE'S A BABY!"

You burst into a fit of laughter with Caleb in bed, cheeks warm and chest struggling to breathe at the comfort of his arms with the sheets.

You think it's fine. You'll be fine.

You'll survive as you always have.

You don't ink your own skin but sit with Caleb as he has his ring finger tattooed, feeding him as he squeezes your hand for comfort. You're sure he's felt pain worse than this, but you entertain him as he shows you the rings he had bought initially after considering getting engaged to you. He distracts himself by explaining everything about the rings — where they were made, how he came up with the design… everything.

"It would've been yours with or without the rings." He whispers.

"Not hers?"

"Never."

The tattoo artist finishes up with Caleb, and you drive him back while he pretends to huff and puff because he secretly enjoys being taken care of by you. You let him stay the way he is because you loved him once. It's not a sin to treat someone the same way you once did. If anything, you think it heals a part of you to pick up the pieces that you had broken yourself after he had handed you a knife. Was it your fault? Was it his? Why does it matter anymore? He'll be gone soon— no, only happy thoughts.

"Can I put it on for you?"

"I don't know, Caleb. Shouldn't you be getting down on one knee and proposing?"

He thinks about it, laughing.

"Alright. If that's what you want."

But you set little reminders of who he is for yourself. Matching charm dangling off of your phone, reactions that start mimicking his more and more — you think you embody everyone you have ever loved, and you fear you had loved Caleb the most. It is fine, you suppose. There is nothing wrong with loving someone. He's back in your arms, and you think that's more than enough. The simplicity of the moment will be fine.

You'll take photos on an old camera with a card that has more than enough space for every single moment you'll spend with Caleb. Then, you'll forget it ever existed, tucked into the back of your closet for years to come. Maybe one day you'll tell your kids about it — or maybe you'll never find true love again and won't ever marry. Maybe the camera will rot in your upstairs and someone will sell it at the thrift for a good price and someone else will find photos of a man no one recognizes.

click.

That will be fine, you think.

Caleb is smiling in all of them, and it is more than enough.

"I love you." He whispers, ink in his skin as you press your hands to his cheeks, humming an affirmative back quietly.

"I know."

"Say it back?"

"I don't think I can."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

You notice the signs slowly at first.

Caleb's a little more irritable, choosing to let off steam on his own in the morning before you rouse, smile a little less gentle and eyes a little less soft. Maybe it's just downright cruel to assume that you could take any of the hurt, but it's alright. He isn't hurting you, but it does concern you when you apply bandages to his fingertips from working out too hard or whatever. But it's small. It's fine.

"I'll make breakfast today." You hum.

"Baby, you really don't—"

"Your fingertips are bruised, and I'm sure your muscles hurt." You hum, tying the apron around your back. "I can cook for a day. After all, I lived alone for so long."

"I love you so much."

"Yeah, yeah."

You cook, smell of breakfast in the air as you take care to leave the cilantro out of his dish, and it earns you an affectionate kiss on the corner of your lips when you serve it to him.

"I love you."

"I know."

There's something that you think Caleb understands fundamentally about you that you don't quite understand about yourself. Like he's waiting for you to be completely honest with yourself when you aren't, and you think it's something where the lines of your past and present blur. You had chosen to refuse to listen to Caleb when he tried explaining about his little sister, and the more you consider it, the more you realize that maybe you didn't know what he had done after breaking up with you. You didn't even bother fetching half of your things when you were supposed to.

Maybe you had been stubborn — not that it made Caleb any less flawed.

You're fond of Caleb — like him, even. He's impossible not to, and the more time you spend with him the more you remember why you hadn't wanted to give up Caleb to begin with and spent so many nights crying over the breakup you initiated. You didn't date for a while after it — you went to therapy, you know, like a psychopath who wanted to be mentally stable. A good decision that brought you Zayne as both a coworker and friend, but also like who does that. What the fuck.

How self aware do you have to be to check yourself into therapy after a breakup you initiated?

"Caleb." You whisper, lashes fluttering as you listen to his heartbeat.

He looks away from his book and at you, humming as a question of what you needed.

"If you die…" You pause as you draw circles on his chest.

"Yes?"

"I call your apartment."

"You already have a key to it."

"No, no. I mean, I want to sell it."

"You and your money-hungry drive."

You hum quietly, vibrations of your skin on his as he puts his book down to pull at the bedside lamp.

"I love you."

"Mm… mhm." You close your eyes, body succumbing to exhaustion before you can think of a reply.

You like Caleb. a lot. It's not just a concerning amount that has your heart fluttering and your cheeks warm, but it's also a perfectly natural feeling where the warmth in your chest from being taken care of by him just feels so wonderful. Even when you're making sure you wake up before him so he'll take the meds you've gotten for his migraine every now and then, and you enjoy taking care of him in the morning so he can take care of you in the afternoon. Well, it's nice anyway. You need to return to a work schedule so you aren't dying when you really do get back to work. Zayne was generous with the month.

You're given a schedule of half days instead of full since Caleb still technically has a month left to live.

"I wish I could've spent more time with you all day." Caleb mumbles, clinging onto you as his breath fans your naked back.

"It practically flew by, huh?" You blink at the calendar on your window, and Caleb sighs.

"I wonder what I have to give Zayne to convince him to let you go another month…"

"Nothing, apparently. I only get half days until you're gone." You sigh. "My poor salary…"

"Mm." He huffs into your skin as you try and pull out of his arms. "You're warm."

"I'm cold." You whisper. "Your arm is cold."

"I know." He pinches at the skin of your waist as you yelp, hand flying to his hair to push him off of you.

"Caleb!"

"Just a little longer." He mumbles.

"You need your meds."

"It doesn't hurt right now."

"Not right now, but maybe in a bit." You hum. "Don't take them because they hurt. It's to prevent your head from hurting again."

"Mm…" He closes his eyes, loosening his arms around you as you slip out to get his meds ready.

The truth is that you're scared. You had gone so long without Caleb and then he comes back to fix everything in your life, and it drives you up a wall a little. It's unfair that he's just going to disappear after it all, and it's unfair that you're stuck nursing him for as long as you can for the two months. You worry if he'll collapse when you return to work — well, he's not so weak as to collapse immediately, but it still worries you. Maybe you should get one of those pet cameras— well, he's not a dog exactly.

Such a shame.

Maybe he's rubbing off on you.

A part of you just wants to keep Caleb in your apartment forever as some kind of a househusband, but the other part of you doesn't. The impending end of one's life ticks quietly over your head like a grandfather clock, and it makes you blink quietly sometimes. Though, it's human. If you let Caleb return, he might have a chance of actual survival even if it's without you. He can live without the memory of you. You'll just simply remember him while he won't you.

When you return from work, the house is empty for once.

You think you spot Caleb pinching the bridge of his nose in the kitchen, and you make sure not to make too loud of a noise as to not startle him, but you pause at the doorway to let your bag fall to the ground as you observe. You think Caleb is pale.

Which is strange, you know, considering that you think Caleb seldom has a look of dizziness on his face except you've never really see him feverish or weak since he's started taking the meds, so that means you don't really know if he needs—

"CALEB—" You catch Caleb as he falls onto his knees, brows furrowed as he breathes through his mouth, eyes watering as his gaze loses focus.

"I'm sorry."

"Caleb, stay with me."

"I'm sorry for lying." He whispers, head falling onto your shoulder as he gasps, heaving with a shaking chest. "I wasn't given two months off."

"What do you mean—"

"I had Zayne lie for me." He chokes out. "I ran away. The chip is eating away everything I know about you and they plan on killing you in my mind. I couldn't— I couldn't forget about you after being so in love with you. Fuck, I'm sorry."

"Caleb."

"I love you too much to let go of you. I was planning on just leaving one day and leaving a letter explaining it all, but, shit, I ended up collapsing here. I'm sorry. I love you so much. I don't want to live in a world where you don't exist to me."

"I'd rather live in a world where you're alive and don't know me than a world where you're dead." You croak, eyes shaking as Caleb slides a hand up your neck to wipe at your forming tears.

"I can't live without you."

"You won't be living without me if you don't know who I am."

"No, please." He whimpers. "I can't live without you."

"There will be no me in that life, and that's fine."

"I can't."

"You have to." You mumble. "I'll pack your things. I want you to live."

"What living is it if I don't know who you are?"

"A life where we had never met. It's fine. You'll be alive. That's all that matters—"

"I can't live in a world without you!"

"I can't live in a world where you're dead either." You furrow your brows as he sobs into your shoulder, and you decide that even if the world ends and Caleb resents you for the rest of your lives, he must live. Even if you live with the guilt of choosing to have him live in a world without ever knowing or loving you, he has to live. You're only human, after all.

"Just." Caleb whispers, ring in hand, staring at the metal band covering his tattoo as you glance at the circle. "Marry me? I'll forget, but it's just—"

"I do." You whisper, pressing your forehead to his as you let him slip the ring on your finger. "In this life, the next, and any other world out there. My soul will remain bound to yours and yours alone."

Caleb brushes noses with you first, then brushes lips with yours as you let your heart clench around nothing and slip a few droplets of salt that Caleb accepts with closed eyes.

"In this life and every other. I will find you again."

You pack everything, handing Caleb ibuprofen as you book tickets for the way up, and the two of you stay tucked in the corner of the ship, Caleb's head on your shoulder as he closes his eyes and you stare out at the passing clouds. The world is going to end, and it is going to be your fault. But it's alright. You'd rather know he's alive than not know what happened to him with only a letter on your bedside to read again and again. But your heart aches, and your soul cries over the crushing ending.

"I don't want you to go." You whisper like it's a secret you weren't supposed to break.

"I don't either." His voice comes out strained, almost as though he knew that you'd come to regret it, but it's only human to want your loved one to live even if they do not remember you.

You go with Caleb up to Skyhaven, sending him back to the very people that were going to kill him whether it be literally or figuratively, and maybe you wish there would have been a better ending to the tragedy of your relationship. He doesn't choose to have his sister send him off, he chooses you. It's a little cruel, maybe, but it's fine. It doesn't matter all that much anymore.

Caleb slips the necklace off of his neck and pauses to stare at it for a moment too long, someone yelling at him in the distance as he winces. You're sure the chip in his head is already starting to skitter through his brain even more, and soon the meds won't have any effect on the pain, and you squeeze his forearm through the fabric of his uniform as he stares down at you with heartbroken eyes.

"You're not going to let me be buried with the necklace?"

"They're going to take it."

"You'll never get to see my body."

"No, they'll tell family."

"We aren't married."

"Then maybe that's for the best." You whisper. "Your sister will keep it a secret from me. I just know it."

"Should I tell them to contact you— no. They would use you as leverage against me." He cuts himself off, and he lets the necklace fall into your hand as you close your eyes.

You squeeze the metal between your fingers. It's warm.

"I love you."

Your voice fails you as you watch him leave, adjusting the hat on his head before his expression neutralizes, and he returns with the rest of the colonels.

You stay in his apartment for the last time that night, strangely dark and empty now that Caleb was not in it, and you finish the last of the food — portioned off by Caleb before he left so that you would have enough for two meals. A late night meal because you'd get hungry when it hit midnight, and a breakfast that you would feel too guilty to skip since he had portioned it off for you. There's a beer with a sticky note to tell you to throw it away, but the hole in your chest tempts you to drink it. Maybe a final message from Caleb over just how much he actually knew you.

Fuck.

You spend the night sobbing into the sheets that smell more of you than him, breathing rough as you try to remember what it felt like to have his arms around you, and suddenly you know you're going to regret it and the first handful of months and maybe years are going to be hell. You don't know if you'll survive the grief, but hell, you might die from it, choking as you eventually fall asleep from the exhaustion of crying.

When you rouse, you bring your suitcase and clean out the last bit of his apartment, leaving the key where he always leaves the spare (tucked behind his doorplate), and you stare at the door to his apartment for a moment too long for comfort, turning away from the numbers as you try to steady your breathing. It's stupid. It's so stupid. You think it's stupid to have to be the one to carry the burden of a doomed relationship all over again, and it's almost as if Caleb had planned for you to be the one to tank the hit in the end even if it was because he wanted to spend his final moments of being human with you.

You think it's stupid.

Stupid, stupid, man.

So you turn back, running back up out of the ship that takes you back down to the earth, clouds under your feet foreign to your body, but you do it anyway because you think the lack of acknowledgment of your true feelings will most likely choke you to death before you could ever die to a disease in the hospital. It doesn't matter if you never see him again or end up dead because you decided that yes, you will bite the bullet for Caleb because the choking feeling in your chest is just too much of a burden for you to carry alone, and he deserves some kind of acknowledgment for something that you think he knew but would have liked to hear.

"What are you doing here?"

You blink quietly at Caleb, tilting your head slowly as he stares at you.

He's changed. Well, it'd have been stupid if he never did, but he's changed in a way that you don't really think you understand all that much anymore. It's been less than a day and he's already someone you no longer recognize. It breaks your heart, but you find that maybe you don't need to understand. You just wanted a semblance of understanding and perhaps one final look into the familiar purple eyes that you'll love for the rest of your life. You note the outline of a band still on his finger, and you swallow slowly as you meet his eye.

"Leave." He says the words to you, but the tinge of pain left in his eye reminds you that no matter how foreign he is, he is still Caleb.

So you find a crumb of confidence, hand flying out for his when he starts to turn, jingle of his necklace in your hands as you throw your arms around his neck to return the metal to him.

"Caleb." You whisper, arms squeezing around his neck as you shake.

He stays still other than the hand held up to tell security to leave you alone, hands refusing to move up to hug you back, and you think maybe you are cruel, but you love him far too much to care. You're sure that he won't remember anyway, so it's not like it'll matter in the end. Who knows. Maybe they'll even get rid of the ink on his finger. But it's fine because you were honest. You were truthful with yourself and with him, and that in itself is not a sin.

You let go once the necklace is around his neck, and you loop two fingers under the chain to let your ring touch the apple as you give it a final kiss.

Caleb looks down at you, and you fight the shaking in your body to be honest with him for once.

"I love you."

And you're back to work. You don't receive news from him after he leaves, and you doubt he'd remember anything about you if he did somehow survive having his memories wiped. You have photos, but you doubt he'll remember even with them. Your life is just broken pieces and shattered glass, but it doesn't hurt you anymore. You've learned to live with it and eventually move on. The grief no longer slows you.

You check on patients and go to work, eating lunch with Zayne and Caleb's sister, and maybe it did hurt at once. Maybe there was this unknown air of resentment that his sister had when you had returned him to the fleet so that he would continue to live even if it meant he would have never known you. You just wanted him to live even if it was without you.

It's fine even when you keep a pot of chrysanthemums at the window of your apartment that you keep alive to reminds you of all the love you once had.

And maybe one day you'll pass him while the fleet lands in the hospital to check in, or maybe one day you'll find the necklace you had given him in a second-hand antique shop on display, but it doesn't matter anymore.

After all, you aren't where he is.

[crsssies]

charming - spencer reid x reader

there's very little in the world that will not make sense to doctor reid once he finds interest in it. most things come easy as they go, rubik's cube solved forwards and backwards — upside down and right side up, questions of physics and doctorate dissertations coming in triplets the same way that the notation rings in an empty performance hall with a musician.

in his life, to understand is power, and power is protection against those that have once hurt him. no harm in the present, he understands. not from them. not ever again. the only harm in the present is from the unsub and the unknown.

the absence of light still scares him. he tries not to think too much about that.

knowledge is power. wisdom is efficiency.

to profile someone is to understand them.

to profile you should be to understand you.

yet, beady eyes and charming smiles, you cause the rational to burn irrational — the known to become unknown. there is always something you know that he doesn't.

no, not simple facts of life or statistics that could save your life.

the brown of your eyes is always too dark under the sun — the absence of light.

the dark of your hair is always too dim under the light — the absence of life.

you can do the one thing he can not, and he does not envy it. no. he does not crave to understand or to contain it. there is no dark need creeping up around his throat begging him to cage you and sing for him only.

it is simple curiosity.

charming as knowledge, preening with the night sky.

he fears you just as much as he must know you.

and well, doctor reid is never one to back down from nonsense that he must make of sense.

[crsssies]

hey angel in the snow (i'm under the mistletoe)

first snow/meet cute/civilian!reader || original lss fic hehe

Summary: Just another winter in DC... same old... same... oh!

Leon wonders if he misses all the festivities sometimes.

DC is decorated to the brim, lights strung up all across alongside the White House, and he doesn't think too much of it. STRATCOM might host a small party or something else alongside that, but it doesn't seem like there's much of a point to get a tree in his place. Raccoon City still feels like not long ago, too close ago. Everything isn't really fair. The recruitment wasn't either.

He just hopes Sherry's fine, at least.

But Leon stops by City Center anyway, looking for a white elephant present to wrap for work, and the Christmas tree is incredible. The colors weave through the pines onto the ground, and he pauses to stare. Green, red, green, red, white. The white has covered the tree to a half degree, or maybe it's just white from the City Center's efforts, but it's nice. Actually, it's probably fake snow, but it's snow... nonetheless.

The air crystallizes in his lungs, and he exhales as the cold fogs up in the air.

"At least it's pretty enoug—"

Leon crashes down onto the ground as someone slams into him, and groans. What the hell?

"I'm so sorry! My friends were..."You glance around, frowning when you notice they're gone. "somewhere. Told me they saw someone super cute and next thing I know, I'm being shoved into them. Here, let me help you up."

"Thank you." He takes your hand, cheeks dusted pink, and you hum. "You from around here?"

"Nah. Moved here for work." You hum. "You?"

"Me too."

"Oo... white house worker." You jest, humming as you glance at the tree. "Government?"

"Something like that."

"Ah." You mumble, brushing off the water from your clothes. "Um, you new here? Because I need to get something for a white elephant and I've never really been around here..."

"I haven't either." Leon hums, glancing at you as he blinks. "Shall we go white elephant hunting together?"

"Yes! I'd be down." You beam. "Sorry, I never got your name, handsome stranger."

"Leon." He nods. "You..?"

You tell him your name, but Leon stares at you like he's starstruck or something. He brings you around and asks if you know much about the capital, and he listens to you as you tell him which brunch places are to die for and which ones are tourist traps. You also talk an extensive amount of the history of the country in general, and he's pleasantly surprised that you know more about the city than the vast majority of his employers. 

You could tell him the names of all of the founding fathers' slaves if you really wanted to. 

"So you study history?"

"Nah. It just comes with living here." You hum, glancing at the pikachu in your hand. "Probably shouldn't be handing my employers a stuffed animal, huh?"

"Any of them have kids?"

"Like, one." You pause to think. "Two. Everyone else is pretty new and young."

"And they won't want a plush?" He raises a brow, staring at the flower pot in his hand. "My coworkers probably won't like an empty pot either, huh?"

"How about a pack of hairclips?" You hold the package up, and he raises a brow. 

"MJ album." He finds the stash of CDs.

"Get a Mariah Carey Christmas album." You hand the album to him, and he pauses to consider it.

"All I want for Christmas is you?"

"Aw... how sweet."

"I don't know..." Leon hums. "Maybe a mug would be safest."

"I forgot about that." You follow him to the mugs, and you watch him pick out a couple. 

His coworkers are mostly older than him. Most of them have kids, so it wouldn't be out of the question to actually get a stuffed animal and get a good laugh out of it, but it'd also be funny to just find a screaming chicken and get it for someone's dog. Everyone lives a more or less white picket fence life in his work circle... minus him

"What are your coworkers like?"

"Most of us are young." You hum. "I'm sure they'd appreciate some humor."

Leon glances at the mug in hand.

"Boss."

"It'd be funny if our boss didn't get it." You hum. 

"How about the duck?"

"The booyah duck..." You glance at the mug, humming quietly. "Maybe."

"We can both get one. Makes for all the funnier."

"Two random people in DC with matching mugs..." You trail off. "Sounds fun. Do you decorate your place?"

"Not really. I don't see a point when it's just me."

"Fair point." You hum, stepping over to the cashier. "You gonna get yourself anything?"

"Not really."

You grin at Leon, and he raises a brow at you.

"You have ten minutes to pick me out a Christmas gift. I'll see you at the check out in ten!" You grin at him, taking two steps back as he blinks at the mug in his hand.

He could leave you. Hypothetically. He could, also, actually find something that you might like at the store. The old thrift is pretty spacious, and he doesn't really know too much about you to be able to pick something out that you might like. He could get the pikachu spotted earlier, or he could—

He locks eyes with the wooper plush that stares into his soul. 

That's the one. He has a strange feeling you'll like that one. 

From what he's learned, you beelined for the plush section first thing and picked up a handful of pokemon plushes before you had considered anything else. Also, you're probably a little younger than he is considering that you almost remind him of himself when he was freshly admitted into his job at twenty one. You're not that young, though. You're probably around his age if anything.

He tugs the plush along with him, scanning it at the check out as he watches you rush over. 

"You were fast." You mumble.  

"Found something you might like." He hums. 

"Yeah? Or just something funny?"

"You'll like it." He nods. "Kind of stupid looking, though."

"Are you implying something?" 

"I wouldn't dare." He raises a brow at you.

"Alright, buddy." You thank the cashier, and he takes you back out to the Christmas tree. "You wanna open it at the same time?"

He swaps the bag with yours, and you watch as he pries it open, stifling a laugh as you swipe open the bag.

"A plush!"

"You found a watch?" He raises a brow, staring at the gift.

"You seem like the type to need one." You hum.

He tilts his head at you, and you giggle.

"A small something to remember me by."

"I'd really like to stay in contact, but... yeah."

"Government work isn't easy." You hum. "Who knows. Maybe I'll see you in ten years."

"Maybe."

You hear your name called somewhere in the back, and you turn around to glance at your friends.

"I'll see you around, handsome stranger!" You call, waving at him before running back to your friends.

Leon hopes those words hold true.

[crsssies]

another day another 10k with minimal scraps

"I missed you too, Si." You hum, peeking past his shoulder as you wave at his friend. "Who's that?" "Friend I made. Name's Johnny." // "Ignore him." "Lt!" "Lt? Like Lieutennant?"

Originally Johnny was gonna be in the fic but writing two diff accents in a fic would've killed me so i decided not to add him

"You should eat." You hum. "When y' finish." He hums.

idk where this was scrapped from and past me was NOT helpful with my notes either

'cause now I'm scared to love the thought of you the way you did with me

word count: 10.6k

summary: love, you know. you, simon knows.

The first time Simon ever met you, he had the aching feeling that he knew you already.

No, not the sense of deja vu you get in snippets throughout your life. He felt the strange sense that he had known you all his life and had done something to wrong you somehow. He's four. Four-year-olds should not know that feeling. Especially not the sense that somehow, he had broken your heart or betrayed you. He's never met you before — that much, he's certain. He'd know. You're his age, so it's not like this feeling can be from knowing you as an infant. He doesn't remember that far back.

You wave at him, grinning as you pull him off with his brother to hang out as your parents talk to his mom, and you show him what it means to play.

When he leaves later, you ask him if you're friends.

He gives you a blank stare.

You end up in his class later that year, his next-door neighbour and companion, walking home with him from primary school, asking him if he understood anything in class. You're not as bright as he is, Simon thinks. You struggle a little more with certain concepts, and you argue with the teachers over ways to do certain things. A contradiction of everything, he thinks. He mulls over what you are and what you are not. How do you feel simultaneously like a fifty-year-old and a five-year-old at the same time?

He tugs on you sometimes to calm you down.

"Stop it."

"But it's—"

He gives you a look and you huff.

Simon likes sticking by your place, but he also doesn't enjoy it.

When he goes home, dad beats him because he was with you again.

Can' have them findin' out abou' what I do. y' hear me?

The purple is hard to hide around you. You pry too much. You ask too many questions. You tug Tommy around too much and Tommy talks too much. You don't need to know what it's like at home for him. You ask too many questions about why he's wearing a turtleneck when it's already twenty-two degrees outside. You tug at it, offering one of your shirts, but he can't. You don't need to know. You can't know. You shouldn't know. For some reason.

He wants to hide it from you for some reason.

You seem to know anyway, blinking at Simon curiously as you push back his sleeve, staring at the purple.

"You should report him, you know?"

"Ma wouldn't like that."

"So you'd rather be beat? Is it not just a fear factor?"

You don't speak like you're from around there either. You have a mixed accent. Like you've been in an amalgamation of countries and grew up everywhere at once. You don't feel like you're from Manchester. You had moved, sure, but you're young. You seem to be a constant dichotomy between everything and nothing. What does it mean to exist to you? You stare off into nothing the same way his ma does. But time travel doesn't exist or whatever. It's impossible to be sent back in time. All of that is just science fiction.

Pondering. Is that the word?

"What are y' looking at?"

"I'm thinking." You hum, blinking back to life. "That cloud looks like a rabbit."

"No. Looks like a duck."

"Well, now that it's moved." You huff. "That one's a heart."

"That one looks like a dog."

"I don't see it."

"The four legs?"

"Hm."

"'kay, well, that one's a worm."

"See that."

"mhm."

Dad is taken away at one point. Simon returns home to police at his door, hauling his drunken dad out as another officer comforts his mom, and he leads Tommy inside.

"You Simon?"

"Yes ma'am."

"This Tommy?"

"Mhm."

"You won't need to worry about that man anymore."

"Dad." Simon says. "Dad."

"You won't need to worry about him hitting you anymore."

"He makes all the money. Where are we t' go?"

He spots your parents with his ma, and he wonders where you are.

"They said they'll take you all in." The woman tells him.

Your place isn't big enough for all of them.

Yet, when he's brought home to your family, the guest room is set up, yet he finds himself in your room when he can't sleep, staring at you quietly in the dark, watching as you rub your eyes tiredly and scooch over to make space for him.

He still fits in your bed at this point in time.

"Does that make us siblings?" You whisper, getting yourself comfortable as you tangle limbs with him.

Simon wants to say yes. He does. But there's something else he wants, he supposes. He pauses.

"Maybe."

Room for maybe not. Maybe yes.

Maybe it's a cruel joke that he failed to fall asleep with his mother yet knocked right out with you. He's not so lucky as to be able to do it, and he understands that he's a guest so he shouldn't get too comfortable with the host, but you seem to abandon all care and treat him as though you really were siblings. You share everything with him, and he doesn't get why it hurts when you do.

The maybe was a maybe yes to you, maybe.

The maybe was a no to him. It was maybe not.

There's something in his chest that twists uncomfortably when you treat him like a sibling, abandoning all care for it, and he understands that maybe it's what his mother felt when she had been with his father. He doesn't know how long he'll be able to squeeze here with you. Maybe he'll eventually grow to be too big. He knows he will. He's not supposed to be sleeping with you. He sees it in the way your parents shake the both of you awake in the morning with all the concern for you.

It's almost as if he shouldn't be friends with you at all.

Yet, you don't give him the ability to choose, telling your parents that it didn't matter because Simon was like a brother to you.

The concept of siblings should not hurt Simon as much as it does.

He nods along, and you lace your fingers with him and Tommy, telling your parents you're thrilled that you can finally have the brothers you've always wanted.

Your parents let it go and his mom apologizes for the case, but your parents assure her that it's all you and none him.

Simon keeps his fingers laced with you all the way until the two of you get to the classroom.

You don't mind the teasing from the kids, and in turn, Simon doesn't seem to either.

That's how you spend the rest of primary school, tangled limbs with Simon, tugging and dragging him around with you to different things, and he learns to grow comfortable in your presence. The strange sense that he's done something wrong eventually fizzes into nothing that he worries about. The certainty you have in your friendship keeps Simon afloat even when his family eventually moves into a flat nearby.

You hang out at his place after classes, doing homework with him, munching on snacks you bring from the local supermarket on your way back from classes, humming and chewing on the chips as you do homework.

You struggle less than Simon now.

It's like you know.

The strange feeling that you know everything yet nothing lingers despite the guilt leaving. You blink at him quietly and sleep over occasionally, humming quietly as you lay on the mattress on the ground, staring up at nothing.

You do not go through puberty the same way Simon does.

Simon hits a growth spurt in the early years of secondary school — bed suddenly too small, skin stretching out at the alarming pace he was gaining height, and you hold back laughter when he hits his head in the morning and you laugh from the air mattress. He grumbles as he heads off to wash up, and when he returns, you only smile at him like you know something and he doesn't.

He finds you stare at him with a lot more pride than you used to. It's almost like you're his mother staring at him grow up, and it makes him uncomfortable.

You still sleep in the same room as him because you don't seem to think of him as a threat of any kind.

The girls at school start noticing him as well — whispering happening around him of how he's grown so much and how he's "oh suck a looker" because of his height. You've always told him he looked real pretty. "Blond lashes are rare" you'd told him. "makes you look real pretty, Si". He had flushed red at your compliment, but only because it had been you. He had found that it would only be you. Everything you did, intentional or not, had caused more than enough flustered stumbling from him.

He supposes it is just the curse of a teen in love.

You squeeze his bicep when you pass him in between periods, waving bye to him as you're off to the classes you chose and he didn't.

It's in the periods where you're not by him that the girls like to step up to him and giggle, asking if he's free or if he's all alone.

He wonders if he should lie sometimes.

A no warranted a "well would you want to? what about me?" and a yes warranted a "oh surely you jest" so truly, Simon did not have much a choice. He'd prefer it if you just branded him at that point.

Branded.

You brand him?

He understands that whatever he had felt for you in his earlier years was a sense of yearning, and whatever he felt for you in the current years was most likely closer to love than it is a schoolboy crush. He finds it unfair to do that to you, though. You had only ever seemed to see him as a sibling or something adjacent, cheeks warm and lips curled upwards as you head over to his place with him after classes, helping his mom out with cooking if she needed it, heading home only after dark and making sure that Simon walks you there.

He's utterly and completely a fool for you, he finds.

You could tell him to steal the stars in the sky and he'd somehow find a way.

He finds that it's just a curse, maybe. He's stuck with you and he enjoys it because you had met him at four and suddenly everything you ever did became a benefit to him. You knew what he would do good in, and you knew where he could find a job. Everything from start to finish was as if you had preordained it all. Like you had known before the moment the two of you first met. It was as though you knew everything and were intervening. Some kind of angel for him.

"How was class?"

"Was fine."

He's the one who drags you into the store this time, fishing out cash as he hands you a pack of cough drops, raising a brow when you raise a brow at him.

"You're gonna start coughing soon."

"I still have leftovers from last year."

"y'know tha's not the flavor you like."

You hold a hand over your chest, pretending to be moved as he passes by with a ruffle of your hair.

"Si, you do care!"

"Think I didn't?"

"Maybe."

He follows you home to your place tonight. His ma isn't home and Tommy wanted some alone time with his girlfriend, so he settles at your place. It isn't as though he has no other friends. He's hard to approach because of the deadpan look on his face at all times, but he knows others. You worry that he doesn't so to ease the worry, he has other friends. He thinks about it a little. He only seems to care for what you say. It's been a while since his ma's words have worked on him. Though, he still avoids getting in trouble. She doesn't deserve that, and you'd probably give him a hard time if he really did trouble her in any sort of way.

"How was class?"

"Was fine." He sighs, spreading out his books on the table as you scribble away with yours.

How your hand does not fall off from the writing drives Simon up the wall. Writing has never truly been his strong suit — he's much more fit for his part-time job at the butcher's or fixing your parents' old car when they ask him if he knows what to do with it. He's much better with his hands than he is with his mind at times, but it's never stopped you from just breaking everything down into simpler concepts for him.

"Why d'you do it?" He had asked you once.

"Why wouldn't I?" You left the second part of the sentence hanging in the air.

Simon wonders if he could dare to imagine that the second half of the sentence was an "i love you" the same way that he seemed to love you with.

Though, he'd never know.

You beg your parents to let you spend the night with Simon at the turn of the century, the agreement being that he'd spend the night with you, settling on the floor or your room on an air mattress that he most definitely does not fit in, offering him your bed that's too big for you alone when you're sure your parents are knocked out. He finds himself tangling limbs with you once more, staring down at you as you blink up at him under the sheets, blanket covering the two of you as you open a flashlight. He blinks as you stare at him.

"What?"

"Yer really pretty, Si." You hum. "Can I touch you?"

"Ya nasty—"

"Your face." You mumble. "You can say no."

"'s fine." He mumbles, letting your hands map his face gently as he hums, observing as you seem to memorize something. Patterns of his skin. Your eyes gentle from the flashlight as you press your forehead to his. "You look scared."

"I'll live." You whisper, voice shaking.

You fall asleep in his arms that night, and he wakes up to you tucked under his chin snoring.

He doesn't recover from it.

You suggest him to join a military boot camp over summer after secondary since he wasn't planning on university, tilting your head and shrugging when he asks why. Would suit him. Maybe he'd like it. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. He doesn't need to pursue it. Besides, he doesn't have anything to do either.

"Thirteen weeks is a long time, angel."

"Angel? Well, then, maybe you should embrace what this angel's telling you to do."

He goes per your suggestion, and you send him off with his family and yours, grinning as he frowns at you at the doors with his duffle bag, blowing him a kiss as he fights the blush that snakes up his neck. When he emerges for one final look without his hair, you laugh and play with the new cut, humming quietly as you whisper that you'll be waiting for you after his three months.

He lets himself relax into your touch as your families stand to the side, and he whispers quietly asking you for a goodbye kiss as if he were off to war. He expects you to decline, but you press your lips to his forehead, humming as you lean back and admire the print that's been left behind from your chapstick, laugh on your lips as you reach to wipe it off with your thumb, too occupied with cleaning it off to notice the starstruck look on his face as he stares at you.

"Wait f'r me, won't you?"

"How could I not? As long as you send me off when you're back."

"'f course."

"Come back safe to me, Si. I'll miss you."

His body has muscle memory of everything. The boot camp is significantly easier than he thought it'd be. His muscles remember something he does not, maybe. He treks up and does stellar, ending up personally selected by his managing captain, asked if he ever thought about actually joining the military. He'd suit the SAS. He'd be a great addition to the team, even. He'd get all the military benefits and it doesn't seem like it'd be something that would warrant too much stress for him.

He doesn't know.

Despite his body's ability to survive in such harsh conditions, he finds that he doesn't really want to stay in that state of stress.

When he finishes, his captain hands him a number to call if he ever changes his mind, and he finds you in the crowd. He abandons all the military learning he's received in the last three months just to find himself in your arms once more. He barely cares that the friends he's made are whistling at him as he practically swallows you in his frame. You don't mind. He doesn't mind. It's not a problem.

"'m back."

"Welcome home." You laugh, running your hand through his hair as he buries his face into your shoulder.

"'m missed you."

"I missed you too, Si." You hum, peeking past his shoulder as you wave at his friend. "How was camp?"

"Y'wanna tell me why my body seemed to have no struggle with adaptin?"

You look to the side, whistling as he finally lets go of you, reaching over for his mom, humming as she welcomes him back home with Tommy.

"You have explainin' to do." He points at you, and your parents leave the two of you alone to start on dinner for Simon's return, leaving you in his room as you whistle and avoid his gaze, falling back into his bed with a huff and closing your eyes.

"How was bootcamp?"

"You knew. How did you know."

"I know everything, Si." You close your eyes. "Told you I was a fairy when we were kids."

"Yer less of a fairy and more of father time."

"Who knows. Maybe I'm just cursed with knowledge."

"A curse?"

"Or somethin'." You stare up at his ceiling. "How was bootcamp. Really."

"Offered a spot on the SAS."

"You wanna go?"

Simon turns to stare at you, taking a seat by the floor of the bed as he stares at you, and you turn to face him.

"Y' want me to?"

You stare at him, letting the water in your eyes speak for you.

"Oh, angel. don' cry." He whispers, hand reaching to brush the tears as he frowns. "I wasn' planning to."

"You can go." You mumble. "It's fine. I'm just scared."

"You? Scared?" He pinches your nose, humming quietly as you open your mouth to breathe.

"Yes. Me."

"'m not gonna go. I'll just meet you at uni."

"Simon Riley going to uni?"

"Got a problem with that, angel?" He lets go of your nose when the smile cracks at your face, and you roll over to laugh. "Think I'm too stupid for ya?"

"You wish." You hum. "You think I'd let you fall behind?"

"Never have." He hums, nudging you over as you roll to make space for him on the bed.

"So next cycle? Or are you gonna try somewhere else?"

"Might follow you halfway across the world. You'll fund me, won't ya?"

"Nah. Gonna make you pay rent at least." You swat at his arm playfully as he leans over you, humming as he stares down at you. "Glad your pretty face wasn't ruined."

"Think I'm pretty?"

"Just the lashes."

"Takes too much t' please you." He rolls his eyes, eyes landing on your stomach as your shirt rides up, humming.

"So, did they fuck a lot in the camp? Is it true? Did you guys have a barrack bunny?"

Simon flicks your forehead. "No bunny. yes fucking."

You hold your hands over your mouth, gasping. "tell me more."

"I didn't do anythin'."

"No way."

"Not losing my v-card to a bunch of men in the military."

"Don't know, Si. That sounds like a porno title. Virgin man gets gangbaned by five buff military men... or whatever it is the titles are formatted like."

"'m not even gon' ask how you know that."

You laugh, eyes crinkling as Simon stares.

"'s good to see you again."

"I missed you too." You hum. "I don't mind you going. Really."

"'s my decision to not." He pinches your cheek, glancing at the door as his mother calls for you both to go eat. "I promise."

"Send me to the airport tomorrow?"

"Of course."

You let Simon drive you around before driving you to the airport. You say your goodbyes to your parents at your place, thanking Simon with a grin and a squeeze of his bicep as he lifts all of your luggage into the back of the car. You gasp quietly at the fact that his muscles are harder than before, giving them a second squeeze as he rolls his eyes at you.

"You take that back!"

"Don't know what yer talkin' about."

You don't talk to him too much in the car, too preoccupied with staring out the window. Simon doesn't pry, used to the comfort of your silence when you need it. Besides, you're being sent off to somewhere where you'll be far from him. He wonders if that'll hurt him more or you. You're great, though. You promised you'd write to him, and he's more worried that somehow he will forget to write back to you and you will forget about his existence. You're too far away for comfort.

What if someone else lays eyes on you?

He helps you load the luggage, pulling it with him as you check for your passport, letting Simon put everything down for you, giving his forearm a gentle squeeze in thanks when you arrive with him at the gate. You let him wander around with you before you're supposed to board. He'll wring the final moments you have with him dry, he supposes.

You open your arms for him, squeezing him gently when his arms find themselves around your waist, squeezing you back.

"It's your turn to give me a goodbye kiss." You tap your cheek, tilting your head as you hum, and Simon mumbles under his breath, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he stares down at you for permission.

"You gonna kiss me properly? Real bold of you, Si."

"If you'd let me."

You wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head as he brushes your bottom lip, staring, staring, staring before letting his lips brush yours gently, softly, and pulling away just as quick. Like a ghost of a kiss — lingering feelings that he can't quite pour out onto you yet because it wouldn't be fair.

"That alright?" He continues to stare at your lips, only snapping out of it when you notice boarding has started.

"More than alright." You reach up to give him a kiss on his cheek, humming as you take two steps back with your luggage. "I'll see you!"

"See you, then."

"Yer gonna let me study abroad without a boyfriend? How cruel of you, Si. Write to me!" You laugh, tugging your carry-on with you as you wave at him from the gate.

Simon stays to stare at you until you've disappeared down the corridor to the plane.

Then, his fingers find his lips where he had kissed you, and then the cheek that you had given him a kiss to.

Ah. He misses you already.

You write to him as promised. You send letters to him and he sends them back, sending you updates on how everyone has been, writing growing more and more illegible with the letters. He wonders if you're able to read everything he sends sometimes, but he eventually sends you a letter with the number slotted into his phone, and when you write to him that you'd be visiting on a certain date, you tell him to pick you up.

The first thing that Simon notices is that you've changed.

Not that you've ever been someone that he's found predictable, but you have changed beyond what Simon can remember from you.

"It's the air." You laugh.

He stares at you, uncertain if he really knows who you are anymore. Was he the one who was being left behind?

You mentioned that you'd never leave him behind.

"Y'sure changed."

"Cultural differences." You open your arms for him, tilting your head when he shakes his head at you.

"'m all smelly from work."

You frown at him.

"Maybe we both changed."

You spend the afternoon lodged at Simon's flat because you didn't want to go home. It's just a week or two, you tell him.

He hands you booze to drink, and you ask him how work has been.

"You still gonna join me?"

"I think I'm alright here."

He fears though, that by doing so, he's going to drift away from you.

"That's good." You grin at him. "If life ever gets too boring, come find me. I'm sure my friends would flip it if some guy who's like a hundred ninety two centimeters tall dropped by and called himself my best friend."

"You talk about me?"

"How could I not?" You tilt your head at him from the passenger seat, blinking slowly. "Si, did you forget about me when I'm gone? It's a little rude of you, you know?"

"I couldn't even if I was killed." He hums. "Your luggage's lighter."

"Mhm. Most of my stuff is with a friend who lives nearby." You grin. "Didn't want you to blow out your back for me."

"Couldn't do that if y' tried."

Simon wonders if there's something in the air when you come back to visit.

"You plan on stayin' there?"

"Maybe." You hum. "I quite like it."

"Leavin' me to fend on my own, huh?"

"It'd be unfair for either of us to do something all for the sake of the other. Your comfort comes before mine." You grin. "Get me a little something to eat?"

"Got dinner at 'ome." He hums. "Your favorite."

"What if it's changed?"

"You can't be sayin' that when you told me less than a month ago."

You laugh in the front seat, grinning.

"Dated yet, Si?"

"No." He hums. "This girl stops by the shop but I don' really like her like that."

"Mm." You tap your chin. "Broken no one in yet?"

Simon coughs at your choice of words, coughing as he catches his breath, your hand patting his back as you laugh.

"Bloody hell."

You have a shit-eating grin on your face when he catches a glance.

"Why? Y'been broken in yet?"

"Nope. Waiting for a certain someone to do the honors."

You laugh at the way he's red for the whole ride back.

Yet, he makes no real move on you back at his place. He hands you a glass of water and settles himself next to you on the couch, letting you show him the variety of items you've brought back to give him, grinning at him when he stares at the strange combination of things.

"Why'd you come back during such a shite time?"

"I wanted to spend the new year with you." You hum, blinking at the snow that's come with the weather.

"You didn't come back during summer."

"No." You close your eyes, throwing your head back. "I wanted to, but I decided not."

"Why."

You kick your legs over his, huffing as you grumble. "It was hard. Flying out the country's hard."

"Cuz of the thing, huh?"

"Yeah." You rest your head on his shoulder, staring out the window. "You got work these days?"

"Nah. Old guy's home with his family. Y' gonna go home?"

"No." You close your eyes. "Didn't tell mom n dad I'd be back."

"Yeah? Just me?"

"Just wanted to see you." You whisper, taking his hand and fiddling with his fingers.

"Y've gotten real handsy since ya left."

"Maybe I just missed you." You mumble. "It's lonely without you."

"Don't love y'er other friends?"

"Love you more." You whisper, finger smooth against his ring finger as you feel him tense up under you.

"Y'love me?"

"Si, I've known you since forever. Of course I do." You rest your hand on top of his, opening your eyes as you whisper.

"Oh, like that."

You don't breach the subject of love further than that, playing with Simon's fingers as he turns on the TV for a match, letting you get comfy with him under a blanket and eventually fall asleep. He stares down at you, voice tight in his throat as he rests his hand on your forearm, heart painful in his chest. Distance has given him no time to think if all he thinks of is you. But, it would be cruel to tell you of something that's long been his problem.

It is not your burden to bear.

It is not your portion to carry.

He rests his eyes as well, the two of you staying that way until late night, Simon first to rouse as he looks out the window.

It is dark outside.

You stir as he does, leaning back onto the couch to stretch out, and kick your legs out, and Simon holds your ankle to push it to the side. The snow creates the illusion of an empty street, and the black and white hurt each other in the lack of light, but you keep staring. It reminds Simon of when you were kids. The staring has since gotten better, but every now and then he catches you staring into nothing.

"Dinner?"

"Sounds good." You kick the blanket off of you, yawning as you follow him to the kitchen. "'m tired."

"Long flight."

"Mhm." You sit at the island, watching as Simon heats the food for you, staring at him as you lean on your palm. "Si, why did you never date?"

"Why should I?"

"Donno."

Simon takes out dinner from the microwave, placing it in front of you as he stares.

"Will y' ever tell me about the staring problem?"

"Probably not." You wiggle your hands comically as you grin.

"Don't do that again."

"So you hate me." You start at dinner anyway, thanking Simon as you chew on the food, scraping the plate in the end when you finish, grinning.

"How's Tommy?"

"Great. Getting engaged soon."

"Ooh! Did you help him pick a ring?"

"No. He went ring shoppin' with his girl." Simon hums.

"Wish you could show me."

"Get dinner with him sometime. I can arrange it. He comes over Friday nights."

"Can't I just grab dinner with him friday night then?"

"Next week?"

"Sure."

"I'll tell him."

"It's Christmas week." You hum. "Did you grab me anything?"

"No." He rolls his eyes. "Dinner wasn' enough?"

You pretend to think, grinning at him when he raises a brow.

"I'm kidding."

"Sure hope you are."

You wake up to a surprise on Christmas anyway, eyes glimmering when Simon serves you breakfast with a gift, kicking your legs as you gush to him about how he didn't need to. You give him a squeeze on his bicep as you ask him if you can unwrap it, pulling at the little ribbon and paper, grinning when you spot the headphones you've written to him about, bottom lip quivering as tears threaten to spill, and Simon rushes to brush them from your cheek, calling you a crybaby while he's at it.

"I should give something back to you."

"Yer back, hm? That's m' gift."

"But I like being with you too." You mumble, hand finding his as your thumb brushes his. "D'you want anything? Anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Simon stares down at your lips, humming as he raises a brow.

"Truly?"

"Use my body or whatever. I trust you." Your voice quiets the more you speak. "I'm all yours."

"Tell me to stop whenever." Simon's thumb finds your bottom lip, brushing it as he presses his lips to yours — hungry, decades of holding back overflowing and spilling into you, hands gripping the counter til his knuckles turn white, tongue shoved down your throat and a hum in his as you pant once he pulls off of you, staring as your eyes haze over and your chest rises and falls, lips parted as you blink to come back to him, bottom lip glossy from his saliva as he brushes it once more. "y'still with me, angel?"

"Mhm." You hum. "You sure you didn't go around kissing others while I was gone?"

"On my life."

"Surprising." You reach up to cup his face, thumb brushing his bottom lip as you hum. "Only ever kissed me, hm? Only wanna kiss me?"

"Bloody hell, what did going to uni teach ya?"

You laugh, humming as you squeeze his face. "How to flirt, apparently. 's it working?"

"No."

The red of his ears betray him.

You're everything except the title, Simon finds. You barely bother hiding the fact that he's allowed to do whatever with you, lounging on his couch and sticking by him at every moment, barely bothering to hide your boredom with the TV and working your knuckles into his back instead. He doesn't need to look to know you've got a shit-eating grin on your face when he groans as you work out a knot in his back.

"Yer real tight, Si."

"Yer pickin' up my accent."

"Maybe it's cuz I love you." You dig your elbow into the muscle, earning a groan from his lips.

"At this point yer just messin' with me."

"Maybe." You hum, exhaling when the knot's released itself, and you collapse on his back, grumbling.

"Get off 'me."

"Don't call me heavy, big guy." You sigh, peeling yourself off of him anyway, falling back to the other arm of the couch.

"You got knots?"

"Don't think so. Sure you're not gonna get hard all pressed up on my ass, Si?"

"Said you were free use f'r the week."

"Didn't think you'd jump to fuck me like that." You settle on your stomach anyway, letting Simon run his hands along your back, oil warm on his hands as you settle with watching whatever's on the telly (it's a football game. you're not the biggest fan, but better than thinking about the fact that you're practically moaning and squirming under Simon. You can't run from the consequences of your actions forever).

Simon fights every bone in his body to not spill over and take things too far, jaw clenched as he brushes the knot from your shoulder, pushing his thumb into it as you whimper. He hears you bite your tongue, and fight back a moan, and it almost comforts him to know that you're not too far off either. Though, he doesn't mention anything when you swat at him to stop, rolling over to lay on your back, staring up at him through your lashes, humming as he stares down at you.

"Minx."

"Freak." You laugh, chest shaking as you grin, eyes crinkling as he presses his hands on your waist, thumb pressing down to your ribs, humming quietly.

"If I were a cut of meat—"

"What fuckin' nonsense are you askin' now?"

"Entertain me, won't you?"

"I wouldn't cut you up."

"You'd eat me raw?!"

"'m no cannibal, angel."

"Just say you won't fuck me."

You're pushing buttons, Simon finds. You're testing to see how much it'll take for him to crumble and snap in your hands. Your hand rubs at his bicep in the mornings when you pass him, cheek squished with his as you point while windowshopping, fingers laced with his as though you were really on a date, and Simon finds that it's hard to fight the red that ruins the pale of his skin, crackling between the cracks of his skin from the winter cold, forced to play it off as the fact that it is cold out. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze back when you ask him to enter a store, and he tugs you back when you're wandering off course.

"Did yer cough start this year?"

"Not yet." You hum. "Worried I'm gonna get you sick?"

"No. Worried you don't like the flavors where you are."

"You remember." You mumble, staring as he hands you the stick from the grocery bag.

"Hard to forget."

"Not when it's only mentioned in passing."

You take the stick anyway, unwrapping one and pressing it to your lips, sucking on it as you squeeze at his arm, puffer coat zipped all the way up as you head back to his place.

Simon doesn't snap the entire time that you're back for the week.

He knows you're trying to get him too, but he's probably held back more than you have over the years, so not much really moves him to do anything anymore. You can try all you want, but truly, you can't do all that much.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Simon raises a brow from the island, blinking at you as you stare back at him.

"Not in the sex way. Just. Like when we were kids."

"You finally gonna tell me what all that staring you did as a kid meant?"

"Maybe." You place the dishes into the dishwasher, blinking slowly as you turn around to stare at Simon. "But I don't think you'd believe me."

"I'd argue against that. Can't tell me something insane."

"Oh, I'm sure." You mumble. "I'm sure you'd believe some made up war story from a world in the past."

"Is that what it was?"

"I don't know." You blink slowly, taking off the gloves and letting them dry as Simon stares. stares. stares.

Past your eyes and through your soul, like you're just a piece on display. Like he knows something you don't. He doesn't. Simon knows better than anyone that despite every single cell of his body crying for him to pour himself to devote to you, you would never accept it. You wouldn't. You wouldn't let him "throw his future away" all for the sake of you. Something stops you from letting him devote himself to him, and something stops you from just accepting that maybe Simon wants it and it isn't a side effect of being friends for so long.

There's a constant need to take care of him better than he takes care of you.

Simon finds it in the way you hand him a mug of water before bed, throwing the blanket over the two of you, flashlight resting between the two of you as you blink at him.

"You gon' tell me?"

"No." You hum. "But I'll tell you another secret if you tell me one. You first, though."

Simon doesn't keep secrets from you other than the fact that he loves you.

"I don' have any."

"None at all?"

"I tell you everything."

You blink at him from under the covers, tilting your head.

"Everything?"

Almost.

"Thinkin' 'bout signing up SAS." He whispers, voice cracking as he watches the grief crack past your eyes and your face drop. You don't mention anything, telling him it's fine as you collect yourself, swallowing everything back and smiling again.

"Yeah?"

"Thinkin' bout it."

"You gonna go? Really?" You whisper — scared. Simon knows you enough to be able to sense when you're scared. It's rare you even display such an honest emotion to him.

"Why don't you want me to?"

"No, it's just." You shake your head. "'m being paranoid. I'm just upset that I might not get to see you again."

"I'll see you between missions."

"I'm out of the country, Si." You mumble. "I can't visit all the time."

"I know." He mumbles. "but I've got to do sumthin 'n if not this, then I don' know what."

You rest your head against his chest, voice quiet as he runs his hand through your hair, pressing down to get you to relax for him.

"'m thinking about settling down permanently there."

Ah.

Simon seems to understand why you'd be so panicked at his enlistment. Truly, he wouldn't get to see you again, maybe. He'd be busy and if you start work, then you wouldn't get to see him at all. You can't write back to him if he's moving around, and his phone would most likely be off-limits in the service. Too little to do. Too little to hold on to. Maybe that is what you have feared.

"I'll tell you one more secret, then, Si." You mumble, hands finding his chest as you close your eyes.

"'s it, angel?"

"Tommy's gonna get married to her and then they're gonna have a boy." You close your eyes, and Simon feels you furrow your brows against his chest. "He's gonna be named Joseph. Joseph Riley. Sweet boy. Lovely, even."

"Why are you telling me this."

"Just." You whisper. "Just remember that."

You don't respond, going quiet for the rest of the trip, only giving him a hug at the airport and waving goodbye. You leave him your new address, smiling at him.

Simon doesn't know if he likes the silence he's left with when you're gone from his flat.

Yet, he's gone anyway, sending you letters that you can never quite send back, always too close or too far. He mails small things that remind him of you — tucks a photo of you into his helmet, stares up at the stars when it's night with a smoke between his fingers (that you'd scold him for) while the rest of the team joins him. He climbs up ranks — never stops writing to you. During the few times he has off, he returns to the empty flat and wonders how you're doing. You don't write back to him.

He wonders if you get his letters at all.

Yet, he can't stop to think. He can't stop. He just.

He becomes a Lieutenant.

When he's asked if he'd like someone to be at the ceremony, he briefly wonders if you'd fly over for him.

He doesn't ask you.

His feelings aren't yours to deal with.

Tommy and his mother help him pin it, but he'd wish that the hands promoting him to a higher position was you. It's to prove to you. It's to prove to you that he's fine and alive. Maybe it holds the same sentiment as when he writes to you. He's still alive, angel. He's still in one piece, even if you can't write back to him. He wonders if you still live there. Are his letters meeting a stone wall? Is it a brick wall that stands between the two of you? He'd break it down, but he doesn't want to risk the chances of you getting hurt in the crumble.

He returns home for Christmas one year, wondering if you'd be home. Tommy mentions sending you a wedding invite through Simon, and he stares. Really. Just stares at the wedding invitation. He doubts you'd answer. You feel like a ghost of his past. It's almost as if you had known that he'd never see you again when you had spent a winter with him. Like you knew. Like you wish he knew. Like when you pulled him under the blankets with a flashlight, you had known, maybe, that he'd be gone and you'd be gone.

When he sends the letter to the address you gave him, he almost worries that Tommy won't get a response back. (He slips an additional letter asking you if you'd like to be his plus one, but he doesn't have much faith that you'll respond to that one.)

Then, he's off and back to the military.

You meet him at Tommy's wedding.

You find him in the crowd, eyes lighting up as you sit next to him in the crowd, chattering excitedly about how you finally get to see him again. He listens to you talk. You've changed — as one does, and he has as well. Yet, he doesn't mind the change this time. You seem the same as before, sparkling eyes, only a little more mature. You look less like a kid and more like an adult now. You look pretty as you ever are.

"Missed you so much." You mumble. "So so much. Love reading your letters. Please never stop writing to me."

"You read em but won't send responses to my flat?"

"You didn't sell it?"

Simon shakes his head.

"Then I will. I'll write back to your flat." You mumble. "I just worry that your mailbox will overflow."

"Tommy takes care of it."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Alright." You grin. "You got a phone when you're off duty?"

He shakes his head.

"We'll stick to letters, then."

You sit with Simon at dinner. The wedding is nice. You're nice. Simon missed you, and he almost wants to ask if you've got a booking for somewhere because apparently you had tugged along with you a luggage when you first arrived and left it at the front for safekeeping. Maybe you'll ask him. It wouldn't be strange if you did. He has a day off, but you're more than welcome to stay as long as you want in his flat. He'll get you a copy of his key, even.

Maybe you'll give him a copy of yours next. He'd like to visit sometime.

"Si." You whisper, nudging him gently with the tip of your heel.

"Hm?"

"You got space in your flat?"

"I'll give y' a copy of the key. I gotta get back in the mornin'"

"You only took a day off?"

"'s just a weddin', no?"

"It's Tommy's wedding."

"Still a weddin', angel."

"Oh, should I be worried that you'll only take a day off for our wedding?" You squeeze his arm as you wave at Tommy and his bride.

Simon blinks at you.

"Y' did not just say that."

"Hm?" You tilt your head at him. "D'ya stop lovin' me over our break?"

"Who said I ever loved y'a?"

"The voices." You let go of his arm, going back to the food.

Simon takes you home after you get plastered at Tommy's wedding. He's never seen you drink so much, but to be fair, you didn't drink all that much last time you were at his flat. You seem like nothing to him as he carries you, letting you hang off of his shoulder as he brings you up the stairs, raising a brow at you when you beeline for his bathroom and throw up over the toilet.

"Regret drinkin' yet?"

"No." You rasp. "Fuck, no. Can't get alcohol this good where I'm stuck."

"Thought you loved it there."

"I only love being next to you." You start again, Simon sitting by your side as he holds your hair up. "Fuckin' hell."

"Yer slurrin' your speech, angel."

"Speakin' like you." You huff, crying. "I missed you, Si. Really did."

"Missed y' too."

You rest your palm against your forehead, eyes closed as you whimper. "'s lonely without you."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." You mumble. "Thought I could take it again."

"Again?"

"Again." You whisper. "And again. Si, I'm not made for casual I'm made for soul crushing devotion. God, I need to move on already. Why's it so hard to move on?"

"F'rm who?"

You turn to him, eyes glossy and red as you let out a laugh— pathetic. Almost as though you were laughing at yourself.

"'m not gonna come clean about that, Si."

"Never?"

"Maybe when you get married." You bend over the toilet again, closing your eyes.

"Though' it was we?"

You laugh. "If you survive."

"You always know somethin', angel."

"Hard not to." You throw your head back, furrowing your brows as you focus on breathing. "I'd like for it to stop, though."

"And how would that happen?"

"Can't. Cursed with the knowledge. Wish you could just fuck it out of me, honest."

You wake up to the worst hangover of your life — head cracking open down the middle as you sit up and rub at your neck, groaning as you stretch your back. Getting plastered at Tommy's wedding was probably not worth it.

"Hey." Simon hands you a bowl of soup, and you whimper as you press it to your lips, drinking.

"Thought you had to go."

"You looked like shite when y' went to bed."

You huff. "So you stayed back?"

"If not me then who?"

"I could've handled it."

"Wouldn' have wanted y'to." He hums. "Wiped your face down last night."

"Thank you, Si." You mumble. "You angel."

"All you."

"No. Not this time." You close your eyes. "Did I tell you anything?"

"Said you thought y'could take being alone again."

He leaves out the part where you had cried about him fucking you.

"Oh." You mumble. "'m just lonely."

Without him.

"Would you let me visit?"

"Shall I give you a spare as well?" You tilt your head. "Or do you want to do it classic style and break into my place?"

"A spare would be nice."

"Okie dokes." You hum. "You can go back in the afternoon. I feel much better."

"Won't let me stay longer?"

"I'd assume you can only stay for so long."

"Can ask for longer. The captain'll get it."

"You don't need to, Si."

"Thought y'missed me?"

"I do."

"Then let me stay. Allow yourself tha' much."

"Yeah?"

He nods.

You let him.

He sticks behind and wanders around with you, following after you with your bags as you point and shop, squeezing Simon gently, stopping halfway to feed him, your fingers nimble on your new device as you click.

"A cell phone?"

"Mhm." You rummage through your bag, frowning when there's a lack of something. "Forgot it."

"Forgot what?"

"I'll give it to you later."

You end up leaving it on Simon's bedside — something he returns to after deployment, brow raised as he reads through the album and the songs you've burned down for him. The letter you tuck behind the tracklist doesn't go unnoticed, Simon's first letter greeting him in the house from you as he looks through the rest of his mail. You've started writing back. Blue and black envelopes stick out from the whites of formal mail, and he flips through them, your writing familiar to his eyes as he sits back with a cup of water, reading through your responses to what he writes to you.

He feels childish writing to you sometimes. The pen feels a little too light for a hand that only knows the sword and not pen. Well, sword is wrong. Gun. His hands are much more used to the weight of a weapon than a quill.

It helps ground him sometimes.

His letters are most certainly darker than yours. You report about what you've been working on in school, sending him tickets to your graduation later in the year. You tell him that it doesn't really matter if he doesn't attend, but you wanted to give it to him anyway. The extra ticket is in case he actually found someone in the military to bring as a plus one.

It wounds Simon that you'd think he wouldn't stick with you.

He writes back to you, marking down your graduation and taking the day off in advance with his captain, nodding when asked if it's the same person he took the week off for last time.

"Must really love 'er, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Got a ring on it?"

"No, sir."

"Better move quick, Simon. Yer at the age where dating's all the storm."

Simon wonders if you'd agree to do long distance if he can't call you all that much.

You deserve someone who'll at least be there for you when you need it.

Yet, he lingers a little too long in front of the jewelry store, battered and bruised face in the reflection of the glass, staring himself in the eye as he wonders just why you had called him pretty back then. He's hardly pretty now. Mangled upper lip and scratches on his cheek — there is no trace of the "pretty" you had once called him. Though, his lashes stay the same, so he wonders if you'll still recognize if the only thing visible are his eyes.

He stares for a second too long at the jewelry store, stepping in and looking for something you'd like.

A ring.

"A nice dramatic gem for the engagement ring" you had told him once. Yet, despite it all, the sketches you had drawn for him had been a moderate gem. A ring that would remind you of how much he loves you — it had been a simple request. Even without the title of it all. You did not need to know what you were and what you weren't. If you had the certainty that one day the two of you would end up together anyway, then why waste the effort and consider or think over other people?

Simon understands you a little more now.

"Custom. If y'do 'em."

He pulls out the sketches you made as a child. Messy and childish ones — ones where it's a moonstone or pearly, never a diamond, and ones where Simon's handwriting as a child are visible to leave ideas for his own. You did not know. He did not either. But there's something quite assuring in just knowing. Simon knows you love him. It's quite a simple thing, really. You love him in the letters you write back, painful detail down to the point and making sure not to miss a thing. You love him in the trips where you're back, refusing to book a hotel and squeezing into his flat with him, limbs tangled in an intimacy that you've both grown comfortable in.

Simon loves you too. He loves you in the simplicity of having grown up with you — in the hair held up as you throw up, and in staying back when you won't let him but you need him. He loves you quietly the same way you love him. It's quite simple, really. It doesn't matter if you won't marry him or that you deserve someone better than Simon. All that really matters is that you want him, and he wants you too. There isn't too much other thinking he should do. You've always been more simple like that.

He writes you a letter back, asking if you want any particular flowers (not that he'll get the chance to read what you want).

He'll know what to get you when the time comes.

There's a sense of stability that Simon's learned to realize now that he's older or whatever. Settling down with you and retiring from the military won't kill him. He'll just open a nice little shop by where you live if he has to. You won't let him, but you trust him enough to let him make his own decisions now. It doesn't matter what you refuse to tell him. Time will tell him, and then eventually, you'll be honest. He just has to have faith or whatnot.

He brings the ring to your graduation, sitting in the back with your family, catching up with them. He wears a mask to hide the scars on his face and whatnot, but nothing outside of it. There's a sense of age that's crept up with him, and something weighs on his shoulders, but you'll work it out of him like you always have. Seeing you in your robes and throwing your hat is more than enough to let him forget for a moment.

There's a long life of him ahead on the battlefield if he decides upon it. He'd like something to go home to or meet up with halfway.

Preferably you.

He tucks the bouquet under his arm with the box in his pocket, meeting you halfway as you spot him in the crowd of people immediately, his name yelled and your friends abandoned for him, launching yourself into his arms as he catches you with an arm, humming as you squeeze his biceps, eyes lit up as you ramble to him. He watches you, eyes gentle and warm as his mind reminds him that yes, this is what bliss is to him. Simple, easy, bliss.

"Got you flowers."

"Yeah?" You tilt your head, grinning as he presents them to you. "Can we get dinner at mine later? I'd go to the grad party but I missed you a whole lot and you probably have a hotel so—"

"You'll host me?"

"I live alone."

"Tha's unsafe, angel."

"So?"

"You wan' me to pick?"

"Nah. Takeout at my place, but I'll get to say I have dinner plans."

"And your parents?"

"They'll understand." You glance at the flowers. "You tryna tell me something with the single rose amongst all those yellows? Ooh, white carnations..."

"Maybe I am."

"You've gotten bold, Si." You laugh, squeezing his forearm as your parents spot you. "I'll send you my address. Love you lots, kay? See you in a bit."

Simon bends down to press his lips to your forehead, humming as he sends you off with a pat.

You seem to know too.

He enters with the spare key you keep buried in the depths of the crevice of a window, setting his luggage down as he reads your texts about where to stay and put his stuff. You live comfortably. He understands why you wouldn't want to move. His flat is significantly less impressive than this, yet you stayed with him every time. Considering it all, you probably could've just bought out a flat next to him if you really wanted to.

Maybe there is love in the way you simply choose to exist the way you do.

You return home a little later, makeup smudged and messy as you tell him you ended up in the backseat with some friends, but you managed to get home in one piece. You abandon the robe and hat, shaking out the bobby pins as you recite the local pizza place to Simon, pulling out a drawer with your makeup remover as you do.

It feels oddly domestic.

"Wh'd'ya want?"

"Just tell em my name. They know my order. Oh, tell 'em to make it a combo this time. You can ask them what options they have. I like the wings, but their salad isn't bad."

"This what you've been livin' off of in uni?"

"Maybe." You pause to yawn, shaking the bottle and pulling out cotton pads to get everything off. "They're good though, I promise."

"Trust you." He dials.

You're not wrong.

Simon sits with you on your couch as you tangle limbs with him, pulling the pizza out and letting the cheese stretch as you do, your TV turned on as you let him watch the game.

"Si, what do you think about me moving back?"

"Why? Y'live comfortable here."

"It's lonely without you."

"Yeah?" He reaches down to rub circles on your knee with his free hand. "Y'er so much better off here, though."

"We can just get a new place in Manchester." You lick your fingers, reaching for another slice. "I'll buy it. It can be a dowry or whatever."

"I couldn't let y' do that, angel."

"Why not?" You raise a brow. "I'm willing to."

"Then let me take care of utilities."

"If y'want."

Simon slides his hand up your leg, squeezing your thigh gently as you turn to look at him, pizza crumbs on the corner of your lips as he fishes something out from his pocket.

"If yer willin'—"

"Oh, hell, yes. Please." You grin.

"At least le' me finish."

"Sorry, Si." You hum. "Shall we reroll and rerecord?"

"'s fine." He hums, opening the box as he squeezes your thigh, humming quietly as he presents the ring to you.

"I can't promise bein' in bed with you every night, but I can promise an eternity of the time I have that is my own with you." He hums. "I'll come back to you in one form or another. I'll leave if y'want it. Anything you ask for, I will give. Marry me, angel?"

"Will I be upgraded to luvie if I do?"

"Anythin' y' want. Missus Riley, even."

"It's a yes, Si. Always a yes. Thought it was obvious when I said our wedding at Tommy's." You hum. "Let me wash my hands, though. Got crumbs and oil all over 'em."

"I'll wipe the ring down later. Gimme y'er hand."

You lick your ring finger, giving Simon your hand as he presses a kiss to the finger, delicate, gentle, soft before sliding the ring on.

"Looks real familiar." You observe the design, pausing when it hits you. "Did you keep the drawing I made back in Year 7??"

"Surprised y'noticed."

Your bottom lip quivers, tears welling in your eyes as Simon reaches to hold your head to his chest, humming as you wipe at the tears, chest shaking from laughter.

"Yer so stupid." You laugh, folding the last of your pizza and finishing it in a bite. "y'er such a bloke."

Simon pokes at your cheek, your hand flying up to swat at his as he hums.

"Yer bloke."

"Guh."

Two months later, Simon returns to help you move.

You sell the majority of your furniture and tell him you've got your eye on a nice little place a little more outskirt, but he tells you to pick where you'll be comfortable. He truly only needs to come home to you and it'll be enough. You kick at him and tell him at least to tell you whether it should be a flat or a townhouse or whatever. He settles with you as the two of you look into an agent, and eventually you find a place you both like to some extent.

You move back home to Simon, and you blink as you settle into the new place, keys in your hand as you squeeze Simon. You're back on the couch, legs kicked over his as your thumbs brush at his cheeks, staring.

“Heard Tommy’s baby is coming soon”

“Mhm.”

“Did they pick a name?”

Simon raises a brow at you when you tilt your head and blink.

“Joseph, luvie. Joseph.”

You laugh, cheeks warm as Simon hums.

"Yer still pretty as ever, Si."

"Even with the mangled lip?"

"Adds flavor." You grin. "Funny that we haven't gone on a proper date yet."

"Y'wanna go on a date? Bring your documents. We're off to get the civil ceremony."

"Wow, really can't wait f'r me to become Missus Riley, huh?"

"Waited long enough. 'm sure you've waited longer." He mumbles. "A whole life, even."

"Whole two." You hold up your fingers. "I'll tell you all about it after you finally break me in."

"Bloody hell."

You laugh, cheeks warm and eyes closed as Simon stares.

This, he understood.

You, he understands.

In this life, and whatever other he had.

You, he knows.

"Thinking?" You quirk your head to the side

"Thinkin' bout you, luvie."

"Yeah? You'll be doing that a lot more now, Si."

"Always have been."

[crsssies]

Keegan is good at pretending. He's always been good at it. You had locked eyes with him once while he was in the library studying back in high school, and he had gone back to his persona as you sat across from him. You refused to acknowledge the change, telling him to just go back to hitting the books and stay quiet (with affection). He's not fake, though. He just discerns his personality from when he's out in public and when he's down in private. You learn to understand when he's parading around. He's always been the type to take care of you.

I have no idea where this was... taken out of but... yeah

calling it love, but this isn't falling

word count: 1.6k

warnings: non explicit smut (one paragraph)

summary: huh. not kid anymore

If you had to describe Keegan, it'd be something along the lines of "an old man's soul stuck in a young man's body" or something adjacent.

You had watched him in high school — three years above you, captain of the basketball team, president of the social services club, set to join the military after graduation, and you had hung out in his friend group by pure chance. A senior had adopted you as a freshman, and you had been in the group, watching Keegan since.

Pretty blues. He has striking blue eyes — cold when out playing on the court, yet somehow warm when he was talking to his friends. He always struck you as that kind of person. He'd suit the battlefield. You know? But the truth was, you read stories about the battlefield and its repercussions, and you were certain that by the time that Keegan was in the military, he'd be gone and dead and maybe blown up in the Middle East all for the sake of some oil. The people who die in war are expendable at the hands of the government, so when the entire group had waved goodbye to him at his enlistment, you had tucked him a small four-leaf clover into his palm, telling him to tuck it into his hat so that at the very least, he would not be shot through the skull.

"You sure care about me, kid."

"I'm your friend. It's a given. Good luck, Keegan."

"I'll be back. Promise."

You're graduating your bachelor's degree when Keegan comes back from the war. Alive, yes. Shell-shocked, yes. It's hard to describe PTSD because it's not just the clattering and loud noises. It's also the silence that comes with it, and when you spot Keegan with all of your high school friends at your graduation, your heart stops in your chest because that's not Keegan. That's the shell of him. It's hard to even begin to describe just who he is now.

"Congrats on the degree, kid." He hums, handing back the same four-leaf clover, and you start crying.

You tell everyone it's just because you're happy to be done and to be able to see Keegan, but it's far from the truth.

Keegan ends up at the same university that you go to grad school for.

You spot him at orientation, and you stick around him, watching as you point him through everything that he needs to know, and you blink and blink and blink and blink at him until you're blinking out tears and you feel like a child all over again. You wonder if you should just tell Keegan that maybe being around him is bad for your health and eyes, but you decide against it.

You wipe at your tears and tell him you're just being sentimental. Now you're telling him the ropes to handling certain situations when he was the one doing that back in high school.

"Nothing to get sentimental over." Keegan hums, offering you a pack of napkins from his pocket as you sniffle.

"Fuck you."

"Apartment's open."

You punch him in the arm for it.

Keegan is good at staying quiet. He's always been. Despite the unofficial acknowledgment that he was the leader in the high school friend group, he had always been quiet. Talked with his eyes. You stare into his eyes when he raises a brow at the rest of the group, and you learn to read him just based off of an expression. An older brother to anyone and everyone. Yet, despite it all, you never quite learned too much about him. A family crowded in much secrecy. The stability in his personality was rare in a broken house, so you always assumed that he had just been part of a white picket fence home.

He's always been the type to take care of you.

You find it strange that you're teaching him what drinks to touch and not, and you hand him a can of beer, grabbing a shot for yourself, and shotgunning a soda as a chaser. You wipe your mouth of the sugar as Keegan stares, bursting into laughter when your raise a brow at him and offer the rest of the drink to him.

"That's unsanitary, kid."

"Can't die from a little metal poisoning." You lick your lips, tossing the rest of it as you hum. "Most people pregame at home, but since we met up, I don't expect you to have done anything."

"Always full of surprises, eh?"

"Have to be. What's a little fun?" You hum. "We can bus home or call a cab later. See you in a bit!"

You rush into the crowd to disappear.

It's a little unfair, though. You don't ever think Keegan's thought too much about you while you had always looked up to him, so it feels a little strange for you to be on top of him, sunk down on him, legs flush against his hips as your fingers wrap around his neck, your brows furrowed as you breathe in and out. He's pretty like this, blues hazy as you stare down at him, room suddenly too small, breath suddenly too short. It's unfair that you get to see him like this, you think. You can name at least five other people who used to be in your friend group who had a crush on him. Unfair, unfair, unfair. Your lips press to his collar, lipgloss smearing on the white of his skin, and you wonder if he's going to forget all of this in the morning.

You don't know if you want him to.

You wake to Keegan in bed with an arm around your waist, face nestled into your chest.

Keegan wakes to an empty bed and pills on his nightstand.

You pretend it didn't happen. As long as Keegan doesn't bring it up, you don't either. Yet, you stick around for breakfast, handing him his usual order and morning coffee, a cup of tea specifically gifted to him at orientation in a mug that you had given him for secret Santa years ago in your hand, hum on your lips as Keegan has breakfast.

"What are we?"

"I don't know." You shrug. "Y'wanna give it a label?"

"Not really."

"There we go."

You leave after breakfast, turning down Keegan's offer to drive you back.

You're set to graduate earlier than Keegan — understandably so, and so when you're graduating again, Keegan's got flowers in his arms for you and a smile on his face as you beam at him. You don't invite the high school friend group since you've lost contact, and Keegan's all you have left from that period of life. He offers you a dinner on him, turned down when you steal the flowers and press your lips to his, pulled down by the collar as he sinks into the kiss, humming as you let go with a dramatic throw of your head, cheeky and grinning when he looks down at you.

Keegan's learned that you don't do labels out of a fear and not because you genuinely don't do labels.

Maybe you don't quite understand the point either.

You wonder what you're to do now that you're done, applying to jobs and doctorates, crashing on Keegan's couch and abandoning your apartment, moved into the original storage room that he had.

You care yet you don't.

He knows yet he doesn't.

You pay him your half of rent, and you manage to pull some strings to stay in the same university, starting at the beginning of the new year rather than the schoolyear, and when you show Keegan your offer, he's got you giggling and laughing as he pins you down on the couch.

You don't know if you crave the domesticity of your relationship or something else.

The bed in the storage room is eventually sold to some student as you start sleeping on Keegan's, his bare skin on yours more times than your heart beats in a day. Something about being vulnerable with his skin out, trusting you to never hurt or harm him in any way. You think there's something strange about making it so far with him. A piece of your past that just stuck around and never left.

Even when he graduates and you've got flowers for him, you tell him you'll just take over his lease if he decides to move out.

Instead, he lifts you into his arms, pressing his forehead to yours, asking if you really ever thought about spending the rest of your life with him.

Maybe it's just some semblance of romance to you. You don't know.

You tell him you wouldn't mind.

It's a little untraditional to do a quick courthouse wedding with a random witness pulled off the street and with rings the two of you had found at the closest thrift shop, but it's also just how it's always been.

Post-marriage ice cream. Insane move on his end, and you think it's crazy, but you think you grow used to it. You don't even ask how Keegan knew you wanted ice cream.

"You marryin' me because you wanna take care of me?"

"Always have been, honey."

Huh. Not kid anymore.

"Not kid?"

"Not with that ring on your finger."

"Maybe this was your masterplan all along."

"Maybe." He pauses to laugh. "Or maybe I just love you."

"Maybe." You pause to stare out the window. "Not changing my last name, though. What the hell is Russ?"

"The etymology has something to do with redheads or fox-likes."

"Huh." You pause to think. "That might've sold me."

"Yeah?"

"After the degree, though."

"Of course."

[crsssies]

You'd say, "Maybe we make our own destiny", But I know that we're destined to break

there is a form of burning that exists only in the movies.

The kind where your lungs char and shrivel up crying for air but you can't breathe because you forget to. You forget. You forget everything.

Maybe you never really loved me. Did you love me? I loved you so much I forgot how to breathe.

I will look for you in other people, sobbing into my hand son a rough night, crying and sniffling into my pillow in order to remember how you had calmed me.

You deserved the world that I was willing to give, yet you decided that it would not be me to give it to you.

the burning my lungs does not know how to stop. How will i ever stop loving you?

If it stops, will I remember how to breathe?

Maybe, somewhere in the past when I had told you you'd get married into a picket fence life and I would have twelve cats, I was cursing myself.

Maybe all I yearned for was to find stability in you.

Maybe all I yearned for was your picket fence life.

maybe all I wanted was. maybe all I wanted was for you to teach me how to breathe instead, i am stuck coughing up smoke as I gasp for air

when I lay in a pile of ashes, will you remember me?

When my lungs burn up and disappear, will you regret leaving me alone?

But never. never will it be for you. When i shrivel up and die, it will be by my best friend's legs, tears stained into his skin, regret burning on his tongue as he knew that he could not have saved me.

He will not spew out disgust at you because I would have begged him to forgive you.

Instead, you will learn what it is like to shrivel up and burn, fire in your lungs matching mine as you can not control the fire.

and I will not watch, fire following me to the lake, and I will step in, stuck with that same burning in my lungs that I have grown used to all because of you.

[crsssies]

BUCKLE UP BITCHES I SCRAPPED SO MUCH SHIT FROM THIS FIC ITS UNREAL

"Wrap it up, white boy." You interject. "You get to ask her out when you aren't wearing your car out in score laps." "Score?" "Twenty." You turn around to stick your tongue out at him. "You also get to ask her out when you aren't getting your ass kicked or wearing down a car that lasts thirty laps in fifteen." "Jealous much?" / Leon cocks up an eyebrow. "Jealous much?" "Jealous that you get to drive my baby, maybe." / You look at him in disgust, turning around to go back to the screen.

i think they're referring to Hunnigan here but the / means that there was two diff versions of the scrapped post

The grin Leon gives you can only mean that he's going to be messing with you the whole day.

pre-first race at quali

Leon grimaces. Ten percent is still quite the cut. "Won't ask for money. I'll let you pick eventually." You hum. "For the next race, a dinner in Italy." "Oh. My ancestors are rolling and cheering right now." He smiles. "Just a meal? Deal." You shake his hand on the offer.

Original exchange between leon n reader

"First?" "See you at Nonna's." You click your tongue. "I'm spraying the champagne on you." You take off your headset and follow the rest of the team to the stands, and Leon hops out of the car, beelining for the team as he launches into your arms. "Jesus." "That's all you gotta say to me? Aren't you delighting that I took first place?"

Original convo over comms at end + leon's reaction to first (i felt it was a little underwhelming)

You stay back for a while for autographs, raising a brow when a fan presents marriage papers to you as a joke, shrugging as you ask him how much he makes in a year. Leon steps up behind you, taking the papers. "Not enough." "Oh, hey, star of the show." You raise a brow. "He didn't even answer." "Nonna wants you for dinner." "You told her already?" "Was texting during the interview." "You're awful." "Thanks. Learned it from the worst." He signs the back of the marriage papers instead, forcing the pen back into your hand as you raise a brow.

The marriage paper part except Leon was originally a jealous PRICK and petty

"So? How'd I do?" "Fishing for compliments, aren't ya?" You raise a brow. Your dinner arrives, and Leon raises a brow. "Come on."

no clue where this was but im assuming this was their first night at a chain restaurant

"Yes. Pit?" "Yes. Pit confirm." Leon slides in for a change of tires, and you know you should be fine, but that awful feeling in your stomach does NOT go away.

Leon pits before crashing his car the first time LMAO

"Come on. I'll drive." "You're driving? as opposed to me?" He raises a brow. "Yeah? What about it?" You raise a brow back. "Your emotions are still a mess. Don't you go reaching for Twitter first thing after a race. You wanna die?"

After his crash, reader originally offers to drive the two of them to helena's dinner (which they don't end up going to)

"Be my girlfriend." "Not with that attitude." You raise a brow. "Nuh uh." "WHAT DO YOU MEAN NUH-UH." Leon reaches for your face again as you push yourself from him, grimacing. "SHOWER FIRST." "I CAN'T. CAN'T YOU BE MORE EXCITED FOR ME NOW THAT I WON WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP?!"

They're a little more chaotic in the original version but I didn't want Leon to lose his like 'suave' character trait bc he just sounds like a loser in this version (affectionate) but still funny nontheless

boy it's not that complicated (you should stay in my good graces)

word count: 20.6k || F1 AU || full fic: Ao3 Link || banner by @chesue00

summary: Thank god you went to grab coffee first race of the season.

"That was my coffee."

You pause with the cup, blinking at the guy who's just decided to approach you.

Blue eyes... blonde (his roots are showing) hair, blue and white racing suit on his skin, and you tilt your head. It wasn't as if you were planning on drinking the coffee, you just wanted to move it out of the way so you could make another cup, but how it almost makes you wanna mess with him more. It's bad to mess with the drivers too much, though.

"And who might you be?"

"Leon? Leon S Kennedy. Newest driver of Stratcom."

You tap your chin. Right. The new driver scouted from Raccoon.

"Yeah, the neck says it all."

Leon raises a brow incredulously as you laugh, holding the coffee still as you laugh into your palm. Heavens, you're having fun. You grin at him, eyes squinted in amusement as you calm yourself through deep breaths, failing when you catch a glance of his face again, fanning your face, lost in your own world of amusement. When you catch a glance of your watch, you straighten up almost immediately, exhaling and catching your breath as you calm yourself.

You put Leon's coffee down with a nearly apologetic nod.

"I wasn't planning on drinking it."

"Who might you be?"

"One of the many men behind your team."

"You don't look very... man."

Your lips quirk up in amusement and you coo. "Oh, really?"

You hand him his coffee as yours finishes, boots clicking as you saunter down the hall. Leon stares at his cup and drinks it, sighing as the coffee takes effect slowly throughout the day, watching as the reserves drive back and the engineers figure out what to change. He should be out there, but it seems Stratcom operates slightly differently from Raccoon. Maybe that was what came with a bigger company. Yet, he hangs back anyway, watching as Hunnigan talks to... you. He feels like he should be surprised. Yet, he isn't that much, finding that it's alot more female-dominant in Stratcom than he was expecting.

"How's the car?"

Hunnigan spins around as you continue to look at the numbers, tapping your chin as you huff.

"The tires are thinning out too much after a lap."

"Should we change them?"

"The data from last seasons says yes."

"To the medium ones?"

You nod. "Were we using soft ones?"

"Not that I know of."

Leon wonders whose performance engineer you really are. You seem to be his from the way you're talking to Hunnigan, and he raises a brow as you point at a set of tires.

"Those?"

"I'm sure rookie can handle them." You hum. "Leon, drive."

Leon raises a brow, and you wink.

"Come on. Show everyone a lap."

Leon looks to Hunnigan for approval, sure that he wasn't exactly supposed to be here since the practices were for the car and not him. "Hunnigan?"

"If you're up for it."

Leon takes the helmet from the engineers, sighing as he sits into his car, checking the numbers and wheel, staring at the data presented to him as he feels the wheel. Between break and practice, Leon had to learn everything new with the Stratcom vehicles, and he finds himself surprised at how well-adjusted his hands are. Maybe the mold of his hands was for this exact purpose. He wouldn't know. All he had been doing in practice was grinding as hard as he could. Moving up in companies didn't mean that he would be able to match their old drivers.

"Everything feel alright?" You don't look at him, and he raises a brow.

"It's fine."

"I need good."

"Good."

You check the stats one last time, and let the car out of the garage. Hunnigan connects with Leon to check how his vehicle feels, and you watch the stats on the monitor as Leon finishes a lap, checking all the stats. It starts fine with the newer tires, and you glance at the sensors and let Hunnigan know for Leon to fix a sensor, watching to check how many laps he can take before the tires start wearing out. You update Hunnigan on information that she relays to Leon, and you watch as he speaks back to her. He rings in your headset as you're connected, and you read out information for him. Apparently, he's an ungrateful brat, though.

"God, you talk too much."

"Thanks, I'll talk less once you make it out of this race alive."

Leon makes it in for a fifth lap, and you're taken off the line, back to watching the sensor data as you tell Hunnigan to have Leon reset another sensor. You take the note down on the side with a sharpie to run a sensor check before he goes out on the field again the next practice. This one was yielding a bunch of issues that you were sure had been solved, and you grumble as you stare at the engine. The tenth lap yields the necessity of a pit stop, and you tell Hunnigan to jump back.

"Box, now."

"What's wrong?" Leon frowns at Hunnigan's command, pulling into the pit.

"Vibrations. The vehicle isn't steady." You call over it, making changes you deem necessary within the two seconds that everything is changed, and Leon speeds off again. You check to see if the danger has subsided, and you hum when it has. The next score laps are smooth, and when Hunnigan has Leon pull in to do a better check, you hop off your desk and get your hands on. Leon watches as you glance at the numbers and then adjust sensors, sending him out again for a final handful of laps with different tires to check how Leon's doing. You find that he does better with the medium-grip tires, but you still wonder if you could move up in terms of hardness to see how well he drives with them. You make one final pit stop with a full change to have his tires changed, and you watch as Leon struggles with control.

Hunnigan tells Leon to pull over, but Leon turns her down.

"Leon. You aren't controlling them well."

"I know what I'm doing." Leon huffs. "We didn't have the funds for this back in Raccoon. Let me race a little more at a lower speed."

You watch the numbers as he slows down, and you watch as he makes a dozen rounds before returning to regular speed, much more adjusted now.

"Is this alright?"

"It's good." Hunnigan reads from your hand motion, telling Leon to return to the pit.

"He's a fast learner."

"We wouldn't have picked him had he not." Hunnigan glances at the numbers as Leon pulls in, and you sigh.

"We'll start you with hard tires at the start to keep you away from a box for as long as possible." Hunnigan nods at you. "We'll try something else during fp2 to see if you adjust and respond well to it. Take a break. You did well."

You frown at the numbers recorded, and you have the engineers check on the sensors on the car. There isn't much else you can do, and a brief talk with the majority of the team confirms that there shouldn't be any other problems, but the car is taken out for one last drive to check that everything is in order, and the garage is closed for the short break in between. You don't get a break during that time, an informal meeting of engineers gathering together as you go over what has been adjusted and how it would affect performance. You enjoy it, truly, but you're also tired of talking to some of these old men so often.

Too bad summer break has just finished.

You spin the pen in hand as you continue staring at the infinite prints that the printer spat out at your request, and you groan.

"Everything good?"

"I don't have any of Leon's stats. How does he drive?" You flip through the binder.

"He drives... normal. If there even is a bar for that. We're not sure how he's going to react to the rest of the drivers, but so far his driving is normal from his history." Hunnigan hums. "His tires wear out often, but he's good at overtaking. He's horrible at car management, though."

"He's not going to like falling back."

"Right. It's also why you found that he did so many more pit stops."

"Well, awful as he is with management, at least it's not like Krauser." You mumble. "He drives a little too aggressively."

"But he yields results. You know that."

"Yeah." You huff. "Well, he won't be winning now that Ada's back on the track."

"No one wins against Ada."

"Yeah." You mumble. "Her defense is too good. She's too good at quali."

"She's just good at being fast." You hum. "Not that I'm complaining. I love seeing women on the track in those cars."

"Wrong team." Hunnigan rolls her eyes. "Who knows. You might be a spy."

"With a salary like this? In your dreams." You roll your eyes back. "Wesker couldn't pay me half as much as this. He doesn't even like me."

"He doesn't like anyone."

"Fair."

Fp2 runs around and you go back to adjusting the car, not too many things going wrong this time. The time slot truly messes with you, and you yawn as you press another cup of coffee to your lips. Hunnigan talks to the driver on comms as you read through the numbers, surprised at how long it can last when Leon isn't at the wheel.

"Jesus, Leon sucks at car management."

One of the engineers in the back holds back a laugh, and you grimace.

"That wasn't funny, John."

"I know." He snorts.

You learn to make peace with the fact that Leon's going to be making far more pit stops than necessary in the race.

Leon warms up in the morning before qualifying, stepping to the side as Hunnigan runs through the data with the rest of the team, watching as someone else drives his car around to run final check-ups. He listens as Hunnigan runs it down for him, his lip quirking upward as he grins.

"Hunnigan, you always look great without your glasses. Give me your number when we get back?"

Hunnigan rolls her eyes. "We're on duty."

"Wrap it up, white boy." You interject. "You get to ask her out when you aren't wearing your car out in three laps."

"Just admit it. You're jealous I don't flirt with you during quali."

"Leon Scott Kennedy. My job is to make sure you make it out of a race alive. If you really wanna do all of your publicity nonsense you should really go find Ada now that she's back."

"I missed her." Leon clicks his tongue.

"He didn't." Hunnigan sighs. "They're best friends in private."

"Hunnigan!"

You shrug, grin on your face as you tilt your head.

"Truly?"

"Everything they do is for publicity."

"I see." You grin. "Well, if you ever want to go the extra mile for publicity, be sure to blow her a kiss when she places on the podium today."

"You don't think I'll win?"

You smile. "God knows what weird upgrade Ada added to her own car now that she's back."

Leon finds you frustrating. He knows his main engineers are females. Hunnigan was incredible with how smooth she was in terms of operation, but despite his best chances, she wasn't the greatest at understanding what he meant by certain words. She's older than he is, if he thinks about it. He assumed that since Stratcom was bigger than Raccoon, maybe they'd have the more experienced at the engineering deck. Well, not his problem. As long as he could race better than he did in Raccoon.

His time is better despite his wheels being worn out. Arguably, he's placed somewhere up with Krauser now. He used to dream of that back in Raccoon.

"Good to go." You confirm.

Leon starts with his time as you take note of Hunnigan's screen, watching your own numbers as the sensors indicate everything. You don't need to talk to Leon all that much. It's mostly Hunnigan's job, but the good thing you'd argue is that Hunnigan isn't one for all that much talking either. You end up being the one to call some things when she's too focused on having him move forward. She doesn't quite reign Leon in. There's a lack of balance that you don't really want to bring up to the superiors. Leon's new. If you request someone who clicks with him better, it wouldn't be too great on either end. Besides, Hunnigan's the best to offer outside of Krauser's nearly invincible team.

You take a peek at Krauser's time so far, and you hum.

"Aim for first, but make sure to land in q3." Hunnigan reads the positioning.

"Got it."

There isn't much to say to Leon when he's in qualifying. He's plenty capable of setting good times. You sit on the side as he makes laps around, placing first out of the majority. If you were right, Ada should be in the slot once the next car moves out. You love her. It doesn't matter if she's in Wesker, she's iconic.

Well, considering the publicity, Leon might just speed up once Ada hits the track.

You watch as she enters the track, and you grin as Leon's speed grows quicker and quicker on the track.

"Is this because of Ada?"

You tap the screen for Hunnigan, and she nods.

"Leon you have a five-second gain. You have one final lap." Hunnigan checks his time.

"Make that six."

You nod. "Sensors are good."

Leon drifts in the corner turns, speeding up as fast as he can, and you hold your breath as he races past the finish line with the six seconds he promised. Time ends as he drives back, and you check the car. It's fine. A lot of systems are roughed up because Leon sucks at taking care of vehicles, but it's not awful. If he drives slower than this, he should be able to place on the podium if he tries hard enough. Well, granted he doesn't end up in more pit stops than necessary. That's always an awful loss of time.

"Leon." You call for him as he grumbles in the car. A short break in between before q3.

"What?"

"Stop trying to drift. I know Nascar makes it look beautiful and all, but without control, you're going to kill both the car and you. You're also losing speed when you do that."

"It's what I did in Raccoon."

"You're creating more drag when you drift."

He huffs.

"How do you not know that? Did Raccoon let you drift?"

"You didn't watch my old races?" He raises a brow. "I drive dangerously. I corner opponents."

"It's great, but only works if you manage to wear them down. From the stats Hunnigan got of you, you aren't causing enough losses in time for others. You can't chase at your own expense. Chase at theirs."

"Then adjust my car."

"Leon. This race is testing waters for you. Either you do what you do good, or you play safe."

Leon thinks about it.

"I'll do what I do good."

"Well, you better yield results tomorrow during the race."

Leon offers you a half-assed smile.

"I want you to back it up on the attitude if you don't place, white boy."

"Is that all I am to you? White boy?"

You shrug, turning on your heel. "Better get rested. Q3 starts soon."

Leon places fifth in the q3, and you raise a brow at him. Had he been the fastest, he would have been able to do better, but he didn't. You don't exchange words with him when he returns, brow raised in amusement as he clicks his tongue at you. He's going to say something with that smartass tongue of his.

"Engineers."

"Can't say shit when we make your car, Leon." You hum. "Rest up for the race tomorrow. Better get a move on."

"Aren't you supposed to work with me?"

"Not with that attitude, no."

"You ready to fix my car tomorrow?"

"As long as you get on that podium, pretty boy."

Your lips quirk up as you watch a furious red paint Leon's face.

Not used to being flirted with back, huh?

When the big day rolls around, Leon finds himself next to you again, staring at the car as you make a final adjustment and check the numbers on the screen. Hunnigan helps out, and Leon watches as his car is rebuilt and he's told to drive out into formation. Seven minutes. Seven minutes is all he can— he sounds like Wesker right now. At least he placed fifth. It's not too hard to race past others. If he plays his cards right, he should be... safe. At the very least, he should be able to force others into a corner as promised.

The first handful of laps are fine. He manages to race past to third place, steering steady, car completely overtaking them as he gains on second. That's all that matters. His car is doing fine, and Hunnigan hasn't told him anything. Then, by the time he's steadied his spot, it's become apparent that the car has an issue. He speaks up, radio button pressed on his end.

"Hunnigan, car feels unsteady."

"Box—"

You put a hand on her to stop her.

"Fall back." You pull at her mic, eyes still on your screen. "Car's overheating. Don't box yet."

Hunnigan nods. You don't mean to overtake her, but it takes too long to get her to tell Leon, and you watch as Leon falls back in the race, still keeping his position in front of the majority of the cars. He's already placing better than he has before. He's aiming for first, but you're aiming to get him out of it alive. You don't want another incident of the car spinning and crashing. The halo was a saving grace, but it wasn't something you wished to rely on. It doesn't matter if he wanted his car customized so that he could overtake and drive even more aggressively. You understand he's aiming to one-up Ada since she should be rusty, but you're not letting him hurt himself.

"You sure?" Hunnigan raises a brow.

"You make the call, but the vitals are all steady. The engine's overheating right now. The wheels can hold out for at least two more laps. They don't have any required pit stops this race."

"Got it."

"Twelve more seconds, and then get back to us to see if it's better." You nod at Hunnigan, back to watching the numbers. Leon falls back behind the other cars, and you keep an eye on the car as the engine cools down.

"Still unsteady."

"Box." Hunnigan orders.

"Pit crew on standby." You speak into the mic, watching as the car moves through the circuit to get to the pit. "Five seconds!"

Pit crew stations themselves as Leon drives in, and Hunnigan nods at the numbers. You keep an eye on the screen as he speeds back off. The numbers have returned to normal, and depending on the feel that Leon gets out on the road, you can rest easy for another handful of laps.

"It's good now."

"Got it."

You sit back in the seat watching as Leon races past the people who had left him behind, shooting past two cars as he returns to the top seven. You wonder if he can race past another four, but it seems that he's alright, forcing himself past another car as Hunnigan tells him his DRS is active. He flies past another one on the curve as he huffs.

"Tell that performance engineer that I'm gonna get my stupid car fixed for the next race."

"Leon, focus on the road." Hunnigan sighs.

It doesn't take long for Leon to be back for another pit stop, this time on your command, his tires worn out too fast, changed into something slightly harder as he races off again. You wonder if that's enough. It should be. You watch for the rest of his car as he enters the final leg of the race, third place returned to him after the pit, his driving growing increasingly more aggressive. You're glad you gave him harder tires, and you watch as he goes neck to neck with Krauser makes you amused. Krauser doesn't respond well, nearly forcing him into the wall as Leon falls back. You're glad Hunnigan makes the call, and Leon takes third place behind Krauser for the safety of himself.

You watch as Leon finishes up on his side of the race, top three tucked under his belt as he slows and parks in third, hopping off his car with a wink and kiss blown at Ada. You raise a brow at the broadcast, headphones retired to your neck as his car is checked. You didn't make any changes that were illegal, the other engineers made sure of it, so you watch as Leon races over to the team. You step to the back of the team, Hunnigan smiling at you, and you hum. Another win for the team.

You adore Ada, but truly, she was the only good thing in Wesker's company. Luis was only there to be the face card when Ada wasn't present, and though he placed top ten always, he never placed on the podium. You're impressed that Leon managed to place, and over the cheering, you hear Leon yell a "thank you" followed by "Ingrid" and you hold a laugh back.

"First name, eh?"

"Leon." She sighs.

Oh, right. You should get to those edits as soon as the podium high wears off from Leon. You still need to know what he needs adjusted. It wouldn't be surprising if he wanted something that his old car has that he's used. You almost laugh at yourself for how work-brained you are despite placing on the podium, but after growing used to Krauser on the podium, you're kind of unsurprised. You have faith in the team. Besides, with Ada back, it wasn't like Krauser could really place... first anymore.

The team's win is celebrated how you expect it to be, champagne popped and alcohol thoroughly passed around, and you stay for a little to thank the pit crew and engineers, settling for the corner of the room when you finish, water in hand, telling people that it was tequila. The water is cool against your lips, and you watch as the rest of the team parties. You're sure you'll be getting random confessions from random people if the night progresses any further. You really only talk to Leon, though. It doesn’t matter.

When debriefing finishes, you press your mug to your lips, blinking at the numbers as you watch Hunnigan speak. There's going to be a change in... race engineer? It's surprising to you, and you do a double take as it's announced that Krauser has left the team. He paid the fine? Who even— oh. You blink at the announcement that he's been moved to Plaga. Ah. One of their investors, who was it again, the Salazars? They must have paid the fine. Krauser is always looking for more money anyway.

"Which brings us to the point. We are moving up Helena Harper, our best F2 racer this past season. Hunnigan will become her race engineer, and we are moving up our performance engineer for Leon to race engineer."

"What." You blink at the screen, blood running cold. You did not sign up for this promotion. Highly unprofessional of them, but it does explain why you had been called into a meeting last morning with everyone else. Hunnigan had hinted at it, and you had said you'd be okay with taking the position if it came to it. You didn't realize it meant that you would be promoted on the spot. God, now you have to work with a whole new performance engineer that isn't yourself. You might die.

You hear Leon groan in the back.

Helena is coming as the new driver. That’s truly all you pick up outside of your own complaints, and you sigh. You're not excited for your own training. You understand all of the numbers that Hunnigan sees on the weekends, but it doesn't mean you like it. She doesn't need to make that many calls with Leon during the race because it seems that he's been racing alright, but you know from the role of managing the car that Leon wears the car down fast. The calls you'd have to make would be arguably more frequent. Well, not that Hunnigan was doing a bad job. She left a lot of the strategy to Leon. You probably wouldn't. The look in Leon's eyes when he thanked Hunnigan might've been gratuity, but he hungers for more... what in the wattpad bullshit are you saying? Leon wanted to be better. He craves the seat of winner after his years of publicity with Ada. It doesn't take a genius to know. It's why he swapped over to Stratcom.

"You gonna help me win?"

"I don't know, Leon. Will I?"

"You have to."

"Won't motivate me if I don't get something in return. You get paid glorious amounts of money and I get little when compared to you."

"You want a cut of my pay?"

"Nah." You grin. "I'll tell you what this greed of my craves after each race. Don't worry. Won't ever ask for more than ten percent of your salary."

Leon grimaces. Ten percent is still quite the cut.

"Won't ask for money. I'll let you pick eventually." You hum. "For the next race, a dinner in Italy."

"Sure you not asking me out on a date?"

"In your dreams, white boy."

Leon shrugs, offering his hand anyway.

You shake his hand on the offer.

Wednesday rolls around and you're flown over to Monza, Italy. Preparation on Thursday throws you in for a loop, blinking harshly in the morning meeting with the people and debrief on all of the new changes. Leon's changes had been implemented, and Helena had a new vehicle as well, which makes you question just how much they were stacking on Helena. Is it equity? You're not going to ask. The red-eye flight is enough to make you grouchy. You don't enjoy the hours, coffee in hand as you wonder if you should just invest in espresso shots.

At the very least, you get through the morning meetings and understand Leon's god-awful adjustments on his car. You need to watch him practice tomorrow. Leon's in on Thursday in the morning, visible grouch on his face when he lands, and you sigh as you wave at him.

"No paparazzi?"

"It's why you take red-eyes." You yawn, beckoning him over with a wave as the two of you step over to the chauffeur.

"Why'd you pick me up personally?"

"Saw the edits made to your car. Need your approval. They sent me over with a tablet connected to the PC. Take a look."

Leon looks at the numbers, brow raised as he blinks at the photos that are on the tablet, frowning at the wheel.

"They didn't make it how I wanted it."

"That's literally what you were describing."

"No." He frowns. "Button placement. The reason Hunnigan and I were barely talking was because I kept pressing the wrong button. My muscle memory can only go so far."

"We have a dummy, so you can practice with that. We'll move buttons around next race. You told the performance engineer, right?"

"I don't understand why he didn't understand I wanted the button down at the bottom."

"He's new. Cut him some slack." You pause. "Or don't. You're the driver."

The two of you hop off as you thank the chauffeur, and you wave Leon goodbye as you beeline to the back. You're kind of glad you don't need to look at all of the statistics for performance, but you're also not happy that you have to do all of the smiling and chatting with Leon. Well, unhappy wouldn't be correct. Leon's just got an ego big enough to blow up the track, that's all. You'll help him place. You're not paid nearly enough for anything else. You help out the team with checking the stats on the car, and Leon lingers in the back for the track walk. You told him to wait, and both of you are fairly surprised he listened.

You make some final edits as Leon watches, and he has his own input, pointing certain things out and asking why some other things were that way, and the other engineers explain to him as you talk to the mechanics. Most of the edits are approved by Leon, and you have him sit in to have a feel at it, and once his concerns are all solved, he gives the approval nod. You give him a thumbs up back, checking the stats from the previous year to start thinking of strategy. The strategy engineer hands you a file for you to read through, and you sigh.

"Relay that to me."

"Track walk!" You call for Leon.

You read through the strategy while out on the walk with Leon, looking through the booklet as you pause to consider how much of this Leon would actually use.

"Are you planning on listening to us? Or is it going to be your own again?"

"Do you think I should?"

"Shouldn't you be asking the strategist?"

"You're the one in the mic."

"Fair." You hum. "Do you want to place?"

"Your job is to help me place."

"Then, you keep it in the back of your mind while driving. Changes can always happen." You hum. "We'll aim for first, but don't chase someone down at the expense of your own car."

"How can I force Ada into it?"

"She's gonna pit only once if the race allows it." You hum. "She knows how to take care of her car."

"And Krauser?"

"Plaga offered him more money. His driving style will be the same, but it's also worth mentioning that the Plaga cars aren't in top shape. You know how they are."

"Stars?"

"Not your problem unless you somehow fall neck to neck with Redfield." You shake your head. "He's the beast of fifth place. Just use him as a guard dog."

"That's a little—"

"It's rude, but it's the truth." You flip through the book, jumping on the track. "We'll send you in medium tires, and you'll probably stay in medium unless you want soft."

"Probably not." Leon shakes his head. "Are we pitting extra?"

"From your performance, most likely."

Leon clicks his tongue.

"Focus on chasing and pushing others into pit stops. Second place... just keep an eye out for anyone else in the back." You pause. "You can also try defensive with Helena."

"The two car drs defense."

"Yep." You glance at the turn. "No rain prediction for tomorrow."

"Alright." Leon raises a brow. "In the case that there is rain, it's baby for light rain, royal for heavy downpour."

"And medium?"

"It's a gradient. Just tell me a shade of blue between it."

"That's a lot of colors." You hum. "Storm is midnight."

"Got it."

"Time..." You pause. "How insane are you willing to sound to the public?"

"I'm already crazy to them."

"Then, instead of colors, we use HSL."

"God, you're crazy." Leon pauses. "Saturation for time and Luminance for position? Color's always going to be blue."

"Yeah. You able to learn that before a rain race?" You raise a brow. "We can draw a chart."

"Better start using it soon. There's no wind here but we can practice in downtime."

Fp1 and Fp2 run fast for Leon. He's adjusted to the wheel, dialing in to you to speak, telling you how the car feels, and you report it to the rest of the engineers. Adjustments are made as he goes for another two laps, thumbs up given as everyone retires for the night. You flip through the strategies from the engineers as you sit in the hotel bar lounge, drink pressed to your lips as you mark through the file.

"Fancy seeing you here."

"Leon." You raise a brow. "I thought you had a house here."

"Under construction." He hums. "What's a hotel stay for me on my salary, though?"

"Yeah, I can see that." You hum. "You ready for quali?"

"How long are you staying after? For that dinner."

"Two days? I fly out shortly after."

"Figured." He pauses. "Will you pay if I place first?"

"If you place first? Sure." You hum. "Team goes out on a dinner anyways. I just wanted a local place since you're from around here."

"I stay with family when I'm in Italy, yeah. Maybe I'll take you to my nonna's place."

"Bringing me home already? Bold move, Kennedy." You smile.

"If I place first, we're going to nonna's."

"What makes you think I wanna meet your grandma?"

"Am I not hot enough for you?"

You eye him, shaking your head. "Too bad you're not my type."

Leon does well. He always does. You take him to third place, halfway into the Grand Prix in Italy, and Leon clicks his tongue.

"When are we pitting?"

"You need to pit?" You raise a brow. "What's losing control?"

"Nothing. I'm calculating whether or not it would be smart for me to start cornering Krauser and force him to retire."

You can practically hear the venom in Leon's voice.

"FIA's going to beat your ass if you actually pull through."

"Stratcom's known for aggression. Yes or no?'

"If you do, you need five seconds from him to pit."

"Copy that."

You watch as Leon chases Krauser in the back, tail catching dangerously close as DRS activates, sending him soaring past Krauser.

"Got it."

"Good job."

Leon gains a ten-second lead over thirteen laps, and you listen to Leon and his words.

"How's the car?"

"Seems alright."

"If we need to pit, you have the time too. Keep going. Eleven behind, four in front."

"Leave it to me." Leon clicks.

You watch as Leon goes neck to neck with Ada, eyes on the road as he barely squeezes past her in a corner, foot on the gas.

"Two second gain."

"Need more." He grumbles. "Mic off. Call for pit only."

"Received."

Despite the banter that Leon seems to offer you outside of the car, you know better than to hit his buttons while he's in a car racing two hundred miles an hour. You keep and eye on it, all channels to you open, waiting for the word to pit. Leon's done an alright job, and he's already boxed once, but it seems to be fine to just let him keep going. You're not to pressed, and it seems the performance engineer isn't all that much either. You catch a quick glance, and nothing sits in the red. That's fine.

"Do you think I can keep first?"

"You're Leon S Kennedy. If it's gonna be anyone, it'll be you." You hum. No harm in some words of encouragement.

"That's what I like to hear, sweetheart."

You blink with a concerned look on your face, and you watch as Ada closes in on Leon. His car's wearing down by staying in first, and though his car seemed to have been doing fine, a pit stop in the next handful of laps wasn't out of the question.

"Push two more laps then box. Ada behind one second."

"Son of a—"

You watch as Leon's cut off, and you hold back a laugh.

"Don't get too cocky, Kennedy." You hum. "Tail behind. Twenty laps left."

"Roger."

Leon circles two more laps before circling back to the pit, full change as he's told to go rogue.

You're sure you've never seen Leon actually drive how he wants to, and he combines with Helena to ward off the rest of the cars before racing into the final ten laps with a bolt, gaining distance behind Ada as he's on the final three laps. You're surprised he even knows how to drive defense.

"Time."

"Three laps. 2.4 seconds behind Ada."

Leon tries speeding past her, cutting corners and trying to wear her car down, but it's to no avail as she cuts him off each time. Nothing's called because no rules are broken, and the two touch wheels at once point. The rest of the engineers watch the race with their breaths held as they make the final lap, and Leon grows increasingly more frustrated, curses flying through the radio as he tries overtaking again, cut off as Ada swerves.

"Fuck!"

"You got this, Leon. You're placing podium no matter what. Just focus on overtaking. You got this." You read. "One second. DRS active."

Leon barely squeezes past Ada on a corner, grumbling as he presses on the gas. His car gains only a little over Ada’s but it’s the finish line, so it doesn’t matter.

He breaks past the finish line first just barely first, front of his car ahead mere centimeters. The rest of the team cheers as you smile at the screen, lips quirked up. You get why Hunnigan enjoyed this job. The adrenaline from winning could be addicting. You tap your cheek as you're pulled in for a hug, and you laugh. Your head is spinning with too much dopamine for you to be able to cheer or yell. It's too loud for that.

"Beautifully done, Leon."

"Thanks. Thank you for your hard work."

"Pleasure's mine."

You pop off the headphones and disconnect to cheer, racing over where Leon has parked, jumping with the rest of the team as Leon spots you in the crowd, jumping over to you with a yell as you barely catch him, caught off guard. The rest of the engineers hold you up as you stumble, and he runs back to Helena. Helena laughs as Leon cheers. You clap for him as everyone settles down for the podium. Awards are given, and Leon shakes his champagne to spray at Ada, much to her complaints.

"You asshole!" She sprays her own back at him.

"Hey!"

The media goes insane over it. It's normal for them to. People drink up every single interaction between the two, and the two of them feed into whatever fantasies people have. When half of Leon's bottle is gone, it's pointed at you instead, and you hold your hands up to cover your face from Leon's champagne, and he sticks his tongue out at you. You yell in response, and the rest of the bottle bubbles out on its own. Leon's hair is sticky with champagne, shaking his head as the water flies everywhere, laugh on his lips as his smile lines are evident, head thrown back in glee with the trophy in his hands.

"You good?" Hunnigan laughs as you groan.

"I need to shower now."

She purses her lips. "Insanely hilarious back and forth between the two of you, by the way."

You stay back for a while for autographs, raising a brow when a fan presents marriage papers to you as a joke, shrugging as you ask him how much he makes in a year.

Leon steps up behind you, taking the papers.

"Not enough."

"Oh, hey, star of the show." You raise a brow. "He didn't even get to answer."

"Nonna wants you for dinner."

"Tonight? What about your afterparty?"

"Italian tradition. Always gonna be nonna's on Sunday night." He signs the back of the marriage papers instead, forcing the pen back into your hand as you raise a brow. "I'll be every year from now on. Come on."

"What?"

"We're getting married."

"In your dreams, white boy." You pull out a notepad, signing it and handing it to the fan.

"Kennedy's a nice last name, hm?"

"I like mine as is." You wave. "I'm retiring."

"Leon! What's that about Nonna?"

"Taking my engineer for a nice dinner." Leon hums, winking at the crowd. "Promised dinner at. my favorite place if I placed. Favorite place happens to be my beloved nonna's."

They cheer.

Leon laughs. "Victory celebrations with a friend."

Dinner is great. You're thrilled when Leon's grandma actually cooks, eyes practically glowing as you thank her. Leon translates the majority of the time, telling you with red on his ears of how she's delighted that he's brought one of his engineers home finally. You answer any questions she has, and she tells you that her father used to be an engineer, and how Leon's grandfather used to take him to his go-kart practices. You listen intently, her pasta shoveled in your mouth as she helps you to another offering.

"Nonna."

"Nonna speaks french too, if you happen to know that."

"Grand-mère ta cuisine est le vrai MVP de cette cours." You give her a thumbs up, hand held over your mouth as she laughs.

"T'es trop mignionne!" She laughs. "Merci, chère fille."<br />

<small><small><small>'You're too cute!' 'thank you, sweet girl'</small></small></small>

"Merci pour cuisiner." You thank her. "Ah, je vais retourner l'année prochain."<br />

<small><small><small>'thank you for cooking.' 'Ah, I'm coming back next year'</small></small></small>

"Léon, sarà meglio che sia la fidanzata l'anno prossimo." The grandma points her fork at him.

"Nonna!"

She clicks her tongue.

You don't have the heart to tell Leon that you understand just enough Italian to understand what his grandma has just said to him. You'll play dumb. Arguably, it's for the better. You tilt your head as Leon waves his hand, and you laugh.

Leon takes you back to the hotel, smile on his face as he raises a brow.

"You owe me dinner?"

"Nuh uh. We didn't pay at mamie's." You shrug. "Look forward to what I'll get for helping you in next race."

Your debrief in the morning is enough to tear you from limb to limb.

"I'm not flirting back. It was just a congratulatory dinner." You argue.

"It's fine." Leon laughs. "I don't mind."

"Leon."

"My publicity is being a fuckboy. It's fine." He waves off the concern. "Rather than media stuff, I want my mic somewhere on top on my wheel."

"That can be arranged."

"Anything else?"

You note down what Leon says, doodles in the corner of your paper as you think of all the work that the data analysts are doing. You're exhausted from staying out til two with Leon last night, and though the pasta had been Michelin star-worthy, you were still tired. You yawn halfway through, and Leon raises a brow at you.

"You got a problem, racer?"

"If you call me that one more time I'm going to reach over this table and punch you." You grumble. 

The season is always nightmare after nightmare. You have little to no downtime in between races, and it becomes increasingly apparent that Ada's adapted to Leon's racing style in the next two races. No matter what adjustments are made, it seems that she just knows. It frustrates his engineers to no end, and by the meeting three races into the season, your head is thrown back in annoyance. Maybe you actually aren't being paid enough for this.

"Don't wanna work for me anymore?"

"No." You groan. "Give me a second."

Leon's trying. You're aware of that. You're also Ada's biggest fan, so you know well that she's one of the quickest thinkers on the grid alongside her engineer. Wesker has way too many years both on and off the track to know what calls to make at what points in time. Maybe Leon was right. Maybe you are stuck questioning whether or not someone with more experience could do better than you, but you're also too spiteful to just step down from your position.

"Ada marathon. Tonight. My hotel room." You point at Leon.

"Don't need to tell me twice." Leon winks.

"That's 144 races." The strategy engineer grimaces.

"Then 144 races we will watch." You sigh. "I'll report everything to you tomorrow over coffee."

"Good luck." He sighs. "We can split half and half."

"72 races is still... a lot." You pause. "How about three-way?"

Leon sighs. "48 races per person sounds awful."

"Well, I know what I'll be doing tonight." You heave. "God, I need a smoke."

Leon raises a brow. "You don't even smoke."

"Gonna start today thanks to you."

"You're on 24 races from when she first started and then 24 of her most recent races." You point at the strategist. "I'll do the ones between that, and then Leon can do the middle races. We'll split it when the meeting's over."

"Got it."

The rest of the meeting runs over the logistics of the car, and you huddle with the other two to split up the races. You feel like a... Haikyuu character. Who are you? Oikawa? You're not trying to catch a case of being the worst anime villain to ever exist or something. You're sure this is normal. Ada may have never brought up how she prepares for races, but it doesn't take a genius to know how well-rounded she is on the track. She's too good at blocking overtakes. It's why Leon struggled. He may have been able to do it the first time because she had been caught off guard, but she was too good at what she did.

You note down how she drives, hands delicate on her wheel and eyes constantly on the watch. You listen to what Wesker tells her, noting everything of worth down, and you sigh when you watch the races she first started against Leon. You find that Leon's grown much more tame in racing, his earliest racing style wild and violent, cornering people into walls and blocking overpasses. You find that he blocks Ada at one point, leading to his first win of that season. After that, it becomes apparent that he only needs to pass Ada, preferably when she pits. Ada used to pit twice rather than once. Maybe that was the strategy needed.

You take the note down.

  Pit crew speed ↑ + Leon aggression ↑ = stopping Ada?

You start the next race.

There's something about Leon's old way of driving that Ada wasn't able to control.

An element of chaos? An element of a lack of understanding? An element of unpredictability? You don't know. You should study Leon's old driving style prior to joining Stratcom as well. It's always much more suffocating in a bigger company when you get to take more risks in a small one. You raise a brow at the race that Leon and Ada trade first and second like it's second nature, and you get where this whole publicity stunt started. It's hard to ignore the way they look at each other with such intensity when they're on the podiums and listening to each other talk.

You place a hand over your mouth. "...wait... I dig this."

You go back to the rest of Ada's races prior to her hiatus, and you find that it's truly the lack of predictability that Leon used to display.

Never let 'em know your next move... or something.

You knock out halfway through and finish the rest in the morning with your coffee, lack of new things to note down as you head down for breakfast with the other two.

"So?"

"You go first." You sigh. "Mike?"

"Sorry. I stayed up way too late." He sighs. "She's an all-rounder. I don't have any notes other than that. She struggled at first in her first twenty races but by her thirtieth she was picking up pace and analyzing her opponents. It's kind of impressive. But her most recent races indicate that Leon's just not posing a threat. It seems that she can just predict everything."

"You wanna hear my takeaway?" You raise a brow. "Leon needs to start racing like a madman again. That's my takeaway."

"No way." Mike reasons. "That's not safe for him."

"It's the only way Leon's gonna be able to outperform Ada within the rest of the year for that position of champion." You reason. "If he doesn't go back to that unpredictability factor he used to have, then he'll never outsmart Ada."

"Oh, so I need to go rogue again? Because I was going to say that Ada struggles with predicting people who don't have a typical race strat." Leon hums. "She struggled with predicting Wesker before he became her boss. She struggles with unpredictability. I just have to throw her off enough. She's never going to expect me to go back to driving like a madman now that I'm in Stratcom."

"Upper management's going to be mad if we waste all our resources on you." Mike clicks his tongue.

"They won't complain when I bring back their first gold in forever."

"Mike, you keep it under wraps, alright?" You raise a brow. "Just proceed as normal."

"Not that they'd believe me anyway." He gets up from his chair. "I'll leave it to you two. I'll send you a plan anyway. I don't expect either of you to follow it."

You give him a thumbs up.

"If we place podium, what do you want?"

"Oh, you still remember?" You raise a brow. "What even is there to do in Texas? Oh. Dinner again?"

"If I place first your treat."

"Alright. I doubt that."

"You really?"

"I don't know. You've gotta show me, Kennedy."

Leon places fifth in qualifying. You're unsurprised, but what comes as a surprise is Leon telling you through the mic that he has it under control. All you need to do tell him when to pit. You suppose that it's a lot more amusing this way, but mic off or not, you have not much of a choice when Leon's just straight up shredding his tires.

"Box, box. Pit, Leon." You grumble. "You're only allowed to be crazy when I give you the flag."

"I know what I'm doing."

"No the fuck you don't." You hum. "You're losing time if you're the only one shredding your tires. Learn to force others into the pit and not yourself, hm?"

"I can't force Ada into the pit unless she's right in front of me."

"It can be anyone in front of you. Surely you've picked up a thing or two from all those youtube videos."

"You make me sound so unprofessional by saying that."

"Pit crew." You click the button.

Leon slides in and out, gaining back his position in top five.

"Alright. Tell me how to."

"You know how to. You used to do it."

"Say less."

Leon forces past the car in fourth in arguably one of the most narrow turns you've ever seen, grimacing at the view from his car as he laughs into the mic.

"Did you catch that?"

"I'd like to catch something bigger. Keep pushing."

"Tsk. Was that not enough?"

"You can do better."

"Roger that."

You watch as Leon slides through, and you glance at the weather.

"Rain in twenty laps."

"Color."

"I'd say something like sky blue. Sky blue, 6 percent, two c west." You read from the prediction. "Do you think you'll need wet tires?"

"Sky blue, huh? Probably not. We'll see. How many left?"

"Thirty."

You know the announcers are going to say something weird about the weather system you've set up, but quite frankly you do not care. It's not your problem. Leon cuts into third, and you sigh into the mic. Time to let the poor guy do what he's been wanting to this whole time.

"Engage... chaos."

"Oh, I've been waiting for that one." He laughs, turning his mic off as he pushes, engine revving. Smoke comes out as a result, but the performance engineer doesn't mention anything of it. It looks normal from your end, and he swerves to cut off Krauser from second, no doubtedly laughing from the dopamine high his brain was experiencing.

"Reel it in, Kennedy. Don't sell yourself to Ada yet."

"Can I stay second?"

"Engine looks good." You read.

"Got it, sweetheart."

You make another face.

Yet, he stays steady for the majority of the race, cutting Krauser off without needing you to ask him to, forcing Krauser into a position that you're sure the poor guy is NOT going to like. Leon forces Krauser into corners and slowing down, defending his position of second while no one's close to him in the back.

"Redfield in fourth, 1.2 seconds— 0.7 seconds from Krauser. Push, Leon." You read.

"Don't need to tell me that twice."

Leon pushes past Krauser and leaves him to deal with Chris, racing to the front as he tries closing in the gap between him and Ada.

"Gap?"

"Twelve seconds. Come on, Kennedy."

"Rogue when arrived?"

"Wear her out."

"Roger that."

You wonder if Leon actually understands what you mean by wearing her out, but you don't question it too much. If he doesn't then he can just try speeding past her based on pure adrenaline. His car was adjusted to be able to hit 240 in optimal conditions, and you watch as the rain arrives.

"Wet on track?"

"Dry." He reports. "Not too much rain yet. Lap?"

"Fifteen left."

"Copy."

You watch the rain and predictions, pausing when you notice Leon's car isn't running as smoothly.

"Pit, pit. Box, Leon."

"What's my gain on Krauser?"

"Seven seconds."

"Tell pit crew not to mess this up."

"Copy."

Leon speeds in to the pit, changing in two seconds, speeding back out in order to gain back on Krauser.

"Lap."

"Twelve." You call. "Ada five seconds, Krauser five."

"DRS zone?"

"Overtake if possible."

"Taking the risk." Leon clicks open his DRS, speed increase wonderful for his car as he flies past Ada, slowing to block her immediately.

"Block or go?"

"Block for now. Go will be called soon."

"Roger that."

You know Wesker is seething in his seat right now. Ada may not be affected, but you're sure Leon playing rough is a pain in the ass for Wesker. So, you don't think it's out of the question for him to be ordering Ada to try new things. Luckily for you, you had watched enough of Wesker's races to understand what he like doing. Surprise or not, eventually you run out of cards to play. You happen to know the majority of his cards, so you have Leon block Ada every chance he gets, forcing her into a corner and forcing her to slow for her own safety. Ada values her life. Leon? Not as much.

"Leon, final lap. Push. Go rogue. Helena third."

"Music to my ears." He sings, pushing for a further gap as he gleams, turns growing ragged and tires shredding, sparks flying from the back of his car as you wince. The car seems to be fine, and as soon as he's past that checkered flag, your screen is ditched for a victory-yelling session with Mike and the rest of the team. It worked. Leon just had to push past Ada and force her to care for her own safety. It was like playing the perfect cards into your hands. It was beautiful.

"We did it!" Leon yells, and you laugh into the mic.

"Get to that parking spot, Leon. We'll meet you there."

"You're paying for dinner."

"Say less."

You opt for the back half of the team, Leon yelling and grabbing Mike as he yells, cheering. Leon lets out a borderline pornographic gasp as he pops his helmet off, shake of his head from the sweat and cry on his lips as he cheers. You wonder if that feeling ever gets old. All of the excitement left you as soon as you had run up, and as Leon cheers, you find it's amusing. You won't get tired of seeing Leon and Helena place on the podium, that's for sure. You wonder what Leon's going to ask for dinner.

You want barbecue. God, Texas barbecue sounds so good right now. Leon's trainer's going to say no but oh, god. You want a rack of baby back ribs.

"What's for dinner?" Leon raises a brow as you're pushed to the front, and you tap your chin.

"I could go for some ribs."

"God, my dietician's going to kill me— say less."

You wink at him, patting his shoulder and giving him a little push as he rushes over to the podium. Helena follows after as you yell her name, cheering. You're sure the team will be able to win Constructor's Championship as long as Luis doesn't suddenly decide to get astronomically better, but you're sure Leon's practically salivating at the idea of being world champion driver. Ada's held that title for longer than ever, but Leon's got an interesting gain in terms of points this year. He'd need... to place first a least a couple more times.

"So? How'd I do?"

"Fishing for compliments, aren't ya?" You raise a brow.

"Please?"

"Oh, so you know how to beg? I'm already paying. What else do you want me to tell you? You did great? Good job not getting yourself killed? Congrats on placing first, again?"

"It's like you don't love me." He sighs.

"Leon, we're coworkers."

"That go on dinner dates?"

"Are these considered dates?" You gasp. "I thought it was just regular company dinners."

"We already do that with the team monday nights."

You shrug. "I didn't realize I was so special to you, Leon." You feign. "You love me?"

He clicks his tongue. "You wish."

"See?" You laugh, thanking the waiter as he serves you both your dinners. "I love shitty chain dinners."

"Only way to celebrate the American life." He nods at the waiter.

"Well, your fault for being American." You shrug. "That income tax must be beautiful, huh?"

"I only live here because I don't wanna end up living some tiny ass place in Monaco. Why live close to the tracks when you can live in a mansion with my money?"

"Convenience." You bite at the rib in your hand, moan slipping past your lips. "God, I love meat."

Leon cocks up a brow that can only mean trouble, and you gape, horrified.

"NO."

"You could–"

"Leon fucking Kennedy!" You full name him.

"You could have my—"

"I'm leaving and calling the cops on you." You wipe your fingers as Leon yells.

"I didn't mean it." He stifles a laugh, snirking at you.

"I hate you." You roll your eyes, going back to the food. "In front of my salad?"

"Your ribs?"

"My baby?!"

But dinner's fine. It's always more than fine. Leon gives you bedroom eyes enough times for you to just play stupid, and when he sends you back to the hotel, he frowns at you until you roll your eyes and give him a kind pat on his shoulder. You're not feeding the tabloids when Leon's already got plenty of publicity from Ada and his rivalry. Rivalry? Romance? Situation..ship? It's not your problem. You're enjoying what you're getting out of the races. It feeds your ego just as much as it does his when he wins — not that you would tell him.

Besides, the relationship was truly just transactional — If you ignore the fact that Leon's got an ego when it comes to flirting with women. He simultaneously can not handle being flirted back with or getting rejected. His face card is lethal, sure, whatever, but you don't really want to compromise your position as his race engineer with the chances of dating. You're not losing your job over some guy. You're especially not losing it over the very man you're communicating with every single race. You don't plan on that ever happening, thanks.

"Ugh. Heat." You grumble, stepping out of the airport to catch your ride. Another week, another full mess of driving you have to deal with. Mike's strategy is handed to you on Thursday like clockwork, and you read through the file while on the walk with Leon. There isn't much to say. There's never too much to say. Though, Leon tells you a little about what he's planning to do. It's not exactly safe, but as long as he can pull it off, it's fine. You stare at the track and then raise a brow, tilting your head at the turns and then at the map.

"You good?"

"Leon, I'm going to suggest something a little bit on the dirty side of driving."

"Say less."

"Feed on that fear factor. No one's completely rid of it." You hum, smiling. "Side to side, corner to corner."

"Say less." He grins. "Is that how we're going to get there?"

"Krauser has no fear factor. You're just going to have to piss him off enough."

"And Ada?"

"Ada fears nothing." You close your eyes, stopping in your tracks to think. "Just keep playing her."

"What a gamble you make each time."

"If it doesn't work, then we go back to what Mike does. You've won quite a handful of first places over the year anyway. You're only... what? You're practically neck to neck with Ada."

"How many more races?"

"You're at 10 races first place and five races second and then like a handful of thirds. You're at like 329 points. Ada joined back mid-year, and the only other person with enough points to corner you would be Krauser, but he's only around 300? There's five races left, so if you place first another two to three times, there's no way anyone could catch up to you, guaranteed."

"So first is mine?"

"Until you hit that 400 point mark, no it's not." You shake your head. "Don't get cocky."

Qualifying goes incredibly well. Too well. Leon places fifth, and you hold your breath as you check the weather.

"We changed you to wet tires, but also, true blue, 10%, 6 mph west." You read. "Leon, don't get overly excited. You're not first place. The chances you get injured or get retired is higher than usual. The weather doesn't help."

"I'll be fine."

You have a feeling he won't be, but you don't speak up. If you somehow manage to affect Leon's confidence, then you'd be responsible for it. Instead, you opt for watching Leon the whole time, holding your breath when you're not reporting the changes in weather. It's the end of hurricane season, but it doesn't mean the rain can't pick up. The anxiety eats you out, and though you remain calm on the outside, you're ready to retire the car whenever.

"Leon, is it drying?"

"No."

"How's your grip?"

"It's alright."

Leon feels the car is fine. He's raced past from third to second, and as long as he presses past Ada, he can take that title this race. He could also place second once and then top five in another race, but he needs to take first to kill everyone's chances of champion. He'd rather die than lose to Krauser again. So, he swerves, refusing to slow down at a turn, engine sparking as he's sure that he's going to need to pit soon. It's fine. The floor is drying up, and though not completely dry, it's not road that's too hard to drive on.

He'll take first place.

That's how it's supposed to go. That's how—

"I'm losing grip." He curses, staring at the upcoming turn.

"Do you want to pit?" You raise a brow.

"Ye—"

You wince at the way he spins out of control, crashing into the wall. The back panel breaks off and the engine turns red on the performance engineer's screen, and you yell for Leon. The rain helps prevent a fire, but any more with the car and it'll be problematic. You were right. It's a vital race to Leon, but he has plenty of chances as long as Krauser doesn't place podium. Though, that doesn't matter. You value the life of your driver more than a title that he wants to receive. What's the point of holding a title if the person who holds it has died? You can't take any of that with you to the afterlife.

"Leon. Out of the car. We're pulling you out the race." Your heart races, waiting for his response.

"I need this win!"

"You don't. Any two of these five races, you get first place, and you become world champion. Your life matters more. Car is out of commission. Step out of the car. You only need fifty points."

He curses on the line, profanities stringing one after the other as he hops out of the car, walking off back to the garage as he grimaces at you. You offer him an unfortunate smile, and he sighs. He leans against the wall, brows furrowed as you turn around to stare at him.

"I don't like this."

"You got cocky."

"I don't need to hear that right now!" He snaps.

"And when will you be willing to listen? Tomorrow? When you're in a good mood? Leon, you can't go ahead and aim to shred a man to pieces because you need first place at your own expense. Your emotions affect how you drive. You're there to win with a level head. You're trying to stress others out, not yourself." You sigh. "We can go over what went wrong later, but are you hurt? The medics checked you before, I know, but surely the whiplash was quite a bit. Take my seat."

"And watch the rest of the cars?" He scoffs.

"You can cheer for Helena." You pop your headphones off, holding it out to him. "You're a team, after all."

He takes them from your hand, frown on his face as he puts them on, listening in to Hunnigan and Helena's conversation. It's quiet as he expects, a lot less quippy than his conversations with you. He watches the race with the rest of the team, surprised at how well Helena's holding her position. She might even place podium.

You stand behind Leon as Helena speeds around the course, and your lips quirk up as she enters the final lap. The rain has subsided by now, and Hunnigan's calls have left her nice and safe despite her reckless driving, and she's neck to neck with Krauser now.

"I forget how good she is." Leon mumbles.

"You work in a team of mostly women. You should keep that in mind for next time." You press your hands on his shoulders, leaning into the screen as you both hold your breath.

"Helena, push."

You don't get to hear her response to Hunnigan, but her activation of DRS immediately upon entering the zone sends her past Krauser and into second place. You're sure she's thrilled to be placing so high, and you hold your breath as the gap between her and Krauser increases, her racing past the finish line earning a yell from everyone on the team. Leon grabs you, yelling as you cheer. You doubt you've ever felt such excitement over Leon placing, but Helena placing was a milestone for her.

"P2, Helena! You did it! P2!"

You drag Leon as he runs over to meet up with Helena, pushing Hunnigan to the front as you cheer.

"Why aren't you ever this excited when I win?"

"Maybe I'll cheer properly for you when you win world champion. Krauser placed first, which means he always has the chance of beating you." You wave at Helena. "Congrats!!"

"Never thought he'd come back to bite my ass." Leon grumbles. "Great job."

"Thank you." She nods. "You all good?"

"Just a little whipash." Leon sighs. "I'll be all good by next race."

You look away. Not by next race. His next handful of races are NOT going to be a pleasant experience. If he's careful, he might be able to recover by the second race, but if not, then the third or fourth. He only has four races left.

"I didn't place this time." He mumbles, groaning into his hand as you pat his back.

"You can place third four times, and you can place fourth three times and once in third. Leon, you have all the time in the world. You need to heal your whiplash first."

He grimaces.

Leon follows after you, clicking through his phone as he scrolls through twitter. It's a lot about the race results, most of them congratulating Helena, and as he reaches for his own name, you call for him.

"Let's go." You raise a brow. "Your emotions are still a mess. Don't you go reaching for Twitter first thing after a race. You wanna die?"

"They're congratulating Helena."

"Never search your name after a race." You take his phone, earning a yell from Leon as you stick your tongue out.

"What are you? Twelve?"

"I should be asking you that question." You hum. "We're off to our hotel."

"Wait, why are we—"

"Room service and then we can rewatch the race. I know you're itching to tell me what you did wrong."

"I am not." He huffs.

You raise a brow.

"Okay, I am." He rolls his eyes. "You're gonna listen?"

You get back and tell Leon what you want, stepping into the shower to wash off the grime of the day. You ask if Leon wants to grab his stuff and clean himself off, but he shakes his head at you. Until he got what he remembered out of his mind, then he would continue in whatever he was in. Though, he pulls the jacket off and ditches the shoes. You finish washing off to ask Leon if he's ordered, and he nods. He'd pay upfront with his card, which makes you raise a brow and offer to pay instead, but he insists. You don't understand why he'd go so far after literally losing a race.

Leon orders for you. He finds that it's safer for a guy to at least pretend he's staying with a woman than for the woman to be known to be staying alone, and he has you tell him what to order, bringing it to your room. You thank him for ordering, laptop pulled out as Leon points at what felt like it lost control, and you draw on the screen, taking note on what to fix at the next meeting. The car didn't do good in rainy weather, it seemed. At the very least, Vegas wouldn't have all that much rain. Then, back to the other side of the world, where the lack of rain was more than apparent. Leon would be fine in the rest of the races.

"Do you want these changes immediately? The car will be driving dry the next couple of races." You look up at the door when it's knocked on.

You thank the concierge for bringing it in, and Leon pays and tips, nodding as the guy walks off.

"He's gonna tell the media about this later." You go back to the laptop. "So? The changes?"

"Yeah, I figured." Leon sighs. "It's fine. Your laptop was out with all of the data of our old car. Stratcom's just going to say we were discussing details again."

"Or they'll pay him off." You reach for a fry, chewing on it as you hum. "You want the changes now?"

"Can I have one?"

"You paid." You hold the fries up to him.

"Thanks. No, I don't think we need to implement it right away, but for the next year, maybe. It'll be raining a lot in the earlier seasons."

"We can bring it up to the others." You tilt your head at the screen. "I'll save it, then. I think your mic could be clearer too. We can adjust that tomorrow. You should also lay down."

"You think?"

"Leon, that whiplash is going to kill you." You raise a brow. "Also, get eating. It's dinnertime anyway."

"You're awfully bold bringing a man into your hotel room, you know?"

"Thanks, if you wanna sexually assault me or something at least wait another two weeks." You shrug, biting into your food. God, mexican food after a whole day of work hits different. Though, you'd argue that the pasta you had with Leon at his nonna's was better. You don't really care of Leon in that way. You're his race engineer, he's just asking for trouble if he suddenly decides that it'd be smart for him to ask you out in any way. He'll call you sweetheart on a good day, but that does not guarantee that he will every race. You doubt he actually likes you.

Leon, on the other hand, finds it strange that you go to such lengths for him. Well, not that off. You're supposedly known by the other employees as someone who works harder than the rest, so it was unsurprising to them when you had suddenly been promoted to one of the higher-ranked engineers. Though, Leon finds it annoying that he can't seem to get through to you. What does it take for you to give him some attention? Though, not that you seem to think of him as a man anyway. It's unsafe for you to be showering and then letting him just sit in your room. Had he been any more of an asshole, he might've actually done something.

Yet, he watches you anyway. His eyes stay on your body when you tell him that you'll be knocking out for the night, telling him that he's welcome to continue with your laptop as long as he stays in the room. Unbothred. Uncaring. You seem to not take Leon seriously at all. It almost hurts his ego to be treated like this.

You fear nothing.

You can not tell when he gives you darkened eyes, climbing on top of you as you're knocked out, eyes glued to your body. You can not sense whatever danger he might present to you. Are you close to that extent? Truly? Are you two friends enough to the point that he is just allowed to do this? You must not value yourself enough. He's a man too. Do you not care?

He tilts his head at you, watching as you continue to breathe steadily, eyes closed and chest rising and falling.

He has caged you down, yet all you do is sleep.

Leon sighs. "How easy."

He climbs off of you, turning off your laptop and plugging it in for you, stepping over your clothes as he glances at you one last time. He leaves his jacket on the back of the seat, shoes slipped back on as the door clicks behind him. He could ask you in the morning. Maybe he should teach you a lesson while he's at it. You should really be vigilant around him. Had you made the mistake around anyone else, they might've jumped you already.

You wear Leon's jacket to the meeting in the morning.

It's draped over whatever you would normally wear, and Leon does a double take when you actually show up in it.

On second thought, maybe you were asking for him to do something.

You go about the meeting, telling a coworker that you found it in the team lost and found, smile on your lips as you go over what adjustments would be made for the next time. You decide on which tire material to use on the ground, and there isn't much else to go over. The United States tended to have alright weather, though, it would be colder in the morning which was when he would be racing, His uniform was alright to wear, and you raise a brow at Leon to ask if he has any questions.

"Where'd you get my jacket?"

"Alright, no flirting on company time."

You laugh at the superior, humming as the rest of the meeting runs smoothly. You hand the jacket back to Leon eventually, thanking him for it, and Leon watches as half of the room pauses to stare at you both. If you notice, you're ignoring it. Leon takes it from you with a wink, throwing it over his own shoulders, raising a brow when you shrug. He doesn't like the feeling that creeps up his back when he talks to you now. It feels strange. It feels weird.

Images of your restful face haunt him at night.

Even during qualifying, gambling city of the nation, all that keeps him up at night is you.

He settles with flirting with you instead, drinking up every single way you cringe at him, disgust audible when he's talking to you over the mic during fp3, earning raised brows from the team as you resist the need to groan into your hand.

"He's gotten a lot more vocal with you." Mike tunes in.

"I'm going to punt this man into the sky." You turn off your mic to Leon.

"Sweetheart, is the car alright?"

"Nothing from the team." You report. "You should be good to go. Keep an eye out on the weather tomorrow."

"Will you nurse me back if I get sick?"

"No, I'll just pull you from the team." You grimace, disgust written all over your face as the engineers next to you laugh — Leon parking into the garage as he pulls off the helmet, raising a brow at you. "Stop fishing for compliments, Kennedy."

He pushes himself out of the car, huffing.

"Lunch?"

"I want Chipotle."

"God, I love Chipotle," Leon mumbles, handing you his phone.

You punch in your order, telling him to just text you after, heading off to the meeting before qualifying. You're not excited. You're never excited. You sit in the room and talk to everyone, and once you leave the room, the stress will be significantly less. You'll talk to everyone and figure out the general plan, tell them what you plan on having Leon do alongside Mike and get approval. Once it's approved, you tell them that it's subject to change in order to adapt to the plan, and Mike hands you another heavy file of information about Ada's recent races.

"We're just going to ignore Krauser?"

"Leon's raced against that man plenty." Mike sighs, opening the door. "Oh, speak of the devil."

"Chipotle's here." He smiles, holding up your order as your eye twitches. In front of management is insane.

"You just really wanted to show management how much I've been abusing you, huh?" You raise a brow. "Come on. Let's find an area to cool down before quali."

"Don't need to tell me twice." He leads you around, your bowl steaming hot on top of the folder from Mike. You don't want to hear what the higher-ups have to say. If you do not see, then you do not know. Well, not that it matters. Leon has a strange reputation, and it's as though he has a dating history since starting F1. It's like they wiped him clean to start over. Oh, well, save for whatever he and Ada has going on.

"Hey." Leon grins.

Ada Wong sits on the couch across from you, and your jaw drops

"Oh my god." You fumble with your lunch, jaw-dropping. "THE Ada Wong?"

"Oh! Leon's wildcard!" She hums. "Come on! Let's eat."

You stare at Leon, and he shrugs.

"She wanted to join."

"Huge fan, wow." You mumble, putting the folder down as you open your lunch. "What brings you here? Or are you two just having lunch? Am I intruding?"

Ada laughs. "Don't worry about it. I bumped into him before he got to order. He owes me one anyway."

You give Leon a look that can only mean something along the lines of "did I walk in on you both" to which Leon responds with a shake of his head. You go back to your food, humming as you watch the television for time. Ada races before Leon this time, and honestly, you're kind of too thrilled to be having Chipotle to care. American food things. You can take the man out of the eagle screech but not the eagle screech out the man... or however it goes. What's a little... American spirit in the United States? You like the calm life you get to enjoy during the breaks where all you do is go on zoom meetings with everyone and talk about the car. What can you say? Laziness isn't a passion, it's a lifestyle. Though, you'd argue that being an engineer in F1 is a complete contradiction to the statement.

You finish as Ada looks at you, lips quirked upward amusingly as you raise a brow.

"You're doing great."

"God, I must be hallucinating." You grab Leon's thigh, fanning your face.

"You're my engineer and you're crying over a compliment from her?"

"She's my number one. My ult. My oshi, if you will. Dare I say it, my number one."

Leon raises a brow at all of those words, but Ada laughs, hand held over her mouth as she laughs into her palm, corners of her eyes crinkling from your boldness. She thanks you with a nod and a smile, telling you that she'll dedicate her win tomorrow to you.

"Oh, well, I never promised that win in your hands." You wink, lips quirked up as Ada blinks at your boldness.

"You think you can win again?"

"You called me a wildcard, Miss Ada." You smile. "You struggle with them yourself. We all do."

"Well, you're right on that." She smiles. "But you won't be able to predict me either, hm?"

"Hard to say." You wink. "A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one. Though, what use are cards in a game of firearms?" You grin. "Well, not that it matters. You can't win championship even if you win the next four. You know? You joined a little late."

"I know. But I can certainly push Krauser to the top. Anything to stop Stratcom from winning both titles."

"Well, apologies, but bringing a knife to a gunfight is a little outdated." You grin. 

Ada laughs, pushing the door open. "See you both at quali."

"If I play dangerous, will you let me?" Leon looks up at you from the couch through his lashes.

"As long as you don't die or get retired, do as you wish?"

"Even if we get yelled at?"

"What's Stratcom without a little violence?"

Leon places third in q3.

It's not nearly as fast as he would've liked it to be, but it's fast enough, and when he's back after q3, he's tilting his head at you with those big-ass puppy eyes, vying for attention. You know he wants a compliment, but you raise a brow at him as he huffs. He knows you won't give him one unless he does so well that it's beyond what you expect from him.

"I'm not complimenting you, Kennedy."

"Dammit." He huffs. "If I win tomorrow, will you?"

"No." You hum. "Bring back that championship and then we can talk."

Leon sighs. "Can I have a kiss if I do?"

You raise a brow. "I thought it was I receive something?"

"A kiss." He shrugs.

"You wish." You roll your eyes. "I'll think about it if you win driver’s cup, and our team wins the constructor's championship."

"Oh, say less." He grins.

You wish you could say you despise Leon. You don't — truly. You find it entertaining to push his buttons the same way he pushes yours. You find it amusing when he tilts his head and begs for your attention. Twisted? Maybe. Entertaining? Very. Leon's not one to beg for attention. He's always the center of attention, so for him to want your attention gives you quite a glimpse into what kind of a person he is. Maybe you just bruise his ego. Though, not that you can feed it. If you feed it anymore, his head's gonna get so big that he floats away. It makes you laugh — the idea of Leon floating away with a big-ass head.

You set up for the screen after the meeting in the morning. Leon's allowed to go insane, and Mike has a plan in case Leon wants to try something new. Though, you're sure that won't be the case. You want Leon to try chasing the ever-living fuck out of someone. You want Leon to go insane, or whatever he liked calling it. Ada called you a wildcard, but truly, you could not come up with it on your own. Leon's the one who just makes stuff up on the fly.

Though, you want to have Leon pull off better skill.

So, when the first ten laps go by and Leon hasn't moved up, you huff.

"Cut through Krauser to break into second."

"Oh? Say less."

"Don't do anything too reck—"

You watch as Leon slides right through Krauser and the wall in one of the sharpest turns on the track, wincing as Leon doesn't bother braking, forcing Krauser behind him as he laughs into the mic. You sigh considering it was your fault, but you're glad he's at least broken through. Krauser may try and chase Leon down in the corners, but as long as he gets enough gain, it should be... feasible. Though, when the performance engineer mics in, you groan.

"Leon. Pit. Box, box. Puncture in back right tire."

"Dammit." He huffs. "Time loss estimate?"

"Five seconds behind Helena."

Leon pits and gets his tire changed, speeding off back into the track in eighth, huffing and pouting as he has to overtake so many people again.

"Overtake opening."

"Copy." Leon slides past two cars and gains on the inside. "Tell Helena to guard."

"Roger."

Leon flies past Helena, telling you to thank Hunnigan, and he tails behind Krauser again. He huffs, knowing that Krauser would probably just force him into the wall this time rather than brake, but you have other plans.

"Do the same thing."

"He's not going to brake."

"He will." You pause. "Think about it."

"He's got a wife and kids to go home to." Leon scoffs. "You're insane."

"Hey, you said it." You watch as he forces past Krauser just barely again, sparks flying from the back of his car as he pushes past, gaining distance and blocking him from any overtakes, laugh registering through his mic as you raise a brow.

"Don't get cocky now, Kennedy."

"Wouldn't dream of it with you on the line, sweetheart."

Halfway in, Leon finally gains on Ada, tailing right behind her as she closes in to stop him from passing, and Leon huffs. You don't speak to him, and none of the engineers call for a pit. You leave him alone to make the call. Ada can predict what both you and Mike call, but you're sure she isn't capable of predicting just what kind of a bullshit move Leon would be able to pull.

"Open DRS."

"Don't need to tell me twice."

Leon's a nightmare. You think Leon's a nightmare. He forces past her where he should have braked, forcing her into the same position as Krauser, wheels touching hers as you hold your breath for a pit, surprised when there's a lack of one.

"Are you open to pitting another time?"

"No." Leon hisses, blocking Ada on a corner, gaining the inside.

"Then take care of your tires."

"Copy."

You find that Leon doesn't really take any racer seriously outside of Ada. Maybe his thought process actually spins when he's defending first, his radio going quiet from all the banter that you had prior to this. He'll have his fill of it later when you have to pay for dinner, but it's not right now. Leon's too straightforward at this point of the race to even think what he's saying to you. Blessing or curse? Curse for you, blessing for his media team.

"Good gain. Ada two seconds behind."

"Praise me."

You laugh, humming as Leon repeats his request.

"Praise me."

"You're doing great, Leon. Push for five seconds." You hum. "I'll praise you more if you win."

"Say less."

You watch as he pushes even harder, muting yourself as you laugh at the way he goes quiet for the next five laps.

"Ten til completion."

"Roger that. Helena?"

"P3."

"Can she chase Ada for me?"

"Will request."

You mic over to Hunnigan to request Helena's aid in keeping Ada at bay, and she tells you she'll try. It's no guarantee considering how skilled Ada is, but it's worth the shot, definitely. Lots of factors play into how a race goes, but Ada hasn't pitted even once, and you assume it's because she wants to hold out against Leon for as long as possible. Though, she's already behind him. Maybe she's forcing him to wear his tires down.

"Leon, Ada upcoming pit. Push."

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?"

"You can do better."

"We better be chowing down on cheesecake factory after this."

"You want cheesecake factory?"

"Last of chain foods before two races in the two Eurasia." Leon huffs. "You're paying if I place first."

"What happened to chivalry?"

"Dead if I win this race."

"You know what? I hope you place second just so I don't need to pay—"

"Just tell me to kill myself at this point."

"Ada return. Gain 6.7 seconds. Final three laps." You report.

"Copy. Can I do doughnuts if I win?"

"Not for another two races." You click your tongue. "I'll take us for milkshakes tomorrow after the meeting if you place first."

"The good place?"

"Where else?"

"I don't know." Leon goes quiet, presumably to focus on the turns. "Lap count?"

"Last one." You hum. "Congrats on fastest lap."

"Maybe you're my lucky charm. You should kiss me next time to see if it works better."

"I'm going to drop kick you across the track if you say that to me one more time." You grimace.

"Come on. You gotta congratulate me if I win first." Leon laughs, speeding down the straight as the checkered flag is waved for him.

"P1. Congrats." You hum. "Good job."

"Call me good boy."

"Over the work radio? I think not." You laugh, disconnecting as you grab the other engineers to cheer.

When everyone rushes to the front, you stay in the back, winking at Leon as his eyes meet yours. He cocks up an eyebrow and you sigh, shaking your head as your mouth opens.

'Good boy'

If Leon had a tail, it'd be wagging by now from the look on his face.

He sticks his tongue out at you in response, biting it to show his canines as he goes bouncing off in the back. It makes you shake your head, but he rushes over to Ada for a hug, Helena giving him a fistbump as Leon gives her thanks. It's nice to be cherished. Though, you're surprised when Chris gives Leon a handshake. Huh. You didn't realize he was chill like that— or however the saying goes. You find it amusing. Leon locks eyes with you after talking to Chris, running through the cars to point at you. Oh, maybe it's because they're both from Raccoon.

You tilt your head as you're pushed to the front, and Leon tilts his head at you. You feel like it should be Leon Sly Kennedy and not Scott. What an awful person he is.

"Alright, alright," You reach up for his hair, fighting back the grimace that comes with all of the sweat, humming. "Good boy."

"That's what I like to hear." He grins, leaning into your palm.

"What are you? A dog?" You pull your hand from his hair, Leon turning to head over to the podium.

"Your dog, maybe?"

Aaaand he's off with a wink.

You shudder at the thought, grimacing as Leon sings his way to the podium. He accepts the trophy with a thank you and then pops the champagne, and you duck when he aims for you, causing it to land square in Mike's face. You manage a "sorry" before Mike wipes it off his face, gawking at Leon as he purses his lips.

"Wasn't aiming for you! Sorry, Mike." He smiles.

"I want dinner too!"

"We can take the team."

"Isn't he paying?"

"I am. I can decide that."

"Nah, rather not have to third and fourth wheel." The performance engineer rolls his eyes.

"You're not gonna be my saving grace?"

"He'd kill us both."

You groan, getting up when you realize Leon's finished spraying his bottle. He pours a glass for himself, downing it as you tilt your head and watch him. He pours another glass, hopping down the podium as he holds it out for you.

"Oh? For me?"

"If not you then who?"

"The rest of your team?" You raise a brow, pressing it to your lips as you drink.

Leon bubbles over with excitement under his skin at the indirect kiss. He has one last swig left in the bottle.

That way, he can say he kissed you — even if it was indirectly.

He takes the glass from you as he takes it pouring the last of the bottle into the glass as he licks at the place where your lip balm was. Maintaining eye contact with you the whole time, he watches for even a glimpse of embarrassment on your face.

You raise a brow, but the flush on your skin is his confirmation.

Then, he presses his lips to exactly where yours were, throwing his head back to down the last of it. The alcohol slides down the corners of his mouth and his throat as his adam's apple bobs, liquid sliding down. Once he's sure the glass is empty, only then does he relax himself and sigh, smirking at you as you raise a brow. Sexual awakening? Not exactly. Something that you'd get embarrassed over watching on television? Yeah.

It makes you uncomfortably warm at the neck, pulling at your collar as Leon gives you bedroom eyes, and that elicits a look of concern and grimace from you.

Old habits die hard.

You wave goodbye to him as he heads off to the interview and debrief, laugh on your lips as you retire with everyone else.

Helena makes one last stop before going to her own interview, grabbing your shoulder with a hand as you raise a brow.

"Twenty eight likes you. A lot."

"Too bad I can't date him."

She raises a brow in disbelief and shrugs.

"Good luck at the interview."

"Thanks. Have fun at dinner later."

"Does he debrief with you?"

"Maybe? Maybe not." She winks. "Catch you next race!"

You wave, raising a brow and jumping in your skin as Mike grabs your shoulder.

"He's down so bad."

"Thanks. I prefer to ignore it."

His laugh is more than enough to make you laugh too.

You get Cheesecake Factory with Leon. It's a little unceremonious,  but as the two of absolutely go to town on your own meals, it does not matter. Whatever banter and flirting was going on on the track is ignored. This is not your problem. Your problem at the moment is to down an unreal amount of calories in the span of ten minutes, all presented to you on a platter from Cheesecake Factory. That's what you give a fuck about at the moment.

You wonder if Leon's gained any weight at all after eating... barely eating his diet. You're sure his dietician would grill the two of you to shreds for this, but you don't care. You're free. Leon's problem is his problem. You don't care if this one meal is singlehandedly restoring your weight loss over the week from exhaustion. This is your victory meal as much as it is Leon's.

"If I win next time will you go out with me?"

You blink at Leon, wiping your mouth.

"I did not just hear that come out of your mouth."

"You did."

"You woke up and decided to be twenty times more insufferable, huh?" You raise a brow. "No. I'm not complying. It's supposed to be me getting a reward."

"Is dating me not enough of a reward?"

"Not even close." You wipe at your mouth. "Isn't your dietician going to kill you for this meal?"

"I just have to burn it off." He shrugs. "Shall we take a stroll by the vegas strip?"

"Well, if you insist." You reach for your card, Leon's hand placed over yours as he takes his own out. "Leon. You placed first."

"I insist." He hums. "Now you owe me."

"Better not be more than a meal." You smile. "Milkshakes? No. Your caloric—"

"Nuh-uh. All those calories from the alcohol at the afterparty is going to turn into my milkshake."

"You don't even drink—" You pause. "I lied. I've seen that shots shots shots video circulating around of you."

"Yeah." He grins. "Yet, here I am. I'm here having dinner with you instead."

"You act as though you didn't have a choice."

"You're the one acting that way! Come on, let's go find the milkshake place."

"Don't you ever worry about paparazzi?"

"Fans are used to it by now. Haven't you seen them on Twitter betting on where we'll be eating next?" He offers you his hand, to which you raise a brow.

"Take my hand."

"Nuh uh."

"Fuck you mean nuh uh???"

You roll your eyes, getting up on your own as Leon pouts at you.

"Please?"

"I'll pay for milkshakes. Stop pouting."

"I'm gonna pout the whole way until you take my hand."

You raise a brow, following after him as he pouts at you the whole way, only returning to normal when some fans stop to ask for his signature. He makes light chat with them and you raise a brow, surprised when they hop over to your next, pen held out to you as you blink.

"You sure?"

"Yes. He's not a Stratcom racer without you." She tilts her head. "You're also like. Iconic."

You laugh, popping the cap of the pen as you ask her where you should sign, the other girl butting in to tell you to sign by the heart. You raise a brow but comply, the two girls squealing as you cap the pen again. They thank you, gushing as they as for a photo with you. You're surprised you've gained such a name just by being Leon's race engineer alone. You don't... dislike it.

"Are you two dating?!"

"No."

"Wish we were." Leon huffs.

"He's joking."

"I'm not."

"He is." You insist.

"You two have very fun conversations on the radio." One of the girls smile. "I like hearing you put him in his place."

You laugh, hunched over as Leon gawks, offended.

"I thought you were my fans?"

"Yeah, but I like your race engineer better." She whistles, looking to the side. "She's... hotter."

You laugh even harder, crouching on the ground as Leon holds a hand to his heart dramatically.

"Fake."

You get back up, patting Leon's back as you shake your head.

"Sorry to steal your spotlight, Kennedy." You hum. "Thank you, though."

"Honored! Are you both grabbing food?"

"Post-victory dinner just finished."

"And then?"

"We're getting a sweet treat." You grin.

"Sharing a milkshake?"

"No, I don't—"

"Good idea." Leon butts in, grabbing your wrist as he smiles. "We'll get going, though. Glad you enjoyed the race."

"Have fun!"

You stumble after Leon with a brow raised, unsurprised when he wraps his hand around yours, giving you a victorious grin as you scoff.

"This was your plan?"

"You're not going to defeat me in terms of grip strength."

You resist the urge to make a joke about grip, shaking the whole time your lips are pursed, coming off a lot as a spongebob meme, breaking into a fit of laughter eventually when you fail to resist.

"What?"

"You know what could defeat you in terms of grip strength?"

"Mind showing me? I'm a hands-on learner."

"This. This." You'd usually be too concerned to give a response, but the need to make the joke is too strong. You cut yourself with your own laughter, though, following after Leon as he shakes his head.

He rolls his eyes. "In public is insane."

"YOU'RE THE ONE WHO LITERALLY JUST SAID—"

"We're here." He looks up at the place, pushing the doors open as you raise a brow in suspicion.

"Wow, you're like a local." You laugh, following after him as he orders, holding your phone to the side as you fight him to pay for the milkshakes, his strength too much for you as you eventually give up and let him pay for your treat. You groan the whole time, his laugh only even more spiteful as you take your milkshake with a pout on your kips, biting on the straw as he tilts his head at you.

"Come on."

You huff. "I was supposed to pay."

"You can pay when you earn as much as I do."

"You know what? I should be relishing in the fact that I haven't spent a dime so far." You roll your eyes. "Thank you for sparing my bank account."

"Of course."

"When do you fly?"

"Wednesday."

"Are you walking?" You raise a brow, tongue red from the milkshake.

"I'll see you there." He hums, sticking his tongue out. "We should make a pink milkshake."

You grimace, smacking him on the arm as he pouts.

"Meanie."

"whore."

You fly out Tuesday after the debrief with Leon, flight awful for you despite upgrading to business class, exhaustion from weeks of flying back and forth finally building up on your body. You're close. You have, what? two more weeks? The second to last race was this week, and you could rest easy if Leon could just get the title of champion after placing first. Though, arguably as long as he gets those 26 points before the end of the season, he could rest safe. Krauser still had the chance of winning if he placed first in literally any of these competitions. It wasn't a good thing on Leon's end, but you were just as stressed as he was.

You're going to explode.

Yet, you walk the lap around the track, sighing as Leon catches the look on your face.

"Sad?"

"God, I hope nothing goes wrong with your car."

"Why? You think it'll happen?"

"Aim to get fourth."

"We're not aiming for podium?"

"That bad feeling in my stomach says to not risk anything today. We're following Mike."

Leon frowns at you, clicking his tongue. "Why?"

"The car doesn't feel safe."

"You're insane."

"I'm not. Leon."

"And if I don't listen?"

"Then crash."

Leon places first in q3, and you hold your breath as he takes a gain on the rest of the cars in first place, defending for life against Ada. You watch the whole time as he stays in first place, only contacting him when he needs to pit for a change of tires, holding your breath as neither of you seem to speak over the radio. You read wind speed and what else he can do, but for the most part he barely responds. You can only hope he's not going through some sort of late teenage rebellion stage of his life. You watch and convey words from the rest of the engineers, trusting that Leon will at least know how to handle certain situations. You might be babying him quite hard, but it's honestly—

"Puncture in tyre. Pit. Pit. Box, box." You read.

"Which tire."

"Front right."

"Copy."

You watch as the tire explodes on him and his car, causing it to spin as Leon crashes into the wall. It causes you to wince, checking to see if they deploy a safety car or pull a red. Though, it makes you tired. Leon just didn't like listening. He picked up the puncture because he had told you he thought he could push further with the tyres. You grimace at the screen and mentally prepare yourself for Leon's influx of emotions.

The groan that Leon lets out causes you to pull the headphones out from sheer vibration.

"Get over here in the garage."

"This is your fault."

"This is NOT my fault. I told you to be careful this race." You huff. "Come on."

"I'm not watching Helena race."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, white boy."

Leon groans a second time at the nickname.

He stands behind you with a frown on his face the whole time as you watch the race. Helena's doing okay. You don't think she's too familiar with the track, and the amount of turns on the track are a little tricky to handle. She slows and gets overtaken often at the tracks. You can't say much considering that lots of people struggle with the track, but you find it impressive that she's managed to guard her position as fifth, steady with her turns as she grows used to the track by the middle. You wonder if she'll place podium.

Well, not that you'd be disappointed. You like placing podium, but the team's been on there an unreal amount since Leon and Helena joined. Lowering their expectation every now and then couldn't hurt. Well, at least not like it hurts veterans to get their asses kicked and realize their driving is getting worse. You wonder if that's why Leon's so bitter. At the very least, he placed 10th considering how many other cars just casually got pulled off. He did alright. All that needs to happen is Krauser not winning first — which sounds a little insane considering that he's first at the moment.

Leon took one first place, but somehow that title wasn't awarded to him. Well, it seemed that you'd be working your ass off for another week. God forbid you have a day off before the end of the season. You truly can not win. You watch as Helena tries to climb once as she has enough space, but it still isn't enough. You're not even disappointed anymore. You honestly just want to go home. You're so tired, it's unreal. The flight did not give you enough rest time, and so many things have been keeping you awake. So many? Sorry.

Images of Leon squeezing your hand while you walked down the Vegas strip have been haunting you at night.

You are not immune to the white boy agenda.

So, you close your eyes as you decide to doze off in the garage.

You're off duty now. You're free.

Leon catches your head before you fall over completely, gloved hand gentle on your skin as you lean on him, eyes closed and breathing stable as you catch a break. He feels bad for blaming you. You truly only mean the best for him, but it wasn't as if you were doing it right. Leon huffs as he holds your head in place, watching as Helena climbs to fourth in the last twenty laps. He raises a brow, impressed at her skill, and then he holds his breath as she touches wheels with Krauser. He knows how bad it is. He wonders if you ever get this anxious and invested in a race. Maybe that was why you never reacted when he won first place. You were still adjusting... or whatnot.

You seem awfully comfortable for someone who's falling asleep while literally sitting up.

The end of the race comes too fast, and Helena places fourth. Krauser places first again, and Leon clicks his tongue. It annoys him. He needs to place first next race. Instead of walking out with everyone to watch, Leon takes the seat next to you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder for longer, glaring at Hunnigan when she gives the two of you a raised brow. He's not dealing with that. He might as well cherish the fact that you aren't biting back at him for once. Well, not that he's undeserving of all the shit you throw at him for being on the track.

You wake at one point, Leon knocked out with his head on top of yours. You blink at the pit crew cleaning up, groaning as every muscle in your body is begging for you to free it from whatever position you're currently in. You hold Leon's head in place, standing up to stretch, groaning as you do. You hear your back crack.

Leon stirs, opening his eyes and grumbling.

"I feel like shit."

"That makes two of us." You groan, stretching your arms above your head as you sigh. "I need to go back to the hotel room."

"No strategy debrief?"

"I'm too tired for that. Maybe over dessert?"

"Let's do room service again." Leon sighs. "My room this time."

You raise a brow. "Can I shower first?"

"Shower at mine."

"Okay. Damn. Whore."

"Bring your clothes. I'm not— You know what? If you're up for it."

"NO."

You end up cleaning yourself up first, towel around your neck as you step out and get changed into pajamas, knocking on Leon's room unceremoniously with your laptop and everything you might need to debrief. You wonder what it's like to be in a suite in a hotel, but you don't care. Quite frankly, you're not really in the mood to be debriefing, but anything to have your wallet not break over a room service meal. You don't even care if it's a salad at this point. Leon seems to know your general taste by now. Insane on his end, but who are you to complain?

"Come on."

"It was just a tire puncture this time."

"Yes, but something's gone wrong with my car twice in the last 3 races." He reasons. "Something needs to be changed."

"Do you want the edits you requested last time immediately?"

"That would be nice." He hums. "Also, new things to fix."

You yawn, watching as Leon draws arrows at what was flashing wrong, and you realize pretty quickly that the performance engineer was not doing what he was supposed to and keeping an eye out on everything. It makes you almost annoyed, but you don't tell Leon, opting to text the head engineer instead. You don't care if you have to find someone new. You need someone to actually watch what the hell was going on the track. Waiting until things were in the red to fix it wasn't smart. Leon's car had to be fixed as soon as anything on the car hit yellow. It was incredible how bad Leon was at car management.

"We're going to change performance engineers for your next race." You glance at the response from the head engineer.

"Really?"

"The puncture had been there for a while. It's not just an average blunder to not notice that there's something in the tire."

"Ah, right. You were that once."

"Yeah." You stab into a piece of the steak already cut, chewing as you raise a brow. "It might be someone inexperienced, but as long as they can consistently report what the numbers are, I'll live. Correction. You'll live."

"And if I crash my car?"

"Then Helena's going to need to force Krauser back until he can't score any more points than you. What are you? 379 right now?"

"379."

"Krauser's at 362. He can't place any higher than second. He's been doing well lately, so it's not out of the question for him to place podium. He can't place podium. Okay? You have to place higher than him."

"If he wins first... that just means I have to score over 390."

"Yes."

"So not first?"

"Just aim for first. Don't you want to go out with a bang?" You raise a brow.

"If I do, can I kiss you?"

"You have to place first."

"I'm taking that as a yes, then."

"I'm not saying no."

Leon flies in with you on Wednesday, involved the whole time during the debrief to discuss what can be changed and improved, deciding which tires to start off with on Thursday, and personally running around in the car during the free practices. The car's adjustments are made on the spot, and Leon grows comfortable with the car and the steering wheel before the race, slow laps around the field to get a feel, faster laps around the circuit to prepare for qualifying. He seldom talks to you, only on the radio when he drives, asking questions on how the car was doing.

He's a lot more vocal to check for the car now that it's someone completely new on the team.

You report everything he asks when he practices, checking that he's comfortable with where he's at, comfortable with knowing what his car is like. You find that his comfort probably matters a lot more than anything else at the moment. All you need to guarantee is that he gets the nine points. Though, you're aiming for him to get first place for once. You'll be cheering this race if he places first in more ways than one.

Leon races through qualifying with a passion you didn't know he could actually show, and you start to wonder if he's really just... locked in.

He places second for q3, and you take a look at the circuit, debriefing with him when he's back, nodding at him in approval when he beams at you. You might as well let yourself start getting more honest.

You think you like Leon. Well, not that you can tell. You think you like him, though. Maybe not the same way he does you, but you definitely like him.

"Still with me for that win, right?"

"Yeah, but you better win." You hum.

"You'll help me?"

"What can I do but?"

Leon rests in position, eyes on the road as the light flashes from red to green, gas pressed and speed active as he races down the start, overtaking Ada with a push, forcing a turn on the inside as he starts playing defense. The race to first was always easier than the keeping of first. You aren't sure if Leon will keep it steady throughout the entire time, but his plan in the hotel had been simple. He didn't need to place first, he just needed to chase both Ada and Krauser down until either of them wore their tires to shreds. It was a pretty simple plan on his end considering he was good at ruining both his car and others'.

"Lap?"

"35 left." You read. "How's the car? Performance engineer reports nothing sensors showing."

"It's alright." He turns, checking his rearview mirrors as he clicks his tongue. "Krauser chasing."

"Let him pass."

"What?"

"Tear that car to shreds."

"That's illegal."

"Not if he does it himself."

Leon clicks his tongue, scoffing.

"Blaming you if I get flagged."

"Blame me all you want."

Leon falls back and stages an accidental overpass, eyes focusing on the way Krauser passes him with Ada on his tail, Leon's lips curling upwards. Ada will tear Krauser to shreds for him. Ada may not play it as risky as he does, but he doesn't need Ada to be behind him, he needs Krauser torn to shreds. It had been that exact reason that he had played the cards of the public. The championship can only really be either of them. Ada's break had been the perfect opportunity for him, and he watches as Ada chases Krauser down.

You knew, maybe. You probably knew as soon as you realized he had lunch with Ada.

"Ada shredding Krauser. Touched wheels."

"Laps left?"

"30."

"She'll tear him down enough for me to overtake."

"You sure?"

"She promised." Leon hums, turning off his radio.

Ada does as promised, forcing Krauser to expend his tires and lose grip, forced into another pit stop as Leon takes the chance to chase after Ada. He understands she won't let him pass, but all that mattered was Krauser placing behind him. He needed to end up on that podium, and his pride wouldn't allow him anything other than the position of first. He chases after Ada on the corners as Krauser returns, pushing as he huffs when she cuts him off.

"How are the tires?"

"Losing grip."

"Pit now?" You pause. "Twenty seconds between you and Helena."

"Confirm."

"Confirmed pit. Box, box. We're ready when you are."

Leon glances to the side, sharp turn into the pit, wheels changed to soft ones as he races back out.

"Gap."

"Two seconds behind Helena. Five seconds in front of Chris."

"Can you have her let me pass?"

"Will ask. Go ahead and force past her anyway."

"Copy."

Leon speeds past Helena, making a mental note to thank her later, chasing after Krauser as he follows closely behind Ada, leaving enough space for Krauser and his brashness.

"Can I make him crash?"

"FIA can hear you."

"I'm not actually gonna do it."

"Twenty laps left."

"Cutting it is."

Leon wonders if Krauser really wants to deal with the same overtake three times, but he doesn't really care. If he loses, then so be it. He values his life a little less than Krauser. So, it's unsurprising when he goes for violent overtakes, forcing himself on the inside and forcing Krauser to brake, laugh on his lips as he zips past him. You keep an eye on everything else on the track, telling Leon to push.

"Fifteen laps. Get a grip, Leon." Your lips quirk up. "Gotta push."

"Thanks, tire grip is fine." He barks out a laugh, trying to cut through Ada on another turn as she stops him. "See you in ten laps."

"Catch you then."

Leon maneuvers around Ada's car in a series of close calls, grumbling to himself as he decides that he's just not going to brake the next time she pushes him into the wall. Front wing be dammed, he was so close to the finish line it didn't matter as much anymore. Yes, balance would be toppled, but it didn't matter if he could get both off at the same time. Ada has a survival instinct, and Leon would just force himself to overwrite that survival instinct. It won't matter to him as much if he loses something on the car.

"I'm gonna do a stupid."

"Oh, god."

Leon forces himself past Ada on a corner, refusing to brake and touching wheels with Ada, forcing her to the side as he speeds up, finally overtaking her and taking first. He doesn't call in in his final laps, far too invested in keeping first, stopping Ada from getting too close, grumbling though the circuit.

"Lap?"

"Final. Krauser in third. Keep your pace, Leon. You're almost there."

"God, I can't wait for my stupid prize."

Leon's final lap has minimal resistance, Ada seemingly falling a little more behind to keep Krauser out of the way, Leon flying past the checkered flag as he yells, hand thrown up as he cheers.

"DOUGHNUTS."

"Yes, Leon. We discussed this—"

You watch as Leon spins around the track, tearing the car to shreds in the process, wasting no material as he yells out, cheering and spinning on the track to do doughnuts.

"Good job, Leon."

"Now get over here so I can get my reward."

You ditch the headphones, following him as he goes back on the track to drive to his position, the rest of the team racing over to grab him, and Leon throws off his helmet, shoving it into someone's arms as he reaches for you, hands flying to the sides of your face as you yell, his lips pressed to yours as he melts into you, hand moving to the back of your head to deepen the kiss, dipping you as much as he can without your knees giving out on you. He steals every breath you can take, gloves a little nasty on your face as you throw your arms around his neck. Someone next to you yells and you think people pull out their phones, but you couldn't care less.

You've grown far too used to Leon's way of affection anyway.

You pull away first, wiping your lips from the sweat on his face, and he stares at you, beaming as you brace yourself for the million-dollar question.

"Be my girlfriend."

"Not with that attitude." You raise a brow. "Nuh uh."

Leon blinks at you, confusion all over his face as you raise a brow.

"What."

"Not with that attitude."

"Please? Go out with me?"

You roll your eyes. "What happened to chivalry?"

"Sorry, excuse me for a second." Leon lifts you over the fencing, making you yell as he carries you over to the stage.

"WHAT THE FUCK."

Leon takes his trophy as you watch from below the stage, handed a bottle of rose water as you shake it to pop it at him. The team won the constructors championship, so you think you get a little treat. You spray it in Leon's face as he sprays his at you, yelling as you close your eyes, pouring out the last bit to clink glasses with Leon. You don't care. You don't care anymore. The team just won world championship, you think there are other things that you care about right now.

Leon loops his arm around yours before you can drink, clinking glasses with you one last time before pressing his drink to his lips. You comply, lips pressed to the glass as you down the last bit, swallowing and pausing to think. This feels an awful lot like a wedding ceremony. You don't think too much about it, unlinking your arm with his to put the glass down, surprise on your face when he dives in for another kiss on the podium, lips pressed to yours as all you can taste in champagne, tongue pressed to yours with wet hair framing his face, stickiness from the alcohol on his face when you reach for his cheek, thumb brushing at it as he dips you for real this time, swallowing you whole on stage as squirm to push him off of you. You're sticky from the drink too, rose definitely on his tongue when he kisses you. You finally break free, head thrown back as he rests his head in the crook of your neck with a blissful sigh.

"God, that was so worth it."

"Kennedy, you're crazy."

"Only for you."

You fight back the grimace, opting for smacking him instead.

"We're not going for dinner first today. We're showering."

"Together?"

"No, you freak."

Leon sighs, burying his head in your chest instead.

"As long as we can get dinner after."

"I want your Nonna's pasta."

"Buying tickets right now."

"YOU HAVE AN INTERVIEW."

Leon presses a kiss to your cheek, staring at you through his lashes as he huffs. "Tomorrow, then. We can get room service for tonight."

"Only if—"

"I'll pay."

"Deal."

You let Leon wrap an arm around your waist as he cheers some more, your eye roll caught on camera for the media to see, but it doesn't really matter. Leon squeezes his cheek to yours, arm snug around your waist as he sticks his tongue out for the cameras, trophy held up for the world to see. You bet he’d wear your name around his neck if you asked him. Actually, you wonder how the hell he even got the title of playboy or flirt. Whatever Chad energy this man had when he started racing was NOT visible when he started working with you. This man is a walking loser stuck in a hot man’s body. Your loser, though.

Thank god you went to grab coffee first race of the season.

[crsssies]

"Let's get married"

word count: 4.5k || deleted from idyllcy

warnings: suicide attempt, domestic abuse + mentions of familial rape (reader's side (both) (nothing is detailed as usual but y'know like warning)

summary: there is still so much to live for.

It's amusing. Really.

Tim could have expected a thousand other reasons for his soulmate asking him out at first meeting, but whatever was going on currently was not it.

"Let's get married." He's sixteen for fuck's sake. Also. Why the fuck is it at a Wayne gala?

"Can't. I’m not 18." Tim blinks at the stranger. "That and also I'm seeing someone."

"I'm not surprised." You click your tongue, a much too expensive dress hugging your figure and a filthily costly necklace around your neck. "That's not an excuse, and that's not why I'm asking."

"Then what is?"

"Company marriage. Even if you don't want to," You snap your fingers. "Your father had promised mine we'd wed."

"I'm adopted now." Tim shakes his head.

"Yeah, and my dad is talking to your new dad about your biological dad's deal." You reach for a glass of champagne. "Want one?"

"Explain."

"When your father first started his business, mine helped him out." You sigh. "One of the terms on the contract," You scroll through your phone, stopping on a photo. "Was that you and I would wed to merge the companies eventually. My father originally didn't care about it, but since you're a Wayne now... he wants it done. I don't care if you cheat, by the way. All I need is the title of your wife so I can move out of my scumbag of a father's house."

"Would it still be cheating in a contract marriage?"

"Yeah." You smile as Bruce walks over with your dad. "How was it, daddy?"

"Bruce here is alright with the marriage as long as Timothy is."

You turn to look at Tim.

"Let me think about it." Tim sighs. "Bruce, you know I don't want anything more related to the company."

You watch as he's led off, and you brace yourself for your father's words.

You're met with a loud slap instead, cheek throbbing as you hold it, eyes wide.

You notice everyone at the gala turn to look at you, eyes hard, hatred. It's always this. You've grown used to being shamed like this, yet you're desperate to get out. Your father is a great man. A great. Man. Your father, who beat you when frustrated and locked you up when you made a mistake, was a great man. You wonder what a man who was better than your dad was like. You hear him inhale to start yelling at you. Before he can speak, someone pulls on your wrist, stepping in front of you.

"I'll do the marriage." Tim's voice cuts in, pulling you behind him. "If it'll get you to stop abusing your daughter in the name of fatherly love, then I'll do the marriage, but we are writing the terms."

"I'm glad we can agree on something, Mister Wayne." Your father smiles. Filthy man.

You grimace at the use of Wayne instead of Drake.

Tim doesn't move, and you know what happens next.

"I'll set up a proper meeting for the two of you." Your father smiles, reaching for your other arm. "We'll be retiring for the night."

"Oh, she'll be staying with me. She's legally obligated to." Tim smiles threateningly. "Soulmate laws."

Right.

"Oh?" Your father sounds delighted. "Then she's all yours."

Your father walks off, the clicks of his dress shoes obnoxiously loud against the tile of the gala hall. Tim turns around to look at you once they finish, prying your hand from your cheek, eyes gentle. You grimace at him. Just because you got hit? You expected it to take more for him to feel bad for you. Not your problem. Not when you'd just blow your dad's card buying another apartment again.

"What happened to seeing someone else?" You joke, fishing a mirror out to check the damage.

"Are you alright?"

"He does it every gala." You fish out your powder from your purse, patting the redness away. "It's not much. I wasn't expecting you to stake your claim on our soulmate bond so quickly."

"I thought I'd chase you away if I told you I was seeing someone." Tim mumbles, glancing at your wrist.

"I thought you had that thing going on with... blondie?"

"Broke up a bit ago." He pauses, looking back up. "how'd you know?"

"This isn't the first time you've spoken to me." You grumble. "the fact that you're my soulmate only means one thing to me."

Tim raises a brow as you mouth the words to him.

You're promptly dragged off, Tim telling Bruce that he was retiring for the night, grip around your wrist tight, storming out of the hall, closing the door behind the two of you as the two of you make it into an empty room, Tim slamming the door behind him.

"How."

"My words from you?" You hold up your wrist, sky blue words, blue matching the color of Tim's eyes.

"Are you alright?" Tim frowns. "Those were not my first words to you."

"They were Robin's." You stare into his eyes, eyes tired. "Robin's day identity is a mystery, and since your words are in the color of my eye, we're soulmates. My father's probably going to want you to register the mark with me as soon as possible to put the bond in stone." You sigh, unclasping the necklace. "Could you take me to the room I'll be staying in?"

"All it took was a soulmate bond?"

You frown at him. "And catching you taking off your mask."

Tim freezes, raising a brow. "I haven't—"

You shrug, reaching for the doorknob. "My room?"

"Stay in mine." He sighs. "We'll talk later. Bruce wants me back."

"Alright." You follow behind him, dropping the necklace on the drawer as you start stripping.

"A-are you just?"

"Wanna jump my bones?" You raise a brow. "We're soulmates. Anything you do to me would have a blind eye turned on it."

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose, rummaging through the closet. "Shirt and shorts to change into."

"Do you have patrol tonight?"

"Bruce is probably—"

"Bruce Wayne is Batman?!" You blink rapidly, brows furrowed.

"You... didn't figure that out?"

"No." You frown. "I only found out you were Robin when you called me your soulmate."

Tim curses under his breath. "I'll probably be told to take the night off. If I'm not back by twelve, assume I'm patrolling. Don't wait for me to go to sleep."

"Wasn't planning on it." You mumble, shutting the bathroom door behind you.

Tim has his mark registered with you the next morning, words on your wrists, exhaustion all over your face. You couldn't sleep well despite the soft sheets and warm blankets. You think it has something to do with the fact that it wasn't your bed. You'd kill to be back in your own apartment right now. Yet, as you stand in the elevator in the government building, you think you're going to kill someone. Maybe you'd get jailed by your soulmate for it too.

"You look elated to be here." Tim mumbles.

"Sure." You grumble under your breath. "Didn't get good sleep last night."

"Why?"

"Miss my bed." You grumble. "Just our words, right?"

"Your father dropped off all of your documents this morning. You're covered."

"Hate that man," You groan as the elevator signals your arrival, following after Tim. "Abusive fucker."

"Mister Drake." The man smiles.

"Let's get this over with."

"Is it romantic of platonic?"

"Romantic." You sigh, handing him your passport, holding out your wrist. "Get this over with, please."

"Usually people are more... excited to register their bonds."

"I'm running on two hours of sleep." You glare at the man. "Make haste."

"We will."

Both you and Tim step out of the government building into his car, and you click on your watch.

"Business?"

"I run the company since my dad doesn't now." You grumble, fishing out an earpiece, pulling down the vanity mirror as you pull out a bag of cosmetics. "Can you drive steady?"

"I can try."

"Alright." You start on your makeup, answering the call as you do. "No, Vanessa. I'm running late because I was registering my soulmate bond... Yes, I'll be on time for the company meeting. No, you are not meeting my soulmate." The makeup in your bag clinks as you finish with the base. "Yes, the file is in the shared drive. Vanessa, are you calling me because you're worried you forgot something again? I thought you were my aide."

Tim stops at a red light.

You pull out the lipstick and finish your makeup. "Yeah. I'm like two minutes away. Don't greet me downstairs. My soulmate's sending me and I don't want you to faint from seeing him."

Tim raises a brow at you as he starts the car again.

"No. It's obviously because he's hot as hell." You deadpan. "He's another high profile person. You'll faint upon seeing him. We have a meeting and I can't send you to the hospital over something like this."

Tim stops at your company, and you smile at him while clicking mute. "Thank you."

"Should I pick you up after work?"

"I need to get stuff from my apartment."

"I can take you there."

"If you'd like." You hum. "I'll let you know when I'm free to draft a contract."

"I'll have my aide send you my schedule too."

You nod, stepping out of the car, going back to your phone. Tim watches as you leave, heading to his own company.

"Vanessa, babe—" You start, barely paying attention.

"Your soulmate is Tim Drake?" She holds her phone up for you to see.

"Well the media caught onto that fucking fast." You grimace. "The meeting's with WE, right?"

"You'll see your soulmate?"

"Usually it's Lucius." You grimace. "Not Tim."

"You should make him do it."

"I am NOT doing that." You sigh, opening the door to your office. "Where's my curling iron?"

"Second shelf on the right by the door." Vanessa clicks on her iPad. "Other than the meeting, there's nothing else."

"Nothing at all?"

"Nothing."

You frown. "And tomorrow?"

"Your father cleared your schedule."

You curse under your breath, plugging in the iron to start on your hair. "Anything else I need to know about my father?"

"Rushing for the marriage."

"I've literally just met the man." You grimace.

"You have an opening today, would you like to let Mister Drake know about it?"

"I.. don't have his number." You purse your lips. "Shit."

"Then?"

"I hope he's at the WE meeting." You sigh. "Bring my laptop. We'll draft the contract there."

"Got it."

You show up at the Wayne Tower, two buildings down from yours, sunglasses pushed up your head as you're lead to the meeting room, files in hand. You're sure your laptop would come in more handy, but you don't care. Especially not when more than half of the employees are staring at you with the same question in mind. Are the tabloids telling the truth? You don't give them an answer. Your publicist will.

"Pleasure," You smile, shaking hands with the man. "I was told the CEO would be here?"

"Mister Drake is here instead." He smiles, placing a hand on your lower back, leading you into the room. You hate men like that.

"Hands off my soulmate." Tim smiles, pulling you away from the man gently. "Only I get to touch them like that."

"Publicist?" You mumble under your breath.

"Yeah." He whispers back.

You place a hand on Tim's chest as he pulls you in, lips pressed to your cheek.

"How was your morning?" His voice is overly sweet— like a poison that would taste despicable.

"I was busy getting ready for the meeting." You smile. "Wanted to look good for you."

"Well, I think you look gorgeous regardless of whether or not you try."

You want to hurl.

The two of you sit down, fingers drumming the table as you hand him the files.

The meeting goes as well as you had expected it to. The collaboration is approved, and the meeting wraps up. You almost forget about the whole contract until Vanessa speaks up.

"Mister Drake, a moment, please?" She smiles, handing you your laptop.

"Forgot." You groan. "Do you have time after this?"

"The rest of my day is clear."

"Then let's get drafting." You mumble, opening your laptop.

"My publicist wants us in public." Tim sighs. "Coffee shop?"

"I'd be more than willing." You mumble. "We're a little overdressed for a coffee shop, though."

"Suits are not uncommon in Gotham." He hums. "I'll drive. Is your schedule clear for the rest of the day?"

"Yes."

"I'll take you to your apartment after this." He sighs. "Perfect excuse to get out of here. Had it not been with your company, I wouldn't have come to work today."

"I'm honored."

"Hand." He holds out his hand for you, and you tilt your head at him. "Publicity."

"Fucking hate being a public figure." You grumble under your breath, taking his hand. "Until the car?"

"Yeah."

"Do we... talk?"

"Coffee."

You fucking hate this.

"Heard it's good." Tim mumbles, the two of you stepping out.

"Yeah? I had a friend tell me the coffee was heaven in a cup." You laugh. "What's your usual order?"

"Espresso shots."

"You need to do something that isn't drinking coffee until you overdose from caffeine." You smack him playfully, feigning a frown.

"Sorry, sweetie." He chuckles.

You can feel the stares of his employees as the two of you step into the elevator, grimacing as you do, the people disappearing.

"You ever dated?"

"Was seeing someone until you popped up." Tim mumbles. "You?"

"Father would have killed me if I even looked at a man." You grimace.

"So you've never done anything?"

You pause, pressing your fingers to your lips. "To the media."

"And in private affairs?"

"I've had a solid amount of hookups." You flash a smile at him, taking his hand as the elevator door opens.

Tim wonders if all the other rich kids are like this. Innocent on paper, a devil off the media. There were tons of rich people who were doing things for their images, but only their images. He doesn't want to think of all the clubs where the rich kids were hooking up and doing illegal things. He wonders if you've ever been a part of it. He glances at you as you pull on the seatbelt of his car.

You raise a brow at him. "Wondering if I'm part of the Billionaires Kids club?"

"How'd you know?"

"You get eerily good at reading people in an abusive household." You touch up your makeup. "I'm not. I've been inside it once or twice because of my father's connections, but I've never been an official member."

"They should really get something better to do than pulling the poor inside for their own pleasure."

You hold back your opinion on the matter. It was illegal, but it was the quickest way out of poverty. You had to pick between morals on the matter, not that Tim would understand.

"You should get a better publicist." You smile playfully.

"Think mine's bad?"

"There's no reason we should be holding hands and being so buddy buddy so early on when we just discovered we're soulmates." You mumble. "My publicist only told me to do what I deemed fit."

"You can act cold, you know?" Tim hums. "My publicist wants to erase all the rumors that I was dating a random girl a while back through our soulmate link. He wants me to look like I'm pathetically in love with you."

You raise a brow. "Yeah?"

"You look like you're about to make this hell for me."

"It'd definitely help my dad think you're enamored with me like he wanted you to be that night I was wearing a necklace worth a mansion." You chuckle. "Open my door for me when we arrive."

"The internet loves pathetic men."

"Yeah." You laugh. "You'll get all the capcut template edits."

"And the twitter posts?"

"God, if my soulmate doesn't look at me like this, I don't want it." You quote. "Ughhhh why can't I have a billionaire as my soulmate!!!"

Tim laughs dryly.

"It would be funnier if you dropped by my apartment every day as Robin and got caught by the media." You hum in amusement. "God, why can't Red Robin look at me like that?"

"The media is already having a field day."

"I'm aware." You hum. "In the cafe?"

"Bring your laptop."

"Got it."

Tim steps out first, opening the door for you with a hand out, the two of you walking in, hand in hand.

"What's your coffee order?"

"Iced latte. Oat milk, please."

"Are you lactose intolerant?"

"No. Just like oat milk better."

"Get us a seat. I'll order." Tim smiles at you, and you nod.

You can already hear the cameras. You open your laptop, glancing at the original document for the marriage contract, and you click through, erasing old terms, putting in terms of your own, tapping on the laptop as Tim comes with your coffee orders.

"Typing your terms?"

"Yeah." You mumble. "Don't know if I should put a no sex clause."

"Don't. There's too much possible development between the two of us." Tim mumbles. "Who knows."

"What's the word... falling in love over time." You mutter. "Here. You can add a couple of clauses and let me know if it works."

Tim scans over the document, drumming his fingers against the table, exhaling as he mumbles.

"Hm?"

"Looks good." He smiles. "Anything for you."

(You fight the urge to gag.)

God, are the paparazzi going to have a field day with how Tim looks at you.

"Very well." You smile. "If anyone asks, it's a prenup."

"Yes." He hums, eyeing the paparazzi through the glass. "Shall we go to your place?"

"Sure." You mumble. "They're still there, huh?"

"They are a little obsessed with you, I will say." Tim hums, holding his hand out for you.

You sigh. "Very well. It's what I get for being my father's daughter."

Tim does not know what to expect upon entering your apartment. You live in a penthouse with two floors, yet from head to toe, the apartment was furnished childishly. As if you had brought a child's drawing to life, the apartment was colored vibrantly. Figures decorated the glass casings, two cats greeting him at the door, the lights turning on with a simple command of your voice. You offer him something to drink, pointing at the fridge.

"Did you design this place?"

"Yes." You hum. "I found drawings from when I was a child and decided to use it as inspiration for this place. I do hope you will let me keep it during our marriage."

"Of course." Tim mumbles. "Do you wish for a wedding?"

"My father does." You slide open a door, stepping in. "I have a suitcase with a copy of everything I use in the house. That will make do for now."

"Do you not want to move any of the figures?"

"My past self is satisfied. It's my turn to live out what she was trying to avoid." You hum. "My maid comes and cleans every week. My valuables..." You pull open a drawer, scanning your thumb and eye, typing in a pin. "I'll take all of these and then it'll be farewell."

"You can come back whenever, you know? We don't need to live together all the time."

"My father will mind." You pull everything into your bag. "So?"

"Will you be free from him when you get married?" Tim stares at you, picking up a paper from the table, reading through it.

You pause to think.

"Yes. Because there is only one ending worse than his death to him." You smile. "It is for me to be free."

"Does he value you that much?"

You turn to him, eyes turning dead. "My father raped me the night I turned eighteen. The night after I fled from the mansion, you told me to go home. You would not remember, but I sure as hell did. You must be wondering what kind of a man would rape their own daughter." You laugh dryly, exhaling with a laugh. "My father raped me because I look eerily like my own mother. In his own delusion, he decided that raping his daughter to make up for his wife who had committed suicide in front of his eyes was the best choice. Who would pick up a woman who was defiled by the hands of her own father other than her soulmate who would have to?"

Tim reaches for you as you take a step back.

"So listen well, Timothy Wayne." You continue laughing. "I'm going to use you as a shield, and when I finally, finally get to run away, you will be left to suffer all of the punishments that I am supposed to take. BUT!" You smile. "You won't suffer it because you're a higher rank than me in the socialite lifestyle. So. I will use you until you're left dry, empty, standing on the top of the world, only for you to be alone. But no worries." You hum. "You'll find someone after me, I promise."

"I would be shunned." Tim stares at you.

"Oh? You would not." You hum. "No one dares to speak ill of the Waynes." You open your window, getting onto the windowsill.

"No." Tim steps toward you, one, two, one, two. "Don't."

"This is freedom, Tim, and I'm going to shackle you with the grief of losing someone you barely got to know." You smile. "I'm going to burden you with the pain that comes after losing a soulmate, so watch closely."

"You're not in your right mi—"

Tim races to the window as you fall backward, eyes staring into his soul, and he doesn't think twice. He can't believe keeping his Robin suit under his work suit was a smart decision. He jumps through the window after you without second thought, adjusting his body to fall down faster, grabbing you by the waist as he launches the grapple, heart racing as you hit him, screaming at him to let you go. You bite and dig your nails into him, thrashing in his grip as you try and fall again, crying about how you needed it and he didn't understand.

"You're the one who doesn't understand! How is a human life worth so little in your eyes!" Tim yells at you, holding you down on a random roof.

"Then what is it supposed to be worth?! I'm fulfilling the one wish of mine since I've been a kid!" You yell back at him, tensing and trying to break from his grip. "I've granted every wish of mine except for that, so why does it matter!"

"YOU STILL HAVEN'T EXPERIENCED BEING LOVED!" Tim yells. "That was the one—"

"THAT ONE IS POINTLESS!" You scream, crying. "I can't be loved, fucking dammit! My father's raised the most worthless bitch in the world! What is there to be loved about for me?! Now, let me go and let me die, you useless hero!"

"I'm not letting someone die! I'm going to get benched forever and I don't want that!" Tim yells.

You stop, scoffing. "You won't let me die because you don't want to be benched?! You're an adult, for fuck's sake! Do what you fucking want!"

"Then why aren't you doing what you want?"

"I was until you stopped me!" You sob, voice cracking. "Let me die, goddammit!"

"You haven't... finished." Tim collapses on top of you, voice weak. "You never finished your list."

"The only thing left on it was to be loved." You mumble. "That didn't matter. I was loved by my friends."

"Whom you called fake."

"And my mother." You pause.

"Who despised you at the same time."

"Okay, boy wonder, that just sounds like stalking." You deadpan. "What about my sister?"

"Okay, yeah, she counts." Tim mumbles. "But she also feels hurt that you would try and carry the entire weight of the family's sins on yourself just because you didn't want her to get touched."

"Okay, damn, stalker." You sigh. "Will you get off of me if I say I won't kill myself? You're heavy."

"I am not—"

"You have armor on." You hiss.

Tim rolls off of you as you get up to scramble for the edge again, and he grabs you by the ankle.

"I'm breaking your ankle if you try jumping off."

"WHY IS YOUR GRIP STRENGTH SO STRONG?!" You shriek, trying to kick your foot free from him.

"B has more than just arm strength in his daily routine for us." Tim manages through his teeth. "I'll lock you up in the basement if I really have to."

"In the fucking cave?! Absolutely not!" You shriek. "God, why won't you fucking let me die?!"

"I'm not dealing with the leftover grief you're going to force me to feel, you dumbass!" He yells. "Did you forget that neither of us are adults?! My parents may have died and I may have cried buckets, but I'm not stupid enough to let myself go through that again! Do you know how much my father cried when he lost my mom?!"

"Your father remarried! My dad shoved it in my face all the time when he thought about our engagement!" You yell. "My father told me that if I were to just die off the face of the earth, you wouldn't give two shits about me! You didn't even know our engagement existed until I talked to you at the gala!"

"Because my father died before he could tell me!"

"Okay, damn. Did you not read through any of your family's business documents, little genius?!" You grumble. "They should've been in there somewhere."

"Dad burned most of the documents when he declared the company as bankrupt."

"Oh, I'd rather die at this point." You sigh. "Can't you just let me kill myself? How about this, you drop me off at my place tomorrow, and I just kill myself."

"Do you know how much the public is going to hate me over it?!"

"Not. My. Problem." You stick your tongue out at him. "Does it look like I give a fuck?"

"You really should, you know, moral obligation, as my soulmate."

"Congrats. Your soulmate doesn't have a moral code." You grimace in disgust. "Now, will you let go of my ankle? It's going to bruise."

Tim pulls you backward, catching you as you fall into his arms, frowning. "No. I'm keeping you in my arms until you hate me."

"I already do. Let me down."

"Oh, then until you love me."

You gag obnoxiously loud in his arms.

"Until the day we're both old and wrinkly." Tim hums. "Then I will let you down."

"Ew. Is this why you pulled so much?" You grimace. "Your words are nasty."

"Maybe you will learn to love me through the time." Tim shrugs, opening the door to the apartment complex. "And maybe you'll find that there is love without conditions."

"How pathetic." You scoff. "In this day and age?"

"Love has pursued past all of the centuries humans have been alive for." Tim shrugs. "Maybe you will find peace with me."

"Worth a shot." You hum, laughing. "Maybe it'll hurt more if I just kill myself in front of you after you fall for me."

"Maybe." Tim mumbles. "But it would be worth the try. for you."

[crsssies]

i cut like one singular thing

"Adaline." You call her by name, watching as she tenses under your grip. "Let's talk. I am aware of the war brewing." "Yes." She avoids your gaze, staring to the side. "Your husband is leaving once more, no?" "Yes. It is unfortunate, as it seems we are just cursed as such." You mumble. "Even without an heir, the king seems desperate for his best soldier to go."

leon was supposed to go to war hence that one blurb from forever ago (did not end up as the sad ending. reader just died instead)

there's no difference, i adore ya

word count: 6.5k || Medieval AU || Photo by Antibia

warnings: major character death, childbirth, non-explicit smut

summary: beginning too late, ending too soon

"Do you live waiting for something to happen?"

The question from your friend causes you to blink, confusion written all over your face as you pause in picking the fruit at the market.

"What?"

"I don't know. I heard that witch ask the question the other day, so I always wondered if we were supposed to do something instead of waiting for something to happen to us." She frowns. "That apple's too soft."

You grimace at the way it dents under your fingers, placing it back down. "Madam, you got any other fruit?"

"Unfortunately, the batch lately has just been bad." She shakes her head.

"And the prunes?"

She shakes her head. "The castle took all the good harvest to welcome the soldiers back from war."

"You must be relieved, madam. Your son and husband should return." You smile. "I heard the knights this year were exceptionally capable and there were no men dead amongst ours."

"Yes." She laughs, chest rumbling as your friend remembers something.

"Oh, goodness! That cute neighbor of mine is returning!" Your friend gasps.

"The one you've taken a liking to that your parents refused to wed you to?"

"Ugh, it's not my fault his family is gone! Instead, I am stuck with my good for nothing husband at home." She grumbles. "If only I was still available as you."

"How awful." You find a single good apple amongst the soft ones, asking the madam if you could take it. She nods, letting you go without a coin in her hand, somewhat happier now that her husband and son should be returning. You place the apple in your basket, wandering back home with your friend, festivities being put up as the two of you are pushed to the side, eyes wide and blinking in mild surprise as the knights march down the town. You glance at the men in armor, raising a brow at your friend when she squeals her neighbor's name, the man turns to stare into your eyes instead, your breath stuck in your throat as the sun goldens his blue eyes.

"He's looking this way!" She squeals.

"That is your neighbor?" You force yourself to look away from him, balancing yourself as she pretends to faint into your arms. "Was your neighbor not the village boy we met so long ago?"

"Yes, he had been promoted to our family knight at the time before the war, so he was by rule, our neighbor. It seems the king will promote him to something better instead now that he has come back from war victorious with the princess." She gushes. "Oh, good heavens. If only my parents had waited as I instructed them to! Look at how attractive of a man he has become!"

You turn to look back at him, surprised to see him stopped and still staring at you.

"Oh, goodness. It seems he is fond of you." Your friend mumbles, squealing as she smacks your arm. "Darling, talk to him!"

"He has just returned from war. It is not something I can fathom him doing."

As you say, the knight gets back to moving from the yell of another knight, his blue eyes burn into your mind as you wonder just what had you looking so lovely for him to be staring at you as that. You are not attractive. Your friend had been wedded immediately upon growing to marriable age, and your parents had tried time and time again to set you up, only for it to be dropped. You were not suitable. A better candidate had appeared. A woman more suited for their son had been suggested. It was never you. You had never been picked in the end. You do not find that it should be a problem. After all, you are still young, but there is a fear that gnaws at the back of your head that you will be unmarried by 20 and then too old for everyone else. No man covets an old woman.

Yet, you were a late bloomer anyway, so it is unsurprising that you had not been allowed to be wedded by the church until you had started bleeding.

Then, by that time, most of the men were already off to war, leaving you very few men, most of whom had already gotten married. Most other girls were wedded to the noblemen who did not need to fight in the time. You had not been a first choice to many of them because of the way you carried yourself. You could not be sold as an obedient wife out of a fear that your family would be condemned to death by your would-be husband's.

You are not wealthy in a land that only adores the wealthy.

"How was the parade, child?"

"It was alright." You smile at your mother. "I saw the knights return."

"Well, now that they are back, surely you can be wedded off." Your father sighs, tapping the table as your mother places down dinner.

"I got an apple from the madam at the market." You hand it to your mother, who rushes off and chatters about a pie, leaving you with your father.

"Is there a man you would like?"

"No." You pause, blue eyes flashing in your mind as you answer, causing you to stop.

"You do not look of such."

"Shame." You mumble. "I met eyes with a young knight today, but considering he is the leader of the group, surely he will be wedded to the princess as an excuse to hand him a title and some land."

"And if you are the second wife?"

"We are not the east, father." You thank your mother as she hands you a bowl, and your father starts eating.

"Did he stop to stare?"

"Yes."

"Oh, then surely he'll request of you from the king." Your mother laughs, placing her own plate down as she eats. "It is the same as your father had done. You would be surprised to know how certain your father had been that I was to be wed to him."

You entertain your mother's words, sure that such will not happen. Any man with their right mind would not choose a woman over a title, yet you are sure there are men as your father. Lovesick fools, your mother calls them. Your father had been so enamored with your mother, and despite the words of everyone around you insisting that your mother was plain and average, you thought of her to be lovely. Your mother was lovely. It was a sight to behold — your mother had been loved from the moment your father laid eyes on her, and you knew it well. It was rare, you think. Perhaps that is also why your father complains only verbally, never actively looking for a man for you. They had wedded late. Later than your current age. They had worried not, so neither should you.

"Good news will befall you soon." Your mother insists.

"I hope my husband at least received a title."

Your friend comes knocking for you to shop for food with her a week from then, arm hooked under yours, lips curled upwards as it only means she has some groundbreaking news to let you know of.

"Pray tell, what is this news this time?"

"Oh, you know me so well." She grins. "That knight from our house? Promoted."

"Promoted? To what? Has he been wedded to the princess?"

"No, the princess was married off to a neighboring nation. You know, the king has a young son now, after all." She waves her hand. "The title of viscount was bestowed upon him by the king."

"And?"

"And?? That means he is of marriable age, unwed, and attractive! You should have your parents suggest of you to him!"

"He's a noble now. There is no chance that he will go searching for someone not of noble background." You hum. "Why wed in a pool of the poor when the rich are options."

"You know, he is a new noble after all. There is little chance that he will wed with someone of the nobles."

"Surely that face of his is good for something." You purchase pears this time around, humming as you hand the woman a dozen eggs for the basket of pears.

"Look!"

"At—" You tense up when you notice your friend is no longer behind you and it is a man, and you turn slowly, taking a step forwards as you do, blinking at the knight that has so kindly decided to appear out of nowhere. "Sir."

"Mistress." He places his hand on his chest, bowing gently as you muster a smile.

"Pray tell, knight, if there is something that I could be help of?"

"Your parents, mistress."

"I am not of noble descent. There is no need to refer to me of such name."

"I assure you, there will be soon." He nods. "Unless you have complaints?"

"There are none, I assure you. I shall bring you to my mother and father."

Your friend had run off long ago, and when you finally glance up to look at her, she is far down the road on her way home, waving at you dramatically as you sigh.

"You are tired?"

"No, knight. My friend is just full of life, you see." You nod at him to follow you, stepping down a set of stairs as you arrive at your home, your voice meeting an empty home as you have him follow you to the yard.

"I am back with the pears... and a knight."

Your father looks up, raising a brow at the knight as he laughs.

"Sir Leon, was it? Matthew of York was gabbing of the new squadron leader. It must have been you, considering those blue eyes of yours."

"Honored, sir." The knight, Leon, follows your father as you take over his work with the chickens, chasing one down and grabbing it by the wing, flipping it upside down as your mother claps.

"That one will do for dinner." She hums. "Let's feather the bird."

"Yes, ma."

You are to be wedded to Leon. It was hard to turn down a man who was higher standing than both of your parents, and despite your father being his superior previously, there was no argument or complaint raised from you, so it was fine to proceed with the arrangement. You have no complaints if you are marrying... noble, or whatnot. It is not of your concern. You are just grateful that you are no longer unwed. At least the wives with no better to do will stop sneering at you.

Though, they would start sneering of how you seduced the man with your figure. Truly, there is nothing you can do that would satisfy the mouthes of the bored.

"If there is any one who does not will for the couple to be wedded, speak now or forever hold your peace."

You blink at the way your to-be husband holds your hands, his calloused ones from the sword against your softer ones. Your hands are no better, still rough from the livestock, slightly bruised from the work that you had been raised to do. You had only stopped once your father realized that you'd be wedded better if your hands had been well kept. Rough hands on a woman meant that she was of lower standing in class. Your father didn't care, but it also mattered that you would marry well. To be wedded to a bad man was enough to age your father too many years. The end of his life was approaching, after all. It's surprising that your mother had even survived childbirth of you. Your father almost didn't— you're surprised they did not have more to tend to the livestock. Something about your mother suffering too much while having you to have another. You suppose if love is a concept, then it would be your mother and father.

"I pray he shall take care of you the same way your father does me." Your mother tells you, wedding clothes draped over you as you are wed at the chapel, exchange and officiation of the ceremony done by the priest, your bowed head and an exchange of rings that are surprising quality from a knight. The gold band slid to your finger and to his, the gold glistening against your skin as you stare up at Leon. Your husband, now. The man whom you barely knew would be the man you are to spend the rest of your life together with. However long that life of yours would be.

"And the consummation." The priest nods.

"We shall deal with such in our abode. Come on."

You follow Leon as he brings you, fingers entwined with yours as he leads you through the paths, lips curled upwards once you arrive at his residence, stopping to stare at all the maids and aides that you're sure Leon isn't any more familiar with than you. How does one manage wealth after living their whole life as a commoner? You are sure there is a servant for that, but you are also certain that you will need to watch everything to make sure the wealth is built and not squandered. Does your husband know of such? There is too much to think of.

"Overwhelmed?" He smiles at you, and you sigh.

"I will have to grow familiar with it." You follow him as he leads you to the bedroom, standing to the side as you blink at him and then the bed, preparing to strip.

"If you do not—"

"It is my duty." You continue, cutting him off. "I bed of you to be quick. I have heard it can be painful."

"If you are not prepared." He steps towards you, letting you sit down on the bed, kneeling as you drop the inner layer.

"And how are you to have child with me if you are on the ground?"

"I will not hurt you. I could not dream of it." He has you sit, undressing himself as well, spitting on his fingers.

"Do the men of the battlefield know of this?"

"They are the ones who taught me, despite my status as commander." He pries your legs open, staring up at you, waiting for a nod.

"And the brothels?"

"You learn much just by observing." He pauses. "It is a sin, is it not?"

"There are so many worse sins out there. As long as it does not hurt."

"I would not wish of it."

Marriage consummation is supposedly painful, but Leon puts the skills of the battlefield to good use, visits to the brothel with his soldiers long engrained in his soul, your body thoroughly spent as though you had been tending to the livestock, mark of your nails raked down your husband's back with a red previously unknown to you, your exhaustion much more apparent when the maids wake you the next day — your husband missing, and you are tended to and bathed, the maids whispering amongst themselves of the visible bruises left on your neck. Abuse or adoration, they wonder. Is their master as cruel as to bring back a woman just to abuse her? You know the answer, yet the embarrassment stops you from speaking up.

You meet your husband in his garden, the man with his sword out, swinging and training with the guards of his new residence, years of heavy armory apparent in his stature, body glistening under the sun, breathless blue eyes bright under the morning rays. You do not speak or move, waving the maids off as they scatter, and you take a seat on the side, blinking slowly as you take in the sight of your husband. Do you love him? Will you love him? What is love, truly? Does father have truly so much faith in you as to fall in love with a man you had only met once? Is it truly better to marry a man who adores you than to marry a man whom you adore?

"Wife." He brightens at the sight of you, forcing the knight's sword away with his own, rushing over to you as though he were some overgrown hound, lowering himself onto one knee as he checks your skin, asking you of your morning — are you alright? are you growing accustomed to the life in his residence? do you require of anything? how about a new gown? a visit to your companion's? how about a walk? He is an overgrown docga, you find. You wonder if it was normal to equate your husband to an animal, but as you find yourself running your hand through his dirty hair without much a second thought and ruffling his hair, you wonder if you had accidentally wounded your husband's pride.

Instead, you are met with a laugh, his cheeks red as he leans his head further into your touch.

"Should we fetch a hound, dear wife?"

"My apologies, Sir Leon." You cough, pulling your hands away from his hair. "It was—"

"Leon is fine, dear wife." He hums. "I am your husband now. There is no need to be formal."

"Do excuse me, for we barely know each other."

"I am most certain you are the one."

You are not sure how he is certain, but the way he beholds you with such fondness in his eyes leaves no argument for your futile thoughts.

You are certain that there would be nowhere else where a man could behold you in such light.

"Surely?"

"You are sent by the Lord himself." He rests his forehead on your hands, humming. "There is no larger grace than that of the moment I first met eyes with you."

You give him a laugh that can only mean you are only half-convinced. Yet, you do not make mention that you do not believe him. There is only so much that you can experience before you pass. Your husband will be sent to war in time again as his role of knight, and you will have children and possibly pass before you get to see him older with age. You wonder if you will bear him a son at the very least. An heir to carry on the name that has so mournfully ended with your birth because of your father's choice to protect your mother.

"Rest here. I shall return in a little time." Leon offers you a smile. "And I shall bring you around the garden when I do."

He offers you a kiss to the bone by your eye, calloused fingers against soft skin as he smiles.

You leave him with silence, eyes back to watching the way he continues with training his own guards. He prefers to do many things on his own, hands laboring out in the fields of the garden, pruning the trees and asking for your opinion on what flowers sounded pretty. He does not expect you to know which ones will be pretty since he does not either, but he includes you, letting you sit on the stone bench as he discusses with the hired gardener, listening intently as he's told which flower combinations work best.

"And you, wife?"

"Roses are fine, Leon."

Leon nods, continuing his conversation, and you wonder if this is a man hurt by war and worn down by years of fighting. It is a valiant thing — to be kind even after war. It is an effort to choose to be one way when it is much easier to be another. You fear that you are too plain to stand next to him. When the sun shines, does everyone not flock to bask in the glow of gold? You bask in it on your own, your husband far too attached to you to even consider basking someone else in the shine of his light. It is reserved for you and you alone, and you find that there are women who dream of such warmth.

"Shall we share a chamber, wife?"

"It is not customary not to, no?" You raise a brow. "There is no reason to, Leon."

"Is it so wrong to wish to be by my wife?"

"You spoil me rotten."

"If not me, then who?"

You move into Leon's room, your closet moving alongside you, maids whispering amongst themselves of how strange it is that the master would mention residing with the mistress if not to have a child. Yet, when it is night and Leon pulls you to the balcony with a duvet wrapped around you as he kneels by your feet and shows you the stars, you wonder if there is some way you can love him back. Will time make the heart grow fonder? Will you learn to love Leon the way he deserves to be adored by the time that you both have children? You do not want such a curse to befall your children.

"And that one is Vega."

"The merchant the other day told tales of her and Altair."

"So in love that they neglected their duties, was it?" You stare up. "How I wish that were me."

"Am I not loveable, wife?"

"No, you deserve far more affection than that I can offer to you." You hum, pulling him up to have a seat by you.

"We have all the time for such."

"Once an heir is born, then we will have less." You hum. "There is always a chance I will pass during childbirth, after all."

"That will not happen." He hums. "I assure you. I shall not bed you until you are comfortable with me as I am you."

"It will take a while, then. Neither of us are young anymore, husband."

"It is alright. If we pass without an heir, then I shall return everything to the princess in my will." He smiles. "There is no rush, beloved."

"I fear that while you do not, I will."

You fall into a mundane life with Leon, taking a stroll in the garden in the morning to check on the roses and their growing progress, eating with him in the hall, and then the two of you separate for you to continue your instrument lessons while he trains the knights. You meet again at night before bed, making use of your time by engaging in conversation, making mention of all that you had done in the day. Is there truly anything new? You do not know. Just what does your husband see in you to spoil you to extent?

"I shall be heading to town." You pull for your old clothes when you were a commoner, refusing the maids' aide to at least make you presentable, and you palm the dry dirt, shaking it into your hair. You look like how you did a long time ago. You nearly do not recognize yourself. You have grown used to the artistry of your day to day life and forgotten your roots.

You meet up with your friend, smiling as she is in her commoner clothes as well.

"So? How's marriage?"

"It is alright." You hum. "Not much has occurred."

"Truly?"

"Truly." You glance at the apples on display. "He refuses to bed me until I can love him."

"How could you not? He has such a charming visage."

"Perhaps something holds me back." You glance at the witch on the street. "Oh, yes, whatever happened to Adaline?"

"Oh, it seems she had been wedded off to the neighboring estate." She taps her chin. "The duchy of Wellesley, if I remember correctly."

You wonder how she is doing. No, you should not wonder over such. The two of you are long gone. It had been gone the second she decided she would be the one rather than you. The king has promised your husband a life of retirement now that Leon is wedded to you. Until you are with an heir, he is not allowed to leave the walls of the kingdom. Something about how Leon needed children or else one of the greatest knights in history would go down as a knight without lineage. You're sure your children would love to hear of their father's achievements in war.

"Do you want children?" You glance at Leon step by you, wine handed to you as you stare down at the garden.

"Why would I not?"

"You do not bed me, insisting that I must love you before have children. We have our lives for the love you crave for me to feel." You press the drink to your lips, staring out. "I will age, and soon, I will not be able to bear children for you."

"That is fine." Leon insists, leaning on the railing. "Children or not, you are more valuable."

"What value do you find in me? Truly, I am none more than your wife. I do not beg, whine, nor give affection to you. What do you see in me to cause you to believe that I am deserving of all of this love?"

"Is it so wrong to love someone?"

You finish the last of your wine, blinking slowly. "No, just not me."

Leon is infatuated with you. Do you know why? You could not care less. All you are to do is bear a child for your husband and move on with life. If you pass, then you pass. If you stay, then you raise the child with your husband — it is that simple. That is what you are to do. The thought of it makes you seem plain and unwanted, eyes blinking slowly as you stare at the witch across from you in the square, raising a brow when your friend yells out an all-too-familiar name.

"Adaline!"

That gets your attention.

"Adaline." You breathe the name as though it's second nature, fingers twitching by your side, heart hammering in your chest.

Yet, she disappears back into the crowd, and all chasing is futile, your legs stuck in place as the clouds of rain brew over your head, looming over both your heart and soul as you rush back to the estate, clothes soaked through and muddied with the dirt from rushing.

"Wife." Leon calls for the servants immediately, drying you up by the fire as he leans against the wall behind you, eyes stuck on your figure as you speak not. "Shall we rest?'

"You not need to be so considerate of me, husband." You stare at the fire, warm colors burning in your eyes as you wave the servant off. "I know you are curious."

"I am fine with you leaving the estate. I only wish that you would be slightly more honest with me when you do."

"I miss an old friend despite her betrayal. It is that simple." You turn around to stare at him. "It is complicated, my heart. Please take a seat."

"Will you tell me?"

"If I collect myself first."

The fire crackles in your eyes, ashes burning and shattering as you stare, words tumbling out of your heart, eyes weary with an age that should not be possible to you. You look both wounded and aged. Leon has only ever seen those eyes on the men who live til sixty, white visible in both their hair and eyes, old age consuming them until they are a shell of their previous self. You should not be capable of such emotion. Leon wonders if that is what stops you from loving him how you wish you could.

"It seemed you shared quite the bond."

"Dare I say it, I believe I had loved her." You sigh. "How heretical of me."

"The bond you establish with the one you lose can not be broken, beloved." Leon hums. "Do visit her, will you? I assure you, she misses you."

"How can you be so sure?"

"The heart knows what it does."

You return to the market, stuck staring at the new woman in red, lips and cheeks rouge with blood, blinking when you remember who she is now.

"Witch." You smile.

"Ah, dearest. What brings you to me? Your friend visited last, not you." She tilts her head. "Concerning your husband?"

"You asked my friend once."

"Do you live waiting for something to happen." She hums. "And?"

"She asked me, and surely, after that, I was wedded despite not doing anything." You hum. "Let me treat you at the pub, I insist."

"And what do you have to treat me for?"

You lower your voice, humming slowly. "Is there a reason to treat an old friend to a drink?"

"I am afraid—"

"Adaline." You call her by name, watching as she tenses under your grip. "I beg of you, speak to me."

"What is there to speak of?"

"How is life? Why have you decided to return? Is it true that your husband has fallen ill?"

"I do not care for that man. I took the scar for you. It is that simple."

"So the rumors were true." You reach out for her forearm, squeezing as she grimaces. "He had sold you."

"It was not something I could not handle."

"There was no need. Mother could have rejected on our behalf." You whisper. "He would not have won against father's blade."

"I had to. I could not let the others take the hit in our village. Everyone raised me, so it was only fair that I would pay them back with the same love."

Your expression falls, eyes hurt as she lowers her voice under the moon.

"I sent your husband your way." Adaline swallows. "He had visited the brothel, ending up in my hand, and for that moment in time, all I could imagine was how... sweet and loving he would have been if he met you. I told him of a girl with breathtaking eyes and brilliant features, telling him all that you had always adored. I had prayed earnestly that he would find you and you would be the one. I wished that you would not have to suffer the same fate as I."

"Why did you take the marriage in my stead?"

"I could survive being sold off, you could not." She whispers. "Your hands only know the warmth of your loved ones and the livestock in your home. My hands have become rough because of the blade. Beloved, it was for you. It was always for you."

"Then return to me. Return to me if I am your beloved."

"Your husband could not allow such a thing."

"You do not know that." You mumble. "I beg of you. I shall kneel if needed. Return to me, my moon."

Adaline shakes her head, offering you a gentle squeeze of your hand instead, taking two steps back before retreating into the shadows where you can no longer find her. You stay standing, eyes trailed on where she was last in the shadow until Leon finds you in the dust, hands sliding over your shoulders as you stand there and let out silent tears.

"Beloved."

Leon does not answer, so you try again.

"Husband, beloved."

"Yes?"

"Let us return home."

"Of course."

You heal after that, affection easier at your fingertips when you reach for Leon, lips curled upwards when you rub your eyes at waking.

"How are you, wife?"

"I am alright, beloved." You smile at him, lips pulled up at the edges, sun glowing against your husband as he covers your eyes. "my apologies you had to tangle yourself with my mess."

"That is quite alright." He whispers, mug handed to you as you blink up at him. "Do you feel better?"

"Yes." You whisper. "I promise."

"Good." He mumbles. "Shall we dine?"

"Yes."

The mess of strings doesn't untangle immediately. Leon notices that you are more gentle, fingers kind against his while the two of you walk in the garden, hand tucked around his arm as you let him tell you how the flowers have been. You tell him you can deal with the garden now that you have fully settled into the role of his wife, and he tells you he is alright with it. There is not much to do, and even when you watch jousting with Leon and enjoy dinner with the king every now and then, life is simple.

You're not too sure if you're content with living like that.

"Shall we try for child?"

Leon takes your offer this time. You insist that you must bear him a son, and you seem to be anxious of time. His hands are calloused against yours, bruises of purple on your skin, the sound of your cries echoing down the hall of the residence, quiet prayers that you would be with child spreading through the hall through rumors, and the day that the alcohol finally reacts, you exhale. Leon takes extra care of you during the time, listening to the priests as they pray for you to be with son, but Leon does not care. He asks for prayers for your safety instead. There is always a sense of forbearing because you shake your head when he requests for your health.

"Beloved, you love me."

"I do." You hum.

"Then why do you not let me love you back?"

You do not answer, staring out at the flowers instead.

"If it is a daughter, I do earnestly hope that I get to braid flowers into her hair." You mumble. "And if it is a son, then I have served my purpose."

"I do hope that she is a daughter. That way, you will still think you are use to me."

"And then?"

"And then, I would still lay bare with you, skin soft against mine."

Your remaining days are spent walking with your husband, pregnancy heavy on your body as your back is sore, eyes distant as Leon seems to ponder over what is on your mind. His hands are gentle with your feet, callouses rough against your fingers as you continue staring at the sunset.

"We should prepare for a grave."

"For whom?"

"I do not know. Where do you think it would be nice to be buried?"

"And why not the garden?"

"At the center of the maze?"

Leon gets the sense that you have made peace with the idea of death one day. You seem to be prepared to pass at all times, and you refuse to share whether or not it is pregnancy-related. Instead, you tell him of how you would like to prepare your grave, telling him of flowers that he should plant by them, and he tells you not to worry. You will survive, he tells you. He tells you that you will live, and in the case that a decision must be made, it must be you saved over the child.

You offer him a sad smile in response.

When the child arrives, you are tended to, Leon praying quietly outside of your room, managing the household's affairs from the outside of your door at all times, ignoring the desk that he has, settling for a chair outside of the room you are in. The sound of your agony rattles the walls of the estate, and Leon furrows his brows, pacing back and forth, growing restless when the cries of a child is heard, the nurses opening the door as you offer Leon a sad smile.

"You must use the wet nurse." You whisper.

"Of course I will." He mumbles, forehead pressed to yours as he rests his hand on the child's blanket. "It will be for you."

"No." You whisper. "It will be for the child."

Leon furrows his brows, blinking at you as you offer him a sad smile.

"It is fortunate that it is a son."

"No." He mumbles. "No, no. Beloved, do not say that."

"I have lost too much blood." You whisper. "It is a son. It is your son."

"I do not want him if it means the loss of you." He mumbles. "Beloved, no. no. No."

"It is unfortunate." Your voice grows weak, the nurses trying their best to clean you up. "I would have enjoyed being your wife for just a little longer."

Leon yells as the nurses dive in to try and help you, and Leon watches in horror in the corner of the room as you close your eyes, body relaxing, There is a slight smile on your face, and Leon watches in horror as you look so peaceful, the child crying for your warmth as death steals it from him, and Leon's warmth replacing your stolen one as he holds the child to him. The crying does not stop, but neither does the horror on Leon's face as the nun shakes her head, offering a look of pity to Leon as he gasps for air.

The boy cries in his arms, a child's cries ringing in his ears as the news of your death rings as well, and the wet nurse taking the child as Leon steadies himself with the chair, blinking slowly as he processes the news. The world has ended. The battle has left him with nothing, and he is back in the war. It is a flood of memories, flushing down his system as he stands there, numb with the thought of you having passes, his steps heavy as he walks to you, taking your hand in his, ring on your finger as he blinks slowly. The news must spread.

He must tell your parents that he has killed their beloved daughter for the sake of his son.

He must tell your friend that you have passed to bear him a son.

He must tell Adaline that you have passed.

He must live with the guilt that he has caused you to pass because he had not been a good husband — that the heavens must have struck you down because he had been unfaithful, that he had not loved you as he should have the way God ordained. Instead, he now bears the responsibility of a son, small hands delicate against his, your cold ones returned to the ground in the garden.

You had known. Unconsciously, you had known.

Leon had picked it up too. You had been preparing to let him down slowly — gently, dare he say it.

But you have passed, and he is left where you have left him, hands calloused compared to yours, fingers rougher than yours would have been. He is not fit to raise a child without you. Instead, the bundle of what should have been joy is just a bundle in his arms, and when he finds your features on his son, he is full of the same bitterness he is sure you felt when you had been left behind. You would not like that.

He tries to imagine what you would do.

Your hands would be gentle while tending to the baby.

You would watch as Leon teaches the child to wield the sword.

You would scold the boy for poor courtesy — you would reprimand him for being unkind to others.

You would watch as he falls in love and weds, bands on his fingers, hair like yours fluttering in the wind of the chapel as he gives his heart to her.

And, he's sure you would have been proud when Leon is buried next to you in your garden of love.

Perhaps, then, he shall find you once more.

[crsssies]

this one's longer than usual so its getting a readmore

The gold of your hand smears against the broken tablet, words restored to its prime in the dead of the night as you listen to Leon's footsteps behind you. <b><center>god of health, herb, home. the lion's beloved</b></center> "Are you returning?" "My time on earth is short." You turn around to face him, voice quiet as you close your eyes. You dare not look into his blues. "Can you stay longer?" Leon swallows, daring not to step close to you. "Kind mortal." You whisper. "I ca—" "Will you stay longer?" He whispers. "I cannot." You muster up the courage to look him in the eye, heart shattering in your ears as you catch his tears. "Oh, kind mortal, please do not—"

I don't remember what I ended up changing the last scene to but??? idk

Leon notices how you take note of the servants and house, and he notices how you seem to know. Leon plays the role of a fallen noble, yet he wears clothes that cost as much as an average home's yearly salary. You must know by now that Leon only tends to the garden because he enjoys it. Yet, you make not a mention of it, shaking your head at the maid tending to you, refusing to let them touch you. Yet, you also seem to notice that there are few servants in the house, and that the majority of the home remained untouched. Leon shows you around the place, two floors, two rooms and the attic for the .

Originally Leon was gonna have servants n be a noble n then i found the plot n scrapped it

Leon prepares to start eating, surprised when you blink at him to have him stop. "I must bless the food." You tilt your head. Leon lets you, nodding as you hold your hand out.

in the scene they eat together reader blesses the food (I scrapped the idea)

"They live off of the water and juice." You squeeze the fruit, Leon watching as the liquid trickles down your fist onto the plants, the red herbs brightening up nearly immediately. The yellow follows, and the green last. You take the scissors to cut three of the herbs, two of each herb, juice-stained fingers sticking to the plants as you place them into the basket. "What are the herbs for?" "They are good for health." You take the basket with you. "Let us tend to the barley."

different writing for the scene reader squeezes the peach to feed the herbs

"I need to check the nets." "For?" Leon opts for showing you instead.

Leon used to go lobster hunting with cages n nets instead of the finalized scene :3

gentle are the hands that hold you

word count: 6.1k || banner art by @chesue00

summary: the mind may forget, but the soul will not

Leon has a set routine that he has grown used to. He wakes up, and he prepares fruit from the garden for the small temple his family has passed down to him, four peaches placed at the altar before he goes back to prepare his own breakfast. When he cooks, the sun early in the sky, and the morning dew is still present. He's certain that the sound of animals is the sound of the peaches getting eaten, and when he cleans up his plate and looks for that of the temple, the fruits are gone, including the pits, and the herbs around the altar have returned to their natural health.

He cuts three of them — one of each color.

His family has passed down the art of worshipping a forgotten deity— one whose marble statue has chipped and grown covered in vines. The marble carvings of the title of the deity only retain the words "health" and "herb", and the herbs that can be used for illness grow around the altar and are seldom cut. Leon learned it from a long time ago as a child, and he never stopped. Some might consider the routine to be a nuisance, but Leon enjoys the routine, singing hymns in the temple at noon, brushing out the lion's mane on the god's head after his singing, tending and snipping the herbs that grow beautifully around the marble, blue eyes stuck to the beauty of the forgotten god that only his family tended to, relishing in the statue's beauty.

How lonely they must be.

At sunset, he lights the four candles at the foot of the statue by the altar, lowering himself onto his knees, whispering a prayer passed down for centuries in his house, eyes closed and heart still as he chants. The words are to come from the heart, he recalls. So, he reads them

Typically, he finishes the prayer and the four candles go out on their own.

This time, however, he finishes and the candles stay lit.

He wonders if he should try again to pray, but as he opens his mouth to start again, two snakes slither from both sides, curling up the body of the statue as a comet passes in the sky, and Leon is startled to the ground. He falls backward, watching as a glow of gold erupts from the statue as the snakes turn into the same marble, and the altar cracks, tablet of the title in the front sliding down as a shadow is revealed.

The body.

A body.

Someone opens their eyes from the inside of the altar.

You open your eyes from the inside of the altar.

"Where... am I?"

Leon would recognize that face anywhere, and at that moment, all he can do is thank the skies above for what he is about to be graced with.

"Oh, sweet heavens of health." He whispers. "Do forgive this mere human for what he is about to do."

He takes a step closer, offering his hand to you, his veil sliding down his hair.

"Welcome to earth, dearest deity. This mere worshipper greets you."

You blink down at Leon slowly, tilting your head.

"The heavens greet you, kind mortal. Pray tell, what you wished to receive from a minor god of healing?"

"Nothing." He breathes.

God, if he could keep worshipping you for the rest of his life, then he would be fine.

"Nothing at all, dearest deity."

You blink at him slowly once more, looking around the temple as you stare at the herbs. Leon notices the otherwordly glow that seems to emit from your body, and the color never seems to leave your skin. You glow the same shade as your complexion, crown of yellow on your head as you observe your surroundings, staring at Leon.

Leon does not know what you think. He can not know. How could he? He was not more than a mere worshipper who was taught to care for you eternally. Eternally to be your servant, never to dream of meeting you. You, who seemed to appear out of nowhere and cry gold and green, skin naked to the eye and touch. Touching you is out of the question, yet he holds his hand out to you. You seem to lack a reaction, still taking in your surroundings as Leon breathes. Breathing heavily. Heavy is his chest as he stares at you — it feels like a violation to be able to see you so up close.

"If I may?" He offers.

You take his hand, and Leon's heart lunges into his throat at your touch.

"Thank you."

Your voice flutters along with the wind as he pulls you out of the altar, and you stare around at the opened scenery.

"My temple has deteriorated."

"Yes." Leon whispers. "It is only my family left, you see."

"The blood of the temple's knights." You mumble. "I am grateful that your blood has stayed. I do not know what I would do had you not."

Leon nods slowly. "Do you... wish to do something?"

You glance at the garden that Leon tends to and the produce, blinking ever so slowly as you smile.

"Will you teach me to tend to the plants?"

"Do you wish for it?"

"I miss my roots." You blink slowly. "The plants miss me. My mortal body has lost itself."

"Then, if I may, I shall tend to them with you again?" Leon tilts his head.

You blink at him, staring into his eyes, past his soul and straight to his heart as he holds his breath. You tilt your head, and your eyes gloss over with a distant look, almost as though you were reminiscing of something. Instead, you nod slowly, blinking as you nod, eyes clearing up as you nod again. This time, you seem sure of it.

"Thank you."

"The pleasure is all mine." Leon mumbles.

Goodness, you're not good for the heart.

You let Leon guide you, his questions lingering in the air when you ask him of everything, needing to be guided and taught how to take care of certain things, and Leon wonders if he could truly do a good job. To worship you, he finds, is to treat you as glass is. When you ask him what to do, he tells you. You are clueless of certain things yet you know much more than he does. He does not understand this dynamic that he has gotten himself into. Teaching a god how to listen to human responses, how works work, and how gardening does.

When the sun rises in the morning, he places a singular peach onto the altar for the wildlife, and he offers you a peach that you have grown used to eating. You thank him with a slow nod, biting into it as he makes a breakfast in a larger than usual portion. He offers you an egg from his pan, but you shake your head, content with the peach in your hands. The juice sticks to your hands as you bite into it, and the fruit gets all over your chin, but you are happy, and even as Leon watches you eat, nearly missing his mouth with the fork, you seem content. Leon finishes his food only after you stare at the peach core left in your hand.

"Will this grow into a tree?"

"It will take a handful of years, but yes." He hums. "We can plant it with the rest of the peach trees in the garden."

You nod slowly.

"I shall go change. Please make yourself comfortable while I do, dearest deity."

You nod, looking around at the wildlife from the window, climbing out as your feet land in the grass, much more comfortable to you. The snakes in the garden slither around your calves, sitting there as you continue walking through the garden to find your temple, the medicinal herbs surrounding the altar looking dimmer than usual as you press your hand to them, the same golden glow restoring the herbs to their colors. You would have to bring a second peach to the altar in the morning from the trees.

"Will you be alright in these clothes?" Leon's changed into something easier to move in, finding you as you stare at the fallen tablet from the night before.

"It will be fine." You smooth your hand over the marble, blinking slowly as you frown. "Do you know what words were once written here?"

"I am afraid not." Leon's heart races in his chest, and you sigh.

"I have lost part of me." You glance at the eroded stone on certain words.

"If I may, I shall help you find it once more."

Leon teaches you the ropes of managing the farm, showing you the equipment and what meant fresh and not fresh. The herbs, you are familiar with, stopping Leon from pulling the rosemary because it was not at its prime, and nodding when Leon shows you how to ripen tomatoes despite them being orange. He shows you how to hide the strawberries from the birds and the indications that the blackberries were ready for harvest. The olive trees are shown to you with the peaches, and you snack on one as Leon hands you another.

In the afternoon, he shows you how to harvest the wheat and store the grain, showing you how to bake bread as you grind the grain into flour with Leon, pushing the till as you heave, falling to your knees once you have made enough for the bread of that night. You lay on the dirty stone for a minute, groaning as Leon packages the flour, holding a hand out for you as you gasp. You hold your hand up for a minute, catching your breath as you take it to get up.

"Do gods not labor?"

"What is there to labor over when the worshippers send you food?"

"Do gods disappear once they are forgotten?"

"Yes." You dust off your clothes, humming. "I have only lived this long because of the care of your blood."

You help Leon season, not much help when it comes to cooking or preparing dishes, and Leon tries to have you keep your hands off of the majority of things, only letting you tend to the herbs and spices, the olives prepared with the oil as you dip the bread in it to try it. You have not much of a reaction, sitting down at the table as Leon serves you the salad, a smaller fish prepared for him.

You settle with the salad, another peach given to you for dessert, biting on it as Leon washes up, cleaning and drying the silver with a rag as you stare at the peach in hand. The green is a little jarring, and you appreciate that Leon picks the riper ones for your temple. Yet, when you bite down, it's sweet, nectar staining your chin as Leon disposes of the peach peels, offering you a cup of water alongside some honey.

You accept it, thanking him with a nod as you go back to the peach, hands stained with sugar.

"Dearest deity." Leon starts. "If I may?"

"Feel free to." You nod, licking your fingers.

"Do you know why you have returned to being human?"

"I'm not quite sure." You look out past the windows, eyes distant.

Leon wonders if he's struck a nerve, but he doesn't have much time to think over it.

For the first time, Leon dreams and remembers.

He's in a field of grass, your head in his lap, closed eyes and blissed smile on your face as he runs his hands through your hair. He's bigger than he is in reality, lion's skin on his head, his fingers rough from what he assumes to be the blade. He pushes your hair out of your face, blinking down at you slowly. The green of the grass creases under your body, and Leon thinks there is a strange sense of domesticity with the way that you trust him so much.

His mouth moves on its own. "Dearest, are you not uncomfortable?"

"Surely not while in your lap." You peek up at him, smile on your face as you beam. "You are comfortable, beloved."

The daffodils in the field are pulled, Leon's fingers clumsy with the stems as he tries to make you a crown, weaving in the green into the braid as you let the breeze tickle your nose. He feels his hands are rough from some sort of labor, and his body feels weary. Yet, there is a fullness in his chest as he finishes the crown, placing it on your head as you open an eye to stare up at him.

"How do I look?"

"Dazzling, darling." He hums, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "You look dazzling."

Leon wakes from the dream in his bed, sitting up and gasping as one does, and he stares at the rising sun and the calling rooster. He rests his head in his palms, groaning at the way his heart refuses to slow down. He hears the sound of the door opening in the back, and he assumes that you've gone off to the well to wash up for the day. He assumes it's a routine for you much like the four peaches he places at the altar, so he gets up, bed covers kicked off as he makes his bed. The peaches have ripened after being left out for the night, and he takes the basket with him, offering you one on the way before taking the other three.

You bite on the peach and follow him to the altar, watching as he leaves the basket. You stare at the peach in your hand and place it back into the basket, teeth marks visible in the one you had placed there, but Leon doesn't mention anything.

Then comes breakfast, eggs for him, an assortment of fruit for you.

Despite your lack of diet, it seems you do not complain. Perhaps your body abides by different rules when compared to his.

He ponders over the idea of insanity when he turns red from eye contact alone. Truly, you are dazzling, and unfortunately, Leon is not immune to such beauty despite staring at your statue each morning. Heavens, he's screwed.

"Is there anything you need, dearest deity?" He offers.

"Not much." You hum. "Do we have other fruit?"

"There is an orchard in the east." Leon hums. "Would you like more fruit?"

You nod.

The orchard is due for some tending. Leon only ever went for olives to have in his meals and peaches for offerings, so it wasn't surprising that the figs were eaten from the inside out alongside the apples and pears. You offer to help, palms held out as you argue that you could technically restore them to their prime. Leon has you rest, pulling out the figs and bad fruit into one basket, tossing the good ones to another.

"Are there any fruits you'd rather not eat?"

You ponder over his words, shaking your head.

Leon finds you familiar. You sit at the corner of the orchard, trailing after him with a basket of your own fruit, and he finds it familiar. You yourself are familiar to him. He has no memory of you, but he can not argue that it is because he has never met you either. He no longer remembers the faces of his own parents. All he knows is the ritual of worship, the routine of faith that he has grown used to. All he remembers about himself is that, now that he thinks about it.

The rest of the night passes in a blur, and Leon has not much of a choice when it comes to resting at night.

When he closes his eyes, he's unsurprised at what he is met with.

It's another dream.

A lion's robe is still on Leon's body this time, and he feels significantly bigger than he is in present. His heart does not beat as harshly as it does in reality, and with each step he takes, he becomes increasingly aware that he is taller than he is in reality. The garden of his home is replaced with a marble home of his own, and he walks through the ruins that have been replaced with a garden in present day. His steps are heavy as he stops in front of the temple, watching as there's a golden hue from the altar — noticeably larger than the one in present.

Leon steps behind you, eyes glued to the words on the tablet that is now restored, frowning.

god of health, herb, home. the lion's beloved

"Are you returning?"

Leon cannot control his mouth, but he stares at the way you tense at his voice.

"My time on earth is short." You turn around to face him, voice quiet as you close your eyes.

Leon's heart rattles in his chest from the way you refuse to look at him. "Can you stay longer?"

"Beloved" You whisper. "I ca—"

"Will you stay longer?" He whispers, voice shaking as he asks. His heart races at being called beloved, but his chest contorts painfully as the man whose body he resides in.

"I cannot." You open your eyes, heart shattering in your ears as you catch his tears. "Oh, beloved, please do not—"

Leon wants to stay, but he watches as the man turns his back, stepping away from the altar as the sound of bells chime to indicate your disappearance.

Instead, when he turns around again, all that remains is a shrunken altar and the temple from the modern day. Leon has what he was holding prior to entering into the past — three peaches in a small basket. You are still behind him, white of your eyes the only visible part of them as your irises cloud over and Leon stares at you. A flash from the past for him, a flash from your life for you. He wonders just who that might have been.

He looks around, catching the fact that you are behind him.

When you return, you stare into nothing, pupils wide as the black of your eyes engulf the entirety of the color of your eye, and Leon stands there, unsure of what to do, blinking slowly as you close your eyes and open them again and again. You blink again, and again, and again, and again. You try to break yourself from the trance— from what Leon can tell.

"Dearest deity." Leon whispers. "Are you alright?"

You blink at Leon again, exhaling as you grimace.

"I will be. Let us drop off the fruit for my herbs first." You take the basket from him, fruit placed on the altar as you bless the peaches.

"How does it work?"

"They live off of the water and juice." You squeeze the fruit, Leon watching as the liquid trickles down your fist onto the plants, the red herbs brightening up nearly immediately. The yellow follows, and the green last. You take the scissors to cut three of the herbs, two of each herb, juice-stained fingers sticking to the plants as you place them into the basket.

Leon nods as you hand him the herbs, thanking you.

Food is simple today. It is typically a loaf and some legumes, occasionally fish if the two of you decide to head out to fish at the lake. Leon has grown used to a life like this, and you make do without eating fish, so Leon goes out less and less, growing legumes with you as you learn from him, forming an appetite for fruit as well, snacking on blackberries as he picks at the strawberries that he hides from the birds. You bite down on certain ones, slipping a piece past Leon's lips as he places a cucumber in your basket, thanking you quietly as he checks out the lettuce.

"What do you want for dinner?"

You glance at the lettuce and the berries, tilting your head.

"...salad?"

"Fruit salad? I should retrieve some olives as well, then." Leon holds his hand out for the basket, and you give him your hand instead.

Leon does a double take, blinking at your hand and then at you, and you offer him a shy smile.

"If this is alright?"

"More than alright, dearest deity." Leon smiles. "I am honored you would initiate it."

Leon finds that you are much more affectionate now that time has passed. He does not keep track of the days, time something he no longer holds, sharing dishes and bites with you when he can, showing you the rest of the garden that he leaves to tend on its own. Leon understands something. Whoever he is in his dreams, you left. Whoever you are in the dream, you did not wish to leave. He understands not much from it. The heart of whose body he was in his dreams was scarred when you left.

It hurt him to think about it, so he busies himself with the sand between his toes.

"We had a beach?"

"We have a sea." Leon stares out at the horizon. "I wonder if the lobsters are ready for harvest."

"You can eat those?"

Leon nods slowly, laughing as you furrow your brows.

"How does... that work." You pause. "You crack the head?"

"You pop the head off, and you pull out the meat from the whole tail."

You blink twice.

"May I... watch you prepare it?"

"With pleasure." He smiles. "Shall we go catch one?"

You watch Leon ditch the top, skin out for the world to see, and Leon feels a little embarrassed being so bare before you, but you don't seem to mind, watching as he takes a trident.

"You pierce them?"

"They don't move as fast. Perhaps I have grown used to the water."

The blue of the ocean is pretty. Leon still isn't over the beauty of it, and it always surprises him when he dives for crustaceans, trident heavy against his arm as he pierces through the shells, three tucked into the bag net he carries, paddling back to the surface as he wonders how he had been able to hold his breath for so long. The question fades just as quickly, eyes meeting yours as you blink, doe-eyed, eyes wide as you seem to drink in every part of his skin.

"Dearest deity?"

"Apologies." You hide your face, sinking into the ground with embarassment as Leon laughs, letting the net fall into the sand as he crouches in front of you, hair pushed back, saltwater still dripping from his hair and skin. He watches as your eyes dart to his chest and then abdomen, thoughts written all over your face as you hide again.

"I shall dress again."

"There's no need." You manage, still hiding your face. "I... prefer the way you are."

Leon feels an arrow pierce his heart, ears ringing as he processes what you've just said. He's sure he's turned red like the tomatoes once ripe, and he hides his face in his knees, shaking slightly as he processes your bluntness. Dare he say it, he liked it.

Though, it would be his grace if you were to fall for him. It was only a given that he would worship you.

He doesn't feel as though he is in a position where he could truly get to profess his love to you first.

At night, you request of him to tuck you into bed, pout on your lips as he sits by your bed, letting you squeeze his hand with a gentle grab, watching as you drift off to sleep.

He wonders if you need sleep truly — considering you are a deity and all.

Though, Leon does.

The third time Leon dreams, he is no longer in a lion's skin.

He feels younger, white on his body, blue brooch around his neck and blouse on his skin. There is a veil on his head, and it seems as though he is in the temple of yours once more. He does not understand this quite that much. It seems as though he is being offered up for some kind of ritual. It is some sort of marriage, he assumes. Blue eyes and golden hair, cerulean brooch and white blouse, ruffled bow and laced veil, Leon truly feels that he is being offered up as a groom rather than a servant. He wonders if the person he has possessed is aware of it.

His body moves on its own, veil over his head shifting as he looks down, standing before what he assumes as the head priest. The priest places a crown of... herbs on his head, and he is placed on the altar, some sort of glow occurring around him as he forces his eyes open. The veil sticks to his head as he notices the priest and all their followers are gone when he opens his eyes. Instead, he catches a glance of you above him, head tilted as you blink down at him.

"You're quite young, sacrifice." You grin, teeth visible. "What might your name be?"

Nevermind the fact that Leon's heart is racing a thousand pes an hour, his heart is about to leap out of his chest. Yet, Leon is curious of the man's name, but he finds it surprising that he chokes out his own name.

"Leon, dearest deity." He whispers. "I am your... groom."

"How rare that they would send a groom rather than a servant." You tilt your head at him. "Well, do make yourself at home. We've got plenty of plants and fruit."

Leon steps down from the altar, stepping on a piece of marble before taking a tumble, the tablet breaking under his foot as he blinks.

"I'm sorry." He gapes.

You raise a brow, mumbling to yourself as you tap your chin.

"Oh, dear." You laugh. "I'll restore it sometime. Please take care of the garden while I do."

Leon's dream is far longer than he is comfortable. He wonders how much time has passed in reality in the dream, and he learns to take care of the garden that resembles the one he tends to each night. There is a lake in the back where he fishes, and he learns to cook meals for the two of you, typically baking bread and making soup. He learns that you prefer the best harvest of peaches, but you share them with him, teaching him how to make crisp and how to cook the oats until they are crispy. You adore peaches with or without honey and spices. It is why the peach tree was so large in the orchard.

During the time, he learns that gods do in fact visit the earth outside of their domains. You return in time for dinner every single day, and you tell him of what has happened recently with the temple over his meals. He likes this life. At one point, the worshippers send him the very lion skin he wore in his previous dream. The connection between your domain and reality is created through prayer. Not faithfulness, number.

You complete a number of miracles, and in return, your worshippers increase in number, which, in turn, grants you access back home.

When Leon wakes, his heart is racing in his chest for no reason, blinking at the knife in hand and cutting board on the counter and then at the tomatoes.

"Kind mortal?"

"My apologies." Leon sighs, going back to cutting the veggies. "It seems I had gotten lost in myself."

Not reality. Leon is not in reality. Instead, he has been stuck in an endless cycle of immortality, and without you around, the age had worn him down until all he remembered was to worship you. If your temple was run down in your domain, he can not imagine how ruined your temple in reality was. Leon has become immortal from partaking of the food of the gods. The peaches he offered to the gods was for you, and the herbs he cut was granting him immortality in return.

Leon Kennedy had lived for so long that he forgot this was not his home, it was yours.

The immortality from the herbs had been eating his mind from the inside out.

He wonders if you remember, but he doesn't ask.

Instead, he asks you if you would like to go fishing with him, fishing rod in hand.

You tilt your head at the rod, nodding as he takes everything. The pond spawns all sorts of fish, now that he thinks about it. The expensive fish he used to dream of owning back when he was in reality, the fish that he had when his family had a nice harvest, just about everything. It feels strange to remember that this is your home and not his, but he doesn't dwell too much on it. Instead, he sits at the dock, holding out the fishing rod as you sit next to him, basket of strawberries in your lap as you eat them.

"Do you eat fish?" The answer is no, yet Leon finds himself asking anyway.

"No." You hum. "I can live off of produce."

You take a bite of the strawberries almost as if to make a point, pointing at the fishing line with a kick of your legs as Leon reels in the fish, pulling it out of the water with a ceremonious thud.

"Good job." You hum. "I didn't know we had catfish."

Leon raises a brow at you. "What else do we have?"

You shrug. "I don't know much. My followers only ever send me peaches now. Not that I do not appreciate it."

Leon finds it strange that there happens to be both a lake and an ocean, the two connected by a small river, a waterfall that collapses into the ocean, and the sea leads into nothing. It seems that you knew, but you never mentioned it in any way. If this domain was yours, then he found it intriguing that you had been offered enough fish that there would form an ocean. The offerings given seem to not expire, and the ecosystem seems to reproduce and go on as it would in reality.

He wonders if reality is the right word to describe his world, though. Perhaps earth would have made for a better word. He wonders what is happening on earth. Maybe this was some sort of Mount Olympus... or whatnot. He doubts it is. He would have recognized living on an actual mountain.

Well, at the very least, fishing is quite fun.

When he pulls in the second catch of the day, he decides that it's enough.

"What do you want for dinner?"

Leon wonders if he should try making pie in one of the vessels.

You tap your chin. "Something baked sounds good."

"Oh, I'm sure it does." Leon mumbles. "Pie?"

You nod. "Shall I help?"

He shakes his head.

The more Leon thinks of it, the more he realizes that he's always been making portions for two. It was embedded into his soul. When he had leftovers, it was much easier to feed it to the poultry in the back and the pigs. Now, that second portion had a reason. He had always found it bizzare. It was because he used to cook with his mother for his father, not the fact that he had been cooking for the two of you for such a long time.

When Leon sends you to bed at night, he watches you for a few moments longer, wondering if this was something he had done in the past.

He does not dream this time.

So, when he wakes in the morning and you have a pear in hand with a knife in the other, he blinks at you.

"Dearest?"

"Teach me how to cut fruit?"

Leon wonders if you were the one to teach him first, but the more he thinks back on the dream, the more he wonders just whether or not you had been eating in the time that you lacked a sacrifice. Would sacrifice be the correct word? The more he considers it, the more he thinks of himself as a gift from the priest rather than a sacrifice. Is that egoistical? Perhaps it is. It is more of a blessing on his end to be able to stay with you for so long. The herbs he had each morning must have been keeping him nice and healthy despite his time in your realm.

He may have forgotten, but it seems that his body had remembered.

He teaches you how to hold the knife, cut by cut showing you how to peel the fruit, and you decide that peeling half of it and then eating the other half after spitting out the core was the better decision. He finds that that ties into what he remembers about you as well.

It seems he remembers now.

Leon understands that you expect a singular peach and then three more at the altar, but he does not do so this fateful day. There is something he must check, and someone he must attempt to understand. There was no way you did not know. You were not as foolish as to not. It had been in the way you looked at him. He knew, from the very beginning. You knew perhaps, as well, that when you had opened your eyes from the inside of the altar, you had been observing him and not your surroundings.

You had been observing your lover who had forgotten you, not the home you resided in.

"You are home, dearest deity." Leon offers. "You need not the peaches anymore."

You blink at Leon, hesitation bleeding through you as you pause to breathe.

"Since when have you recalled?"

"A while back." Leon mumbles. "I was not certain if you wished for me to bring it up."

You blink at Leon, sitting yourself back on the altar, the lack of glowing visible now that everyone has forgotten about you. You will no longer be able to return to the world that you had left to. You would be stuck tending to the garden that you had started long before Leon joined you here. At the very least, he would be able to stay forever with you, only needing to tend to the herbs and grow them. Yet, he wonders where all of the maidens you had been offered so long ago ended up.

You stare at the broken tablet, laughing embarrassingly as you smile at Leon.

"Truly reminds you the first time we met, huh?"

"Yes." He rests the empty basket on the altar, taking it from your hand as he smooths the rusted words over. "God of health, herbs, home."

"The lion's beloved." You whisper back. "I missed you."

"I know." He mumbles, setting it to the side as he lets you sob into his chest.

"I missed you." You gasp. "You... you forgot me. I expected it, but I had been in the fabric between reality and my realm that I was sure you would stop building my way home, but you remembered the prayers. You recalled the words you had grown used to prior to your sacrifice, and I... you found my way home."

"I'm sorry, dearest." He whispers. "I had forgotten. I have been around for far too long. I am sorry I had forgotten to welcome you home."

There is a certain beauty that comes with remembering, Leon finds. In the centuries that he had forgotten all about you, his heart had somehow remembered, adorning you in the lion's mane until he forgot it was his first, singing hymns he knew you cherished from the time he had spent with you, leaving you peaches because you had always shared the best harvest of them with him, sneaking in that you adored the taste of the nectar on your tongue. His mind had forgotten, but his heart had not, burying you into the depths of his consciousness until he would remember you again one day.

His hands have grown rough with a different kind of labor over the years, and he has lost much of the large muscle he had arrived with from his way of living, but the feeling of your skin is still familiar to his touch.

Right.

His mind could forget, but his soul could never.

"You're making me a crisp later." You huff.

"Of course." He laughs. "Anything else?"

"And I want a kiss for all the years you forgot about me for."

"That can be made up with the life ahead."

And to seal the promise, Leon kisses you, hands gentle on your skin, clarity restored.

[crsssies]

would you believe me if I told you I only scrapped one part of this entire series and the whole 20k is my first draft? I am ao3's final boss (joke)

"Any of them?" "Any of them, little duke." You raise a brow at the people of your father's knighthood, scanning through the crowd for a worthy contender, rolling your eyes when none of them seem like they would be able to defeat you.

Originally Leon defeats reader in a battle n then decided that I would probably lose my way if I did that so :3

heard the risk is drowning, but i'm gonna take it

word count: 10k || banner art by @wr0wn

warnings: mild violence, mentions of blood

summary: it is just admiration. it should get you nowhere (surely?)

It’s a bright day in summer when you first meet Leon Scott Kennedy.

Titled one of the best knights in the academy with an unparalleled aura, you can only observe from the distance during the few times you stop by for the crown prince. Sir Leon Scott Kennedy, knight of the royal legion, best knight that the academy had to offer. You seemed to pale in comparison to him. What use is it to excel in multiple talents when you love none? You find the passion that bleeds from every cell of his body to be far more attractive then the thousand accomplishments you have achieved. If you are honest, not many of them are even accomplished by you. Most of the accomplishments hooked under your name have been done by those around you, other that of the title of Grandmaster. Nobles will never have to work as hard as the commoners when it comes to receiving titles.

When you pass him in the hallway, he does not stop. You do, however.

You stop to stare, watching as he walks off, the aura from his swordsmanship breathtaking, your eyes brimming with excitement as you pass him. Had you been completely honest, you would have let your father know that you do not wish to be crown princess. Rather, you'd like to be the duke on its own, and you would like the liberty of marrying whomever you wish.

And truthfully? You would have told your father you'd wish to marry Sir Leon.

How childish of you, though.

So you turn on your heel, stepping away from Leon, sure that even if you were to proclaim your admiration for him, it would end up nowhere. So, you bury your beating heart, footsteps battering against the marble as you rush to make your next class. Sir Leon could stay a childish crush. You have no time to entertain such thoughts of infidelity. You belong to the nation — to the crown prince. That is your role as the future duke, so that is the role you shall keep.

Your friends dream of marrying knights, they dream of getting whisked away into the sunset on a horse, and you are stuck listening and not joining as they do, a smile that holds everything back, holding everything back from breaking a dam of emotion, knowing that even if you were to entertain such thoughts, you would not get to experience it. You are not in a position where the luxury of marriage is something you can hope and cling to.

"And the princess?"

"I have not the luxury."

"Surely you have considered a candidate."

You look down at the tea which you hold up perfectly, and you close your eyes. "A knight as well, perhaps."

"She talks of Sir Luis!"

"Surely she talks of Sir Leon!"

"I beg to disagree. The crown prince is a knight."

The other two girls groan, and you offer them none else but a smile.

You wonder if it is a choice to just bring it up to your father — that you wish not to be wed to the crown prince. The role of crown princess is not an easy position to hold, and there is none else in the nation that is more suited for the role than you. You are told that from start to finish, and you are more certain of it than anyone. Yet, yet the opportunity arises when a new scholarship student stumbles right into the crown prince's arms at coronation, and a hypothetical shot is wedged into the crevices of the crown prince's heart. You know that look of adoration more than anyone. The crown prince has fallen.

He may not be aware of it, but you keep it in the back of your mind.

The rumors floating around only seem to further solidify your point.

"Princess."

"My fiancé is out frolicking in the field with some commoner girl, I am aware." You hum happily at the taste of the tea, and the girls at your table fret.

"Do you not worry?"

"What if that witch steals her from you!"

"There is none else more suitable for the position of crown princess than you, your highness."

"Mm." You hum. "Well, if push comes to shove, there is nothing I can do about it. I shall only see how it unfolds with time."

It unfolds messily with time. The crown prince keeps you as the crown princess yet declares that he would have none else but his pretty commoner lover as his queen, and you hear left and right all about how foolish the prince has become. You care not for their words, and even when you are slandered for not being a proper crown princess. They would never understand the weight of the title, so you don't take any of their words to heart. See no evil, hear no evil, do no evil.

You listen to the crown prince on the mandatory dates from the emperor, doing your assignments as he brings along the commoner girl to flirt back and forth, and when the crown prince is told to leave the girl immediately, the crown prince fights and argues that he loves not you, but the woman in his arms at all times. You give not a reaction, opting to watch the expressions of the commoner instead, watching as he chews on her thumb when the emperor turns to ask of your opinion.

"Your royal majesty, with all due respect, I too would appreciate the breaking of the engagement. It is damaging to the reputation of the duchy for me to wed with a man who commits adultery." You argue. "My duchy has been known for purity. It would anger the gods."

You believe in no god, but the emperor does, and you are told he will consider it.

"What sick ploy are you playing this time, woman!" The crown prince accuses you, finger pointed in your direction, and you raise a brow.

"Ploy? Your highness, you know better than anyone that the white of my duchy represents purity. How am I to still be the heir if my own fiancé can not stay pure? You want the commoner to be a princess, do you not?"

"I know your lackeys have been targeting her behind my back!"

You blink at the crown prince, trying to recall all of the news that you had heard.

"She fell down the stairs herself."

"Your lackey poisoned her tea!"

"The tea was simply hot? You are to blow or stir before you drink." You blink. "And bring up not the deal of her dress being ruined. That was because she had angered a girl from the gardening club by ruining her precious daisies to pick them for you, Your Highness. She is a student with a scholarship, she is not stupid."

"You are simply jealous."

You raise a brow incredulously.

"Your Highness, I wish not to marry you." You turn on your heel, door to the throne room opening, your heart lodging into your throat as you stare up at the one who had the displeasure of pulling the door the same time you push.

"Sir Leon." You nod.

"Princess."

You leave him behind you, embarrassed that the knight had to see you in such an agitated state.

Good heavens.

Instead, you are caught by the wrist, Leon's breath slightly heavier as you blink at him.

"Are you... alright, princess?"

"Yes." You force.

"Positive?"

"Yes, Sir Leon." You muster up a smile.

"I... may not know you, but I assure you I am here if you are in need of assistance."

"Y..es." You nod, rushing off, fighting the embarrassment that has replaced your agitation. Oh, god. Oh, goodness. Leon? Sir Leon the knight himself? Telling you that he is there if you are in need of assistance? Is this what it feels to be a maiden who is free of the burden of a betrothed? You must be dreaming. There is no way the knight would know of you or even develop such strong feelings for you. Yes, this must be a dream. After all, there is no way the knight could know of you.

You receive the news that someone new has joined the ranks of the dukedom's knighthood, and your heart soars at the news that it's none other than Sir Leon. It makes your heart full, and you blink back every ounce of foolery as you report to your father, notifying him of the new knight in the knighthood, watching as he furrows his brows and hums. Your excitement is hardly concealable, a sparkle present in your eye not there previously.

"Sure it is not for a chance to court you?"

"With full certainty." You assure him. There's no way he would join a rank just to approach you. "Has the emperor responded?"

"That old bastard is still thinking." Your father grumbles. "At this rate, you might as well start looking."

Yet, you stop by the training grounds in the academy, arguing with the general that it is for "moral support" as though the moral support you were offering was not simply just to get a peek at Sir Leon. Surely it is not a sin? Your engagement may not have been broken off yet, but it stops you not from starting to eyeball people. It just so happens that the people you eyeball include a certain knight, and it just so happens that said knight would make a great personal knight. Perhaps it is a little selfish, but you are in the right. Who knows what the royal family will do in order to tarnish your reputation now that you have requested the breaking of your engagement?

"Sir Leon, was it?" You greet the knight in the hall, and he bows.

"Young duke."

"Dare I make a suggestion?"

"If not you, then who?"

"Then, please excuse my rudeness." You dare not to look anywhere but his eyes when you ask. "May I propose that you become my personal knight?"

You watch as Leon goes quiet, and you panic.

"Are you opposed to it?"

"Is there a reason it is me, princess?"

"Is it wrong to appoint the best knight in the rank as my personal guard? I fear the only one who rivals your swordsmanship is me." You reason. Surely he would not turn you down?

You find that he thinks of another way out.

"Perhaps a recommendation from the general himself? A recommendation from anyone that is not you, princess. With all due respect. I have vowed to protect your purity until it is time, for it is my duty as one of your knights."

"I see." You tap your cheek. "Then, from my father would suffice?"

"Perhaps."

"I shall let the duke know of my idea." You bow. "If the duke appoints it, you shall listen?"

"Of course, your highness."

You turn on your heel, nodding at him before sprinting down the hall. You shall attain this. You shall make Leon your personal knight, even if it tarnishes your name. There is none else you trust as much as you do with the knight, and his loyalty lies with you, even if he may claim the opposite. You shall convince the duke to let you have the young knight, and you shall stay by your knight's side, foolishly enamored with him. Your role in the narrative is shifting, so it is only fair that you take advantage of such a point.

"Father."

You make a convincing argument, and it takes only one incident in which you are stabbing through the jugular of an assassin for your father to agree to let you take in a personal guard, one that would stick close and act as a ghost. In the academy, they would be a friend, and at night, a ghost to haunt your room, clearing out any and all threats. You suggest Sir Leon just for reference, and your father takes your word. You do not expect him to take you so seriously, but you are sure your father has his reasons.

"He excels in stealth." The duke agrees. "We may use him for the time being. The crown prince is wary to be on his bad side as well, quite fortunately for you."

You hide the giddiness that you can only describe as an enthusiasm previously unknown to you. How exciting. To be in the vicinity of the man you admire? The man who deserved the title of Grandmaster just as you did? You swoon at the thought, barely catching any sleep in your dorm as a result, rubbing your eyes in the morning when you get ready. The seems to be brighter, and the blue of the sky shines brilliantly. Even when the door to your dorm is knocked on, it only adds to your anticipation.

You let Leon in while adjusting your tie. It is not indecent for you to do so, you believe.

"Princess."

"Good morning, sir." You smile. "Has the duke summoned you?"

"Yes."

Leon pauses, and you take it as a chance to explain why you had needed a knight. It was relatively well known that you were a capable knight, but the recent attempts on your life was not out yet. It would be damaging to the royal family, so the emperor had your father keep it on the low. You found it pointless, but it was not your place to question. You were simply wishing that your engagement would be broken off quicker.

"I got ambushed two nights ago, you see." You pause to think about it. Perhaps that was a little blunt of you.

"...Pardon?"

"An assassin had tried throwing a potion at me." You sigh. "It wasn't much, but it was annoying as is since I had bloodied my nightgown, so I was moved to a single rather than my old room. I miss my roommate terribly, you see."

"I trust you miss Princess Ashley very much."

"I do."

"Perhaps you should go visit her in the morning?"

"I cannot, you see... It would put her in danger. Until I am no longer the crown princess, I can not risk anyone... other than you, of course. But then again, you have become a knight of the house, so you are... to be used?" You frown at yourself in the vanity mirror. "That does not sound quite right."

"My body is to serve you, princess."

You purse your lips in amusement, holding back a laugh.

"Oh... your words are easy to misunderstand, Sir Leon." You laugh, hitting the loose powder off.

"I... did not mean that kind of use. My apologies, princess."

"It is nothing. Worry not." You finish up, smiling at Leon as you start towards the door.

You find it interesting to have a personal knight. Leon sticks by you at all times, watching you even when he is not next to you, and it feels a lot like having an overgrown puppy by you at all times. You're sure the duke would disagree, but you can't help but think that it doesn't feel nearly as invasive as you thought it would be. You tell Ashley about it, to which she whispers back that she is sure that granted you are allowed the engagement to break, you should pursue the knight (it earns her a light smack on her arm to which she fakes a whine over). Ada offers you the same advice, lip quirked up in amusement when you flush impossibly warm and fan your face, telling them both that it would be impossible. You dare not dream of it until you are in a position to do so.

"Surely you find him attractive, though?" Ashley tries. "I have not the luxury of looking at others, but it is not infidelity to call someone else attractive."

"I suppose he is." You mumble.

"You'll be single soon. There is not a soul in the academy that does not know you wish to break the engagement." Ada hums. "It will be fun."

"I am sure it will." You mumble. "It'll be—"

Ada grabs the back of your chair and pulls, sending you back as you watch water splash and steam where you had been sitting. You don't react much to what happens next, Ada's sword out and Leon's name called as the girl is tackled to the ground by your knight, all of which happens too quickly. When you turn to glance at Ashley, she's got a visible frown on her face, which you can only assume has to do with the commoner girl her brother's decided to covet.

"Princess?"

Leon's voice breaks you from your thoughts, and you sigh. This girl was by no means foolish, so why did she insist on playing the role of the antagonist all for a crown prince that would not hold the crown once your engagement would be broken off? It mattered not to you anymore. It is not your problem to consider. This girl was losing herself all over a man — one that was not even worth the time.

"She tried pouring hot water on me." You place a hand on Ada's shoulder, stepping past her and next to Leon as you smile at the girl. "What would the crown prince think? If he were to find out that his beloved was out bullying the crown princess?"

You place a hand on Leon's shoulder, and he listens, stepping off of the girl as she coughs and sputters excuses.

"It was an accident!"

"Quite the opposite." Ashley raises a brow from the table. "Both Dame Ada and I saw you sneak up behind her to pour the water. Perhaps be more discreet if you decide you do not value your life."

"P-princess—"

"Save it. If my foolish brother wishes to squander his position for some commoner girl, then so be it. It is not as though we do not have other siblings." She waves her hand, and the girl rushes off. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." You smile. "Ada reacted quite efficiently. Perhaps you should be my personal knight instead?"

Ada shakes her head. "Unfortunately, I am tied to my current house. I have taken the oath already."

"I see." You feign your disappointment. "I forget that you are our senior oftentimes. You will be gone soon."

"You make it sound as though I will pass." Ada rolls her eyes. "Sir Leon, thank you. You're free to return to dine."

"Princess?"

"Please dine, kind knight." You smile. "I must as well."

"Then, with pleasure."

You settle into dodging traps and Leon standing in front of you for the next period of your life. The attempts only rack up with each time that your knight protects you, and you find it quite cowardish that the crown prince would resort to such tactics to have you tell your father you no longer wish to break off your engagement with the crown prince. It seemed the duke was starting to reconsider his decision of which prince to support. You wonder if you should tell your father that you'd much rather have another prince sit on the throne. He seemed to be listening to you much more.

"How have you been, princess?"

"The crown prince seems adamant of keeping me as his crown princess despite his beloved's pleas." You blow on the tea. "Quite selfish of him, if I dare say."

"Who would not want you as their betrothed? A duke's heir with the education of a crown princess. There is no one else quite near your standing."

"Except the princess." You smile, winking at Ashley as she shakes her head.

"An education for an empress is still different from that of a princess." Ashley shakes her head. "We all await the news of the breaking of your engagement."

"I do hope the emperor makes up his mind soon."

"As do I." Ashley presses the tea to her lips, and your eye twitches in annoyance as she spits it out, blood fresh on her tongue. "Good god."

You sigh, pushing your chair back as you call for Leon to take her to the infirmary, your knight furrowing his brows slightly before following your order. You have the rest of the ladies follow him since they serve both the princess and you, and you're left alone in the garden. You understand that it's for that exact reason Ashley was poisoned and not you, and so, by leaving you alone without a knight, it would make you a visible target. After all, what can a poor, frail princess do without her knight? Surely not much. Which is what would happen to every other noblewoman, but your father had the decency to hide your accomplishment as Grandmaster from the general public, so one could only imagine the surprise on the assassin's faces when you had casually unsheathed a blade from your thigh and stabbed one in the face.

Mother may be absent, but Father didn't raise no bitch.

You steal the blade of the original assassin before turning to face the other three, and you wonder when the last time you had gotten to let off some steam was. Well, you better thank that useless crown prince for sending you free stress relief during one of the worst months of your life, no doubt. You think the only situation that could put the month in second was when you first started posture training. Your first tutor was hell on earth to you. The thought of her alone is enough to make you sick. Had you known some girl would come and ruin all of your education for the crown, then you would have cared far less of how you carried yourself.

You take the third assassin down before Leon returns and takes care of the final one.

"You got blood on your clothes, princess." Leon fishes out a handkerchief for you, and you try wiping it from your face before you just huff and tell him to do it for you.

His hand is rough against your skin as one cups your cheek and the other wipes, and you relish in the attention your knight gives you. You hum happily as you blink up at him, smiling as he clicks his tongue and wipes you clean. His fingers may be rough, but his tough is gentle, and when he finishes and pockets his handkerchief, you give him a polite nod to thank him for his help.

"Are you alright?"

"I am quite alright. Nothing a little knight training could not handle." You grin. "Dare I say, it was cartharic."

"My apologies for leaving, princess. I shall stay next time."

"Those ladies in waiting could not have taken care of the princess in the time that it took for you to carry her over. I sent you off. It was not your fault." You huff.

The princess getting poisoned is enough to cause the emperor a migraine, and the crown prince's engagement with you is broken that very night. Your father had made a very convincing point or something, and the emperor had signed a contract to break it in public once the knighting competition was complete. To the public, you are still the crown princess, but to the private, you are free. Sure, you are expecting the assassination attempts to slow, but much like the annual knight competition of the best knights in the empire, it never quite stops. That very night, you awake to a bloody Leon at the foot of your bed, catching his breath as the room reeks of blood, and you blink slowly.

He looks as though he is praying to a saint — as though he is praying to you.

"Did I wake you?"

Even now, your heart flutters at how he insists on making sure you are well.

"Knight, are you alright?" You reach for your handkerchief on your bedside, motioning for the knight to look up at you, wiping the blood and sweat from his face as he exhales, nuzzling into your hand. Your heart races at his affection, daring not to move.

"My duty is to guard, princess. It matters not whether or not I am alright. Though, I thank you for cleaning my face. I can not leave you even for a moment."

"Perhaps I shall assign a second knight? It is exhausting to be like this, no?"

"Just let me rest my eyes once the magicians arrive. I will be alright."

"Rest on the couch, my knight." You whisper, stepping out of bed and through the blood to help him lay down, sitting on the one next to it, watching both the window and the door until the magicians come in. Your knight seemed to have taken care of all of them, so you thank the magicians that come in and repair the broken forcefield that should have been activated in your room. You warn them not to make the same mistake, calling in a maid to help clean up the knight without moving him, watching the prince as you settle for sleeping on the couch opposite to his, the two of you out until the morning.

"Princess, you'll be late to class."

Your knight's voice wakes you from your slumber, and you roll to face the wall of cushion rather than your knight, who leans above you and forces you to open your eyes to get a full view of him. That wakes you. Perhaps it is the information that you are no longer betrothed to anyone, or the fact that something awakened in you after seeing your very own knight bloody with the red of the people after you, but that causes you to jolt up in the couch, pulling at your nightgown to cover yourself, startling Leon as your forehead nearly knocks his chin. Your knight is attractive. You can't believe you forgot and it took him being bathed in literal blood for you to remember.

"My apologies, princess. You were not stirring."

"..." You stare down at yourself and then at Leon, groaning. "I need to change."

"Of course."

You need to see Sir Leon naked— who said that. What in heaven's name were you saying? That's preposterous. You're the heir of a dukedom, not some teenage girl who's got some crush on her own knight... well, you take those words back. You are. The whole reason you had wanted Sir Leon to guard you was because you looked up to him, after all. You may be the same age as him, but it did not mean that you were as mature as him. Surely you need to go back to training over such preposterous thoughts.

Yet, you act not upon it. Your father tells you he'll have you select your own betrothed this time, under the circumstance that he is of a noble family. You wonder if your father seems to have understood that you found Sir Leon attractive, but it was not as if you would ever act upon those feelings. You have a role to uphold, and it just so happens that Leon would not fit into the narrative that you are left in. Perhaps he would be titled as a noble if he were to reach the title of grandmaster like the other knights. It would be a worthy effort if he decides to do so.

The death of twelve assassins by the hand of your knight is more than enough to scare the rest of the threats. You're grateful you get to go back into a relatively normal life, and you're even more grateful to get to return home rather than stay in that awful dorm. The freedom to go in and out at will was preferred to your education in the academy. You wish you had the luxury of graduating with Ada, but you have not the choice. If you graduate early, it only means you would have to start taking over the matters of the dukedom, and you preferred a boring education to that.

"Are you all packed, princess?"

"Yes." You take one final look at the room, tilting your head at Leon. "And you?"

"I have not many belongings." He nods.

You nod slowly, thanking the maids for their service as the butler brings everything to your carriage.

"You graduate the incoming year, correct?" You try to make conversation with Leon. You have a feeling that he had been trying to keep a distance from you since that night. Was he tired? Maybe he found that it was too hard to guard you after taking out so many assassins. You chew on your bottom lip, waiting for Leon to give you an answer. Perhaps you should let him go? He might not want to guard you specifically, but moreso the duchy. "Sir Leon, if you'd like, I can—"

"Yes, princess." He smiles. "My apologies. I've been lost in thought more and more often lately. You were saying?"

"I was just going to say that if you no longer wish to guard me, I can let the duke know to return you to the knight's quarters. I imagine it must be hard guarding me at all times." You scratch your cheek.

"I... it's quite alright, princess. I do nto find that it is a burden. Rather, you make it so that I am comfortable guarding you." Leon assures you. "Though, if you wish to change guards, I am not against such a change."

"I would not dream of it, Sir Leon. I am glad that you do not find me a nuisance. I was worried that night had made you change your mind, you see."

"That would not happen with such ease."

You take his hand and step into the carriage with a nod of gratitude.

"You would not rid of me that easily."

"Oh, how romantic." You laugh, sure that your cheeks are warm, heart warmer in your chest at how sweet he is.

You wonder if he is like this with everyone.

Yet, you afford not the luxury of romance, stuck staring out the window as you brainstorm over which nobleman to be engaged to instead. Not many people would covet you, yet it would be a shame for the bloodline to end with you. Your father had not been fortunate to have a son, and your mother had passed before she could give him one. You wonder if it truly would have worked out if you had become crown princess. Perhaps the dukedom would be given to a distant relative, and your father's bloodline would have faded.

Does nobility truly matter to your father? Or was he only saying such a thing to keep up appearances? You wonder. Your father had married your mother for love, so you find it strange that he would force you to marry for legitimacy. A blood daughter is never worth as much as a son, huh? You're not legitimate enough, so it only was fair for you to wed and become someone even more powerful. Had your father wanted a son, you wonder why he had not just decided to marry again and have his son.

Maybe if he had a son, you'd be able to run off and marry Sir Leon. Well, not that your knight would have let you do such a foolish thing.

It seemed like child's play to him, after all.

He follows you around the mansion for the most part, stuck by you whenever you are to finish certain tasks, management of the mansion something you're responsible for while your father lies in the capital by the academy. It isn't too much to handle, but it sucks the majority of your free day during the day away. You find no complaints. You prefer this a little more to teatime on the daily with the ladies. You wonder how your friends are doing. It's a shame that both Ada and Ashley are still in the capital. You can not even wander without an excuse now that they are gone.

Instead, you are cooped up in the duke's office, stuck signing papers and checking supplies, learning of the maids and hearing all about the latest gossip in the capital. The commoner girl was undergoing the crown princess training, and you have the privilege of hearing all about it when the maids dress you in the morning. It matters not to you. You no longer care all that much. The title of crown princess is no longer something that you must carry around when you are in private.

Though, the title of Young Duke is another tale.

"Princess." Leon nods, delivering the papers your father's aide had told you needed double-checking. The stack seems as though it could swallow you whole. Truly, there seems to be no end to your work.

You grumble into your hands, starting at the top of the pile. "Will you go out with me tomorrow?"

"What for?"

"I need to take a walk before I become a pile of paperwork myself." You sigh. "It would be a nice change of pace."

"And not in the garden which you so willfully manage?"

"I want not a breath of air down in the streets while I can still afford it. One day I will be cursed to stay inside at all times." You sigh. "I can go alone if you do not wish to."

"Princess, are you planning on sneaking out?"

"Perhaps..." You try and change the subject. "Is there a reason you insist on calling me princess? I am the young duke, you are aware?"

"I am, but it changes not that you are a princess until the official title of duke is given to you."

You raise a brow. "Am I your princess, my knight?"

"Who else would be?"

You pause to consider. "Perhaps your lover? You are getting to that age, after all. Have any of the knights caught your eye?"

"It would be improper to court anyone in the same house as I, but it would be concerning to court someone from a house that is not mine. Time will tell."

You sigh, going back to the paperwork. "I find Dame Ada quite attractive."

"It changes not that she has no interest in anything other than her blade."

"Reasonable." You sigh. "Ugh, I must start considering the noblemen again. Father sent letter to make haste."

"Princess, what would make a man a nobleman?"

"Noble blood, or someone who holds a title of Grand so and so. Grandmaster knights and Grandmaster mages are both considered nobility under the law." You pause. "Perhaps you should go become the new Grandmaster in the knight competition later in summer. I'd let you go for that reason."

"And for what reason would I have to become a grandmaster?"

"Oh, my apologies." You laugh, scratching your cheek. "It was just a suggestion. It would be nice to tell my father that I'll decide after the knighting competition, after all. You made it quite far last time."

"You have the title of Grandmaster as well, no?"

"I do." You hum. "Which is why it would be nice to be guarded by one."

"I see."

You dare not tell Sir Leon that you'd like to get betrothed to him.

The thought alone is foolish, and it would occur only in your dreams. You admire the knight, but you are not selfish to the point that you would force the knight to become a grandmaster in order to betroth yourself to him. You're not that desperate, and you yearn not that much. Though, you find that you have already forced him to become your knight in a way, so maybe you are desperate enough. How saddening. Perhaps he found you annoying.

"Will you reward me if I win?"

You blink up at him in surprise, tilting your head as you pause. "If there is something I can give, then of course. It would only be fair for me to reward my loyal knight, no? Then, I shall arrange for someone to take over your role after tomorrow."

You run errands with Leon the next day, a quick upgrade to his sword given, and a change in dagger for you. The shop owner doesn't question anything much to your gratefulness, and you tell him to put it all on the family ledger. You know Sir Leon's gotten close to the title of grandmaster multiple times. It wouldn't be out of the question for him to win with a stroke of luck by fighting one of the weaker grandmasters, but you refuse to rely on luck when you feel as though you're tossing your future into the tournament.

If Leon doesn't come out victorious, then you'd have to find someone to actually get betrothed to.

The thought occurs when you are out, biting into your skewer as your knight scans the area for potential dangers. You could train him since you are a grandmaster, and it was not out of the question for grandmasters to have disciples and followers. If he were to come out victorious, it would be a boost to your name as well— oh, but goodness, this skewer was good. Oh, right, the issue of who he would train with.

The thought of your knight all sweaty tempts you, blue eyes under a sun-kissed back, hair glowing gold under the rays of light.

How dare you have such improper thoughts.

"Have you considered who to train with?" You tilt your head, tossing your skewer into a bin.

"I have not, princess." Leon shakes his head.

"Shall I train you?"

You find that Leon doesn't have enough endurance... or whatnot. You find that he tires easily after swinging his sword unless adrenaline-fueled, and it would come to haunt him. If he fought Krauser or you, neither of you would be able to go easy on him. You're sure that Krauser might even go harder on your knight, so there was no such thing as overpreparation. You would simply prepare Leon to the best of your ability so that he would be able to fight with or without his ability.

You still wonder what it is occasionally.

"Princess, do—" He heaves. "do you not tire after the runs?"

"Nothing is as unbearable as the endurance training I received for the title of crown princess." You hand the paper to your father's aide, and he rushes off with the last of the paperwork. "Now, shall we do another lap?"

"Princess. Please let your knight rest."

"One might get the wrong notion at your words, Sir Leon." You hum. "Take a break. Would you like something to drink?"

"Just air." He mumbles, and you watch as he collapses onto the stone ground, heaving.

You glance down at Leon, blinking slowly as you wonder what has him so motivated. It should not matter that you must get engaged to a nobleman if he is only your knight, but perhaps something more? Perhaps he has cravings of the flesh. You would not care. Your purity had only mattered in the context of a successor so that you would not have bastard children, but if you have no engagement, then perhaps you would only have children that lack legitimacy.

You wonder if Sir Leon likes you with the same heart that you love him with. You are clear with yourself, but he is not clear with himself. Perhaps, you will be stuck waiting if you take too long, but you care not. If your knight wishes to hold a title, then so be it.

Krauser asked to be captain of the royal knights.

You wonder what Leon would ask for.

The two of you step onto the carriage, and your blade is carried with you, your paperwork done in advance so you can take a small break. You mention that your father was rushing you for marriage, shaking your head when Leon asks if you will give him a response. You talk to Leon after it, pondering over whether or not your training would truly help Leon at all. He had been busy with the commander of the duchy's knight as well, but you still worried. If you fight him, he would not last. Even if he fought Krauser, you wonder whether or not he would be able to hold him off.

Yet, it matters not to you, much of your early days in the arena made up of resting and discussing with the rest of the grandmasters. You watch from the seating area, tea served and dessert on your table alone, tossing biscuits to the rest of the knights as you watch people fight. It's always a thrill, but you find that there isn't much to look forward to this year. Leon takes out the vast majority of the early battles with ease, a knight's set of skills drilled into his body through the exhaustion of your training.

"Your pupil is one of them this year, no?"

"Sir Albert, I heard yours is as well."

"Well, it is a shame. He is not my pupil, but rather my comrade. It is always amusing when I remember that I work with regular knights."

"Do you believe he will be able to win?"

"He lacks the desperation your knight carries." He hums.

You look up as Krauser takes a cookie from your plate, glancing down at the knights in battle.

"Dame Ada did not participate?"

"She'll return next year." You hum. "She wanted a break from her duties."

"It is not easy to be a master, nonetheless. Most knights are satisfied with such a title."

"I heard your engagement will be broken in public after the tournament."

"Correct." You hum, staring down at another one of the family knights. "Oh, that one's made it quite far."

"And who will you wed with next?"

Your lip quirks upwards on one side, clicking your tongue as you smile and wave down at the knights. Ideally, you'd get betrothed to Leon once he wins the tournament, but you were not guaranteed that luxury, so you had already backlogged who would let you get away with the most as a noblewoman. You wonder if Sir Albert would consider you someone worthy.

"Sir Albert, perhaps?"

"I would not be against it."

You glance back down as Leon is declared as victor.

"I do not appreciate being a second choice, grandmaster."

You smile back at him. "Then pray my knight would win."

The remaining grandmasters join the three of you the next day, table much more lively when you grin and wave at everyone, dessert on the table finally shared. You're spared no questions regarding your knight, and you manage to avoid the majority of them. Leon had joined because you suggested it. There was truly no more to it. The topic of your removal from the title of crown princess was far more entertaining to the table. You don't mind it. If anything, it's a welcome topic.

"The emperor made the mistake of removing you after the ceremony and not before." Jill hums. "What if your knight wins? Swearing loyalty to you would imply that he is not swearing loyalty to the royal family."

"I'm surprised the royal family did not amend such an issue even after your knight had done the same." You hum.

"Well, they are always slow." She hums. "Especially with the crown prince."

"Thoughts on the new crown princess?"

"I did not understand why she had to take the role of antagonist in my life. I would have given her the title had she asked. Though, I understand her need to seduce the prince first. Truly, there is no other way."

"WIthout support from the ducal family, surely it shall become a battle for the crown once more."

"That is not to do with me. The crown prince had simply gotten too bold." You click your tongue.

"Your knight as progressed once more."

You stare down at Leon, smiling as you do.

"How long did he last against you?"

"Forty." You hum. "His longest was forty minutes of continuous fighting. Though, I have confidence that he will last longer if his opponent is also on the offensive."

"You are always the agitating one." Krauser clicks his tongue. "You exhaust and then feast."

"It is the thrill of the kill." You smile. "It is also for entertainment. I dare not to do so on the battlefield."

"Your loyalty lies with the princess, correct?"

"Yes." You nod. "I am fortunate to have chosen her. I fear, had I chosen the crown prince, I would have lost my life long ago."

"Well, it is always a welcome change."

By the latter half of the tournament, you have started warming up with the grandmasters in the training ground, clashes of blade loud as your body thaws the reflexes that you have honed over the years. You can not win against Sir Albert regardless of your own skill, so you settle for dodging his attacks until you can not, his exhaustion never visible. You're sure that if Leon were to fight him, he would have to break the blade rather than fight with endurance. Your title was received because you had defeated Krauser. You would not have received your title had your luck been on the lower side.

"You've improved."

You gasp for air, resting on your knees as you glance at the knight. "Sir Albert, you do not feel exhaustion from your ability. I dare not guarantee that anyone could win against you."

"Your knight's ability is blood, no?"

"I am not aware. I have never seen him use it."

"It does not work if there is no fresh blood. His ability is a final counter while fighting." Krauser mentions, bowing at Jill as she fetches water. "He has never been that desperate, though. I doubt he will use his ability. Focus on exhausting him."

"And your pupil?"

"My pupil must be exhausted."

"It seems that the goal is always to exhaust." You sigh. "Jill?"

"I am sure the knights are all hoping to fight you."

"Well, they better be ready to fight." You huff. "They'll be more exhausted than us when they finally compete for the title itself."

You spend the final day watching semifinals, learning all of the knights' moves and calculating how you would have to fight each one. You are automatically voided from people that Leon would have to fight to avoid bias and going easy, so you settle with drawing sticks with the rest of the team, drawing again when you pick up Leon's stick on accident. To the vast majority of the arena, it would seem that you all are discussing, but you knew better. There was no discussion if it was truly just pulling out sticks to determine who would fight who.

The title of grandmaster was truly a title of luck oftentimes.

When you draw a knight from another ducal house, you find that you'll be fine. You have warmed up to your blade, and it has become an extension of your body, moving with you naturally as you prepare for your fight. You were last, so it would be understandable that your opponent would have plenty of recovery time from the battles of the previous day, but you understand that it would still be harder than usual. You hope to make it quicker than the previous times.

Your goal is to simply exhaust the knight.

Your battle is last, a gentle nod is all you give before your opponent charges at you, the knight swinging his blade and kicking for your legs as you swing over him, ducking as he thrust his blade, kicking upwards from the ground to force him backward and retrieve your blade. You take two steps back to avoid the next swing, blade meeting his on the third, holding the sword up as the knight stumbles back from your strength.

Was Leon watching? You hope he was. You had spared no effort to fight him, but you had overwhelmed him by the end of it. You do not feel that same exhaustion yet, but you keep an eye on the time. Under an hour was perfectly fine. Even when you feel your wrist crack from the strength, you just shake it back into place, taking two steps back and to the side, spinning and forcing the blade to twist. You land on the ground with a thud, aiming to split the blade to end the fight, but your opponent manages to take it at the last minute.

You check the time.

Fifty minutes.

You take a further two steps back, heart hammering in your chest as you flip backward, forced into the wall.

You have to recover. You must start fighting.

The wall is hard against your sole as you boost over the knight, taking the chance to kick at his helmet, forcing it into the wall as you take the moment to breathe.

Two.

Three.

The next swing is blocked out of instinct, and you breathe, ability causing the knight to blink twice.

Finally.

Your blade loses its visibility, and you change to the offensive. You must wear down your opponent, swing after swing after swing as you feel the knight's knees weaken, no longer able to hold his ground against your swings. His knees give out and he falls to the ground, blade dug into the dirt as he heaves, eyes wide and then closed, breathing labored as he struggles to get back up. You glance up at the timer to read the time aloud like you are to. The knight has made it impressively far.

"You have made it to the fifty mark." You hum. "You are too exhausted to continue. The journey to knighthood is not done overnight. Congratulations on reaching so far."

The knight takes your hand as you help him up, and he bows.

You step to the back, tended by the medics before you must make a return to the stage. You sit still as your wounds are tended to, gentle glow of green on your skin as the soreness is cast out from your body. It's still something you aren't used to, but you don't have much of a choice when this is the role you play. You're let go of only when you are free of all wounds and scratches, and you join the remaining grandmasters on the podium, standing near the back as you wait for the announcement.

Well, you already know who won.

You glance at the noted times for each knight, and you visibly brighten at the news that Leon has lasted the longest and broken a sword. No one brings it up, but the atmosphere visibly lightens as you hum and chatter with the remaining grandmasters. The mental exhaustion from fighting may still be present in many of them, but it is not present in you. There is a certain air of giddiness that you emit, inadvertently soothing the remaining grandmasters of the exhaustion.

"Congratulations."

"Sir Albert, did you even try?" You tilt your head, glancing at the envelope in his hand.

"I did. Your knight outsmarted me. That is all." He hums. "Your knight has won by default. He may have barely scraped by with his time, but he had broken my blade. That is an automatic title according to the rules of the tournament."

"How nice." You smile. "Looks like our engagement will not be happening."

"Arguably for the better." He hums.

"Agreed." You sigh. "I am sure your disciple will win the following year."

"And you have the boldness to say this because?"

"He seems to have found that desperation that my knight carried this year."

"Grandmasters! Positions!"

You step back to where you are to be, staring at the knights as you smile, humming as you close your eyes to smile with that also. You are sure Leon is aware that he can no longer do anything. What else is there to do but wait? Surely not grow excited over nothing. So, you wait for his name to be announced, watching as he collapses to his knees and stare up at you. You smile and wave, watching as he falls to his knees into the position of a prayer.

One step closer, one leap bolder.

You watch as he mouths words at you, your own heart rattling in your chest.

You deliver the final speech, congratulating all of the knights for their efforts, titles of master handed by each grandmaster with a wreath. You participate, well aware that you'd be with the royal family the next morning as someone who was... still the crown princess... or whatnot. You no longer cared. Quite frankly, you care so little that you could break a couple rules at night.

"Did you visit your knight at night?"

Jill raises a brow at you in amusement, and she nods. "Take the hidden corridors."

You wink at her in response, blowing a kiss in thanks.

It's fairly simple to sneak to your knight's room. If anything, it is all the more obvious, the blade of the victor on his door, and you wait behind the statues in the corridors to knock on his door, rocking on your feet as you grin. You're sure you'll give him quite a fright, but it matters not anymore. You've been patient, and well, your knight has been too.

The door to his room swings open, and you watch as he blinks twice before pulling you into the room, panic all over his face as you blink slowly at his lips.

Oh, who cares anymore.

You pull Leon in by the collar, lips crashing against his as he winces, confidence faltering as you start to pull away, worried you might have read the knight wrong—

You're left with no space as Leon chases your lips back into the kiss, hand flying to the back of your head, eyes half-lidded as he forces you against the bed instead, tongue desperate against yours as he drinks up every single one of your movements, lips leaving yours only for quick gasps for air before he's back on you again. It overwhelms you. Your head spins deliciously with the lack of air, body turning lax against the sheets and chest pressed to his, nails digging into the cloth still, fingers clinging onto whatever you can of him, the knight practically engulfing you as you finally throw your head back for air, letting him rest his head on your collar.

"I'm sorry."

You have to be honest. Honesty. You have to be honest.

You're tired of denying yourself.

God, you love your knight to no end.

"Don't be." You gasp, eyes closing to focus on catching your breath back.

The silence that ensues is something that you could only dream of experiencing.

The moon paints your skin pale, and you stare back at him, breathing labored as you whisper.

"Who will you swear your loyalty to tomorrow?"

Grandmasters' loyalties lie with the royal family, yet Leon forms a sword from his wounds, hand red from the ability, handing it to you as you blink at him.

"My knight." You mumble.

"Knight me, so that the emperor may not do so tomorrow. My loyalties lie with you, not with the king."

"My knight, I cannot—"

"I beg of you. If you knight me now, the king can not knight me in the morning. You need not to get up, just... please."

You comply, red of his blade staining your hand as you stare, eyes closing as you whisper a prayer to the stars.

You close your eyes to start the chant, gold engulfing the blade of red as you hold it out to one shoulder, moving it to the other after, the gold swallowing the room whole as you close your eyes from the brightness. When it subsides, the red of his blade has puddled at your feet, and your knight rests his head in your lap, eyes closed as you hesitate to touch him. You worry that he would be called a traitor by the people.

"Thank you."

"What will you tell the emperor?" You whisper, heart racing in your chest at the thought of him being executed.

"I need not anything else. This was my request." He mutters back. "Stay the night."

"I cannot do that." You push his hair back, and Leon closes his eyes.

"I know."

"The emperor will have you executed for this."

"I'll run off with you. Divine intervention. Bribe a priest."

"I can not do that, my knight." You laugh. "And the regulations?"

"I will survive." He hums. "Clause twelve states that they are to swear their loyalty to anyone in the royal family. Considering the knowledge that you are still crown princess until the end of the competition, I have sworn my loyalty to the royal family by proxy."

"Ever the sly one, aren't you." Your fingers scratch at his scalp gently, and he hums.

"I have to. It is for you, after all."

"Then, will you have me?" Your voice shakes.

"Only if you would have me in exchange."

You watch as Leon requests of you to knight him, and you hide the amusement on your face as the emperor's face twitches and frowns at the request to be knighted by the crown princess. You are not the crown princess after Leon receives his title, but you do so anyway, his actual blade in your hand as you press it from one shoulder to the other, same golden haze erupting in the colosseum. You fear what it would have been if Leon had not requested for you to knight him, and when he is asked what he wishes to receive, the title of Marquis was only fitting.

You bow to the citizens as the emperor announces your removal from the title of crown princess, and you watch as the commoner girl who had wanted to be the crown princess receive the title she had longed for for so long. You try to ignore the way Leon's eyes stay stuck to you the whole speech, and you also ignore the way the crown prince glares at you when you finally get to exit the stage for the emperor to make a final speech. There's a certain excitement that you allow yourself now that you are no longer the crown princess to the public.

You're given no time to feel it, Leon lifting you into his arms as you yelp, eyes wide as he beams at you. Your heart rings in your ears, sure that your embarrassment is spelled out on your face, but you ignore it all. Your knight looked elated to finally have you in his arms, smiling ear to ear as his blue eyes soften at you. You find that he looks enamored with you. Perhaps you are risking it, but it seems to be fine. You find that this is a tale of devotion, not purity or whatnot.

"You smile so brightly, my knight." You mumble, fingers reaching for his cheek.

"You are free from the shackles of the crown, princess." He whispers, forehead pressed to yours. "I am yours at last."

"And if I would not have you?"

"I am at your disposal regardless."

"What will the people think?" You close your eyes as Leon hums. You can still hear his smile.

"Do you care? Must you care? What is there to consider when I am by your side?"

"You are right, my knight."

You glance down at Leon, sun in his face as he brushes noses with you, your own heart full in your chest. You've waited long enough, and you wonder if you would have known so long ago, but without the title of crown princess on your shoulder and knowing that your knight was yours, you cherish the knowledge. He was yours to use, but you would be his to cherish. The knighting ceremony was more than a testimony that he was yours. And now, you would know peace.

You could finally be his.

[crsssies]

town

I'm in town.

Well, more specifically our town. We grew up here after all. You lived under my roof for so long that we called the section you stayed at your home. Not our second living room. Your home.

My mom still jests about how you'd show up magically at the airport and pick me up — I dreamed of it once too, so I suppose I'm really only halfway there.

But you're not home. You haven't been in a long long time. You moved years ago when you got into college — I entertained the thought of joining you.

I'm not that desperate, though. So, you know. I picked a school that was good for me. I'm in love, not stupid.

Right. There's that too.

I really don't think I was in love with you, but I think I won't be able to feel such a strong emotion for anyone else. Well, save for my best friend. But it's still not nearly as romantic as what I felt with you.

Was it really romantic? I doubt it was.

Did you ever love me? I'm sure you did, you stubborn asshole

You were never really honest with me. You were never honest with anyone when it came to me.

You brought me up to friends to the point that they knew who I was despite never meeting me. What was that about?

I'm not in love with you, though. You know? I think it's always slightly more entertaining when I tell myself I was. or am. whatever it is

Your mom always told me I'd be her daughter in law with her eyes

Your brother used to jest that he would marry me just to spite you.

I think you were never really honest with the person you had to be honest to.

Are you in town? Maybe I'll see you at the Safeway by my place. Are you in town? Maybe I'll see you when I drop off the mail for your place that you never changed (tsk tsk) Are you in town? Maybe I'll get to throw a right hook into your jaw (?)

I'm in town. Are you? (I sure hope you are. I still need to deck you in the face)

[crsssies]

one decade / two decade

“I’m sorry I can't return your feelings, and I’m sorry I had ever given you the impression that I liked you.”

I think back upon who we were once pretty often.

Mommy tells me we were right person wrong time. I’m sure your mom does too.

Your mother had always made it seem like you’d find no one other than me. You’re too cold. You’re too blunt. There isn’t anyone else than her who would look past all of it.

When your beloved friend had asked us on the trampoline so many years ago whether or not we were dating and we had both answered an agitated “no!” followed by a look of disgust, I wonder if you would look back upon it like I do. Would you wonder what the other was truly feeling at a time like that?

I didn’t like you so many years ago, so why did I like you now?

I think a lot of it lies in distance. If distance makes the heart grow fonder, then I must have received the short end of the stick. You seem to have forgotten all about me.

Without realizing, you had become someone I clung onto, breath short when i had panic attacks, nails dug into the fur of the bear I had named after you, seeking solace in its arms, pretending it was you — all because you had gotten frowny when I had hugged it in front of you.

Did you love me? Did you lie? Did you lie to me?

When I told you to reject me for my sake, did you never once question whether or not I would like to hear what you honestly felt?

Maybe your rejection had been your honest words.

So, even when I send you happy birthday, I know better than to ask you how you’ve been after.

But, I like to revise the past and think that maybe you did love me at one point.

Eight-year-olds don’t cook for other sick seven-year-olds. Adult friends, maybe, but not children.

Nine-year-olds don’t pout over their brother flirting with their best friend. Those in love do, maybe.

Ten-year-olds don’t show up to someone’s door with more excitement than ever seen. Those who love, maybe.

Eleven-year-olds don’t try to hide their yearbook because someone left them their number. Those who care, maybe.

Twelve-year-olds don’t braid a girl’s hair because they want to see if they remember how to. As an excuse to touch them, maybe.

Fourteen-year-olds don’t help you edit a written piece because you asked if they’d be willing. One that cared, maybe.

Sixteen-year-olds don’t stare at you the whole time while your parents catch up on life. Those who miss you, maybe.

Eighteen-year-olds, do, however, establish boundaries. I tried pushing one last time, just for the sake of old times sake, and you had been more than apparent in your words. You are a boundary that I no longer am allowed to push.

I don’t quite think we’re friends anymore. I don’t text you when I have questions, knowing better since you’re always so busy. Even if I forget to text you happy birthday, I’m sure you’ll forget to text me back.

My mom tells me we’re right person wrong time. You refuse to tell your mom I confessed to you. Your mom sends my moms photos of us as kids.

Your mom had been wrong, though. You’re not cold when you care. You’re not blunt when you comfort. There are people who will love you like I did and look past everything.

Just, I wished that person were me.

It took one decade for me to look back with rose-tinted lenses and a melodramatic heart. It took one decade for me to muster up the courage to beg you to let me go. It took one decade for your feelings for me to act as though they never mattered.

It’ll take another decade for me to force my head back straight to the future. It’ll take another decade for me to muster up the courage to keep walking. It’ll take another decade for your feelings for me not matter to me anymore.

My knight, do you think you loved me? My knight, when I begged you to let me go, did you want to? My knight, did I ever matter to you?

In a decade, you will be a story I muse upon and no longer care for. Maybe that piece of my heart I left with you will go numb. Then, in a decade, you’ll have a piece of me that no longer matters.

So I’m sorry that I had to ruin our friendship over such silly feelings.

Maybe in another universe, we can keep being friends, and I’ll last another decade before I confess to you.

[crsssies]

Leon signs the paper as he finishes, fingers smoothing against the fold of the paper as he closes the letter, sticker sealed into the envelope. He blinks at the letter and how bare it seems to look, so he decides to include a final doodle by the PO address given by him to send to you. How exciting, to have someone he can confide in like this. He sets a reminder on his phone to drop it off at the post office tomorrow, texting back his manager as he's notified of another booking. He might be downplaying just who he is. He's not a small-time model, he's a rising one, and in a desperate attempt to cling onto whatever of his own life is left, he takes up the penpal service Chris had recommended to him while at a casting. What is all the glitz and glam of being a model if he does not even have his own autonomy? His agency most definitely does not care for him the same way he would have had he gone independent. Climb the ranks. Climb the modeling industry, and catch up to Ada Wong. Then, his fanboy dreams can be quelled and he'll learn to take care of himself. Or... however that saying goes. He wonders if he should have just taken up the offer to be in the raccoon city police department instead of modeling as the face of magazines. He enjoys the shoots, just not some of the people as much. "You're a looker," they tell him. He should really ask Chris how he does it. Leon glances at himself in the mirror, sliding the letter next to his keys as he gets ready for bed. He'll live. He has to.

Original writing! But then I thought it'd take a... too heavy turn. I wanted this to be a light read so :3

from one admirer to another : how do you like your eggs?

pairing: leon kennedy x reader || masterpost: from one admirer to another

synopsis: from one admirer to another, an online penpal service, allows for two people with common interests to write to each other without ever revealing their actual address! Luckily for both you and Leon, you get matched up! What do eggs and Christmas even have in common anyway? sure hope it's that modeling business and NOT that Ada Wong addiction.

featuring: reader as scrambled eggs // leon as christmas

Dear scrambled eggs:

it feels strange to write to someone in such a format, but I suppose I should get used to it. We got paired up via from one admirer to another because of our shared passion for Ada Wong. I find it a little amusing that someone else just straight-up put a model's name instead of modeling on its own, but I'm glad you did.

As an ada stan, I feel the need to ask this immediately. How did you feel about her helicopter shoot? I'm hoping you aren't some weird stan like those... yeah. Also, while on that topic, if you're really as die-hard as me when I have free time, you should read glhf <3 by okaokra on ao3. It's gender-neutral, it's a great fic, unless, of course, you're too normal for reading fanfiction. In that case, maybe we can find another middle ground aside from Ada Wong.

Right, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm user Christmas, a weird translation + twisting of my real name. I live in Raccoon City, and I model as a part-time job because of ... you guessed it, Ada. My dream role is to model with her, but considering that I'm only a local model, this is truly out of my reach. Maybe some strike of luck will help me?

I used to dream of being a cop until I got scouted off the street by some guy for modeling. Do you think I suit it? Who am I kidding, you have no idea what I even look like. Maybe you pass me on the covers of local magazines all the time if you live nearby. I'm not nearly as famous as Ada Wong, though, so I suppose I can never truly call myself a big model until I become someone like her. Even then, she's not a supermodel.

Tell me more about yourself, maybe? What's your favorite holiday? How do you like your eggs in the morning? Do you even eat eggs? Why the name "scrambled eggs" over anything else? What do you do in your free time— oh, I should answer that question.

I seldom have free time lately, but I feel like all I've been doing late is reading the fic that I mentioned earlier. Oh, right, hopefully you enjoy the sticker I got from a fan gathering. I did a little bit of research, and it seems pretty normal to send your penpal small trinkets in the letters, so we'll start with a sticker.

I thought the mail would be digital, and then I was notified that you would prefer physical mail — which, to be fair, I'm not complaining about. I think it would be funny to open a box of letters exchanged between a penpal and I 10 years down the line. Who knows, maybe you'll even be at my wedding.

Right, my apologies for a long first letter, but I'm excited to be starting this.

signing off, Christmas

Leon sends the mail the next morning, rubbing his eyes slowly as he rides the public transport to his next shoot, waving good morning to his manager as he sips on his coffee, hair blushed back and gelled, formal clothes handed to him. Leon finds that he doesn't really suit clothes like this, but for the camera, he puts up with just about everything. He finds it interesting that he would be modeling in clothes he hadn't liked wearing all that much.

"You have another shoot later today, and then you're off for the rest of the weekdays. You have another shoot over the weekend."

Leon nods, blinking slowly as the coffee shoots through his system and he's revived magically. It feels unreal. He's working as a model despite finishing the police academy at the top of his class. Is this what delusion and some sweet talking from a random agent can do to a person? It feels a little wasteful to let his training turn into this, but he's not complaining all that much. Yet. he meets eyes with the model he's supposed to be posing with, blinking in surprise. Wow. That appearance is lethal.

He waves at you, giving you a small smile as you wave back, smiling back.

"New?"

"Mm... moreso someone who doesn't like booking. My manager booked this months in advance, so I'm here." You stay still as the makeup artist finishes with you, Leon raising a brow as you give him a cheeky grin.

"Did you leave before your makeup was finished?"

"I wanted to meet you. I heard I was modeling with someone pretty well-known." You grin. "Leon Kennedy, was it?"

"Yes. Am I that big now?"

"Mm... you're quite a name amongst us local models." You tap your chin. "It's quite an honor modeling with you. I heard you have deadly biceps."

"Well, you can't see them through the suit."

"It comes off, no? I'll just fix it." You tilt your head.

"And how do I know you won't jump my bones?"

"Oh, please. I'm your coworker right now. I'm not someone sketchy." You roll your eyes, helping him free an arm as he flexes for you. You blink at his arms, raising a brow as you stare up at him. "Can I squeeze?"

"As long are you're not weird about it."

You grab his bicep, giving it a squeeze as you nod slowly. "God, I need your arm routine. You got a trainer? I'd like to get that contact."

Leon rolls his eyes, fighting the blush that threatens to creep up his neck from your skin contact. God, what is he? fourteen? Get a grip, Leon. "Gotta get that from my manager, then."

"Shame." You sigh, helping him put the suit jacket back. "Maybe the next time I bump into you, I'll have biceps of a greek god too."

"Leon, model two! You two are up!"

"Wow, they don't even name you?"

"Maybe I just like being mysterious."

start : masterlist : next letter