#<- aka trying to draw holiday presents and it’s not working out

[bumfuzzled-bee]

🍃 🍂

[cellythefloshie]

;; 12 Days of Kinkmas Day 7 - Leon Draisaitl - Ugly Christmas Sweater

Summary: Leon doesn’t like having to wear his ugly Christmas sweater, but he sure as hell likes how you look in your elf costume.  Kinks & TW: hook-up, work place relationships (would not recommend), costumes (holiday elf), unprotected sex, naughty list, big dick energy (literally - size kink maybe?) Leon is a grinch, creampie Word Count: 2646

TAGLIST : @wingedwheelprxncess @mitchymainer @equallyshaw @starshine-hockey-girl  @beccaiscold @samanthasgone​

There was nothing like the look on a child’s face when they realized that some of the biggest stars in hockey were standing right behind them. And you got to watch it over and over again. You would collect the group of children from the waiting room, and just the scene set in the room brought them excitement. There was a great throne brandishing the OIlers colors that the kids would sit down upon and when you were behind the camera making much more noise than necessary, McDavid and Draisaitl would slip in from their hiding place in Santa’s Workshop wearing awful orange and blue holiday sweaters. You didn’t know who the players had pissed off to earn having to wear them - but Conner was a good sport, Leon on the other hand was much more of a grinch. His face had fallen into the unmistakable expression that silently screamed: you’ve got to be kidding me when he had been presented it that morning. And you could have sworn you had heard him groan when he had pulled it on over his tight t-shirt as if it were somehow worse than the elf costume you had dawned since your arrival. 

He had worn that same look all day, it leaving just long enough for the picture with the kids who would go wild once they realized the Oilers stars were sneaking up behind them for the photobomb. He was sweet and enthusiastic with the kids too, but the moment they were gone and they had to reset he was grumbling, complaining to Conner about one thing or the other all the while itching the knit from where it irritated his neck. It was a humorous thing to watch over and over again and had become a hot discussion between you and your fellow elves aka your coworkers as the day wound down. 

You were leaning up against a near desk speaking in hushed tones after the last groups of kids had gone through. You had to stifle your laughter as one of your coworkers did their best to mimic Leon’s stone-cold glare, but your struggled, the laugh bursting from your lips and drawing too much attention from the hockey players nearby. Cursing under your breath, you reached for a candy cane, and you were quick to peel off the plastic and shove it into your mouth - yeah, that should keep me quiet, you thought to yourself. You sucked on the minty treat, your lips wrapped firmly around it as your coworkers were reduced to whispers and then to silence as the players approached. 

Leon and Conner were mumbling between themselves on their approach, Leon’s hands going straight to the itchy sweatshirt as he walked. His hands grasped at the orange wool at its back and pulled it up and over his head in the way that only men seemed to master all the while being incredibly sexy. Worst of all, the static between the rough wool and the soothing cotton of his t-shirt left the fabrics clinging, drawing the t-shirt up and away from Leon’s frame. 

You near gasped around your candy cane, the mint harsh against your tongue as you took in a sharp inhale at the sight of him. You knew that as a professional athlete, he would be fit, but seeing it peak out from beneath his t-shirt, had your small cluster of elves trying to look anywhere but at Leon, as he fixed his shirt - but you were so slow to react as you were dazed by the sight of him had your jaw slacked around your sweet candy cane and your eyes never made further than his as they stared right back at you. 

His stare chilled you to your center, his pale eyes not leaving yours as he discarded the ugly Christmas sweater and left it in a heap on top of the desk you remained propped up against. There was no hiding your stare, not at he had caught you. Instead of averting your gaze and pretending you hadn’t seen every inch of his abs before he fixed his t-shirt you remained bent over the desk, propped up on your elbows as you sucked on your candy cane. It was there you held his gaze, your tongue running along the length of the candy as you drew it from your mouth. Leon seemed to tense at the sight, and it left your perking up in place. 

Licking your lips you reached out into the basket that was littered with the spare candy canes, taking one and holding it out nonchalantly, “there are lots left,” you spoke slowly, his large hand reaching out to take hold of the fragile candy all the while not once looking away from you. But they didn’t remain locked on your face. No, Leon’s eyes dragged up and down the length of your body as he seemed to admire the curves of your body as it was propped up against the desk - and how the skirt of your costume raised up a little higher along your thigh. 

When his gaze had returned your own, his pale eyes had darkened and his jaw had set frim with restraint. You didn’t know Leon all the well, never seeing him more than during these special events and promotions, but you knew men and you knew that look. It was a look that left your nerves raw, your legs coming to press firm together as you pushed up from your place on the table. You cleared your throat as if it would relieve you of the sudden tightness that overtook you, but all it did was draw the attention of your coworkers who had begun the tear-down of the holiday scene. 

“You guys take off early,” you told them slowly, your gaze locked on Leon who didn’t have to do much more than give Conner a quick glance before the star center was leading the way out of the room. 

“Are you sure?” one of your coworkers spoke up all the while moving for her coat, “you’ve got your hands full here…”

She had gotten that right. Waving your hand casually, you dismissed them, “yeah, I got it,” you assured, “it’s almost the holidays, go finish the rest of your shopping and spend time with your families. I’ll finish up here.”

You knew they wouldn’t argue with you. They had their families back home, and you were chronically single with nothing more than a few potted plants waiting for you back home. Working late didn’t bother you all that much, and the knowledge of your lack of attachments, it didn’t bother your coworkers either. They muttered their quick thank yous, and their quiet happy holidays as they grabbed their coats and their bags before slipping out the door Conner had disappeared out of moments before. The door had barely finished closing when Leon tossed the candy cane to the floor, sending the sugar into shambles. 

“I don’t want your candy,” Leon spoke slowly, his voice low as his heavy foot took a careful stride toward you, trapping you between his towering frame and the desk.

Your head cocked to the side, your hair falling back from your face as you looked up at him. You sucked on your own candy cane casually, your tongue running flat against the backside of the sugary treat slowly before you placed it down on the desk beside you. “Oh?” you quirked a brown up, licking the sticky sugar from your lips, “what is it that you want?”

He answered you with silence, his large worked hands meeting your hips to lift you up onto the desk with little effort. With a single push of his hand, your legs were spread Leon was stepping between them. Looking him up and down you smiled coyly, you could see the impression of his generous cock against his dark slacks. His fingers grazed over your knees slowly, dragging over the colorful tights of your elf costume. He traced over each red and green stripe of your stocking until his hands were slipping up your skirt and became lost on the apex of your thighs. It was there he found where the tights were tense and tore at the hosiery that was already under threat to run. Leon ripped at them until he was sure he had access to exactly what he wanted for you. He held your gaze as he leaned in, one hand propping himself up against the desk so that his face was a mere inch from your own, and the other was up your skirt, dragging over the thin, flimsy fabric of your panties. His knuckles dragged up and down your clothed cunt slowly. You bit down on your lower lip holding back a breath that inevitably overtook you, sending your sweet minty breath over his features and sending his eyes fluttering shut. You could hear him curse under his breath, his head shaking from side to side slowly as he pressed down a little harder against your clit to earn a soft sound for your lips. 

“Have you been a good girl this year?” Leon asked you slowly, his eyes only then opening to take in the shocked expression that took your features at his words. Your mouth was left agape as your struggled to find your words, and it only worsened as he pushed your panties aside and you could feel the pads of his fingers graze over your clit. It coaxed another, stronger, moan from your lips, and it left him smiling. “No, no, you’re a naughty one - and if you aren’t,” he licked his lips, “I’ll put you on the list myself. Now, bend over, just like you were before-”

His hands left you, and you were free to side down from the wooden desk. You lay over the desk, just as you had before, but this time you reached out for the edge of the desk, bracing yourself against it as the jingle of his belt loosening around his hips filled the air. It was a sound sweeter than sleigh bells as his pants hit the floor and you could feel the warmth of his body against your exposed skin as he stepped in close. A thick thumb held your panties to the side, the other drags his cock up and down your slick entrance and it left you biting down on your sweet lips. You didn’t need to see him to know just how big he was. You could feel it in just how the tip of his cock spread your lips that were so eager to take him. You had even tried to ease yourself back to take him, but his hand was quick to find your hip, holding you down against the desktop. 

“You are a naughty girl,” his words were a whisper as he leaned in the weight of his frame heavy against you, and he remained there as he eased his cock inside your slick walls, “you going to be able to stay quiet while you take me?” 

You nodded eagerly, your teeth biting down on your lower lip, though you were sure you were going to make a liar of yourself. The spread of your walls around his cock was a burning pleasure. And it only intensified as he would draw his cock back just enough so that the head of his cock was still in the embrace of your core, before plunging into your depths again - but never all the way. You couldn’t feel the smack of his thighs against your own or the graze of his balls against your clit - he was being careful with you. 

“I can take it,” you let out a low huff, your hands gripping the desk so tight your knuckles paled and your palms ached, “you’re not going to break me.”

You could feel the hesitancy in his thrust as he let himself thrust a little deeper inside you. The extra inch left you gasping to fight back a moan, and your teeth sought out the back of your hand to bite down on as you took in another. Your legs began to quiver at the pleasure, your eyes watering as you began to doubt if you could take all of him - but then you felt it. The warmth of his body against your thighs and the burning pleasure of his cock testing your limits. You let out a strangled moan into the back of your hand, one that left Leon groaning as he reached a hand around you. It came down firm on your mouth, its hold keeping you quiet as he thrust into you slowly, deeply. “Careful,” he cautioned you, “you don’t want Conner to hear you, do you?”

Your gaze flashed towards the door, your eyes going wide as you could see the shadow creeping beneath the door. You should have known that they would have come together - that Conner would be waiting for him. Your core clenched tight around Leon’s cock, your moan muffled against the palm of his hand. Leon laughed lowly in your ear, his mouth coming down to rest against your shoulder. His teeth grazed over the fabric of your costume, playfully biting against your shoulder as he fucked you. It was with his face tucked into the crook of your shoulder, his body heavy against your own, and your sweet moans muffled into his hand that Leon let himself come undone. You could feel every one of his thick ropes of cum as they were shot up into your cunt, coaxing your own feeble release that left your eyes watering and mascara smudging beneath your eyes. Leon thrust into you a few more times as your cunt milked him for everything that he could offer you before he eased up and out of you. 

Cheek pressed against the desk you took in a heavy breath, and let your body calm. Your hips felt bruised from the pressure of being trapped between his body and the desk, and your legs - hell, it was going to be a struggle to clean up, never mind walk to your car once your work was done. And you could feel his cum inside you, waiting to drip from your cunt as you finally let yourself stand upright. It would drip into your panties, and when they were full down the inside of your legs until you could get home and clean yourself up properly. 

Reaching down you fixed your panties before you straightened up and fixed your skirt. Hands rubbed at your eyes, smudging your mascara further before you looked back at Leon who was already doing up his belt around his waist. You didn’t know what to say, or if you should smile or even just look away and wait for him to leave - but Leon answered that for you with a simple action. He stepped forward, taking your jaw in his hands to guide your lips to his. He kissed you slowly, his tongue dragging over your own and your lips slowly - finally tasting the sweet mint of the candy cane in your mouth. When he pulled back he smirked down at you and your heart skipped - had you ever seen him really smile before now? You couldn’t recall. 

“Now,” he muttered, “be a good girl and do what you can,” he told you and moved to the door. Opening it slowly he was greeted by Conner who was standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his expression far from impressed. Leon greeted him with a laugh, his head shaking and hand raising up to his sweaty hair shamelessly. The pair exchanged a look, one that only teammates really understood, before Conner came inside and helped you both clean up the mess you had been so quick to neglect.

[swissmissficrecs]

Any PTSD Sherlock fics? Thank you as always.

Reply: Yes, definitely! First off, here are some older, related lists:

PTSD John

John discovers Sherlock’s scars + Part 2

Sherlock Whump

PTSD tag

And from that tag, here are the ones where Sherlock is the sufferer:

PTSD Sherlock

A River Without Banks by Chryse (203K, E, Johnlock and Warstan) "You love this, being Sherlock Holmes." He had once. When had it all gone so wrong?

All the Best and Brightest Creatures by wordstrings (188K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock sent Jim Moriarty to prison for killing Carl Powers at age ten.   This is the story of the consequences.

Andante by uraneia (12K, T, Johnlock) Three months afterward, a stranger appears at 221B. (AKA: The one where Sherlock shows up on John’s doorstep with serious injuries and amnesia, and John thinks he’s a homeless man seeking medical attention.)

Command Structure by 221b_hound (49K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock Holmes returns from his hunt to destroy Moriarty's network. He has returned fractured and suffering anxiety attacks. He thinks he needs discipline - the whip - to help him focus and be strong. But his problems are deeper and run back to a childhood of neglect.  

Hounds by quietasasleepingarmy (21K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock enlists John's help with a case that falls far beyond his area of expertise. Post-HLV.

I'll Follow You Into the Dark by fearfully_beautifully_made (19K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock's got quite an imagination, he always has. As a child, he had very vivid dreams; they come back with a vengeance after all that has happened in the past few years. Luckily for him, his best friend moved back in and has some experience with PTSD and nightmares. He seems more than willing to lend a helping hand.

Johnlock Advent 2018 by sussexbound (47K, E, Johnlock) Starting today (the 1st of December) and all the way up to the 25th, the chapter of a fic and accompanying drawing will be posted here (and on my tumblr).  It’s so great, and we are all very excited.

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (57K, M, Johnlock) An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea by DiscordantWords (39K, M, Johnlock) Baker Street is very much the same. Only different. And Sherlock is just trying not to drown.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (87K, E, Johnlock and Warstan) Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Written from Sherlock's POV.

Not the Fall that Kills You by Ranowa (39K, M, Johnlock) Sherlock's been falling ever since he stepped off Bart's roof two years ago. Now, he's back home, but as it turns out, he's still not ready to land. (Part of a longer series but can be read alone.)

Not the King’s Men by StoneWingedAngel (56K, T, Johnlock) John finds Sherlock three years after he thought he'd buried him, scared and injured; broken to such an extent he can barely recognise those trying to help him. Battling against too many unanswered questions and his own feelings, John sets out to put him back together, but never stops to consider Sherlock's return may be part of a greater punishment in store for the both of them. (Note: This fic has been deleted, the link goes to the Wayback Archive. Download and save, as it may disappear at any time.)

On the Rack by 7PercentSolution, J_Baillier (286K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock goes to rehab (of the other sort), starts scraping his life back together, attempts to solve a case, and tries to make sense of what it actually means to be in a relationship.

Sharp Bits and Safe Paths by midgetnazgul (22K, E, Johnlock) John learns Sherlock sacrificed much more than he ever could have believed in his time away.

Sherlock, P.I. by Callie4180 (83K, E, Johnlock and Warstan) Sherlock, P.I. is an American television show that follows the exciting adventures of genius private investigator Sherlock Homes and his friends as they live their lives on the beautiful island of Oahu in Hawaii. Sherlock solves crimes as he wrestles with the ghosts and demons of his past.

That Obscure Object by emmadelosnardos (23K, T, Johnlock) Danger was a green pool in an inner courtyard, the wet slide of skin against skin, the risk of being caught. Danger was a needle under the floorboards, opium in the toe of a slipper, the subterfuge of his habit. Danger was a shabby cabbie, even odds, an aneurysm.

The Broken Tether by J_Baillier (54K, M, Johnlock) Maybe he thinks that you only enjoy his company because of the Work, because of the way his dazzling intellect shines when he's in his element, but the truth is this: it is when he is at his most human, most bare, that you feel closest to him.

The Fabric of Life - orphaned (156K, E, Johnlock and Warstan) The fabric of life rearranges itself around the re-emergence of Sherlock.

The Ground Beneath Your Feet by Chryse (68K, E, Johnlock) Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.

The Holiday by Scriblit (18K, M, Gen) A month following an horrific, sadistic attack during a case, Sherlock is still physically incapacitated and emotionally damaged. A holiday is suggested, but even stuck out in the middle of nowhere, he and John happen upon a case that could make Sherlock begin to feel like his old self again - or could kill him.

The Silence After by wendymarlowe (25K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock may have physically survived his abduction, but in his mind he'll never be whole again.  John understands PTSD, understands what Sherlock is going through, and is determined to be patient.  Angst, hurt/comfort, and eventual Johnlock as Sherlock tries to rebuild his ability to trust.

The Victim Experience by J_Baillier (16K, T, Gen) A case takes Sherlock and John deep into the seedy underbelly of the haunted attractions industry. With audiences craving more and more intense experiences, is a real murder the next logical step?

Truth May Vary by amalnahurriyeh (93K, E, Johnlock and Warstan) Seven years after Sherlock's death, John's life is normal.  And then it isn't.

Underground Rescue by khorazir (48K, M, Johnlock) All kinds of danger lurk in the disused stations of the London Underground. When Sherlock goes missing, John has to play detective to find him, while Sherlock faces demons both present and past.

White Tulip by withoutawish (40K, E, Johnlock and Warstan) Sherlock is in love with John Watson.  John Watson is in love with Mary Morstan.  Sherlock likes Mary Morstan just fine.  Sherlock likes drugs more.  And most importantly, Sherlock doesn’t like Sherlock.

You Go to My Head series by J_Baillier (865K, T to E, Johnlock) This series is an alternate universe one, featuring the exciting medical and romantic adventures of doctors Watson (senior neuroanaesthetist) and Holmes (neurosurgeon). (Several of the installments deal with PTSD in some form or other.)

Your Perfect Offering by CaitlinFairchild (44K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock rolls away and sits up on the edge of the bed, his back to John.“A great many things happened in Serbia,” he says, flat and remote. “None of them were pleasant.”

[nbrook29]

💞 my sobbe fic recs part 2 💞

I did the first part in October but since then we have been blessed with so many good fics that I needed to do another one! We are currently experiencing a sobbe drought so these fics are helping us to get through it basically ✌🏻

Part One

✔ if there’s a fic on this list that you decided to give a shot and loved it, please remember about leaving a comment under it to let the author know that

Let’s go!

1k - 5k

let me be your man (let me hold your hand) by thekardemomme (@wlwharrys) | T

Summary: “what if i hold your hands?” robbe asks, voice gentle and soft, all teasing completely gone. sander turns to look at him, and robbe just gives him an encouraging smile. “will that make you feel more comfortable?”at first, sander wants to say no. he’s an adult, he should totally be able to drop in without needing to hold his boyfriend’s hands. but then he looks down the length of the ramp again, and he ends up nodding.

Sander learning how to skateboard. Basically, A FIC WE ALL NEEDED and this writer provided amazingly.

you just own it by noobishere | G

Summary: He bites his lip as he unhooks the jacket, feeling like he's five years old again, snooping around his mother's closet and trying on her heels.(a.k.a the one where robbe wears sander's clothes)

You know, with this writer it’s like, you see who wrote it and you just know it’s gonna be good. And it may be the most trivial idea but they always turn it into something fun. Oh and the pencil line is living in my mind rent free 🤣

paper rings by thekardemomme (@wlwharrys) | T

Summary: When Sander’s nose twitches, causing him to make this soft little whimpering sound, Robbe can’t help himself. He leans forward enough to kiss Sander’s forehead again, and then he dots one on each cheek, and then finally on his nose.“I can’t wait to marry you,” he whispers.

Angsty flugg with such a cute ending, where are my tissues at 🥺🤧

It’s My Turn by isaksliveterna (@to-enter-polaris) | T

Summary: Just little Sander moments through Robbe's eyes as he makes the anniversary video.

Remember Even’s video to Isak? This is sobbe’s version and it’s oh so cute 🥰

5k - 10k

All You’ve Got to Do Is Win by berrevy | T

Summary: “Careful, now.”“Or what?” Robbe walks off, over to his side of the net, voice raising as he goes. “You may as well just draw a picture of you winning cos that’s the only way it’s gonna happen.”It's Sander's turn to splutter. "Jesus...who are you and what have you done with Robbe? Where did this little savage come from?"(or, how that tennis match might've played out)

Oh my god, for me this is perfection ❤ This author can truly capture the real essence of sobbe. And to think I completely missed that fic the last time!

dreaming of you by ivy_seas | E

Summary: Snow, gift giving, wrapping presents, watching movies in bed (+ other activities in bed), celebrating Christmas together.

Sobbe preparing for Christmas together, just the perfect amount of fluff I needed 🤗

you’re my stars... and everything in between by aurorawinds (@robbesdriesen) | M

Summary: A Star-Crossed Lovers, Romeo & Juliet inspired, AU where Robbe and Sander are the sons of Antwerp’s two most rivaling families of tech companies, head over heels in love with one another as they find it more and more difficult each day to hide their relationship from their families. To hide their love.

Are you kidding me. Romeo and Juliet sobbe AU?! I was so into it from the very beginning, THEY ARE SO CUTE OH MY GOD and the angst oh yes

Taking pictures of you as the light came through by allforyoumylove | M

Summary: Robbe photographs Sander in bed. Things take a steamy turn.

It’s not easy to write the perfect amount of fluff as I tend to not like the overly fluffy stories. Somehow this writer always hits the mark and delivers just what I love.

You say you want your freedom by ayellowcurtain (@ayellowcurtain) | G

Summary: Sander is going away for two weeks to do some college stuff with his teacher. He doesn't tell Robbe right away, but he needs time.

This was really interesting and quite different from the usual approach I would say. I think there are very few fics with sobbe “fighting” and I love me a little angst sometimes so this was just *chef’s kiss* 😍 Also, I liked how *spoiler* the ending isn’t just Sander’s bff suddenly liking Robbe but that they rather work around it.

time may change me but I can’t trace time by abittersweetsong (@honeyandsinn) | T

Summary: “You’re my best friend and I love you.”It’s a simple admission and it settles gently in Robbe’s soul Or Robbe and Sander find each other in every universe, but in this one they're best friends first

This is WIP and as a rule I don’t include WIPs in those recs but I’m gonna make an exception because I absolutely loved it and I need this writer to come back and post more 🥺 I’m in love with their writing style and how they make me care about these characters so much ❤

10k - 20k

sander driesen versus mistletoe by dottori | T

Summary: it’s not a fair match. (or, sobbe go on a christmas date, and sander really wants a kiss under the mistletoe.)

This is a very fluffy fluff so proceed with caution 😂 I liked the Christmas vibe here a lot.

hop in the corolla by noobishere | E

Summary: “Oh dear,” Robbe’s mother cuts in. “You haven’t even started your trip and you’re already at each other’s throats.”Sander takes immense pleasure in the way Robbe’s eyes widen in panic, and before Robbe can even warn him with his glares, Sander is already saying, all too gleefully.“We’re always at each other’s throats.”(a.k.a sobbe's summer road trip)

“I found it. It's official. I found the best sobbe fic.” This is the comment I left and I’m still standing by it. It has so many small gems, it’s just UGH. So goooooood 🤩🤩🤩

my hand around the base of you holy neck by allforyoumylove | E

Summary: “All Robbe knew was that Sander was rubbing his hand up and down his back, nails scraping his skin gently, that he smelled like safety, sweet and warm, and that there was nowhere he would rather be than in his arms.”(aka the one where Robbe and Sander are “just” friends with benefits, but the amount of times they call each other ‘baby’ and the way they can’t fucking stop kissing begs to differ.)

Friends to lovers AU. One of my favorite tropes. It’s smutty and fluffy at the same time which, you know, perfection.

Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) by berrevy | M

Summary: Robbe bites down on his lip, shaking his head. “You make a habit of luring boys into your lair?”“Only the pretty ones. Don’t worry, schatje, there’s nothing to be afraid of. And if there is,” Sander shrugs, taking a few more steps backwards, “I’ll protect you.”(aka the boys go on their own private Halloween adventure)

So basically, it was Halloween and wtFOCK so DID NOT deliver and we were all pissed off but then this writer came in and gave us what we deserved. Thanks to this fic I discovered this writer’s other story that is one of my sobbe favorites. Oh the symbolism in this fic. I’m just a big fan of this writer’s style in general 🥰

20k+

this rough magic by aholynight (@aholynight) | M

Summary: Though he’s a sixth-prefect and the newest member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, Muggleborn Robbe can still hardly believe that he’s made of magic. Sander is the seventh-year Gryffindor beater whose wild behavior and delinquent reputation precedes him. Though Robbe desperately wants to believe in the angel-faced boy he sees in front of him—and ignore the rumors of Sander’s devilish behavior—he’s not sure his heart can afford the risk. But when Sander and Robbe are left in a nearly-empty Hogwarts over the Christmas holiday, avoiding Sander might no longer be an option.

I don’t know how I could have missed this one in my last fic rec. Sobbe in Hogwarts. During Christmas. I mean, I’m sold from the start but on top of that this also has a captivating story and made me go 🥺

[goose-books]

stars: an excerpt from act 2 of darkling [image credit] word count: 1.3k aka: the most holiday-appropriate excerpt darkling has. by which i mean it takes place sort of near christmas & doesn’t make me feel like a crying cat image

context: this takes place about three years before canon (in the text it’s a flashback!); jasper goes to boarding school & only really comes home for the summers and for winter break. cw for misgendering a few times

Vee’s - fifteen when he gets his license; no, sixteen, seventeen maybe - no. It has to be sixteen; fifteen’s too young and Jasper isn’t Jasper yet; seventeen is when it starts to hurt, really hurt, every day. Sixteen is chess and the cane as a friend, not an enemy. And the car keys. Sixteen is the car keys.

He plans it out two weeks ahead of time, in December when his school break overlaps with Jasper coming home - pulls out his little school assignment book, notes down when Dad’s driving to work, when Dad’s working from home, when they’ll be expected to show up at some public Christmas event, what the weather forecast says. “You really think she wants to go sit in the cold and look at stars with you?” Dad says. Not like it’s an attack; more like it’s never occurred to him. Vee should correct him on the pronouns (Vee’s been practicing, even if Dad hasn’t), but he doesn’t, just tilts his head and says, “But I can have the car, right?,” gets a nod and a skeptical eye-roll in response.

He picks three days before Christmas. They leave around eight, when it’s already dark. It’s also cold. Really cold. “This is your plan?” Jasper grumbles as he flips the seat-warmer on. “To go outside? Right now?”

Vee is - Vee is feeling some regret already. He is having some second thoughts. He is shaking like a battery-powered children’s toy, even inside the car. But goddamnit, he made a plan. “Trust me,” he says, trying to tug his gloves on with his teeth so he can keep one hand on the wheel. “It’s gonna be good. Just trust me.”

Jasper arches his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything. Just pulls his slush-glazed shoes up onto Dad’s nice leather upholstery.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive - out of Dovermorry proper, up the winding mountain roads at the very edges of the city. Vee spends most of it trying not to think about, and thus thinking about, how weird it is that he only sees his sibling every few months. It’s not like Jasper goes off to school and comes back a different person. No dye jobs; no piercings. He looks the same as he did when he left at the end of the summer, right down to the loose unruly curls he brushes out of his eyes. That’s what makes it so weird. Behind those bright eyes are four months spent somewhere Vee will never be, with people Vee will never meet, and sure, Vee still texts him, still reads his emails, but he barely gets any information out of that. It’s like there’s another layer of Jasper’s world, one Vee doesn’t have. Jasper told them about his new name over the summer, but Vee’s seen the comments on his Instagram posts. No one from his school has called him Circe since April.

“You have your license,” Jasper says, looking straight ahead.

“Yeah,” Vee says, swerving sharply around a branch that looms out of the road’s darkness.

Jasper looks at him sideways. “I don’t know if you should.”

“Dad says I’ll get better.” Vee ducks his head to hide his sheepish smile, but he doesn’t miss Jasper’s snicker.

The wheels whir over the road. Driving in the snow makes him nervous; up here the roads aren’t paved half as well. Still. They’re almost there.

“He’s gonna put Circe on my Christmas presents,” Jasper says, very flatly.

It’s too dark in the car to make out his face, even if Vee felt comfortable taking his eyes off the road, which he doesn’t. He feathers the brake, edges around a snowdrift encroaching on the sheer black pavement. He knows what he’s supposed to say. I’ll talk to him. (He won’t. He’s tried; he gets tongue-tied.) He just needs some time to get used to it. (He knows very well how stupid Jasper will find that.) It’s not like he’s going to lie, either. Dad is going to put Circe on Jasper’s Christmas presents.

“Well,” Vee says, biting his lip, “I won’t.”

They drive the last half mile in silence.

When they stop, they can just barely see the lights of Dovermorry glittering over the ridge. Up here, up higher in the mountains, it’s dark-dark. Real dark, not city dark. Vee unlocks the car, takes his cane with him when he steps out, comes around to the passenger side and opens Jasper’s door. Not out of gentlemanliness so much as a fear that Jasper won’t move.

He does move - albeit with a hiss of, “God, it’s cold as shit out here.” Still, when Vee’s cane slips on a patch of ice under the snow, Jasper catches his arm with ease, unpanicked, unrushed, and Vee steadies himself and smiles at him and gets a quick-flashed smile in return.

They leave the car and walk up the road, footsteps crunching crisply in the fresh snow, until they round the bend and the hills block out the last bit of city-light. Jasper’s a step behind, blowing on his hands, and Vee catches the moment when his face changes - when he looks up and sees the sky bursting with stars above them.

If there’s one advantage to living in the mountains, to standing above the rest of the world, a city closed off with its nose turned up - it’s this. The clear sky, dark and rich as paint, pinpricked with white light. The thousands on thousands on thousands of stars, like sugar spilled across dark cloth.

Up here above the city it’s like there’s nothing else. It’s like the heavens could swallow the world.

Vee stays silent as long as he can. Then, finally: “It’s crazy, right?”

“Yeah,” Jasper breathes, head tilted back, lips parted. “Oh my God.”

Vee could say more - about how he was just driving around, just trying to practice with the car, just trying to get out of the house for a little because when Dad isn’t there it’s far too large. How he found the place by accident. How he sat on the hood of the car until he lost track of time, sat back and stared at the swirling stars until his teeth chattered. How he doesn’t want to show anyone else except the two of them. How places get less lovely when everyone knows about them.

But he doesn’t need to. He thinks Jasper knows that already. Anyway, it’s enough standing here, surrounded by stars, glowing with them, reflecting them, watching Jasper stare up at the sky.

“Perseus, there,” he says after a few moments, pointing. Jasper side-steps closer, interlocks their arms. “And Aries. That line there.”

“Where?”

“Those ones.” Vee traces a line in the sky with one fingertip.

“How the hell is it a deer?”

Vee isn’t very good at judging when Jasper is joking. He ventures a sideways look. He doesn't think it’s a joke. “Come on.”

Mimicked back: “Come on.”

“It’s a ram.”

“Whatever,” Jasper says, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Sure as shit doesn’t look like a ram, either, Vee.”

“But people saw one,” Vee says, and he draws out the path with his finger, imagines connections sparking between each star. “To the point where - where we’re still seeing it. However many years after. You know?”

Jasper doesn’t say anything. But he sets his head, very lightly, on Vee’s shoulder.

They both have thick coats on; the touch doesn’t itch like it usually does. Besides, Vee’s so cold he doubts he’d feel it anyway, layers or not. So he steps a little closer, so Jasper can lean on him, and they tip their heads back and gaze up at the sky and Vee feels like he could drink the whole night, like they’re both glittering with constellations.

They stand there for five, ten, fifteen minutes - Vee doesn’t know. Just until he can’t take it anymore, until he says through chattering teeth, “You wanna go back and turn the car heater on?” and Jasper says, “Oh, my God, yes.”

He doesn’t run ahead, though. He keeps their arms linked - Jasper on one side, Vee’s cane on the other - and they scramble back as fast as Vee can, and then they turn the car on and sit in it parked and hold their hands over the heater and shiver and laugh.

[quicksilversquared]

A Christmas Liar

After Ms. Bustier mentioned the annual school charity fundraiser in class, Lila seems determined to raise funds for her own "charity", aka herself. There's no way that Marinette is going to let that fly, but how successful will she be in taking Lila down in time for the holidays?

links in the reblog

It started with a normal morning in Ms. Bustier's homeroom class.

"As you all know, it's fast approaching the holiday season, and our collège always does a fundraiser for a charity before Christmas," Ms. Bustier told the class, smiling widely. The first few cut-out paper snowflakes had appeared in the classroom window that morning, and they all knew that the collection would only grow as December went on. "So remember to remind your parents to check their emails for details soon! Our student representatives have been hard at work brainstorming what to do this year."

Marinette smiled, even as she kept drawing in her sketchbook. Jagged Stone had commissioned an outfit for his Christmas present to Penny from her, and wanted the design ready to be sent to his seamstress as soon as possible so that he could have it ready in plenty of time. He had told her not to rush, of course- "you have so much going on, and I don't want to put you behind in your studies!"- but Marinette wanted to try to get things done early.

After all, akumas could appear and eat up her free time without any notice, and so she was going to take advantage of any extra time when she could.

"Oh, a charity fundraiser?" Lila asked from the back of the room, and Marinette mentally sighed before setting her pencil down. Clearly she wasn't going to get anything done now, if she had to deal with Lila's nonsense, and her nonsense-o-meter was going wild. "That's so wonderful! Do you think that- oh, no, I suppose it would come off a little self-appreciating, never mind..."

"No, go ahead!" Ms. Bustier reassured her quickly. "What is it that you wanted to ask, Lila?"

"Well, I was wondering if maybe I could put forth one of my charities to be considered for the fundraiser's proceeds," Lila told the class, and even without turning around, Marinette could picture the way that Lila would press a hand to her chest delicately, doing her best to look bashful. Adrien's eye roll from in front of her told Marinette that her mental picture probably wasn't very far off. "But I suppose that could come off as, well..."

Ms. Bustier perked up. "Oh, how could I have forgotten that we had someone in our class who had done so much charity work before? I don't think it would come off as self-serving at all! In fact, it could add an extra connection and an element of interest to the whole thing if the school picked one of your charities. Marinette, could-"

"Student council has already settled on a charity for this year's fundraiser," Marinette said at once, not even bothering to look up. She could see exactly where this was heading, and she was going to put a stop to it. Now.

In front of her, she could see Adrien's hastily-hidden grin out of the corner of her eye.

"But this is special, Marinette," Ms. Bustier implored. "Surely they'll understand and want to support a fellow student's charity efforts! This is a pretty unique opportunity!"

"We've had multiple meetings about it, thinned our selections down, did all of the background checks and verification on our final pick, filled out all of the paperwork to submit to Mr. Damocles, and let the charity know so that we could get more information to post around," Marinette informed her, because seriously? Ms. Bustier was going to fall for it, just like that? Also, she was super glad that she had pushed for the council to make the decision early this year, because at this time the previous year, they had been working on finalizing everything still, which would have made a last-minute change like this possible. It wouldn't have been fun, or easy, but it could have been possible. "We can't change it now."

Lila let out a small sigh from the back, and Marinette turned around just in time to see her shoulders slumping. "Oh, that's really a shame, then. For a minute there, I was picturing how much good I- we could do for the children in Africa with a bit of extra funding, but I suppose if they've already picked a charity..."

Ms. Bustier glanced from Marinette to Lila. "Marinette, do you think that we could do two charities instead of one, perhaps? It would just be so nice to be able to support Lila's charity!"

Marinette was honestly going to scream.

"I'm afraid that that would make things too complicated," she said instead, politely as she could and with as little teeth-gritting as possible. "We had a couple fundraiser activities in mind- which we agreed was important, in case an akuma attack keeps people away from an in-person event- plus a couple volunteering opportunities that we wanted to offer. Plus, there would be all of the paperwork and the background checks that would have to be done to add in another charity, and that's not exactly a short process. It's a lot of work."

There was also the fact that Lila didn't have any charities, and any money they earned would- if she managed to sneak her way through their careful screening process- no doubt go straight into her own pockets.

"Oh, I could fill out paperwork so that you guys don't have to!" Lila offered eagerly. "I don't mind, it's for the kids-"

"And the email letting parents know about our fundraiser and our selected charity is already scheduled to go out today," Marinette continued, raising her voice just ever-so-slightly to drown Lila out and making a mental note to talk to Aurore to actually get that email sent over lunch. It had originally been planned for tomorrow, actually, but Marinette wasn't going to give Lila any ins. "So the deadline for any changes has passed." She pasted on her best fake smile, trying not to let any signs of a smirk through as she looked back at Lila. "It's just not possible for this year, I'm afraid. Maybe you can bring it up for consideration earlier next year."

"I suppose that's fair," Ms. Bustier agreed. She smiled over at Lila. "It's my own fault for not bringing it up earlier, it just slipped my mind. Hopefully your charities will still get plenty of support! But right now, we're going to move on to today's lesson. If everyone could please get out your notebooks, we're going to start with a quick video..."

Marinette smiled to herself as she put her sketchbook away and opened up her notebook to a fresh page. This probably wasn't the last that she would hear about Lila's so-called "charities", but at least Ms. Bustier had dropped the subject and she wouldn't be getting pressure from that angle.

Now she just had to be ready for Lila's other attempts to get her hands on charity money.

  "I am so glad that you already had stuff all finalized," Adrien said in Marinette's ear as they headed for their next class. Lila was ahead of them, surrounded by several of their classmates. "I got worried for a minute there when Ms. Bustier hopped on the Lila's charity thing."

"I'm just glad that it's a school-wide thing, not just a class-wide fundraiser," Marinette admitted, glancing around to make sure that no one was going to overhear them. She had managed to get out of being blamed for deliberately denying Lila's "charity" a chance to get more money because she wasn't the only person in charge of the fundraiser, and she didn't want anyone in their class mishearing and blowing things out of proportion. Again. "I mean, it's obvious that Lila jumped on that because I'm class representative and she wanted to put me in a bad spot, but she couldn't when I'm just one of the people involved in that process."

Adrien nodded. "Yeah. I was so sure that she was going to drop it after you mentioned the background check and verification thing, though, and then she didn't. Which is...weird, honestly."

"Not really. If we tried going forward and I was the one doing the check, she would probably just say that I was making stuff up about her charity out of jealousy or spite and that was why it failed or something." Marinette had thought the same, honestly, but it became apparent pretty quickly what Lila was up to. Lila wasn't nearly as sly as she thought she was. "I'm surprised that she didn't jump on that and complain that I was just making the background check thing up because I was doubting her. Ignoring, of course, that we want to have statistics in our flyers and posters and emails about how the money is used, and how much work they get done, and their rating by a charity watchdog. That's standard."

"Which is why she wanted to do her own paperwork," Adrien added. He made a face. "I bet that she's still going to try to piggyback off of the fundraiser somehow, or at least rope people into donating some of their own money. I already heard Rose bringing it up, and Alya mentioned something to Nino about posting something on the Ladyblog."

Marinette winced. That wasn't good. She would have to forward the link to their charity watchdog site to Alya later on, maybe under the guise of providing a resource to get all sorts of charity statistics at once to put in her posting. That didn't guarantee that Alya would look at it, of course, but it was worth a try.

(Also, she could use her throwaway account to point out the charity's questionable status, and then- well, hope that other people would see her post and upvote it.)

"She's really going too far now," Adrien said after a moment, pulling Marinette out of her brainstorming of how she could keep Lila from pocketing a bunch of charity money. "I mean, she has been for a while, especially when she tried to get you expelled, but this is just the cherry on top of a heap of awful. I just don't know... I mean, she's sunk her claws in really deep now, I don't know how to fix it. I guess I should have recognized it earlier, but..."

"Well, there's no point in worrying about what we should have done earlier now," Marinette said as they went through the door for their next class, though she couldn't help but feel a bit validated, since she had wanted to stop Lila's lies ages ago. "We can brainstorm later, if you can get away for lunch. I was going to talk to Aurore then anyway."

Adrien looked puzzled for a moment, then caught on with a grin. "Aha, right, since she's on student council too. Is she the one in charge of submitting paperwork?"

"No, that was me. She's in charge of sending out the emails to families." Marinette grinned up at him. "And I bet that we can do a bit of damage control with that."

-0-0-0-0-

Aurore was all too willing to bring her lunch over to the Dupain-Cheng bakery instead of eating in the school cafeteria. After all, she told them as they headed upstairs, her lunch was leftovers and best served warm, and the cafeteria microwave was gross.

Marinette could believe that. Aurore had already floated the idea of setting up either a roll of paper towels near the microwave so that people could cover their dishes to keep the contents from exploding all over, or going the more environmentally-friendly route of having microwave plate covers instead, which could then be washed daily in the industrial dish washers that the cafeteria kitchen had. Clearly it was a Big Deal for her.

"You said you wanted to talk about the email right?" Aurore asked finally, finishing her grumbling about someone who had apparently microwaved fish and ugh, the smell was awful. "I thought it was meant to be going out tomorrow? I have a draft that's almost complete, I was just going to review it tonight to make sure that it was perfect, but do you need something changed?"

"We had a situation come up in our class this morning," Marinette told her, leading the way into their kitchen. Her mom had left out food for her and Adrien, it just had to be warmed up and assembled. "I don't know how much you've heard about the new girl in our class..."

Aurore frowned. "Lila? The one with the questionable stories?"

Adrien laughed. "Okay, so we aren't the only ones with working brains in the school, that's good to know. Yeah, her."

It didn't take long to get Aurore caught up, and predictably, she was furious at the idea of Lila trying to hijack their fundraiser funds.

"This is going to go one of two ways, I know it," she told them, pulling out her laptop and getting it set up next to her on the table. "Either this girl is going to make up a charity- name, mission, and all- or she's going to find a charity that already exists, and then she'll claim credit for it. The first one is easy enough to disprove, because no one will be able to find anything about the charity. We could just put a reminder in the email about checking charities out before donating to them, and then enter that link we've been using. But the second one...well, she could use their rating and reputation to collect money, and then- if I'm reading her character right- keep it all for herself."

They all thought about that.

"Well, if Alya posts anything on the Ladyblog, in theory any donations would have to be electronically, though a website," Marinette pointed out after a minute. "As for in-person donations, I would say that people should use checks instead of cash, but I don't know how many people use checks anymore, and besides, that's not going to stop her from cashing them if she wants."

Adrien made a choked, horrified noise in the back of his throat. "It- it won't? How do you even know that?"

"But it might deter her, since that's a traceable crime," Aurore pointed out, her eyes gleaming. She snapped her fingers. "And as for the Ladyblog- if she's capable of creating a website that looks decent, she might give Alya a link for that. So that's still a problem-"

"-unless we notice that and bring it to the attention of the police!" Adrien exclaimed, sitting up straight. He winced. "I'd hate to get Alya in trouble, but otherwise people will be thinking that they're doing something good and helping people in need when actually, they're just giving Lila spending money. And if she told them that Lila gave her the link, then she'd get off pretty fast."

Marinette nodded. Alya would probably be a thundercloud that they had gone to the police first instead of her, but she couldn't say that they hadn't warned her. She just never listened when it came to Lila.

"So we can put in a line reminding people to check charities before they donate and to make sure that any links they follow for charities go to the actual website," Aurore finished. Her fingers tapped away at her keyboard. "My older brother is a computer whiz, so I can text him and ask about things people should look for to make sure that a site is the real deal. Then I can get that typed up and sent during study hall, so it'll go out today."

Marinette could only grin. Maybe Aurore could be hotheaded at times, but there was no denying that she could really pull through. "That would be great."

  Unsurprisingly, Lila sold a sob story to Alya about her charity's website being down at the moment, so she couldn't provide a link right away.

"We're working on it, of course, because this is the best time of the year to get donations and we're going to fall so far behind with every day we miss, but the entire system is down and our tech guy is having trouble," Lila told Alya, looking positively wilted. "It's so upsetting! The longer it's down, the fewer people find out about our work, and the less budget we have to work with next year."

"That's terrible!" Alya exclaimed, frowning, and Marinette exchanged an exasperated look with Adrien. "I just wish there was a way to help..."

"Maybe you could post about our school charity instead, for the time being," Marinette suggested dryly. "Since Lila's charity is on the table for next year anyway."

"But we need budget for this year!" Lila repeated, and- yep, she was gritting her teeth. The glare that she flashed Marinette left no question that she had been trying to set up some sort of fake website and the email the night before had thrown her off. Either she was trying to make a more convincing website or- more likely- she was just hoping to wait until the reminder to be careful had faded from people's minds. Or she had had to abandon the online idea entirely in favor of throwing a pity party for herself in hopes of getting cash donations with the help of their classmates, if that hadn't already been the plan all along. "If we wait for a maybe next year, we could go into debt and collapse!"

Alya was looking worried now. "Marinette, are you sure that the student council can't switch charit-"

"It's all set up. We can't change anything, Alya, we established that yesterday." Marinette spared a glance at Lila, who was clearly working to keep a poker face. "Maybe Max can help you with your website issues, he's quite good at stuff like that. We wouldn't want you missing out on donations, after all."

"Oh, I couldn't," Lila simpered, glancing towards Max as well. "We, uh- well, my tech guy is back in Italy, so they wouldn't be able to work together, and he's quite protective of the system. Plus we were in the middle of upgrades when everything crashed, so that makes everything more complicated."

"We'll figure something out, Lila," Alya promised, patting the other girl's arm. Marinette took that as her cue to leave, but she wasn't going to go far. She needed to be able to overhear, after all. "We don't want those kids in Africa to suffer, after all! We can brainstorm before class."

Adrien caught Marinette's eye as she came back to her seat. "It sounds like she's just going to go another way, but isn't about to give up."

"No, she's got the idea of getting money into her head, and she's not about to give it up." Marinette kept her voice low, so that no one would overhear. "Which means that we need to come at the problem at a different angle. Any suggestions?"

Adrien looked unexpectedly delighted at being consulted, but then he paused, clearly not coming up with any ideas. "Uh."

"My first instinct would be to try to warn Alya and Rose and whoever else is going to get sucked in, but we all know how well that would go over," Marinette said, just to fill in the space. "They would clamp down and refuse to listen."

Adrien nodded. "Yeah. But I like what you did yesterday, where you made it sound like you would have gone along if you could and suggested trying next year. Then everyone thought that you weren't fighting against her-"

"-and was actually willing to listen!" Marinette finished, smiling. It was an approach that Tikki had suggested, and she was glad that it had worked. Well, sort of. It had worked in the moment, but just- apparently- pushed the problem off for later. "Yeah, that was nice."

"Maybe we could do something similar now," Adrien suggested. "And offer to be helpful by providing that link still. Like, it doesn't need the website, right? Just the charity name."

Marinette grinned. "Right. And there's no way that she can get around not telling anyone her charity's name. And if she does...well, either it's made up, or she's going to pick a real charity and we can find the real website."

"And congratulate Lila on her site getting back up so quickly," Adrien added with a small laugh. "It's a pain to deal with her, but I'm actually curious about what she's planning on doing going forward. Like, how long can she play this game? She's going to run out of escapes soon enough."

"Yeah, I don't know..." Marinette trailed off as Alya slid into her seat, and she and Adrien exchanged one last look before he turned back to the front, greeting Nino as his best friend entered the classroom.

"Man, I can't believe what bad luck Lila has, to have her charity's website crash at a time like this," Alya said glumly, sliding into her seat. "Lila is stressed about it, of course, but she has so many other obligations for her other charity work that she can't go out and do a collection, not that it would be easy with her throat still recovering from her laryngitis surgery. She can't be out in the cold for more than ten minutes without it causing a ton of pain, which can't be fun at all."

...Naturally.

"I want to help, but if we don't have a working link to put on the Ladyblog, I just don't know..." Alya trailed off. "I mean, we could do a door-to-door, I guess, but that only ever gets fairly minimal donations. And there's so many people who set up near the Eiffel Tower, we wouldn't have a chance. But- oh!" Alya perked up as another thought hit her. "We could put posters up at school, so more people know about it and maybe help us!"

Yeah, how about no.

"That's actually against school rules," Marinette said idly, flipping through her notebook as she waited for Ms. Bustier to call for a start to class. "All posters posted in the building have to be approved by Student Council normally, so that the walls don't get too cluttered, but there's an amendment to that that say that if the school is doing a charity fundraiser, posters promoting other charities can't go up during that time. I think it's to keep the effort from getting too splintered and distracted."

Alya slumped. "Oh."

That was not actually a lie, though clearly Adrien thought it was, if the slight frown on his face was anything to go by. Marinette had picked through the guidelines to make sure that she knew every rule that she could use to turn Lila's attempts aside, and apparently the Student Council had come up with and voted to implement that particular rule at some point in the past.

"Maybe you could do a surprise collection," Marinette suggested. "As a Christmas gift to Lila." She was improvising, admittedly, but this would be a good way to keep Alya and Rose and whoever else was getting sucked in from asking Lila too much and giving her chances to control the narrative. "If you ask her what the name of her charity is, and then you can use the website that we were using on Student Council to look at charities- it has all sorts of stats that you could use, information about charities and their work. That way, you don't need to bother Lila for all that when she's so busy."

"Oh, good idea!" Alya exclaimed. She grabbed Marinette's arm. "You know, none of the rest of us has ever organized any sort of charity fundraiser before- if we put you in charge of that-"

"I'm already busy, Alya," Marinette pointed out. She wasn't about to go make a fool of herself collecting money for a charity that didn't exist, not when she had a million other things to do. "The fundraiser for the school is already going to take up all of my time. I can send you the link that we used, but that's it."

"Oh, but-"

"She already said no, Alya," Adrien cut in, so Marinette didn't have to. "Marinette was telling me about that entire process yesterday, and it sounds like a lot of work and planning to pull something off at the level the school is planning. Asking her to plan another thing on top of that for you, instead of doing it yourself- that's not fair to her."

"I just thought that it might be a good way to repair the bad blood between the two of them!" Alya objected, frowning. "Since Marinette wasn't very welcoming when Lila first arrived."

Marinette narrowly withheld a snort. Gee, I wonder why?

"But if you're busy, I guess you can wait to try to mend that bridge later," Alya added. She sighed. "We probably won't be able to raise as much money, though, since we don't have your experience."

"Mmm," Marinette managed noncommittally, ignoring the clear attempt at a guilt-trip in favor of checking her email on her phone. Alya really had been spending too much time with Lila if she was starting to act just the same. Hopefully she would cut that out after Lila's lies had been exposed and everyone realized what a manipulator she was.

Marinette's phone lit up with a text, and she didn't hesitate to open it at once.

Adrien: Remember, if you commit homicide, you won't be around to gloat when people discover the lies.

Marinette snorted in amusement.

Marinette: I'm going to gloat for a solid MONTH after she gets found out. I wasn't very welcoming? Try SHE was a bully from the start and I wasn't about to tolerate that.

In front of her, Adrien's head gave a tiny nod as he put his phone away, just in time to start class. Marinette locked her phone and put it away, resigning herself to what was probably going to be a week of poorly-concealed efforts to get her into the extra fundraising before Alya either dropped it or realized that something was up with Lila's "charity".

At least now she had Adrien on her side.

  The school fundraiser was going well as they marched steadily closer towards the holidays, their online portal showing just how much money had already been raised by people going through the link that they had both sent out and posted on the school site. There was going to be a bake sale before the break too, with each family asked to donate two dozen cookies for them to sell at their booths near City Hall and (courtesy of Chloe) in the Grand Paris.

Marinette was really happy. People were being generous, and it really was a very deserving charity to receive the funds. On top of that, Adrien had asked for her help in baking his family's two dozen cookies, so they would get to hang out together.

(She was going to ignore the fact that Alya had tried to convince her to make another extra two dozen cookies because Lila "wasn't going to have time" because "all of her charity work"; that attempt had fallen flat when Marinette had just point-blank asked Alya why, exactly, Alya didn't just do that herself. At least with Adrien, he was just a novice baker and was going to be actively participating in the baking, but he just wanted help to be sure that his attempt turned out edible and it was a good excuse to hang out with one of his friends.)

And possibly best of all...well, Aurore's tech-savvy older brother had pulled through for them again.

"I was looking at the email that we had on file for Lila, and something about it just didn't seem right," Aurore told them as they sat together in a private study room in back of the library over lunch. "The domain on it, to be exact, because it was '.net' instead of, oh, I don't know, something actually related to the government. And my brother agreed, so we did a little searching."

Marinette was pretty sure that her jaw was on the ground. Next to her, Adrien wasn't doing much better. "You mean she was keeping her mom from finding out about everything school-related? I wondered how she got away with skipping so much school! And she was probably emailing as her mom, too, to confirm whatever stories she was telling."

Aurore grinned. "Exactly. So we did some digging, and found Mrs. Rossi's actual email. It's almost the same, just with a different domain. So I'm trying to think of what to send that wouldn't sound weird, because obviously we need confirmation that this is the right address so we can get Mr. Damocles to change it for the school system, but I don't want to come off as accusing or anything and have her tip Lila off accidentally."

Marinette exchanged a look with Adrien as she thought about it. "Well, we could just send the fundraiser email again with a comment about how we think that maybe her email was mis-entered before and is this one the correct one that we should be using. That's pretty straightforward and it asks for a response, and she might not even think to say anything about it to Lila."

"Ooh, I like that." Aurore typed that in at once, giving it a quick once-over to make sure that there weren't any errors and that the email had been entered correctly before sending it. "So, what else is going on in Ms. Bustier's homeroom? Anything new with the not-a-charity?"

"Alya's been confused about why our watchdog site doesn't list anything about Lila's 'charity'- she decided to go for the make-one-up route, apparently- and she's still been trying to find stuff on it just on Google, but apparently no connection has been made," Marinette told them, trying not to roll her eyes. "I know she and Rose were talking about trying to just go ahead with a collection of sorts anyway, so I forwarded an email talking about the importance of keeping track of how much money they raised, down to the last cent, in a ledger sort of thing." She couldn't hold back the grin. "Which Rose is really into. So even though they're trying to collect money for Lila still, at the end she won't be able to keep any of it because there'll be record of how much money they collected."

"Which, if we get in contact with Mrs. Rossi, we can make sure that that gets paid back in full!" Adrien exclaimed, scooping Marinette up in a hug for a long few seconds. Marinette prayed that she wouldn't turn red and make things weird. "Genius!"

"As long as Rose doesn't give that to Lila," Aurore pointed out. She raised an eyebrow at Marinette's head-shake. "No? You've already taken care of that?"

"She'll give Lila an electronic copy, but not the hard copy. I suggested that she might want to hold onto that to show what she did for future charity work. Which I still think is a good idea, even if Lila's charity is a sham. It doesn't change the fact that she was doing all of the bookkeeping."

Aurore made a face. "I am so glad that Samuel is doing our bookkeeping for the non-online donations, because that stuff is not fun. It's really fiddly, and if anything gets off..."

Marinette nodded. Things had gotten off fairly early on, and she had head Samuel- another member of Student Council- complaining about having to go through everything to figure out where his mistake was. Since then, he did regular, frequent checks so that he wouldn't have to go through absolutely everything again, just the most frequent donations. Admittedly, Rose was working with much smaller amounts of money- most people wanted more information on what they were donating to than just the name and "helping kids in Africa" if they were going to toss more than an euro or two into the collections basket- but it was still good practice.

Aurore's computer let out a ding, and she pulled up the student council email at once. "We already got a response! Mrs. Rossi says that yes, this one is correct, please keep using it and thank you for catching the error and were there any other recent emails that she might have missed. I'm going to forward this to Mr. Damocles with a message to note the change in email address, just a second- and done."

"Nice job," Marinette told her, leaning across the table to bump fists with Aurore. After a second's thought, she fist-bumped Adrien, too, so that he wouldn't feel left out. "That's one more thing off of our plates."

  Their fundraiser finished right before holiday break with a silent auction, with all of the items up for purchase having been donated by parents, teachers, extended family members, community business owners, and- in the case of an array of signed CD cases and posters- Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, and several of their musician buddies, after Marinette had approached Jagged Stone with the request.

And of course, everyone was invited. Posters had been put up outside of the school and emails had been sent out, reminding everyone about the time and date and their charity, plus attaching a list of the items up for auction to get people's interest.

"My mom so wanted to make it, but work came up," Lila told several of their classmates when she arrived at the auction, looking sad. "And there were several things that she was really interested in, like the-"

"Ooh, barf, I can see what you mean," Aurore said, materializing at Marinette's side and wrinkling her nose at Lila. "That's a pretty obvious ploy to get people to buy things for her, isn't it? Or at least to pitch in some of their own money to help her, so that she won't have to pay them back."

Marinette nodded. It really was disgusting, but at least now Lila was moving off with the group towards one of the items so that they didn't have to hear her. She was steering clear of the signed Jagged Stone things, oddly enough, but maybe that would be a dead giveaway that she didn't actually know him. After all, Jagged Stone would sign anything put in front of him, so her going out of her way to buy a signed item when she was supposedly on great terms with him would be pretty strange.

"Do you think her mom actually can't make it, or Lila just assumed that she wouldn't know about the auction and didn't tell her?" Adrien asked. His arm was tucked through Marinette's, though she was pretty sure that it was just so that he wouldn't lose her in the crowd. "Is the fake email still on the list?"

Aurore nodded. "Yeah, up until this morning. I cleared it off so that there wouldn't be any confusion going forward."

"And I would place bets on Lila assuming that her mom doesn't know anything," Marinette added. "She wouldn't want to risk anyone asking her mom about her charity." She grinned and pointed as she noticed someone new stepping into the school. "And look, over there."

The other two looked. There, standing in the entryway and looking around, was Mrs. Rossi. She really didn't look much like Lila, but it was easy enough to recognize her from her official embassy photo.

(Her official embassy photo, where she wasn't listed as the actual ambassador, but just one of the embassy staff, but that- well, that was an interesting little tidbit that Marinette was going to sit on for a little bit longer.)

"Oh, she's spotted Lila," Aurore said gleefully, craning her neck to follow Mrs. Rossi as she wove through the crowds. "And- whoops, Lila sees her!"

Marinette hastily smothered a laugh. If Lila's expression was anything to go by, she definitely hadn't realized that her mom was getting emails from the school and was going to be coming. She had never seen the other girl look so pale before.

"I'd ask if I should go get some of that amazing-smelling popcorn that they're selling so that we can watch, but honestly, I kind of just want to let things take their course and find out later," Adrien said, glancing down at Marinette. "There's some pretty cool items up for auction that I want to check out."

Marinette considered that. On one hand, she wanted to watch Lila's downfall. On the other... well, she had been keeping an eye on the whole Lila fiasco for a while now, and she was kind of tired of it. It would probably be a bit awkward to watch, too, and there was no guarantee that it would happen right away, and they were too far away to hear anything besides.

...yeah, her decision was pretty well made.

"That sounds like fun," Marinette told him, before glancing over at Aurore. "What about you?"

"I might go point Mr. Damocles in her direction," Aurore commented, glancing around the crowd. "Or maybe that can wait until later, since I don't want to throw everything at Mrs. Rossi at once and disrupt the auction with an akumatization." She sent them a slightly sheepish grin. "But you know I like my gossip, so..."

Marinette had to laugh. That was so very Aurore. "All right. We'll bump into you later, then."

Aurore grinned in return, and then was off. Marinette watched her go for a moment, then let Adrien lead the way off into the crowds surrounding the tables. It was amazing to be able to sit back and relax after the past weeks of planning and making sure that everything, from the online link to the cookie sale to this, was going to go off without a hitch. They were well on track raise more money this year than they had any other year, and that was amazing.

And to think that she had had a hand in setting all of this up...well, Marinette just couldn't be prouder.

It was fun investigating all of the donations with Adrien, even though- as part of Student Council and also part of the team that had photographed and logged all of the donated items- she had seen them all before. Marinette couldn't help but peek at the bids despite herself, grinning when she saw some of the higher ones.

"This is amazing," Adrien commented once they had made the rounds and had gone to browse through the assorted refreshments available for purchase. "There were a lot of nice things donated. And people are definitely bidding plenty of money."

"Yeah, some people will spend more to win the prize than it's worth," Marinette told him. "Like with the voucher for stuff from our bakery- the top bid right now is for more than the value of the voucher. It's interesting, but I think that people see it as buying the item, and then making a donation on top. Or something, I don't know."

"That's really cool," Adrien commented, then pointed. "Oh, look, Nathalie and the Gorilla are here! They said that they might show up and do some shopping. I honestly thought that Nathalie was just saying that to be nice, because she's been sick and hasn't wanted to go out, but I guess she's been feeling better lately."

"Oh, that's good," Marinette said, before a memory made her frown. "Wait, I thought you commented on her being sick, like, three months ago. Is she still having problems?"

Adrien shrugged, but he was frowning, too. "I don't know. She had been having these weak, dizzy spells like Mom used to before she disappeared for a bit before I commented on it at school, I think. Maybe whatever treatment she was getting finally kicked in, I don't know."

Marinette frowned even deeper. Nathalie had been showing the same symptoms as Adrien's mom before she vanished? That was a really weird coincidence. And for both of them- presumably both, at least- to have those same symptoms for an extended period of time?

If Mrs. Agreste and Nathalie had been related, Marinette might have guessed that it was a genetic thing. But since they weren't- again, that was an assumption- then the chances of them both separately having the same condition...

"I cannot believe that I fell for such a manipulative, thieving, disgusting liar!"

Alya materialized at Marinette's side, clearly steaming. Rose, Mylène, and Juleka weren't far behind her. Rose looked like she was close to tears, and the other two just looked lost.

"Pardon?" Adrien asked politely, but Marinette could see the amusement glimmering in his eyes.

"Lila's been leading us all around by the nose, making up stories about her life and about her nonexistent charity- and I've missed a dozen akuma attacks because I was wandering around in the cold, trying to raise money for her! I offered to make a posting on the Ladyblog so that I could put up a link to her site to raise more money! She was probably just planning on pocketing it all!" Alya scowled deeper. "I can't believe we fell for it! And aren't you even surprised?" she demanded when neither Adrien nor Marinette reacted. "At all?"

"Are we meant to be?" Adrien asked dryly. "After Marinette's spent so long calling Lila a liar?"

Alya faltered for a moment, then scowled deeper. "You- you knew, but you didn't warn us?"

"Yes, because pointing out the obvious lies worked so well the first several dozen times I did it," Marinette said, adopting the same dry tone that Adrien had used. "And I gave you the watchdog charity link to use. I rather thought that its complete lack of anything about Lila's charity might tip you off."

Alya faltered. "Oh."

"But we still gave Lila money that was meant for charity," Rose said tearfully. Juleka pulled her to her side, trying to comfort her. "And it was a decent amount, too."

"You have your log, right?" Marinette reminded her. "If you tell Lila's mom how much Lila got for her 'charity', then I bet that she can get that money back to you and you can donate it to another charity."

Rose perked up at once, tears drying up magically. "Oh, that's right! We can still put that money to good use! I'm glad you suggested that we keep track of everything, Marinette."

"Yeah," Juleka agreed. "Lila sucks, but at least we can get the money back."

"We should go talk to Lila's mom before she leaves," Rose decided. She dug in her bag, pulling out the ledger notebook that she had been using for their charity collections. "Aha! Yes, I have the amount we gave Lila yesterday written here. C'mon, let's go make sure that Mrs. Rossi knows!"

"Well, all's well that ends well," Adrien said cheerfully as the other girls headed off. "I bet this isn't how Mrs. Rossi saw her evening going, and Lila definitely wasn't expecting any of this, but at least now the adults can figure everything out and Lila can actually see some consequences. And hopefully next semester, there'll be less drama now that she'll be restrained- or gone, if Mrs. Rossi or Mr. Damocles decides that Lila staying here wouldn't be a good idea."

"Hopefully," Marinette agreed. She grinned over at Adrien. "But that's enough worrying about Lila and her nonsense for tonight. I think we should just sit back and enjoy the evening, don't you?"

Adrien beamed back. "I couldn't agree more."

[evak-fic-rec-turtleanon]

Evak Fics - Kid Fics

*** Isak and Even have a child together *** They are parents but to different children *** Only one of them is a parent 

***** THEY HAVE A CHILD TOGETHER *****

Nas by OrTheNightEverythingChanged (571 words) - Isak and Even take their daughter to the skatepark. 

Sugar Coat This Love For Me by i_once_wrote_a_dream (1k words) - A little argument over candy during Halloween. 

life with our little prince by glbertblythes (SERIES. 3 Fics) - Isak and Even adopt a little boy with prince curls and blue eyes. 

All in the Eyes of a Boy by MacksDramaticShenanigans (1.3k words) - the first time Isak and Even meet their son. 

all i want for christmas is you by stringsinmelody (1.3k words) - Isak and Even enjoy their first Christmas together with their baby. 

sugar and spice and everything nice by chasingflower (1.6k words) - Eskild and Noora finds Evak’s kid from the future. It’s adorable as heck. 

småfolk by stringsinmelody (SERIES. 5 fics) - a/b/o undertones. 

the room's hush hush and now's our moment by ahana (2.2k words) - A night in the life of Isak and Even, sixteen years later. 

Stjerner Lyser Skinnende by MacksDramaticShenanigans (2.4k words) - Isak and Even attend their daughter’s music concert. She has a surprise for them. 

The Beginning of Believing by MacksDramaticShenanigans (2.5k words) - Their children argue about Santa. 

I'll be there by Wolle19 (SERIES. 3 fics) - All Isak want is for his husband to be home for the holidays. Mpreg. 

I'll give you the brightest sunshine by goldenkisses (3k words) - It was something that they new would always happen, a life being brought into their lives that would make all the gloomy days into something so bright. Adoption. 

everything that happens is from now on. by Skamtrash (6.7k words) - Adoption. At the end so not a lot of the kid is involved here. This is part of a series. The next part, wrap your arms around my heart just like you always do. has more of the kid. 

Isn't He Lovely by MacksDramaticShenanigans (4.4k words) - the first time Evak’s kid meets his uncles. 

don't be wasting your time (on your own) by orphan_account (4.6k words) - Five things Even reminds himself not to forget, and the one thing he does. NOTE: The fic says this is a sequel and the first fic is a must read. But there’s no link so if you know which the main fic is, let me know. P.S. This could go under the different children category but they are already a family here so.. 

The Fools Who Dream by Janey_E (6k words) - A collection of moments from Isak and Even's family life, important and not-so-important. Kids, friends, mornings, evenings, weddings, birthdays, bad days, good days. 

Our Steady True North by verlore_poplap (orphan_account) (9k words) - Five times Isak and Even were amicable; plus one time they just weren't. Co-parenting. Post break-up. 

i ain't no hercules by grinsekaetzchen (12k words) - Post-apocalypse world. This is a sequel. So SPOILERS. They kinda adopt this boy. The first part is if you must live, darling one, just live and it’s amazing. 

my entire world fits perfectly in my arms by theyellowcurtains (12.8k words) - A bunch of cuddle prompts. Not all of these are kid fics. 

(WIP) Everyday Evak: The Realistic Stories of Isak & Even by NeonViolet (14k words) - A realistic looks into Even and Isak's life. It's not always glamorous. 

you told me we were forever by Skamtrash (19k words) - Isak finds out he's having a baby soon after Even breaks up with him so he makes the decision not to tell him. Except Even finds out on his own 3 years later. 

The Fiction of Reality by Midlifecrisis (24k words) - Isak and Even have a daughter, but life is not plain sailing. 

Soup is for the Soul by unfancyandy (26k words) - This is a sequel. So SPOILERS. set 5 years after "Sleep Is For Dreamers," Even and Isak are starting a new adventure. 

Evak Family by orphan_account (SERIES. 7 fics) 80k- Isak is nineteen, Even is twenty-one, and they had a plan. A plan that they've very, very carefully stuck to. Until, that is, Isak gets sick and can't seem to figure out what's wrong with him. Spoiler: he's not sick. Mpreg. 

You Are Everything I Have Never Been by staylucky (78k words) - Isak Valtersen is an unpresented, soon-to-present omega who is convinced his best friend Jonas Vasquez is his alpha mate until he meets a very charming and persuasive new alpha, Tall Stranger aka Even Bech Naesheim, making him question everything. The kid part comes later on in the fic. 

Calm After by desp3ration (270k words) - This is a sequel to Tidal Waves . So SPOILERS. The tags say Evak becoming parents but I have not yet read this and I don't want to fo through it to figure it out because I want to read this later. So if it shouldn't be in here, let me know.  

***** THEY EACH HAVE DIFFERENT CHILDREN *****

shred by tusktooth (22k words) - Has a twist but nor really a twist. I’m just gonna put this in this category.  There were two versions of Isak Valtersen. He was cool, smart snowboarder guy. The real Isak, was also trans, gay, and a father. Keeping the two Isaks separate wasn’t that difficult. At least, not until he saw Even again. 

***** ONLY ONE OF THEM IS A PARENT *****

Even the Illustrator by eavk (SERIES. 3 fics) - An AU where Even’s an illustrator who draws what kids describe to him for YouTube, and Isak is the smitten father of a six year old with a wild imagination. 

a lullaby for you by noirophelia (2.2k words) - Isak has a wonderful little daughter. Even is her wonderful teacher. 

Better With You by iriswests (5.8k words) - Isak and Even don't know what they'd do without the other. Eventually, they realize they don't really need to find out.. Single dad Even. Vet Isak. 

(WIP) carrying our dreams and all that they mean (trying to make it all worthwhile) byodair_goes_my_sanity (8.4k words) - We’ve been hooking up for the past few weeks and holy shit it turned out you’re my kids teacher oh god this embarrassing! 

Universe At Its Finest by Skamtrash (8.6k words) - The universe brings Even into Isaks life, he just didn't know Even came with a full package. A kid fic with 90% pure fluff. 

The Little Flower Named Dahlia by Bellakitse (18k words) - Single!Dad Isak + Preschool teacher Even and the little girl that brings them together. Adorable fic. 

(WIP) Draw a Family by Isakprettykitty (21k words) - Isak, a single parent, takes his 5 year old son to preschool for the first time. Before Isak adopted Magne, his biologic parents weren't treating Magne as they should and some of the scars still haven't healed. Magne's teacher is no other than Even bech næsheim, who makes it his goal to help Magne out with his social anxiety. As time passes, Even and Isak grow closer and the younger one finally learns that it is okay to depend on other people. 

Lovesick by Sabeley (SERIES. 2 fics) - Even is absolutely not making up excuses to take his daughter to see the hot new pediatrician. 5 times Even's daughter wasn't actually sick and 1 time she was. 

take me as i am-universe by argentae (SERIES. 3 fics) - He isn’t crushing, and nevertheless this guy has become a Problem, because whenever he’s on shift he’s made it increasingly difficult for Isak to really spend his time productively. Sure, he could just find another place to study but he likes the access to coffee here even though he actually kind of hates the bitterness of it and he’s just not going to let himself get swept aside because of this guy. Parent!Even. 

We are our Choices by recklesslee (40k words) - Even is informed that one decision he made on a lonely night months ago has led to a new bump in the road. Now Even has another choice to make, and that just might change his life for the better. Doctor!Isak. 

Emmy by NeonViolet (48k words) - Isak is 25 and working in marine biology. Sana is his best friend. He has a 7 year old. And her new school principal looks familiar. Adorable! 

waiting outside ('til you're ready to go) by mellowellom (52k words) - An AU where Isak's daughter is an actual little devil that he can't control for the life of him, and his neighbour Even offers a helping hand. 

we've made it this far, kid by everythingislove (straykid) (SERIES. 2 fics) - Technically, Isak is an uncle. The one where Isak is just trying to raise his nephew as best he can with the help of his best friends. He doesn't expect to fall for Felix's gorgeous football coach along the way. 

(WIP) The Daughter by Laika_the_husband  (10k words) - A sequel. So spoilers. Even’s daughter appear in the previous fics but not as much. Continues from the series, A Dove, a Snake, a Ghost and a Madman. And what an excellent series this is. 

Quitting You by Laika_the_husband (65k words) - A sequel. So spoilers. From the series, Because of You I'm Nothing, I'm Nowhere. Isak Valtersen is a happy stay-at-home dad of his baby girl, taking care of his new home in Belgium. His peaceful life as a domestic god gets turned upside down, when his deeply buried desires are suddenly forced to resurface. It is simple enough to find someone on Grindr, but when that someone is painfully familiar, things can get complicated. Another excellent series. 

I Can Hardly Breathe by Flatfootmonster (82k words) - This fic, man. Isak gets hired to be the nanny? for Even and Sonja’s kids. This fic is just absolutely amazing. 

[ottelis]

"I gave you my life, Eliott," Lucas's voice shatters, splinters.

Eliott replies softly, broken, hollow, "And I gave you mine."

"No," Lucas says, low and dark. "No, you didn't."

.

.

aka: eliott and lucas grow up together, but are separated when eliott is institutionalized in paris after a severe depressive episode. they reunite two years later when eliott is released, but everything has already changed before their eyes.

epigraph. i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi.

06—memory

tw: manic and depressive episodes, internalized homophobia, minor character death, major character death, suicidal thoughts, and a suicide attempt

december 25th, 1965

10:21

caen, france

~

Eliott wakes that Christmas morning feeling happier than he's felt in a long while. It wasn't that he was unhappy before, it was that he felt  lighter  now. But it  is  Christmas, a holiday he's always held close to his heart. He never received many gifts, but the few he received were always meaningful. He loved opening his presents and giving his parents as big of a hug as he can. Christmas was  warmth,  and  love  . It was seeing his mother's eyes light up when he opens his presents. It was hearing his father's soft, kind voice tell him about how they decided to pick that present out for him, and all the things he could do with it. It was the fire gently crackling in the fireplace. It was dinner at the Lallemants' house, sitting with Lucas and talking about the presents they got and what all happened that day. It was Lucas playing Christmas songs on his piano with everyone singing at the top of their lungs around him. It was going to sleep that night feeling perfectly content and full. It was closeness, intimacy, safety. It was  joy .

Eliott makes his way down the stairs, already able to smell the  pain au chocolat  his mother is making. He smiles, breathing in the smell of warm pastry and bitter chocolate. He  knows this will be the best Christmas he's had in a long while.

"Eliott, my boy," his father chuckles. "Merry Christmas!"

Eliott looks over and sees him placing the last of the presents under the Christmas tree. Eliott grins and bounds over to him, giving him a tight hug. "Merry Christmas, Papa."

His father laughs as he hugs him back. "Go tell your mother 'merry Christmas' now, son."

Eliott turns and goes to the kitchen, kissing his mother on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Maman."

"Merry Christmas, Ellie," she returns, ruffling his hair. "You're awake just on time. Breakfast will be ready in just a second. Then we can open all our presents."

"Great!" Eliott beams, giving her another kiss on the cheek. He steps back as she pulls the  pain au chocolat out of the oven, the pastry golden and steaming. He excitedly takes his place at the table, already piling food onto his plate. His father takes his place, too, chuckling as Eliott shovels food into his mouth.

"Slow down, Eliott, you'll choke," he cautions through his laughter. "We can't have you dying on Christmas day."

Eliott laughs, too, listening to his father and slowing down. He savors the way the  pain au chocolat melts in his mouth, the way the freshly brewed coffee warms his belly, the way his parents talk to each other with so much love and care. 

"I'm happy," he says, not quite blurting it out but not meaning to say it aloud. 

His parents are silent for a moment, but then they both grin. He thinks he sees tears in his mother's eyes, tears of joy. He feels his father pat his hand on his shoulder, and his heart  glows .

"We're happy, too, son," he replies, his voice ever soft and ever kind. "We're a happy family, aren't we?"

Eliott nods, smiling so wide his cheeks are aching. "We are."

They finish their breakfast in a comfortable, almost musical silence. Eliott feels content, almost like he's fuzzy at his edges, like he's bleeding into the world around him but it's welcoming him into its arms. Like he's fading into a background. Like he's living in a picture, but he knows every shade of every color, every shadow and its shape, every face and all its beauty. The world is beautiful, and he  belongs  in it. It could be  his  if he wanted it to be. He could bring everyone he loves along with him. His parents, Lucas. They could be in his picture with him and they could see the world the way he sees it. Wouldn't that be  wonderful ?

Eliott's excitement only grows as they start opening presents. He picks up the gift he can recognize first; a crisp, clean sketchbook. He flips through the blank pages, imagining all the things he could fill it with. He could create a comic book and put all the drawings and dialogue in here, or do a series of portraits or landscapes. He loves new sketchbooks and all the possibilities they hold within them, only waiting to be seen and realized. He goes through it four or five times, listening to the pages shuffle against each other. He doesn't quite pay attention to the presents his parents are opening, but he knows his father got a new pair of pants for work and his mother got a new book that had come out recently. He waits patiently but excitedly for his next turn so he can open his other gift, the one he can't tell what it is just by looking at it.

Finally, it's his turn again, and he notices his parents giving each other a sly, almost ecstatic look. "What are these faces for?" he asks, chuckling.

"This is a really big present, honey," his mother replies, grinning at him. "Your father and I scrounged up just enough money for this one."

Eliott's eyes widen, and he looks back at his father to see if he'll give anything away. He just shrugs, stretching his hand out a little. "You won't know what it is until you open it."

Eliott grins, tearing open the wrapping paper and the small box inside of it. His mouth drops open.

"A camera?" he asks, awed. "Like Arthur has?"

Both his parents nod at him, smiling like he's never seen them smile before.

"But these are so expensive," Eliott continues, shaking his head. "You didn't have to spend so much money on me."

"You were just so excited when Arthur let you take some pictures with his camera," his father replies. "We knew we had to get you one."

Eliott grins, studying the buttons and gears on the camera. He studies the film canister it comes with, too, imagining the same things he imagined with his sketchbook. He looks back up at his parents, opening his arms. He pulls them both into a hug, saying "thank you" almost a million times. His heart is  bursting .

He watches, grinning as his parents open their last present. His father tells his mother to go ahead and open hers with that same sly look he was giving Eliott. His mother smiles, confused, but takes off the wrapping paper and opening the box. Her hands immediately fly to her mouth. 

"This is that dress I saw in that store window months ago," she gasps. "When did you buy this, Eduard?"

His father looks at her with so much  love in his eyes as he replies, "The day after we saw it. I knew you'd look beautiful in it, and I saw how much you loved it."

Eliott looks and sees the dress. It's a light, powder blue that tucks into a royal blue, pleated skirt. It has a crisp, white collar with delicate flowers embroidered on it.

"Go put it on, Maman," he grins. "You'll look so pretty wearing it."

"I'm about to work on what we're bringing to dinner tonight," she dismisses, shaking her head. "I might get stains on it, and it's just so lovely."

"Just try it on, Noémie," his father replies. "You can change when you start cooking."

She smiles, looking back down at the dress. She looks back up, nodding. "Okay. I'll be right back." She takes the dress and runs up the stairs to his parents' room.

"Maman's going to look so beautiful," Eliott says, his heart bursting even more. He thinks it's bleeding into his voice. 

"You should've seen her on our wedding day," his father replies, his voice wistful, reverent. "She hates wearing white, but she was a vision in it that day. I cried as soon as I saw her enter the chapel.  She was the most beautiful woman in the world. She  is the most beautiful woman in the world."

Eliott grins as he listens to his father, close to tears himself. "I want to love somebody the way you love Maman. And I think I want someone to love me the way you love her, too."

"Someone will, my boy," his father reassures him. "We're all meant to love somebody, I think. Something like a soulmate."

"Are you and Maman soulmates?" he asks, his chest stirring at the thought of love being woven into every part of him.

"If you ask Maman, she'll tell you we're not," he sighs, still smiling. "But your mother isn't romantic like that. If you ask  me , yes. A thousand times, yes."

"How did you know that?" he asks. "That she was your soulmate? That you loved her?"

"I always knew, Eliott," he answers almost immediately. Then he continues, thoughtful and warm. "I think it's a matter of when I recognized it, called it by its name. And I did that when I heard her sing one time at a choir concert when we were in school. You know she has a beautiful singing voice, but that night, there was this  look in her eyes as she sang. Like she believed every word she was singing. Like she knew she had to sing because she had something to say and she believed it was important. Like she was in love with music and life itself. Then her eyes found me and she smiled and her voice was louder and clearer than it had been before. She was singing to me for the rest of the concert. And I've loved her ever since."

He hears the door to his parents' room open, then, and he hears his mother's footsteps. He sits up, his smile widening. 

"Are you two ready?" she asks, her voice floating excitedly down the stairs.

"Yes!" they both reply, equally as excited. 

She appears at the top of the stairs, her hair pulled up into a bun and her new dress fitting her perfectly. She twirls, the skirt of her dress rippling like the waves. A few strands of hair fall loose from her bun, framing her face. She grins, and it makes her glow.

Eliott's father stands up, rushing up the stairs to meet her and kiss her softly. Her arms drape over his shoulders as she kisses him back, and it reminds Eliott of the movies. A love that overcomes any obstacle that stands in their way, a love so powerful and yet so soft and tender. He grins, warmth filling his chest.

We  are  a happy family.

His parents walk back down the stairs, then his father opens his last present. It's a new watch, one that his mother says wasn't too expensive, but she remembered him complaining that the watch he has now isn't working as well as it used to. He studies it for a moment, its fairly cheap but shining band, the gilded lettering along its face. He latches it onto his wrist, promising to never take it off unless he absolutely has to.

It's well into the afternoon now, so his mother changes out of her new dress and starts working on the side dishes they'll be bringing to dinner at the Lallemants'. She sings an old song she used to listen to during the war, one that reminded her of his father when he was a soldier. Her voice floats all around the house like sunlight, the words she's singing promising to wait in perfect patience, in perfect love, for the man she loves. His father is watching TV, and occasionally staring at his new watch for a while. He smiles, his eyes following the second hand tick, tick, tick by. Then, he'll look up and chuckle at a joke in the show, then he'll look back down at his watch. Eliott has already begun sketching in his new sketchbook, drawing dresses he thinks his mother would look pretty in, ones that would make her smile, ones that made her look like she was an actress in a movie. He doesn't know a thing about designing dresses, but he knows what would make his mother happy. Eliott can't help but think that this was what he meant when he said Christmas is warmth and joy. He can't help but think he's the happiest he's ever been.

Soon, they're all getting dressed for dinner at the Lallemants', as well as the party they always hold afterwards. Eliott's wearing a heavy, almost itchy sweater, but he likes its greenish gray color, and he's worn it the past couple years. He supposes it's a bit of a tradition. His father wears his new pants and one of his newer shirts, and his mother once again considers wearing her new dresses, but decides it's better to be safe than sorry. She still wears a beautiful dress, though, a red one with long sleeves and a hem that nearly touches the floor. They all carry a small plate as they walk over to the Lallemants' talking and laughing and letting the biting winter air carry their voices a little farther than they can reach. Eliott's also cautiously carrying his new camera, ecstatic about showing it to Lucas. He really liked Arthur's camera, too, and Eliott figures it could be special if they both have pictures they've taken saved on film.

His father, the only one with a free hand, knocks on the door as they reach the Lallemants' front porch. Madame Lallemant answers, wearing a rich green button-up shirt and dark slacks. She smiles widely when she sees them, offering to take one of the plates from Eliott's mother. Lucas comes running up to the door, his eyes lighting up when he sees Eliott. Eliott feels his chest warm, feels himself become lighter.

"You're wearing  that  sweater again?" Lucas asks, chuckling. "I don't think it fits you anymore,  mec ."

Eliott shrugs. "Tradition? Besides, you're one to talk. That sweater is new, but it's not as stylish as mine, I think."

Lucas looks down at his sweater, a gray knitted one. "What's wrong with my sweater?" he asks, almost pouting. 

"I'm kidding, Lucas," Eliott chuckles, pulling him into a hug. "It's a nice sweater."

He feels Lucas tense a little bit, but he eases into the hug. "Thanks, Eliott."

"Of course," he replies, hugging Lucas a little tighter. He pulls away after a moment, grinning. "Hey, do you want to see my big present?" he asks excitedly, trying to hide his camera.

"Yeah!" Lucas grins, his smile wavering ever so slightly. But Eliott pretends he didn't notice it.

He shows off his camera, his eyes never leaving Lucas's face. His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open a little. He looks back up at Eliott, stammering and chuckling.

"A film camera?" he asks. "Like Arthur has? Don't these cost an arm and a leg?"

"Maman said they managed to get enough to buy one for me," Eliott replies, his words starting to run together a little bit. "I need to toy around with it a bit and figure out how it works, but once I do I can give you some pointers and you can take some pictures with it."

Lucas's eyes widen even more, his lips spreading into a grin. "Seriously? You'll let me?"

"Of course," Eliott shrugs, as if it were obvious. "You liked Arthur's camera, too, right?"

"Yeah," Lucas replies, nodding. His smile fades a little, and he looks up at Eliott again. "Can I see it?"

"Yeah, here," Eliott smiles, handing it over to him.

Lucas turns it over in his hands, his smile returning as he studies it. "It's so cool."

"I know, right?" Eliott replies. "I can't wait to start taking pictures with it."

"Me, too," Lucas grins, giving it back to him. "Don't let me break it, though."

Eliott shakes his head, laughing. "I think you should be more worried about me breaking it."

"Boys, we're eating!" Madame Lallemant calls, making them jump.

"Coming, Maman!" Lucas responds.

They enter the dining room, where a large, tempting array of food lay set on the table. At the center was a decadent turkey, surrounded by warm slices of bread and steaming plates of vegetables. Lucas and Eliott both look at each other, their eyes wide and stomachs beginning to rumble. Lucas looks away quickly, though, and Eliott thinks he saw his cheeks flushing. They quickly take their seats at the table.

"Eduard," Madame Lallemant says. "Could you say grace?"

"Of course," he smiles. "Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," everyone echoes, signing the Cross.

Lucas pulls his hand away rather quickly, and Eliott once again tries to pretend he doesn't notice. He starts picking at his potatoes, listening to the conversation going around the table. Madame Lallemant asks about his father's health, which has been much better recently. His mother asks Madame Lallemant how she's been doing as far as her mental health, and she says that she's been much better, too. His mother asks Lucas if he's shown him his new camera yet, and Lucas smiles politely and says that he's seen it. Lucas and Eliott both get asked about how their semester went, and Lucas has better things to report than Eliott does, but that's how it always was. Lucas was always smarter than Eliott.

Eliott tries to steal glances at Lucas, but he seems distracted, absentminded. Eliott's first thought is that he could be nervous about playing the piano later, but Lucas did that every year, and he was rarely nervous. Then he thought he could be having leftover nerves from exams, but Lucas is acting differently than he does when he's stressed about school. Lucas tends to ramble to himself when he's working through a math or science problem, but he's awfully quiet right now. Eliott feels the need to again pretend he doesn't notice Lucas's behavior, but he knows him too well not to notice every shift in his face or in his mood, even if it's only for a fraction of a second.

He nudges Lucas, who jumps a bit but then turns to look at him. " Ça va? " he mouths.

Lucas nods, giving him a fake smile.

Eliott raises his eyebrows in response, not believing him.

Lucas's smile drops, and he just shrugs. He tears his gaze away from Eliott, staring intently at his food. Eliott feels himself deflate.

Him and Lucas don't talk much throughout dinner, finishing their food long before their parents do. It goes by fairly quickly, though, and Madame Lallemant starts bringing out the  bûche de Noël , like she makes every year. It looks wonderful, like it always does, and when Eliott looks over, Lucas is genuinely smiling. He maintains it mostly while they eat, and Eliott smiles, too, his heart slightly at ease now.

"Lucas," Madame Lallemant says as they finish eating. "Are you ready for your annual concert?"

Lucas perks up, a sense of anxiety almost radiating off of him. But he recovers and smiles, nodding. "I think so."

"Great!" she smiles back. "Let's all go to the piano, then."

Everyone rises from their seats and crosses the room to the piano, Lucas sitting at the bench and Eliott sitting next to him. Their parents stand off to the side, Eliott's father putting his arms around his mother and Madame Lallemant gazing lovingly at her son. 

Lucas takes a deep breath, lets his hands hover over the keys for a moment, then he begins to play. Eliott recognizes the tune immediately: "O Holy Night." Then Lucas starts singing. 

Lucas has always been a singer, but his voice sounds  different . It's softer, warmer, gentle like a candle flame. It fills, it swells, it sweeps. Usually, everyone would sing along, but they're quiet; listening to every note, every change in inflection in his voice. He's never sounded more beautiful. 

Eliott's eyes can't leave Lucas's face, his eyes. He's afraid he'll miss something there. He doesn't know what that something could be, but he feels like he can't miss it for the world. 

Lucas's eyes are filled with  melancholy  , a  longing  . His lips tremble as he sings, as if they can't bear the weight of the words they  want to say, but can't. But then, he takes a breath and his lips spread slowly into a content, peaceful smile. A blush starts bleeding into his cheeks, the tip of his ears. Lucas looks like a star is exploding within his chest, filling him with a thousand wishes and the fires of millennia. It coats his throat, his tongue, coming out sweetly, almost sickly. Eliott wonders what it feels like, tastes like for Lucas. It must be sweet for him, too, the way he's smiling and the way his eyes seem to yearn for more, but is no longer ashamed of it.

Lucas turns his head and looks at him, and he swears the world stops in its tracks. It's like when he would read books under his blanket, with time frozen and the earth silent, but Lucas is here now, too. It's like he somehow sneaked in through some veil, some barrier, and he's found Eliott. He was looking for him. And he found him. Eliott doesn't mind that he's here, either. He's not a character in a story he can take and mold and shape. He's someone he loves, someone he can't change, but someone he also trusts enough to help him keep the universe in perfect balance. Much like the melody Lucas is playing, much like the kindness that seems to drip from his fingers, Eliott knows his universe is safe in Lucas's hands.

Lucas doesn't look away. He lets his hands remember the shape of the melody, his tongue remember the waves of each note, but his eyes stay focused on Eliott. And Eliott can't quite look away. He feels a  burning  fill his chest. He wonders if his heart heard Lucas's crying out and offered to shoulder some of the burden. But as he lets it burn a bit, as he becomes familiar with its heat and the breathing of its flames, he knows there's only one possible name for this fire, this  burning : love.

He remembers his father's story about his mother, how music filled the air—music nurtured by the lungs and hands of two of the most precious people in the universe. How two sets of eyes find each other and can't let go of each other. How the music shifts, how it finally sees a direction, how it finds something to exist for, to be  beautiful for. How everything makes sense, how every twist and turn and knot the strings of fate took just to allow for this single, breathtaking moment. The moment love blooms, the moment its beholder finally sees its gorgeous petals, its sturdy, smooth stem, and suddenly remembers a seed being planted and watching it grow. For the briefest, deepest moment, Eliott's eyes have never been clearer, and his heart has never sung more from within its cage.

Love.

Eliott's breath pauses, realizing just like he is that from this moment on, it will never fade in and out of the air the way it did before. It has found its direction, its purpose, too. His breath now lives and dies for Lucas, sings and falls silent for his voice, his patience, his smile. It finally escapes his mouth, stumbling and shivering but with  joy .

But Lucas looks away, and Eliott's breath peters out, cracked.

Lucas finishes the song, his voice and the plucking of the piano dying out like a hearth, warm and sighing. The blush leaves his face, and he breathes out the embers still left in his lungs. His fire has been snuffed, gently suffocated. The coals in Eliott's chest seem to burn brighter, hotter now that it seems to burn alone.

Eliott's parents and Madame Lallemant begin applauding loudly. Eliott joins in, clapping weakly and putting on a small, brave smile. Madame Lallemant traps her son in a tight, loving hug that Lucas seems to melt into.

"That was beautiful, baby," she coos, kissing his forehead. "I'm so proud of you."

"It's just the Christmas show, Maman," Lucas chuckles. "It wasn't anything that special."

"It was!" she beams, taking the words right out of Eliott's mouth. She pulls away, placing her hands on his shoulders. "You could've performed that on a big stage in front of the entire world and they all would've loved you."

Lucas shakes his head a little as he bows it, his eyes tracing the grain of the piano bench. He's bashful, glowing. He looks back up at Madame Lallemant, shrugging. "Thank you, Maman."

She gives him another kiss on the forehead, taking a step or two back once she sees that he's a little embarrassed. Eliott hears her apologize in the quietest voice, and he sees Lucas tense a little. He sees him shake his head, but he doesn't hear him say anything.

"That really was amazing, Lucas," Eliott's mother says, still clapping lightly. "You really outdid yourself this year."

"I guess I'd better start thinking about what I'll play next year soon," Lucas jokes, still tense. 

"I'm sure that will be amazing, too," Eliott's father replies. "I can't wait to see it."

Lucas nods, turning to Eliott. He relaxes, just a little. "You're quiet, Eliott," he says. "What did you think?"

Eliott sees the clarity in Lucas's eyes, the slight twitch in the corner of his mouth, the way he's wringing his hands. Eliott smiles, trying to put Lucas at ease. "You're surprising. I've known you all these years but you keep surprising me. That was gorgeous, Lucas."

Lucas's nervous smile changes into a shy yet sweet one. Eliott can tell he wants to smile wider, but he doesn't know why Lucas is trying to hold it back. He's beautiful when he smiles all wide and toothy.  He's beautiful.

The fire crackles then roars in his chest, a new life breathing into the flames and helping them grow. 

What is he supposed to do with them?

"Eliott?" Lucas says, his voice quiet, soft. It almost sends a shiver down Eliott's spine. " Ça va? "

Eliott nods, trying to muster the most genuine smile he could. Lucas's smile widens, and Eliott doesn't need to force the genuineness anymore. Lucas's hand, almost in slow motion, travels over to Eliott's shoulder. His fingers seem to hover, but then touch the fabric of Eliott's shoulder gently, as if they were afraid of what would happen if worlds collided. Lucas's hand becomes comfortable, welcome there, and his smile widens again.

The fire is eating Eliott from the inside out.

"Thank you so much again, Madeleine," Eliott's mother says, snapping both Lucas and Eliott out of their little bubble. "I think we're going to head home."

Eliott's smile falls, and Lucas's does, too. They share another look, one that Eliott is sure is filled with longing. He feels another scorch in his chest. They both stand up from the bench, giving each other a hug. Lucas lifts his chin so his head can rest on Eliott's shoulder. Eliott's fingers brush Lucas's hair, but he lets them stay there for a moment.

"Goodnight, Lucas," Eliott whispers, letting his eyes close for a moment. 

"Goodnight, Eliott," Lucas whispers back, his voice soft and warm as ever. Eliott bites his lip to keep from grinning.

Lucas pulls away first, his hand lingering on Eliott's back for the briefest moment. Eliott pulls away, too, giving Lucas another sweet, genuine smile.

He sees his parents giving Madame Lallemant a hug out of the corner of his eyes. He walks over to her as they walk over to Lucas. She grins at him and holds out her arms. He grins back and hugs her.

"Thank you, Madame Lallemant," he tells her. "Everything was wonderful."

"Of course," she replies. "Merry Christmas, Eliott."

"Merry Christmas," he returns as he pulls away.

He glances over his shoulder and his eyes lock with Lucas's again. Lucas has the sweetest, smallest smile on his face as he looks down at the floor. Eliott can see the blush in his cheeks, even with his face turned down.

"Come on, Eliott," his father calls from the front door.

"Coming," he replies, bounding over to them. He swears he feels Lucas's gaze on his back, and he can't help but smile. 

december 26th, 1965

03:00

caen, france

~

Eliott can't sleep. He can't sit still. He can't slow down. He can't think straight. He can't breathe. He's dizzy. He's anxious. He's bursting. He's exhausted. His vision is just out of focus. His heart is beating ever so slightly off rhythm. His hands are shaking. He picks apart the darkness, banishing it and filling it with all the extra thoughts he doesn't have room for in his head. He plays records so quietly he has to hang his head just above the vinyl to hear it, and it's even still too quiet over the scratching and carving of the needle. He's tried drinking tea but he doesn't quite taste it, only burning his tongue on it. He paces his room on his tiptoes, afraid of the floor crumbling beneath him if his heels ever touched the ground. His lips are pulled taut, and he can't quite tell if he's smiling or just holding back every ramble on the tip of his tongue. Everything is bleeding. His thoughts leak into his blood, his blood seeps just beneath his skin, his skin blends into the air. He's fading into the background again. Only this time, the picture he's been trapped in is unfamiliar. He's been developed onto film that was left in the sun too long, or was too old, or not right for the camera. He doesn't know what to do.

My new sketchbook,  he thinks suddenly.  I can start drawing in it.

He grabs it as well as his pencils and tears out the page with the dresses he drew on it, setting it aside. He stares at the new blank page in front of him, trying to decipher any single thought but they move along too quickly for him to make out anything they said. He's chasing his own tail,  thousands of his own tails.

He exhales slowly, methodically, his eyes trailing over to the corner of his room where his lamp sits. He follows the trail of light as it spills onto the floor. He watches it mix like paint with the moonlight filtering through his window, creating a dreamy, purple hue. Then he sees the darkness creeping behind it, slowly inching forward. It attacks slowly. It bleeds. 

Light and dark,  he thinks again, his mind slowing down.  Light can only reach so far. Darkness can only reach so far, too. What happens at the intersection? What happens the moment they collide, at the place where they fragment?

Eliott shifts closer to his lamp, to the light, his hand immediately sweeping over the page, leaving charcoal trails behind. He builds a bridge, each of its stones trying to break through the mortar and war with the others, trying to chip and crack away at each other. He paves a road, the dirt and the leaves lying on top of each other, litters of bodies and skeletons. He grows a forest, each tree with their own unique circumference, their own number of branches and leaves, their own height, their own love for their neighbors. He forms a night sky, dark and inky and suffocating. He authors an opera between the stars and the moon, songs where the lyrics and the melodies are familiar and the characters are beloved friends. He forges a bond between the self his hand creates more so than the self every grain of glass he's seen reflect back at him. He creates a world, at least a corner of it so far, but he  knows something is missing. 

What's missing?  his brain asks him.  Find it. Find it before it slips away. Find it before it gets bored of waiting for you. Find it before you lose it forever. Find it before your world becomes obsolete, before it becomes timeworn, before it's gone. Find it.

Eliott searches his drawing, his room. His eyes are moving too quickly for his brain to catch up now. He swears he feels his pupils enlarge.

Find it find it find it find it find it find it FIND IT!

He shakes his head violently, trying to knock the thoughts out of his skull. He starts tearing through his room. He rips after thousands of sheets of paper, throws his comforter and sheets off his bed, yanks all the books off his bookshelf, turns his lamp on and off until the constant shifting starts hurting his head and eyes. He can't move fast enough. He can't look hard enough. His heart isn't beating fast enough. His brain isn't thinking fast enough. The thing he's looking for is moving too quickly. It's too hard to see. It speaks in a language that Eliott can't understand. He can't find it. He can't  find it  . He can't  breathe .

He shoves his window up to open it, sticking his head out and taking in gulps of the chilly, inky air. Maybe the thing he's looking for is out there somewhere. Maybe it's buried beneath the sand, or hidden in the seafoam, or seeking refuge in the moonlight.

Refuge. Moonlight. The fear of the dark. Lucas.

Eliott leans out of his window a little more, craning his head so he can see Lucas's house. Lucas always had a lamp on in his room, but when Eliott looks, the lamp is off but the main light to his room is on. He's awake.

Lucas's light can only reach so far. His darkness can only reach so far, too.  Our  light and darkness can only reach so far.

Eliott grabs his sketchbook from off his bed, trying his best to sit on his windowsill so the moonlight can guide his hand, so the light from Lucas's room can help him find the missing piece.

No. He  is  the missing piece.

Eliott turns to the next page, snatching scraps of pictures in his mind and pasting them onto his page. He's mostly just shading as darkly as he can, leaving a space in the middle for Lucas, the missing piece.

His brain still won't stop tripping over its own thoughts. His hand still shakes as he draws, smudging the charcoal. But he's beginning to smile. The pictures are becoming a cohesive story. A boy who's afraid of the light, and a boy who's afraid of the dark.  Love  is what happens at the intersection between dark and light.  Love is what happens the moment they collide, at the place where they fragment. Light and dark can only reach so far, but love can reach father, and it can never fall short.

He fills his sketchbook in a few short yet dragging hours. There's scene after scene, opera after opera, bridge after bridge. Eliott starts becoming comfortable with the cool shadows of the dark. Lucas starts becoming comfortable with the warm pools of sunshine. Lucas and Eliott hold hands. They kiss. Their foreheads touch. The sun rises. They don't leave each other. 

The urgency Eliott has felt all night is practically dripping from his sketchbook. It's obvious in the spots where Eliott pressed the graphite down on the page a little harder than he needed to. It was apparent from almost every single line, bowing and curving and staggering. He could see it in the way he drew their hair, a collection of assorted strands all pulling in different directions. He could feel it as he flips through the several pages where Lucas's lips are against his, watching every shift of their lips, their chins, their hands on each other's faces. This sketchbook, this story  is  urgency. The urge to get over fear, the urge to go after what your heart yearns for, the urge to touch and kiss and feel and love and  be loved.

All Eliott can feel right now is  want , anxiety, pins and needles, suspense. Even after filling his sketchbook. Even after drawing out such an elaborate and desperate fantasy, one that he never really considered before. His hand isn't even tired. None of these urges he feels has gone away. He doesn't know how to make them go away. He doesn't know if he's felt anything like this before. He doesn't remember himself ever feeling high as a kite and then suddenly needing to navigate massive gales and thunderstorms. He doesn't know if this is normal. He doesn't know if something is wrong. He just doesn't know.

He watches Lucas's room from his window, hoping it would calm him down. Lucas turned off his light and turned on his lamp a while ago, but the small flicker of light there in his window is comforting, almost. It's playing with the lightening sky, almost encouraging the sun to rise and share its light. Eliott wonders, too, if Lucas sees the light of his lamp appears in his dreams, maybe his nightmares, comforting him in sleep, too. The thought makes Eliott smile, and his anxiety eases just enough that he can watch the sunrise.

He wishes he had another spot in his sketchbook to draw it. He wishes he had another spot in his sketchbook to draw Lucas one more time.

january 9th, 1966

10:17

caen, france

~

"Eliott?" a voice says, gently beckoning Eliott from his dreams.

Eliott opens his eyes, and a familiar, soft face smiles at him, veiled in sunlight.  Lucas . His eyelashes are long and almost blond in the light, his eyes even brighter and bluer than Eliott knows them to be. Even the side of Lucas's face that's shadowed is beautiful. His light still shines through, just enough to break through the darkness. He really is beautiful. Especially when he's soft like this, sweet and happy. But Eliott can't seem to smile as he studies the line of Lucas's nose, the curve of his lips. His heart can't seem to glow and beam like it usually does when Lucas is next to him. 

"Are you okay?" Lucas asks, his face suddenly slacking with concern. 

Eliott isn't sure. His body feels heavy—his eyelids, his chest, his limbs. His mind is foggy, too, almost lethargic. He doesn't feel sick, though. He doesn't feel like he has a fever, and his nose isn't congested. His stomach doesn't feel queasy, either. It's a little hard to breathe, but does that mean he's sick? He shrugs. "I don't know."

Lucas's brow furrows, and there's a knowing look in his eyes. "Do you want me to get your parents?" 

Eliott doesn't know how to respond. He doesn't want to bother his parents when they might be busy, and he doesn't want to make Lucas get them for him. He decides to shake his head. "No, it's okay."

Lucas somehow seems even more worried now, his eyes frantically searching Eliott's face for something they can't find. "Are you sure you're okay, El? You're not sick, are you?" 

"I don't think so," Eliott replies, trying to examine his own body. 

"Try sitting up," Lucas suggests, standing up and sitting back down at the edge of his bed. 

Eliott manages to, slowly but surely. He feels a little dizzy, but he shuts his eyes and regains his bearings. 

"How are you feeling?" Lucas asks. "Just in general?"

"I'm exhausted," Eliott sighs. "I fell asleep before 9 o'clock last night, but I feel like I haven't slept a wink. And my head feels... Cloudy. Dark clouds. Storm clouds, but they haven't let their rain out yet. But it's weighing down my whole body. My arms and legs feel heavy. My chest feels empty, though, like everything inside it withered while I was asleep and there's just ashes left. I don't... I don't feel like myself, Lucas. I feel like I woke up in someone else's body."

Lucas is listening carefully, but he can't hide the worry on his face. He can't hide the way it steals a bit of the light in his eyes, or the way it strikes the smile off his face. Eliott could see it from a million miles away, from another universe, and he thinks seeing it could kill him every time, every place. He doesn't have much strength left to ask him what's wrong, so he can only feel the pain  radiating  off of Lucas, the pain that  he caused.

"You're worried," Eliott manages to say, his voice flat.

"You worry about me all the time," Lucas replies, tearful. "I know you do. Isn't it my turn to worry about you?"

"Who said you needed to wait your turn?" Eliott asks. "Who said you couldn't worry about me?"

Lucas sighs, shaking his head and avoiding eye contact with Eliott. He shrugs as he replies, "I don't know."

Eliott reaches carefully and takes Lucas's hand. Lucas tenses, inhaling sharply, and his eyes flick quickly between Eliott's hand and Eliott's face. He doesn't squeeze Eliott's hand and he tenses even more when Eliott tries to. Eliott sighs, realizing he's crossed a line. He starts to pull his hand away, but Lucas tenses again. He quickly latches onto Eliott's hand, almost desperately. 

"S-sorry," Lucas stammers, letting go of Eliott's hand. 

"You didn't do anything wrong," Eliott replies, shaking his head. "You don't have to apologize."

Lucas shrugs again. He cradles his own hand in his other one, caressing his palm and his knuckles. He traps it in his other hand, holding and squeezing it tightly, as if caging it to keep it from lashing out, reaching for something it shouldn't. "I know," he mumbles unconvincingly. 

"Lie with me, Lucas," Eliott suggests quietly, all of him hoping he's found the way to make Lucas smile again, make the worry melt off his face. "I'm sleepy. And nothing can happen to me if I'm asleep and you're next to me. You won't have to worry about me as much."

Eliott shifts closer to his wall, leaving space for Lucas to lie next to him. Lucas doesn't move, though. He stares at Eliott, incredulous, anxious. He sighs, squeezing his hand over the other again. He studies the empty space, that same longing charging him during his Christmas concert washing over his face. He glances at Eliott, his eyes flicking over every inch of his face. He has the faintest smile on his face as he nods once, lying down next to Eliott. He tries to keep an inch or two of distance between them, but Eliott doesn't mind. Lucas is warm, wide, and deep. His weight is comforting as it presses down on the other side of the mattress, reminding Eliott that he isn't alone. 

"Thank you," Eliott says.

"You're welcome," Lucas returns, his voice soft, quiet.

Eliott falls asleep a moment later, falling into a complete, almost comforting darkness. He doesn't dream. He doesn't feel, for a moment. And when he wakes, the darkness lingers, tinting his vision and staining his muscles. It seems to darken when he realizes that the sun is setting, and that Lucas isn't weighing down the other side of his bed. His weary fingers brush against a piece of paper resting on his pillow. It has his name on it in Lucas's jagged cursive. He unfolds it slowly, taking a deep breath.

  I'm sorry I had to leave. It was getting late, and I didn't want to wake you. And I'm sorry I couldn't say all this earlier. I didn't quite know how to. But as I watched you sleep and as I listened to my brain remind me of all the things that could go wrong, the words finally came to me.

Earlier, when you were talking about how you were feeling, all of it reminded me of Maman. And when she gets like that, she likes to sleep, too. That's why I'm worried. It makes me sound like a bad friend and a bad son, but I don't want you to be like her, Eliott. Every time she gets depressed she seems to lose another piece of herself and I slowly forget about my own mother. I've seen what the depression does to her, and I'm afraid those same things will happen to you. I don't want you to hurt like my Maman has. And I don't want one of the last few good things in my life to slip through my fingers. I don't want to lose you like I've been losing Maman. I don't want to lose everyone I love. Is that selfish of me?

Sorry. I'll let you sleep. Let me know if you need anything. I may not have the words, but I can be there. I'm sorry again that I had to leave. Sleep well, Eliott. I hope your dreams are sweet instead of dark and bitter. I hope this is just a random spell, and not some twisted sign of something much, much worse. I care about you. I know you know that, but I needed to say it, and I have a feeling you need to hear it. I'm sorry again. I'm so, so sorry.

 Eliott must've read it a thousand times trying to process every word, trying to analyze the bigger picture. And every time he feels worse, his guilt opening its jaws and scraping its teeth against his skin. Every time, he keeps seeing the  look on Lucas's face, the darkness in his eyes. Every time, he wishes he could throw off his blankets and run to Lucas's house, asking him if they can talk. But every time, he sinks further into his bed, melting into his sheets and being pinned down by his blankets. 

He shuts his eyes, hoping for all the things Lucas is hoping for, and so, so much more.

april 11th, 1966

18:30

caen, france

~

Lucas watches helplessly as Eliott smiles and laughs so brightly he's convinced the sun isn't setting tonight, but retreating in defeat as it realizes that something brighter burns beneath it. Eliott  is  brighter than the sun—warmer, softer, closer. How  beautiful  the world could be if Eliott became the sun, and how  miserable  Lucas would feel at the same time. But then again, Lucas is still miserable when the sun is sitting right next to him, when the sun is so close he could only stretch his fingers and touch him. Then again, he'll be miserable no matter where the sun is around the world or within the universe. He's miserable because he's in love and he's afraid that he'll never not be. He's miserable because he doesn't know how much more of this he can take—the burning and the blushing, the serenity and the shame. He doesn't know if he can keep coming to the realization that his father was right all along without feeling like he could implode at any moment. He doesn't know if he can muster another prayer without feeling like the first sinner that God couldn't save. He doesn't know how much longer he can try to convince himself that Eliott could love him, too—that he would be willing to face any God-given punishment or hell itself and hold Lucas's hand all along the way. He doesn't know how much longer he can live like this.

"Lucas?" Eliott says, his voice pulling Lucas out of his thoughts and giving him a soft place to land. His face has fallen, drawn slightly taut with concern. "Are you okay? You seem a little distant."

Lucas nods, almost forgetting to smile. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just thinking."

Eliott's smile perks up again. "About?"

"A lot of things," Lucas decides to say, shrugging. He tries to chuckle, but it doesn't come out like he wanted it to. He looks down at his lap, avoiding eye contact with Eliott, but he can still feel his gaze on him.

"Your maman isn't getting bad again, is she?" Eliott asks carefully, his voice quiet.

"No," Lucas answers quickly. "No, she's doing okay right now."

"That's good, but," Eliott replies, sighing. "What's on your mind, then?"

Lucas bites his lip, and he can feel it trembling beneath his teeth. How could he ever say what he's been thinking? How could he ever admit any of that? 

"Lucas," Eliott says again, placing his hand on Lucas's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know how to tell you," Lucas replies, trying to fight back the tears filling his eyes.

"Tell me what?" Eliott tries, gently, patiently.

Lucas takes a deep but shaky breath. He shakes his head, closing his eyes. "I can't tell you, Eliott."

"Lucas..." Eliott starts, but his voice trails off. Lucas hears him sigh deeply. "Why not?" he says then, with something in his voice that Lucas has never heard before. Fear?

Lucas doesn't know how to reply. He's afraid that if he starts talking he won't be able to stop until every word that's piled on his tongue and down his throat and in his chest has been set free. He thinks he tastes blood, poison in all those words, and he's afraid, too, that he'll vomit them up and be left with a bitter taste in his mouth. He can't see any scenario where he stays silent, though, and this realization makes more fear bloom in his stomach than anything else. He feels his chest tighten, his lungs squeeze, his heart constrict. His blood runs cold, his fingertips tingle, his head spins. Panic. All he feels is panic.

"Hey, Lucas," Eliott says, his voice much more concerned now. He gently moves Lucas to where he's facing him, and his touch feels like a burn, a scorch. Lucas hears a noise whimper out of his throat, something like a sob or a snivel. He feels like his throat is closing up.

"Lucas, look at me," Eliott says, lightly squeezing Lucas's shoulders. "Look at me."

Lucas musters another mite of courage and lifts his head, his eyes meeting Eliott's. He's spellbound for a moment, watching blue and green and gray mix and bleed into Lucas's favorite color. But there's something like a film over Eliott's eyes, probably concern and worry. Eliott always worries. Lucas has seen Eliott try to hide it sometimes, and he doesn't know if he would prefer if he hid it now or not. But after a moment, the concern melts away and Eliott's eyes soften, fill with kindness. It makes Lucas smile. 

"There you go," Eliott smiles back. "I love it when you smile."

Lucas's smile widens, and the familiar blush colors his cheeks. There's that lingering sense of shame, of course, just beneath his skin and fingernails, but Eliott is stronger than it. His touch is stronger, his voice is stronger,  he  is stronger. Lucas just needs to focus on him, the feeling of his fingertips just barely digging into his skin, the feeling of their knees resting against each other. Maybe if he lets Eliott anchor him, he can stop choking and let all his words spill out. Maybe Eliott won't wiggle free and let himself be whisked away by the ever-changing tide. Maybe he'll stay. Maybe.

Lucas studies Eliott's eyes a moment or two longer, finding every spot where the color changed ever so slightly, finding every spot that shone a bit brighter, finding every perfection and imperfection. He can breathe again, and his words aren't as heavy. He breathes in and out slowly, the last breath he'll take before the long overdue truth he's hidden for so long will be known.

"I don't think I can fall in love with girls, Eliott," he finally,  finally  admits. "That's what's wrong. I think I've been falling in love with boys."

He pauses for a moment, watching Eliott's face carefully. Something lights in his eyes—hope? But his face doesn't change much besides a slight smile tugging on the corner of his lips. He nods at Lucas, urging him to keep talking. 

"It's a sin, I know, but," Lucas continues, almost choking on the word  sin  .

"It's not a sin," Eliott says firmly, shaking his head. 

"It is," Lucas disagrees, his throat closing up. "The Bible says—"

"It's  not  , Lucas," Eliott interrupts, a fire in his eyes and on his tongue. "It's  not  . Do you hear me?"

"How do you know that?" Lucas asks, his chest tightening again. "We don't get to decide what's a sin and what's not a sin. Only God can."

"Because it doesn't make sense!" he almost laughs, incredulous. "And it isn't fair! Especially to you, Lucas! I don't remember you missing a single mass since we were kids. You can quote half the Bible from memory. You know the words to almost every song in the hymnal. You love God and anyone can see it in your eyes. Now all that is obsolete? Just because you like boys? How is that fair? How does that make God a just God? You're not a sinner, Lucas, not like some people at church want you to think you are."

"Then why do I feel like one?" Lucas blurts out, his words trembling. "I've prayed every night, Eliott.  Every night.  After hours of hearing memories of my father and the boys at school calling me a queer, or staring at my ceiling and watching myself fall in love with and marry a girl and having to hear my heart whisper how it could never want something like this, I would pray. And every time, I prayed that all these sinful feelings would just go away and I could be  normal.  That I could prove my father and everyone wrong. I couldn't be a queer. I  couldn't  . The night after Christmas last year I prayed that God would just  kill me  before I let myself give into temptation. That way I had a chance at getting into heaven. Do you understand that, Eliott? I asked God to  kill me  . Why would I do that if it wasn't a sin? Why would I ever lose sleep because I keep listening to the heart beating in my chest and hoping it was just off-rhythm somehow, that it could be fixed somehow? Because I thought it was just blind and can't tell a boy from a girl and that it would open its eyes someday and realize that it was looking in all the wrong places? Why would I do any of that if I didn't think it was wrong or that I would go to hell for it? Why?"

Eliott doesn't reply at first, and the silence is unbearable. Lucas is left to watch Eliott's face, left to scour for any trace of emotion. But his eyes are a little wider, and something like tears are shining in them. His mouth has shrunk to a thin line, and his lower lip is starting to stick out. He shakes his head once, looking off for a moment. Lucas hates the way he needs Eliott to look at him again, the way he needs Eliott to just  say something  . He hates the way he needs Eliott. He feels a tear roll down his cheek, and it's as cold as ice.

Eliott finally looks back at him, and his eyes follow his tear. He lifts his hand, his thumb carefully wiping it away. Slowly, the rest of his hand gently cradles Lucas's face. His hand is soft, warm, familiar. Lucas melts into the touch, leaning into Eliott's hand. His eyes close, and a heavy, relieved sigh escapes his body. Eliott's thumb is tracing Lucas's cheekbone now, and it's so gentle Lucas wonders if anything else in this world could ever hold him so softly, so lovingly. He doesn't want Eliott to stop touching him.

"You can't make it stop, can you?" Eliott asks quietly, placing his other hand on the other side of Lucas's face. "The falling in love?"

"No," Lucas shakes his head. "I can't."

"Well, God made us in His image, didn't He?" Eliott replies. "He made you, Lucas."

"Do you think He made me this way?" Lucas asks, toeing the fine line between hope and fear.

"He shaped you by hand," Eliott answers, his voice the kindest thing Lucas's ever heard. "He's the perfect potter. How could He ever make a mistake with you, Lucas?"

"But if He made me this way," Lucas says, leaning towards fear. "Why would He say that who I am is a sin?"

Eliott sighs, smiling sadly. "I don't know. But He made you, and He made people that are like you, too. He made  me  , too."

Lucas's eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat. "Wh-what do you mean, Eliott?"

"I've realized that my heart is a fickle thing," Eliott replies, smiling softly. "It can fall in love with anybody it wants to."

Lucas feels himself smile. "Even boys?"

Eliott nods, grinning. "Even boys."

Lucas's smile falters the slightest bit as a question comes to his mind. But he doesn't let it weigh him down. He lets it spill. " Can it fall in love with me?"

Eliott's smile softens, the faintest blush staining his cheeks. "It already has."

Lucas's heart doesn't skip a beat this time. It blooms, it flutters, it sighs. His heart doesn't feel wrong right now. It doesn't feel like a well of thick, black ink or a cold, unforgiving stone. Right now, it feels like a garden, the way Lucas has always imagined a heart  should  feel—rich soil to grow from, sweet fruits and hearty vegetables to taste, fragrant flowers to breathe in. Right now, Lucas hopes he can plant a seed in his new garden. He hopes he can nurture it. He hopes it'll inspire him to grow, too. He hopes this can become like the garden his heart is becoming. He hopes, he hopes, he hopes.

Eliott rests his forehead against Lucas's, their noses brushing tenderly against each other. Their lips are a breath apart. Lucas's never kissed anyone before. Let alone a boy. Let alone his best friend. But his heart finally says that the time is right, that the person is right. So—gingerly, delicately—he tilts his head and kisses Eliott.

There's no heat, no hunger. Only the slightest sense of trepidation—the way you cradle the one thing you've always wanted, or the way you sip your morning coffee or evening tea. The way you touch glass, diamonds, gold. It's the fear of the smallest destructions. It's a breath, a blink, a whisper, the ones you wouldn't miss for the world. 

They ease ever so slightly deeper into each other, like the way you ease into a hot bath. The way you wade through the shallow end, the shore, before you trust the waves to hold you, to carry you. Everything is familiar, warm. They know each other better than they know themselves. There's no need to explore, to push and pull. It's like crawling into your bed at night and floating into sleep. It's like coming home. It's like breathing. Nothing has ever been easier. Nothing has ever been more beautiful. Nothing has ever felt more right than this moment.

Eliott mutters against Lucas's lips that he tastes like sleep. Lucas doesn't know what he means, but he smiles. He tells Eliott how he tastes like peace. Eliott doesn't know what he means, but he smiles. They keep kissing, every touch accentuated with a smile, with an almost giddy giggle. They keep kissing, letting the undefinable tastes they've discovered become familiar, become clear and plain. They keep kissing, the world around them stopping for a moment to admire the moment every turn, every revolution has led to. Lucas wishes the world could literally stop in its tracks. He wishes he could be trapped in this moment forever, with Eliott's lips on his and his strong yet elegant hands tangled in his hair. He wishes he could be trapped so he'll know he'll never have to recite a hypocrite's prayer another miserable night. But slowly, the world returns to normal, and time inches forward once again.

Lucas's only wish now is that there'll be countless more moments just like this one—moments where everything is  love.

may 29th, 1966

02:01

caen, france

~

Lucas has held Eliott's hand the entire car ride to the hospital, and Eliott is surprised he hasn't snapped the poor boy's bones in half. But Lucas doesn't seem to wince or flinch. He just squeezes a little tighter when Eliott does and smooths his thumb across Eliott's knuckles. During a particularly dark part of the drive, Lucas kisses his knuckles, one by one. Eliott feels him whisper against the thin, white skin there, feels his lips and his breath. He doesn't know what Lucas said, but the warmth, the care is comforting through it all.

Honey, I need you to get Madeleine to take you to the hospital as soon as she can, okay?  his mother's voice reminds him shakily, sending a chill down his spine.  Papa... He's getting worse.

Eliott closes his eyes, resting his head on Lucas's shoulder. He lets the soft fabric of Lucas's shirt and his sweet, familiar scent drown out every fear creeping across his mind for a moment. He feels Lucas kiss the top of his head, and he says something else, something he can hear this time.

"Everything will be okay," he whispers, his voice quiet and kind. "And I'm here,  mon amour . Always."

Eliott nods, feeling a tear roll down his cheek. He bites his lip, fights to keep more tears from falling. His father will be okay. He has to be. He always has been. It's worse this time, but that doesn't mean he won't get better. He  has to get better. 

But he knows that's not what Lucas means. Everything will be okay when the wounds start to heal, not when his father make a miraculous recovery and they'll get to go home a happy family once again. Everything will be okay when the grief subsides and Eliott learns to smile again, not when his father can breathe a litte easier once again. Everything will be okay after his father can finally rest, not after he survives tonight only to get sick again by the end of the year.  That's  what Lucas means, and  that's what's bringing the tears to Eliott's eyes. 

Suddenly, the car is drifting to a stop.

"Eliott," Lucas says, shaking him gently. "We're here."

Eliott opens his eyes, and he sees the hospital he's visited a thousand times. But like everything else, it's different this time. His father could be dying in there right now, or dead already. He shakes his head, all the tears he's been holding back suddenly spilling over. 

"Eliott?" Lucas says again, his voice brimming with concern. 

"I can't, Lucas," Eliott sobs. "I can't go in there."

Lucas squeezes Eliott's hand tighter, but he doesn't say a word. He sighs, and Eliott doesn't think he could ever forget the way his breath is shaking. 

"I'll go get Noémie," Madame Lallemant says, unbuckling and opening her door. "Stay with him, Lucas." 

As Madame Lallemant walks away, Lucas sighs. Eliott can  feel the pity in his eyes as he studies him. But then he feels Lucas's hand lifting his chin. Their foreheads and noses rest against each other. Eliott is shaking, and he thinks Lucas is, too.

"Eliott, I know this is hard," Lucas begins, stumbling over his words. "But he needs to see you. And you need to see him. And your maman needs you right now, too."

"But what if he's already dead, Lucas?" Eliott chokes out. "What if I walk in there right now and I see Maman crying because he's gone and I was too late? What if I never had the chance to say goodbye? Or what if he is alive right now and I have to watch him die? What if I have to watch  my papa  die? What if he's awake when it happens and he has to feel it happening to him? What if he dies with his eyes open? What if I look at him and I have to see those eyes? What if Maman and I fall asleep and he doesn't, and then we wake up and he's gone? Or what if we all fall asleep and when we wake up he can't? What if I wake up and he's dead and I have to wake Maman up and tell her? What if I wake up to Maman telling me that he's gone?" He trails off, his whole body trembling with the force of his sobs. "Every possible scenario  terrifies me , Lucas. How am I supposed to walk in there knowing that any of them could happen, but that it won't matter because no matter what he's going to die? How are we supposed to live without him? Without Papa?" 

Lucas doesn't respond. Eliott hears him sniffing like he's crying. "I don't know," he finally replies. "But remember what I said? That I'm here. Always. We can just stay together right?"

"They won't let you in his room," Eliott shakes his head. "You and your maman will probably just be in the hallway. You can't be there when I need you most." 

"Maybe…" Lucas stammers. "Maybe they can make an exception. Right?"

Eliott shakes his head again. "That's not how it works, Lucas." 

"Then how can I be there like I promised?" Lucas asks, his voice raised and desperate. "How can I leave you alone like this?" 

"You can be there as much as you can," Eliott replies, still trying to speak through his sobs, his hiccups. "You can hold my hand."

"People will see, Eliott," Lucas mumbles. "They'll know. And so will our parents." 

"I don't care," Eliott croaks. "I don't care if they see or if they know. I want you here. I  need you here." 

Lucas pulls away ever so slightly, his gaze shifting to somewhere off in the distance. Softly, he agrees, "I know." 

"Don't let me go, Lucas," Eliott pleads, gently turning Lucas's head back to him. "Please. Not until you need to." 

Lucas pulls Eliott's hand down and kisses from his wrist up to his palm, his lips and cheeks wet against Eliott's skin with tears. "I won't," he whispers. "I love you, Eliott."

"I love you, too," Eliott returns, letting himself smile. 

"Can I kiss you?" Lucas asks carefully, quietly. 

Eliott answers by pulling Lucas closer, their lips slowly finding each other. The kiss is brief, soft, bitter like salt. It's a wave crashing on the shore, both of them breaking together. 

Eliott pulls away. His lips part but no sob comes out. It's a sigh, but not quite of relief. "I'm ready," he says, nodding. "Just don't let go of my hand." 

"I won't," Lucas shakes his head. "I promise." 

Lucas leads Eliott out of the car, not letting go of his hand like he promised. And when his hand shakes, or when a stray sob makes him tremble, Lucas squeezes a little tighter and maintains the gentle, reassuring pressure. Eliott feels  anchored , supported and carried as they make their way to the hospital entrance, step by step. He needs to hold onto it as long as he can. He needs to memorize every muscle, every curve of Lucas's hand. He can still have him, even when he's not there.

Eliott pauses as they reach the door, halting Lucas in his tracks. Lucas glances at him, concerned yet patient. "I'm here, Eliott," he says, squeezing Eliott's hand a little tighter. "It's okay."

Eliott nods, taking a deep breath. He keeps walking, and Lucas lets him lead. 

Madame Lallemant and Eliott's mother enter the lobby as Eliott and Lucas do, and a flood of emotions fills Eliott's chest. His mother still has tears running down her cheeks, her eyes bloodshot and her face swollen. She grins when she sees him, but her body is overtaken with sobs. She runs up to him, and he lets go of Lucas's hand and envelops her in a hug. He starts crying again, too, burying his face in his mother's shoulder. They hold each other for a few minutes, relief and fear pulling them closer together. 

"How is he?" Eliott asks as he pulls away, the smallest hope that a miracle has happened burning in his chest.

"He's only getting worse, honey," his mother replies, sniffling. "But he's here right now. And he's been asking for you."

Eliott nods, taking a deep breath. "I'll be right there, Maman, I just... I need a minute."

"Okay," she sighs, brushing the hair out of his face. "We'll be in his room."

Madame Lallemant gives Eliott's mother a brief hug, then leads her down the hallway. Eliott watches as they shrink, as they turn and enter what must be his father's room. He takes another deep breath, trying to compose himself. His father can't see him like this. He doesn't want his last memories of him to be the image of his son heartbroken and weeping. He tries to smile, but his lips are wobbling too much to stay steady and genuine. He feels something brushing against his hand, something familiar. He sighs in relief, latching onto Lucas's hand.

"Thank you," he chokes out, turning to face him. "I'm sorry I let go."

"It was your maman, Eliott," Lucas reassures, shaking his head. He takes Eliott's other hand, their fingers interlocking. "And you weren't the one who promised not to let go. I was."

Eliott nods, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the curves of the back of Lucas's hand. "I know."

"I'll hold your hand as we walk down the hallway," Lucas says. "When you're ready. Okay?"

"Okay," Eliott agrees. "Not just yet, though."

Lucas nods, giving him a sweet, patient smile. It falls, though, and Lucas's eyes turn down to the floor. He leans in, their foreheads touching. He's warm, but he's trembling. Eliott rubs his nose against Lucas's lightly, and he sees a ghost of a smile return to his lips. This smile doesn't last long either.

"How are you?" Eliott asks quietly, trying to ignore the pang of guilt that reminds him he should've asked before.

"He's been like a papa to me," Lucas answers, tearful. "He's been a better father than my own papa has, by leaps and bounds. I don't want him to die either, Eliott. And I can't stand seeing you like this either, but... But he's  your  papa, Eliott. Not mine.  Your grief comes first. Not mine."

"You can be sad, too, Lucas," Eliott replies, squeezing Lucas's hands reassuringly. "It's okay."

Lucas nods, a few sobs ripping from his throat. "I'm sorry," he chokes out, letting go of his hands and pulling him into a hug. "I'm so sorry. This isn't fair. You deserve so much better than all this."

Eliott cries with him, their bodies trembling against each other. Eliott kisses the top of Lucas's head, smoothes his hand over his back. He feels Lucas clinging onto his shirt, the fabric bunching up in his hands. Eliott shakes his head then, replying, "Everything will be okay. Like you said. Right?"

"Yeah," he breathes slowly, sniffling. He kisses Eliott's shoulder, right near the dip of his collarbone. He repeats, "Everything will be okay."

They hold each other a moment longer, their tears drying and their breathing evening out. Eliott weaves his hand into Lucas's hair, gently pressing against his skull, hoping it would bring him just a mite of comfort. "I'm ready when you are," he whispers in his ear.

Lucas takes a deep breath. "Okay. I'm ready."

Their hands find each other again before they fully break the hug. They both squeeze, both cling and cherish. They begin their walk down the hallway, their strides matching and the echoes of their footsteps striking the floor harmonizing. With every step, they squeeze a little tighter, breathing becoming a little harder. They see Madame Lallemant standing outside the door, and they watch her get closer, her image becoming clearer. She must've heard them coming. She turns, smiling sadly when she sees them. Her eyes briefly flick down to their clasped hands, but she looks back up at them almost as quickly. 

"He's been asking for you," she tells Eliott quietly.

Eliott nods, his heart sinking as he realizes that this is the moment Lucas will need to let go. He feels Lucas place his other hand on top of Eliott's, caging it in a warm, soft embrace. Lucas gives one last squeeze, then slowly lets go—palm by palm, knuckle by knuckle. There's the slightest moment where their fingertips barely latch onto each other, but the contact is broken both too slowly and too quickly. Eliott's hand feels so much  colder , alone. He curls his fingers into a fist and relaxes slowly, letting the blood flow and the joints loosen. He looks over at Lucas, and he has that same sweet, patient smile on his face. A tear rolls down his cheek, but he quickly wipes it away.

"Thank you , Lucas," Eliott says, his voice clear but quiet.

"You're welcome," Lucas replies, his smile widening. 

Eliott smiles back as much as he can. He takes the deepest breath he can, turning his head forward and walking into his father's room.

He stops just past the door, his heart nearly stopping at the sight. 

His father is paler than he's ever seen him, paler than flour or milk. He's covered in sweat, his hair glued down to his scalp. His lips are blue, almost tinged with purple. His nails are blue, too, and even from where he's standing Eliott can tell that his hands are shaking. His chest trembles uncontrollably as it rises and falls, and his breathing is so shallow and hoarse it doesn't even sound human. His eyes are closed, but they open as Eliott enters. The color is muted, and they're bloodshot, and glazed with an almost milky, shiny film. His father smiles feebly when he sees him, lifting his hand and reaching for him.

"Ellie," he rasps, sitting up and then almost immediately falling into an intense coughing fit. The ventilator mask fogs up, almost hiding his father's lips. His mother quickly stands up, placing a hand on his shoulder and wiping his brow with a cloth. She tries to soothe him, but her voice is thin and choppy. She looks over her shoulder at Eliott, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. 

Eliott is frozen, his blood running cold and everything inside of him telling him to run away. He's never seen his father like this. He thought he'd seen him on the verge of death before, but all those times are nothing compared to what he's seeing now. If he weren't moving and talking, he would look like the corpse he's apparently become. Eliott does everything he can to fight back his tears, fight against his fear. He slowly makes his way to the other side of his father's bed, taking his hand. It's freezing, clammy. Eliott flinches, praying that his father won't notice. He takes a deep breath, gathering his strength as he sits down. 

"You're here," his father says, quieter this time. His smile is still weak.

"I'm here, Papa," Eliott replies, forcing a smile. "I'm here now."

"My boy..." he sighs, becoming tearful. "My little Ellie."

Eliott feels a tear roll down his cheek, but he keeps his smile on his face. "I'm here," he chokes out, squeezing his father's hand.

His father looks over at his mother then. "My darling Noémie."

His mother doesn't respond. She kisses his knuckles, the back of his hand. She opens it and holds it to her face. His father weakly, gently wipes away her tears. 

"I love you both," his father mumbles, glancing between them. "So much."

"I love you, too, Papa," Eliott replies, his voice thick with tears. 

"I love you, too, Eduard," his mother smiles.

"I miss you," his father continues, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Miss you already."

Eliott can't keep smiling anymore. He lets his sobs wash over him, lets them push him until he bends, burying his face in his father's bedsheets. He clings to his father's hand like a lifeline. But soon, this hand will never ruffle Eliott's hair again or pat him on his back or his shoulder. This hand will never cradle his mother's face again or help her with the clasp on her necklace or the buttons on her dress. Soon, this hand will grow even colder, and never hold anything again. This hand will soon forever lay on his father's chest, guarding his still, dead heart. This hand will soon wither until it's nothing but old, sick bones. Now is the last time Eliott will ever hold his father's hand while there was still blood running through it, while there was still a living brain to tell it to move and hold and love. Now is the last time Eliott will hold the hand that shaped him, that taught him that kindness and bravery are the same thing, that reminded him that life is the most precious gift that we receive. How can Eliott live without this hand? He holds it in both of his hands, holds it tighter, kisses every inch of it. He bathes it with his tears, washes it with the words he'll never get to say to him. Perhaps his father's bones will remember. Perhaps the memory will echo throughout the earth. Perhaps it'll reach his father somehow. Perhaps it'll reach up to heaven.

"You're a brave, strong boy, Eliott," his father says softly. "Know that you'll learn to miss me and smile at the same time."

Eliott lifts his head and looks up. His father is smiling, wider and a little stronger. He feels his mother place her hand on top of his. She smiles at him, too, ever kind and loving. Eliott smiles back, weakly but genuinely. "Thank you, Papa. Thank you, Maman. Thank you."

The night wears on, time passing gently by as they live in memory, their tongues spilling with echoes of laughter and singing. There's a haze in the room—a pleasant one. One perfumed with love and understanding and joy, stained with flushed faces and swelling hearts. They smile. They cry tears of mirth and joy. They don't let go of each other. They abandon the world outside and only focus on what matters in this moment: their happy family. Eduard, Noémie, and Eliott. Husband, wife, and child. Kindness, empathy, and joy. What more could they ever need? If you had asked Eliott only an hour ago, he would've said more time. But they don't need more time. If this is the time God has given them, why waste it then ask for more? If this is the time God has given them, He knows that it's all they need. He knows that this time that He's made is beautiful, perfect, sacred. God had given them sorrow and grief moments before, but He made way for joy and healing, too. They don't know what will happen once Eliott's father breathes his last breath, but that's time God has set for them in the future. God will protect Eduard Demaury. When it's time, He will take his hand and guide him home. Perhaps He will leave a blessing for Noémie and Eliott, one of comfort and peace. God is kind. God is loving. God will not abandon them. And that's why they have such  joy .

As God prepares to take another one of His children in His arms, the Demaury family falls asleep together for the last time.

may 29th, 1966

06:43

caen, france

~

Outside Lucas's window, the waves hiss against the shore and retreat quickly back into the sea. They slide against each other, the sand clinging onto the water and the water squirming away, foaming in agony The wind is quiet today, suddenly aware of something else that has appeared in the air—a discordant note from a piano, or maybe a misstroke on a typewriter. The moon has faded from the sky for a moment, but the sun is having his turn. He seems to rise a little slower, as if he's afraid of bring this day to pass. He seems to be burning a little hotter, too, as if he were angry or in grief. He roars, rumbles, "This is the storm, this is the war, this is the burning heat. Brave through, my warriors. To be brave is to be lifeless, to be feeble. All I ask is that you remember, still, to be cruel all the while."

Inside Lucas's room, the only light is the rising sun filtering through his window. Its rays shine on clean, pristine pages filled with Eliott's drawings that he studies longingly, his heart heavy in his chest. He hated leaving him there at the hospital, but he thought his sketchbooks would make him feel better. Besides, his mother wanted to leave and get breakfast made and bring it back to the hospital. He left a note for him, too, so Eliott will know where he is and that they'll be back by seven, just in case. He just hopes nothing will happen until they get back. He doesn't want Eliott to be alone when it happens. He wants to be there to hold him, like Eliott did when Lucas's father left that one night. He hopes now, too, that he'll finally have the right words to say to him. Not like last night, not like when he visited Eliott when he couldn't leave his bed for two weeks. He has to be a good friend, a good boyfriend. Eliott needs him. 

Outside, a tap on his window startles him from his thoughts.   Eliott  , he thinks. Monsieur Demaury.

He rushes over and opens his window, a summer breeze sweeping over them. Eliott is standing there, his eyes bleary with tears, his cheeks rosy from the heat, his hand hovered by his mouth with his nails between his teeth. He's trying to stay quiet, hold back the sobs. He's shivering. 

Lucas helps Eliott through the window, making sure he lands softly onto the carpet. He takes Eliott's face in his hands, the question he already knows the answer to getting caught on his tongue. But once Lucas's skin meets Eliott's, all his sobs escape. He throws his arms around Lucas. With a trembling breath, with a hiccup, he confirms the answer Lucas had in his mind: "He's dead, Lucas."

Still, Lucas's heart drops to his feet. He holds Eliott as tightly as he can. He feels his tears soaking through his shirt, feels his body trembling with the force of his sobs. He feels tears of his own wet his cheeks. He doesn't say a word. He lets Eliott cry. He waits for Eliott, patiently, gently.

Once Eliott starts to calm down, Lucas slowly guides him to his bed, laying him down gently. He lies down next to him, pulling him close. Words start to spill out of Eliott's mouth before Lucas could find his own words, the right ones.

"I woke up when I heard something clatter," Eliott starts, his voice thin. "I look up, and I see a nurse staring at Papa. She dropped the clipboard with his chart on it. Then she started yelling for the doctor, asking for a crash cart. And then I looked at him and... His eyes were open, Lucas. There was no color in them. He was looking out the window. He was awake when it happened. He felt all of it. And I was so  afraid  of that, Lucas. We all fell asleep. I thought maybe he would die in his sleep but he didn't. He was awake. I think I screamed when I saw him. And I woke Maman up and I think she screamed, too. The nurse took our hands and led us out of the room as a bunch of people ran into the room. They shut the door behind them, but I could hear them yelling at each other. Then it got quiet. Then the door opened and the doctor told us that they did everything they could but he was dead. He said we could see him, so he took us inside—"

Eliott starts to crumble again, more rivers of tears streaming down his face. "I didn't recognize him. His skin was almost gray. And his lips were so blue. And his eyes were closed. And he was dead."

Lucas holds him tighter, his chest getting sore from holding back his tears. 

"Papa's gone, Lucas," Eliott weeps, clinging to Lucas's shirt. "And he's not coming back. He's dead. After all those times he got sick and he got better he finally got too sick. The doctors finally couldn't save him. There were so many times where I thought he would die but then he didn't and I remember how   happy  I would be. But he's dead. He's really dead this time. We'll have to tell everyone that he's dead and have a funeral and sing his favorite hymns and I'll have to look at him lying in his coffin and then we'll have to bury him by pouring handfuls of dirt over him and say goodbye for what might be forever and—"

"Eliott," Lucas begs, his voice breaking. "It's okay. I'm here, like I promised."

Lucas feels completely helpless as he holds Eliott tighter, his words failing him once again and grief filling his chest. So, he promises him that everything will be okay. No matter how far time stretches away from him, no matter how many tears he sheds, no matter how much it feels like his world is crashing around his ears. He promises him that he's not alone. And a small part of Lucas hopes he isn't lying to him through his teeth.

june 4th, 1966

12:02

caen, france

~

Eliott's hand shakes, the smallest mites of dirt slipping through his fingers. He doesn't want to open his hand and let it all fall onto his father's coffin, reducing him to the dust that he came from. He doesn't want the dirt to keep piling up until his father is completely buried, never to be seen again in this life, on this earth. When he lets go of the dirt in his hand, he'll be letting go of his father. He's not ready to. But the minister is reciting the prayer much more quickly than Eliott hoped he would, the fateful words making their way to the tip of his tongue. So, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, hoping it separates him enough from his body that his mind will take over.

"We commend to Almighty God our brother Eduard Demaury, and we commit his body to its resting place: earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust..."

Eliott opens his eyes, and he sees his hand open and empty, remnants of dust staining the palm of his hand. He sees the small handfuls spread across his father's coffin, the beginning of the end.

"The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make His face to shine upon him and be gracious to him, the Lord lift up His countenance upon him and give him peace."

There's a chorus of "amen"s, but Eliott's voice doesn't join it. They recite the Lord's Prayer, but Eliott keeps his silence. He only raises his voice to heaven as the congregation is invited to, as the minister prays over the people. But his voice is weak, broken. His words are nonsensical, desperate rambles. But they drown out the words of the prayers, another countless chorus of "amen"s. It keeps his head bowed, keeps his eyes downward so he doesn't have to see everyone looking at him with such pity. It keeps his eyes away from his mother. He thinks he could die if he looks into her wet eyes for more than a few seconds. He never thought he would see his mother in such pain. So, he keeps his head bowed, says his pointless, powerless prayer. 

He doesn't sing "Lead, Kindly Light." All he can hear is his father singing this hymn in masses and around the house. He can hear his father's voice getting weaker, thinner as the years burn on in his memory. Now, he can't hear his father's voice singing his favorite hymn, and he doesn't know if he can sing it ever again without his father's voice supporting him. His mother doesn't sing, either, too consumed with her tears. He can hear Lucas's voice somewhere behind him, its warm timbre guiding Eliott along every word, every lilt of every note. The hymn seems to drag on. Somewhere, in the back of Eliott's mind, he hopes that the more than familiar melody is realizing that this is the first time his father won't sing it. He hopes that it's mourning, too; weeping and groaning as it tries to accept that it will never be the same again, that it's already changing at the hands of someone else, the hands they can't control. 

Then, all at once, the song ends, and silence crashes over the cemetery and the congregation. Eliott hasn't cried a single tear today, but the deafening  boom of it leaves him with a lump in his throat and an urge to bite down on the inside of his cheek. He knows that this is the first of many silences. This is the silence after the burial. There will be a silence after every birthday and every anniversary, a silence every time someone mentions his father's name, a silence every time Eliott tells someone he's just met that his father is dead. There will forever be a silence where his father once stood, silence where he once would've spoken and laughed. The weight of his father's absence, the weight of his father's coffin is something he could never forget. But there'll be people wanting to bear a bit of the weight themselves, and there'll be people that will try to fill all those silences. People sharing their own stories of losing their father, or rambling about how they could never even imagine what Eliott went through. People apologizing a thousand times for his loss. People offering him advice and telling him that they're for him if they need him. These silences will be filled with a million good intentions, and that's why Eliott knows that he can't bear hearing it.

This first silence fills quickly. The congregation says their last goodbyes to him and his mother, and most of their words don't quite reach his ears. His mother hugs most of them, so she doesn't cling to him as much as she has the whole funeral. He thinks that's why he hasn't cried yet. He's a rock right now, his mother's rock. But the weight of his mother is becoming too much for him to carry. He loves her with all of his heart, but that doesn't make him strong enough to show it. He loved his father with all his heart, but it wasn't strong enough to save him. So, he stands to the side, nodding vaguely at muddled voices, weakly shaking blurred hands. 

His friends talk to him, too. Manon, Daphné, Alexia, Emma, and Imane all give him a tight, warm hug and give him sweet, genuine smiles. He believes them when they tell him he'll be okay. Basile hugs him so tightly he can't breathe, but he can hear Basile sniffling and see him try and hold back his tears. It's comforting. Arthur and Yann both linger a moment, asking him if he needed anything. He doesn't know how to answer, so he shrugs but thanks them for coming. They both pull him in for a tight hug. Sofiane and Idriss hold him for a while, too, whispering everything he needs to hear in his ear.

The last person he sees is Lucas, after everyone else has already left. He started crying as he played the first hymn during the mass, and Eliott can tell he hasn't really stopped since. He's trapping and squeezing his hand again, only this time he seems close to crushing it and shattering the bones. Eliott steps toward him, carefully placing his hands over Lucas's. He gently breaks them apart, taking them in his own. Lucas's hands are cold, shaking. Eliott wants to steady them, but he can only imagine how cold his own hands are, how much they're trembling. Thunder rumbles above them, the clouds darkening and shards of lightning bursting out of them. Their eyes meet. There are a thousand things hidden in Lucas's eyes—memories they share of Eliott's father, memories of the father he got but didn't deserve, memories of losing both of them so suddenly and when he was so young. And through all of that, what shines through in his eyes is pain, grief, and  understanding . 

The clouds break open, and so does Eliott, washing and cleansing the earth with rain and tears. He falls into Lucas's arms, heaving with his sobs. Lucas holds him tightly, carefully helping him to the ground as he crumbles. He gently rocks him, pulling him closer to his chest to shield him from the rain. All Eliott can hear is Lucas's heartbeat, strong and steady. All he can smell is the rain and the sea salt that always seems to linger on Lucas's skin. All he can feel is Lucas's arms around him, his lips on his forehead, his hairline, the top of his head. All his world consists of now is Lucas, and the world outside is a breath away, but Eliott can't quite breathe right now anyway. His eyes, his nose, his mouth, his lungs all seem to be overflowing with tears, suffocating him more than it ever has before. At least he knows that if he drowns he'll rest in the safest place he knows. At least he knows Lucas will never let him go.

july 20th, 1966

06:00

caen, france

~

Lucas wakes from the first full night of sleep he's had in a month to someone kissing him. He startles a bit at first, but he opens his eyes and sees Eliott's face smiling at him the way he used to before his papa died. Lucas can't see Eliott's eyes they're so squinted, but he  missed  those crinkles by his eyes. 

"Good morning,  mon amour  ," Eliott almost sings, rubbing their noses together.

"Morning, darling," Lucas hums, smiling back sleepily. He pulls Eliott close and kisses him,  melts  into him. He must've had tea before he left his house. The fragrant taste of it is staining his lips, his teeth, his tongue. It makes Lucas smile even more, warmth softening the edges that kept him and Eliott from becoming one person again. He could almost fall asleep again right here, with Eliott's fingers in his hair and on his neck, his lips against Eliott's, their heartbeats embracing each other. He almost does, but Eliott kisses him a little deeper, their noses smushing against each other. He chuckles, pulling away slightly. "You're feeling better?" he asks hopefully, breathlessly.

Eliott nods. "Things are going back to normal," he replies, his voice sweet and melodious. "I'm starting to feel like myself again."

Lucas grins, his heart warming and glowing in his chest. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm," Eliott beams, nodding. "What about you?"

Lucas kisses the tip of Eliott's nose, and somehow it makes him smile even wider. "If you're happy, I'm happy."

Eliott kisses him again, soft and sweet and gentle. Lucas missed kissing Eliott so  much  . He knows the time has never been right to kiss him like this again, but he's felt it starting to come again the past week or two. Eliott's been smiling more, talking more. He's started taking more pictures with his camera, reading books again, laughing at jokes on the TV again. He's been eating again. Not much, but more than he has before. Lucas's been waiting for the right moment for everything to return to normal, but he didn't need to try and see if the moment was right, because Eliott beat him to it. Eliott was the one who kissed him first, and Lucas can kiss him back without worrying about crossing a line.

"I have a big day planned for us today," Eliott says after a moment, sitting up.

"Oh, yeah?" Lucas smiles, sitting up, too.

"Well, 'planned' isn't the best word," Eliott admits, chuckling. "But I have some ideas. Like, we could have breakfast at the bakery and lunch at the bistro. Then run around town and go in all the shops and buy a bunch of stuff."

"I don't have any money, love," Lucas laughs, leaning his head on Eliott's shoulder.

"I'll buy you anything you want," Eliott promises, grinning.

"Promise?" Lucas challenges, raising his eyebrows. 

"Promise," Eliott nods, giggling. He pulls Lucas close, and his face fits perfectly into the crook of his neck. He plants small kisses there, breathes in Eliott's smell, his skin. He closes his eyes, laughing along. Eliott pulls Lucas away so their eyes meet, taking his face in his hands. "Anything for my Lu," he grins.

Lucas goes to kiss Eliott one more time, but Eliott backs away, tousling Lucas's hair. "We have a long day ahead of us," he says. "We have to get started as soon as we can."

Lucas rolls his eyes, but he chuckles. "I'll go get ready." He gives Eliott a kiss on the cheek as he gets out of bed, and the blush on Eliott's cheeks makes him blush, too. The warmth, the fuzziness, carries him to the bathroom where he quickly brushes his teeth. His mother isn't awake as far as he knows as he walks back to his room, but he makes sure to remember to tell her where they'll be before they leave. 

When he opens his door he sees Eliott lying in his bed on his stomach. He grins again when he sees Lucas, almost jumping up and bounding over to him. 

"I was gone for a minute," Lucas giggles as Eliott rubs their noses together again. 

"I missed you," Eliott shrugs, kissing him softly. He smiles, small yet content. "I like your toothpaste."

Lucas's brow furrows, but he chuckles fondly. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome?" Eliott replies teasingly, kissing Lucas's forehead. "Let's get you dressed so we can go."

"Okay," Lucas snickers. "Are we in a hurry?"

"The sun is only up for so long,  mon amour  ," Eliott reminds him. "It's rising right now, and I plan on staying under it as long as we can today."

Lucas's brow furrows again. "Okay."

"When the sun sets we can go back to your house, or maybe we can go to mine," Eliott suggests, taking Lucas's hands. "We can fall asleep in each other's arms tonight and wake up in the same place in the morning. Does that sound good?"

Lucas smiles, blush staining his cheeks a much deeper scarlet. "That sounds amazing."

Eliott tilts Lucas's chin and brings their lips together, Lucas melting once again. Eliott pulls away far too quickly, guiding Lucas towards his closet. Lucas pouts to try and distract him again, but Eliott starts looking through his shirts.

"You should wear this one," Eliott says, holding one up to Lucas.

"It's just a red t-shirt, Ellie," Lucas laughs. "I didn't even know you gave this one back to me however long ago."

"Yeah, but you could wear it with those blue shorts," Eliott replies, grabbing the shorts he's talking about. "It's simple, but you look amazing in anything."

Lucas wishes Eliott would stop making him blush. "Okay. I'll wear them." 

He starts changing into the outfit and putting on his shoes, and Eliott's grin once he's finished makes his heart flutter. Lucas kisses him again, unable to resist the urge. "Ready to go, my love?" Lucas asks softly.

Eliott nods excitedly, almost bouncing. 

"Let me tell Maman we're leaving first," Lucas smiles. "Meet me at the front door." 

Eliott kisses him goodbye, walking out of Lucas's room.

Lucas makes his way to his mother's room, carefully opening her door. She's still asleep. He doesn't want to wake her, so he borrows a sheet of paper from a notebook she keeps by her bed.

 Eliott and I are going to be out for the day. We should be back around dinnertime. 

  He scribbles a little heart beside it, leaving it on top of the notebook. He leaves her room as quietly as he can, closing the door behind him. He grins when he sees Eliott waiting patiently yet excitedly by the front door. Eliott opens it for him, bowing politely. "After you,  mon amour  ."

Lucas blushes again as he bows in return and goes out the door. Eliott leaves, too, then puts his arm around Lucas, pulling him a little closer. Lucas rests his head on Eliott's shoulder, kissing the spot where his collarbone is just barely exposed. He wants to get in one last display of affection before they go into town and have to hide again. He can't deny that it hurts that he can only love Eliott in the dark or behind closed doors, but he can't deny that they need to value and protect their safety as well.

"I'll race you down the street," Eliott proposes, snapping Lucas out of his reverie.

"Like when we were kids?" Lucas replies, grinning. 

"Like when we were kids," Eliott echoes, nodding. "Are you up for a race?"

"You're on," Lucas confirms smugly.

"All right. The race starts  now  !" Eliott shouts, bolting down the street. 

Lucas blinks, stumbling to a running start. "That's not fair! Cheater!" he yells with a laugh.

"Like when we were kids!" Eliott calls back over his shoulder. His laughter bounces off the boiling asphalt and fills the air, becoming the wind that shakes the trees and ruffles Lucas's hair. Lucas could listen to him laugh forever.

He gains speed, quickly whizzing past Eliott. Eliott always found a way to give himself the early advantage, but he was never as fast as Lucas. Eliott always made jokes about Lucas being tiny and "more aerodynamic", and they always made Lucas blush but laugh, too.  

He hears his feet striking the asphalt, then hears Eliott's feet just after. Their footsteps have become echoes of each other. They've become something close to music. This morning, the world will wake up to this noise, and Lucas falters as he wonders if people will hear the same sweet music he's hearing. Their footsteps, Eliott's laughter, Lucas's own heartbeat drumming in his ears. There could never be a more beautiful piece of music, right?

Eliott starts to pull ahead again. "Will I finally beat Lucas Lallemant in a race?" he asks teasingly, out of breath.

Lucas shakes his head, smirking. "Not today." He calls on his last bit of stamina and surges ahead, letting his footfalls propel him forward and forward. He can just see the town in the distance, and just ahead of him is the old, weathered sign that they both designated as the finish line years ago. He slows to a jog as he approaches it, leaning against it and smiling smugly. Eliott isn't too far behind him, though, catching up a few seconds later.

"I was much closer that time," Eliott sighs, trying to catch his breath. 

Lucas rolls his eyes. "Sure you were." 

Eliott tries to respond, but he only huffs, slowly sitting himself down on the ground. 

"Do we need a breather?" Lucas laughs, sitting down next to him. 

Eliott nods, then lies down on his back. "Yes, please."

"You've lost your touch," Lucas points out teasingly, fixing the sweaty hair glued to Eliott's forehead. 

"Shut up," Eliott chuckles, sighing. "Oh, what are we going to do when we get old?"

"Will we be racing down this street when we're 80 years old?" Lucas asks, chuckling softly.

"Maybe we will," Eliott shrugs. "Can't you see us growing old together, though?"

Lucas's heart warms as he considers the thought. He nods, his lips spreading into a grin. "I can."

"I don't think we'll be here, though," Eliott says, reaching to cradle Lucas's face. "We'll be living in Giverny. By Monet's gardens. We'll be secretly married. We'll have this cute, little cottage. We paint together all day and hold each other all night. Your hair will be white and it'll make your eyes look even bluer. You'll still be so beautiful and I'll wonder why you ever settled for someone like me. But we'll be happy. We will have spent almost every second of our lives together but we wouldn't have it any other way. Can't you see it, Lucas?"

There are tears in Lucas's eyes as he nods. "But I think you'll still be beautiful, too, my love. How could you ever not be? I mean, look at you!"

Eliott blushes, running his thumb over Lucas's cheekbone. Gently, he pulls Lucas down towards him. Lucas lets himself fall, closing the space between them with a sweet, passionate kiss. He can't stop smiling, and neither can Eliott. Their teeth knock against each other and Eliott accidentally bites Lucas's lip. He tries to apologize but he starts laughing, pulling Lucas close. The gentle tremble shaking Eliott's body as he giggles is comforting as it starts to ripple through Lucas, too. He can taste blood, but it doesn't matter. He's giggling, too, and it's hard to stop. 

"I love you, Lulu," Eliott says through his laughter, almost wheezing.

"I love you, too, Ellie," Lucas returns, his laughter turning into a content sigh. "I love you, too."

july 20th, 1966

14:16

caen, france

~

Lucas misses holding Eliott's hand already, but more and more people are arriving in town, browsing the shops and eating at the restaurants. It's strangely busy for a Wednesday, but the weather today is much milder than it has been for the past couple of weeks. Nevertheless, the large crowd that only seems to keep growing is making Lucas more nervous than he wants to admit. He's not holding hands with Eliott or being affectionate towards him, but he still feels like people are staring at them, drawing conclusions. He knows he's being paranoid, but he can't deny the turning of his stomach or the racing of his heart.

But when he looks over at Eliott, he looks like he doesn't have a care in the world. He's scanning the crowd with a small smile on his face, and he has a bounce in his step that Lucas can't keep up with. Eliott has always been more easygoing than Lucas, but the fact that he doesn't seem worried at all is frankly confusing to Lucas. With all these people around them, who knows who might notice something, and who knows who might get confrontational or even violent? 

"There's a lot of people here, Eliott," Lucas says, trying to give him a hint that he's uncomfortable. "Maybe we should go home."

"No, not yet," Eliott replies, looking over at Lucas. "There's one more shop I want you to see. They have these clothes that would look great on you. I just need to remember where it is."

"You don't know where it is?" Lucas asks, his worry starting to grow.

"I have a vague idea," Eliott reassures him, though the effort falls flat.

"Do you at least remember what it's called?" Lucas tries, starting to fidget. He clasps one hand over the other, squeezing tightly.

"I'll know it when I see it, Lucas," Eliott responds, chuckling. He points ahead of them at a corner. "I'm pretty sure it's just around there. Don't worry, mon amour."

"Don't call me that here," Lucas almost hisses, trying to keep his voice down. "There's too many people."

"It's okay, Lu," Eliott says again, emphasizing every syllable. "Everything's okay."

They turn the corner, and there seems to be significantly fewer people in this part of town. Lucas feels himself relax a little, let out a sigh of relief.

"See?" Eliott smiles. "Everything's okay."

"Everything's okay," Lucas repeats, nodding and managing a smile.

"I can see it!" Eliott grins, starting to jog down the street.

"Eliott, slow down!" Lucas calls after him, laughing.

Eliott stops by a shop halfway down the street, holding the door open. Lucas slows down, quickly trying to catch his breath. He smiles and nods at Eliott then enters the store. His mouth drops open as he sees displays of shirts with outrageous patterns and pants in colors Lucas never thought should be worn on people's bodies. He chuckles, looking back at Eliott over his shoulder. "I would look great in these?" he asks, waving his arm vaguely at the clothes.

"I know it's a little gaudy," Eliott shrugs, smiling almost bashfully. "But there's some things here I think you'll really like. Just give it a chance. It might surprise you."

Lucas sighs, nodding. "Okay. Lead the way, I guess." 

Eliott grins, bounding over to the first rack of clothes he sees. He scans through them, occasionally looking up at Lucas then back down at a piece of clothing. The first thing he pulls out is a navy blue shirt with a red and green paisley pattern that makes Lucas bite his lip to keep from laughing. Eliott notices, though, tilting his head to the side.

"What's wrong with it?" Eliott asks, holding it up to Lucas's chest. "I think it would look really good on you. It's blue, so it'll make your eyes look even prettier."

"I'll have to try it on," Lucas shrugs, chuckling. He feels a blush burning in his cheeks. "We could have a little fashion show in my room when we get back."

Eliott's eyes light up, and his grin spreads even wider on his face. "I love that idea. So, you'll give it a shot?"

"I'll give it a shot," Lucas agrees, nodding. 

Eliott jumps, his eyes sparkling and squinting. Lucas grins, too, his heart warming again. The old Eliott is coming back. He's standing in front of him, smiling so hard Lucas feels his own cheeks hurt. The old Eliott is coming back!

Eliott shows him several shirts and pants and shorts that he would never wear in a million years, but they all make Eliott smile, so Lucas agrees to them. He doesn't know when something else might happen to take his smile away. He wants that smile to stay on Eliott's face as long as it can, and if he can help it stay, he'll do whatever he can to do so. 

"Lucas!" Eliott gasps, pulling two things off the rack. They're two blue and white striped two-piece sets, a button-up shirt and shorts. One looks like Lucas's size and one looks like Eliott's size. "We could match!" he proposes, grinning like an idiot while he waits for Lucas's response.

Lucas, unfortunately, is speechless. He lets out a laugh, shrugging. Dumbly, he replies, "I love it."

"Perfect!" Eliott almost squeals, adding them to the stack of clothes he's carrying in his other arm.

"Hey, Eliott," Lucas says, noticing him struggling with the weight. "We should probably go ahead and check out. I mean, do you even have the money for all this stuff?"

"Of course I do," Eliott replies, adjusting his stack. "I promised I'd buy you anything you wanted. And this is getting pretty heavy."

"Here, I'll take it," Lucas offers, giving Eliott a smile. Eliott smiles back at him, carefully placing the stack in his arms. Lucas stumbles a little, huffing. "Yeah, let's go."

Eliott giggles as he helps Lucas to the register, the clothes clattering loudly on the counter.

"So sorry," Lucas apologizes, breathless. 

"Oh, don't worry," the cashier replies, whose nametag says 'Lucille.' She has short, brown hair and kind eyes, maybe only a year or two older than them. "I end up buying too many clothes here, too, and I work here," she adds with a smile. "So, I completely understand."

As she rings up their items, Lucas looks over and sees Eliott pulling out a large bundle of money from his pocket. His eyes widen as he sees him pull out 10 and 20 franc notes and hand them to Lucille. 

"Here's your change," she smiles, placing notes and coins in his hand. "Thank you so much for shopping with us!"

Eliott waves her a quick goodbye as he takes their bag of clothes. Lucas waves goodbye, too, then rushes to catch back up with Eliott.

"Where'd you get all that money, Eliott?" he asks, trying to keep his voice down.

"Maman," Eliott replies a little too quickly.

"She has that much money lying around?" Lucas questions, his brow furrowing. 

"We have a jar at home," Eliott answers, his words almost stumbling over each other. "We put money it to have just in case something happens. And I promised you I would buy you anything you wanted, so I took some money from it for today."

"Does your maman know?" he presses, hoping he'll get the answer he wants.

"Of course she does," Eliott confirms, shrugging. "I'll put whatever I have leftover back in the jar. Everything's okay. Right?"

Lucas nods, unconvinced. "Right."

"Good," Eliott nods. "Let's get home."

Lucas sighs as an uneasiness he can't ignore settles beneath his skin. Still, he walks beside Eliott. They walk down the same road they raced on this morning and countless times throughout the years. They don't talk very much, but Lucas keeps catching Eliott staring at him. He blushes, like always, but his unease gets worse every time.

"You're beautiful, Lucas," Eliott says at one point, smiling sweetly. "You know that?"

Lucas lets himself smile. "You tell me all the time," he chuckles, shrugging.

"I mean it," Eliott replies, his voice soft but confident. "You... You seemed a little upset so I thought I would tell you."

"I'm not upset," Lucas shakes his head, sighing. "All the money freaked me out I guess."

"You didn't think I stole it, did you?" Eliott asks quietly, his brow furrowed.

"No, no," Lucas answers quickly. "No, but... I wasn't really thinking anything, I... I don't know."

"No, it's okay, Lucas," Eliott dismisses, smiling weakly. "Just know that I didn't rob a bank or anything, okay?"

"I know," Lucas smiles back, nodding. Silence passes, and Lucas's smile widens as he has an idea to make Eliott smile a little wider, too. "Am I the most beautiful person you've ever seen?"

Lucas's plan works. Eliott chuckles, nodding. "Yes, Lucas. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

"More beautiful than Yann?" Lucas teases. "Arthur? Idriss? Sofiane?"

"Yes, Lucas," Eliott laughs. "More beautiful than Yann, Arthur, Idriss, and Sofiane."

"What about the girls?" Lucas presses, Eliott's smile widening even more.

"You're more beautiful than all of them, too," Eliott nods. "You're the man of my dreams."

Lucas feels his cheeks get red hot. "What was that?"

Eliott stops, holding Lucas's face in his hands. "You're the man of my dreams, Lucas Lallemant," he repeats, his voice spilling like honey.

Lucas kisses him as he says his name, his worry beginning to melt away. "You're pretty great, too, Eliott Demaury," Lucas smirks once they pull away.

Eliott rolls his eyes, putting his arm around Lucas. Lucas nuzzles his face into Eliott's neck, breathing him in as they walk down the last stretch of street before their houses. 

"Maman isn't home," Lucas says as he looks up, noticing her car isn't in the driveway. "Maybe she's getting groceries."

"Do you wanna wait until she gets back to try on all your new clothes?" Eliott asks, gently shaking the bag from the store.

"I think so, actually," Lucas nods. "But we can try on our matching outfits if you want." 

"Yes!" Eliott grins, nodding eagerly. He starts running down the driveway, dragging Lucas behind him. Lucas yelps at the yank on his arm, but dissolves into chuckles. 

"Someone's excited," Lucas comments teasingly as they enter through the front door. His words are cut off as he's pushed against the wall and Eliott's lips are suddenly on his. He hears the bag crash onto the floor as he kisses Eliott back, weaving his hands into his hair. He giggles as they break for a moment. "Very excited," he breathes, grinning.

Eliott picks up the bag and Lucas takes his hand, guiding him to his room. He shuts the door behind them just in case, leaning against it and breathing out a content sigh. He looks over at Eliott, who's sitting on his bed, and their eyes meet. Eliott grins, his head tilting ever so slightly. Lucas grins back, walking over to him. He looks in the bag and pulls out their matching outfits, unable to hold back his laugh this time. It's adorable, really, and Lucas never thought he would buy matching outfits with his boyfriend, especially when his boyfriend ends up being his best friend.

Eliott laughs, too, grabbing his outfit from Lucas's hand. "We'll wear this on our wedding day."

Lucas smiles, remembering their conversation from this morning. "Will the wedding be in Giverny, too?"

Eliott nods vigorously. "It'll be at midnight, when the moon is all silvery on the water. It'll just be the two of us. And the officiant, of course."

Lucas sits by Eliott on the bed, starting to blush again. "Who'll officiate?"  he asks, waiting to cling onto every word of Eliott's answer.

"For some reason, in my head, I see the girl at the register," Eliott replies, almost giggling. "Because if she didn't say anything when we bought these, I'm sure she won't mind marrying us. What was her name? Lucy?"

"Lucille, I think," Lucas corrects, then shrugs. "You were close, though."

"Lucille will officiate," Eliott nods, starting to fidget with stray strands of Lucas's hair. "I can see us kissing as husbands until the sun rises and people see us."

"What do they do?" Lucas asks, the thought starting to wipe the smile off of his face. "When they see us?"

"See, they get outrageously jealous because they know they'll never have a love like ours," Eliott answers, a shine Lucas doesn't recognize filling his eyes. "They'll never break into every parallel universe and fill all of them with their love like we do. So, they come at us with pitchforks and torches and chase after us, cursing our names and the love we have and spitting on us until we're soaking wet. But, we get away. We outrun them because we're so much stronger than them. They're sweating buckets and they can't quite catch their breaths, but we're fine. We barely broke a sweat and breathing is easier than it has been before. We look over our shoulders as we keep running, and we smile."

Lucas isn't sure how to respond. If Eliott's words were stumbling over each other before, they're bleeding into each other now. They're a thousand colors mixing until they form a brown, muddy puddle, until they're almost indecipherable as distinct sentences and thoughts. He's never really heard Eliott talk like this before. Like he would explode if he didn't get all his words out. He manages a smile, shrugging dumbly. "What do we do after that?" he asks weakly.

"We keep running," Eliott replies, as if it were obvious. "What if all those people start chasing us again? Are we supposed to wait there like sitting ducks, only running again when they're right on our tails? No. We keep running. We're holding each other's hands like we always do, and we push each other forward. If we run faster, we could move the whole earth until it's night again and we can hide like we did on our wedding night. We can't hide in the dark forever, but we have each other, and we'll have each other forever, and that's enough. That's more than enough. In fact, as we keep running every morning, and as we keep hiding every night, we don't need water and food to survive anymore. We just need each other. That's all we need to survive. That's all we need to keep our hearts beating. And we run faster and faster until every grain of soil in the world has kissed our feet, until we've traveled the whole world. Before we know it, the whole world is whispering about Lucas and Eliott. They call us something cheesy and cliched like the Fleet-footed Lovers or something, but we don't mind. They talk about how they want a love as powerful as ours. They go around looking for their other Fleet-footed Lover. People propose using those words. 'Will you be my Fleet-footed Lover?' The whole world will know about us, Lucas. And they won't care that we're two boys in love. We'll make all of them realize that the love between two boys is even more powerful than a love between a boy and a girl. We'll change the world, mon amour. We'll build a new one with our feet, with our clasped hands, and as people have babies and raise them, they'll tell them about the Creators. They'll talk about us. Lucas and Eliott. The Fleet-footed Lovers. We'll create a whole new world, and it'll ripple through all of our parallel universes. We will do this. We will."

Lucas almost doesn't recognize Eliott. Everything about him is wide. His grin, his too bright eyes, his hair pointing frantically in every direction. He's a hole, opening up and looking to swallow up whatever gets too close to him. He's gaping, yawning, his chest a cavern Lucas feels too anxious to traverse alone. His words, his illusions of grandeur were enough to send all the dissipated worry back into the pit of Lucas's stomach, but this face, this body in front of him makes it sink even further, nearly reaching his toes. Lucas feels his mouth go dry, feels his throat close up. 

"Wh-what about our cottage?" he chokes out, taking Eliott's hand in his. "What about painting all day and holding each other all night? Can we not do that anymore? Are we too busy becoming these epic, legendary lovers?"

"No, we'll still do all those things, mon amour," Eliott smiles reassuringly, using his free hand to cradle Lucas's face. "Once we change the world. Once it's ours. We'll have our cottage. We'll have all our paintings and art supplies. We'll have our bed. We'll still only need each other to survive. In fact, we'll live. Live unlike anyone else has before. We'll be the first of many things, the fathers of many things. I know we will."

Lucas musters a smile, leaning into Eliott's touch and closing his eyes. He remembers all the time he used Eliott's touch to ground himself, only to realize now that he's trying to use his own touch to ground Eliott. He places his other hand on top of Eliott's, running his thumb over the back of his hand. He hears something inside him say, wherever you are, come back to me. His chest tightens at the idea of thinking such a thing, and the idea that right now the answer to his prayer is all he wants.

"Hey," Eliott says softly, Lucas opening his eyes slowly. "Maybe we can start by trying these outfits on?" 

Lucas nods, barely widening his smile. He waits for Eliott to climb out of bed before doing the same. He watches him carefully, as much as he hates to admit it, noticing how all his muscles seem to be wrapped around a spring, how his feet seem to just know that they can fly so they try to help him take off. He noticed all these things before, but not in the way he does now. Maybe that should've been some sort of warning sign, a red flag. He takes a deep breath and gets off his bed, starting to take off his clothes. He notices Eliott is stripped down to his boxers and has his back turned, so he takes a step toward him.

"No, Lu, you can't look at me yet," Eliott says just over his shoulder. "Turn around and let me know when you're changed, okay?"

Lucas obeys, facing his window. "Okay." He takes off his shirt and shorts, trying to get changed as quickly as he can. He tries to watch the waves, though they're fairly distant from his window. They're calm, breathing slowly against the shore. He tries to match his breathing to theirs as he works up the courage to tell Eliott to turn around. In, out. In, out.

"Turn around," he manages to say, turning around himself. 

Eliott's eyes light up even more as he laughs delightedly. "You look amazing, mon amour!" he grins, his eyes scanning his body. The outfit suits Eliott really well, too, but it doesn't make Lucas smile like it probably would have under different circumstances. Eliott takes a step forward and pulls Lucas close, kissing him.

Lucas tries not to seem hesitant as he kisses him back, muttering against his lips, "You look amazing, too, my love."

"Not as amazing as you," Eliott counters, deepening the kiss. Lucas stumbles a bit, but Eliott helps him regain his balance. Lucas opens his eyes, noticing that Eliott is looking out his window. "We should go swimming," Eliott smiles, looking over at Lucas. "The sun isn't going down anytime soon. We have time."

Lucas bites his lip, his worry turning his stomach. He doesn't think it's a good idea, though he can't explain why. He tries to think of some sort of excuse, hopefully one that will convince Eliott to stay here in his room. He shrugs, fidgets with the collar of Eliott's shirt. "I don't know," he starts, trying to make his lie as smooth and believable as possible. "It's been a long day, I'm pretty tired. I don't feel like swimming."

"Come on, Lucas," Eliott encourages, taking his face in his hands. "It's beautiful outside, and the sea is calm. It's a perfect day for swimming!"

"I don't know, Ellie," he replies, dumbly. "We can swim another day, can't we? We could go tomorrow. I'd rather stay here with you and kiss you and let you hold me."

"We'll do all that later, Lucas," Eliott shakes his head. "Remember what we agreed to? We'll relax when the sun goes down."

Lucas nods, but doesn't know how to respond. Eliott tilts his head so he's looking up at him.

"Would it make you feel better if I said we'll only stay out there for a few minutes?" Eliott asks, moving his hand to caress Lucas's cheek. "How about thirty minutes?"

Lucas sighs deeply, unconvinced but knowing that Eliott is persistent right now. He nods reluctantly, forcing a smile. "Okay."

Eliott grins, kissing Lucas again deeply. "Let's go!" he says once he pulls away. He takes Lucas's hand and leads him out of his room, out of his house, and down towards the beach. Occasionally, Eliott will look at Lucas over his shoulder, and every time Lucas loses another piece of recognition. Every time, it gets a little harder for Lucas to fake his smile. Every time, he feels a little more strongly that he needs to let go of Eliott's hand. Every time, his worry and his dread tighten his stomach and his chest, send bits of ice into his bloodstream. Every time, Lucas finds himself more and more lost in some strange cosmos. 

As they reach the shore, Eliott sweeps Lucas off his feet, carrying him into the water as if he were his bride. Lucas starts panicking, but before he can find words to say, Eliott throws him in the water. He resurfaces quickly, spitting out water and trying to catch his breath. He hears Eliott laughing, and when his eyes clear, he sees him doubled over. A strange sense of betrayal fills him, a despondence. The waves gently lap against him trying to push him towards Eliott, but he feels frozen. 

"Ça va, mon amour?" Eliott asks, his voice rising above the lull of the waves. 

"Ça va?" Lucas replies, confusing Eliott.

"What do you mean?" he asks, tilting his head. 

"Ça va?" Lucas repeats, taking a careful step towards Eliott. 

"Ça va," Eliott answers, nodding. He chuckles, shrugging. "Why wouldn't I be well when I'm with you?"

"You're not yourself, my love," Lucas says quietly, afraid of Eliott's reply but unable to hold back his tongue. 

"Of course I'm myself," Eliott shakes his head, scoffing. "Who else could I be?"

"I don't know," Lucas admits, shrugging helplessly. "You're different."

"Are you still upset about the money?" Eliott asks, his brow furrowed. "I told you, I—"

"It's not the money, Eliott," Lucas sighs, shaking his head. "Did you hear yourself in my room just now? Rambling about how we'll change the entire fabric of our world as we know it?

"We will, don't you think?" Eliott replies, taking Lucas's hands.

"By running until our feet bleed?" Lucas asks, his voice rising. "The world isn't ready to see us yet, and I'm not ready to run yet, either. Maybe at some point I will, but not now, my love."

"I never said we had to run now," Eliott shrugs, laughing. "I never said we had to get married in Giverny tomorrow. I never said you needed to rush and do something you're not ready for."

Lucas sighs, closing his eyes. He feels Eliott envelop him in his arms, feels his warm lips against his forehead. It doesn't ease his mind, nor his stomach or his chest. It doesn't do anything. 

"I want to go home," Lucas whispers, suddenly on the verge of tears. "I want you to hold me like this in my bed."

"Okay," Eliott whispers back. "Before we go, can I kiss you?"

Lucas nods weakly, letting Eliott gently push him away while he waits for their lips to meet each other once again. Eliott kisses him, slowly and softly, just the way he needs it. It eases everything—just a little, but enough. 

"I'll take you home now,   mon amour," Eliott whispers, smiling against Lucas's lips.

"Merci," Lucas breathes, kissing Eliott quickly.

He feels Eliott take his hand and gently guide him forward. He keeps his eyes closed, tries to focus on the memory of Eliott's lips on his.

From behind him, he hears a wave, large and roaring. He opens his eyes then, looking over his shoulder. It's approaching them rapidly, growing taller and taller until it starts to tower over them. Lucas's heart nearly stops, and his feet are planted to the sand below. He feels Eliott's hand slip away from his, hears him stumble and ripple the water. Before Lucas can start running, the wave crashes over him, pulling him in all directions until he's too disoriented to swim back up. He sees wave after wave crash just above him, all of them merciless and pushing him further and further down.

Once, just once, there's a gap between the waves, and Lucas breaks through, finally breathing air. With the one gulp he gets, he cries Eliott's name.

Another wave crashes over him, and another, and another, forcing him down and under and down and under.

Lucas drowns.

july 20th, 1966

16:22

caen, france

~

Eliott stumbles forward, tripping on the muddy sand beneath him. He hears a wave crash behind him, and he feels it spray lightly against his back. He isn't holding Lucas's hand anymore. He whirls around, but Lucas is nowhere to be seen. 

"Lucas!" he calls, panic edging into his voice. He scans the water, waiting for him to stand back up and return to the shore. But he doesn't.

"Eliott!"  

Lucas's voice is strangled, desperate, a bloodcurdling cry. His hand is just visible as it reaches up into the air. His voice and his hand are drowned out by the sound of the waves; the crashing, the frothing.  Lucas is drowned out by the waves, burying him and pushing him deeper and deeper into the water.

Eliott's heartbeat lurches to a stop as he stands there, helpless, waiting for Lucas to resurface. Wave after wave crashes by, growing and breathing and looming before him. He can't see Lucas anywhere.

"Lucas!"   Eliott cries at the top of his lungs, swimming desperately towards where he last saw him. He beats back against the waves beating against him, his muscles becoming sore and salt filling his mouth and stinging his eyes. He spits out water, blinks it away, pushes past the burn exploding all over his body. One thought fills his mind, his heart.

I need to get to Lucas.

He keeps swimming, looking for Lucas, breaking through every wave that gets in his way.

Lucas's name fills him, becoming louder, stronger than all his aching muscles, his aching lungs. 

I need to get to Lucas.

It feels like an eternity has passed when Eliott spots something in the water—a flash of golden skin, a wet mess of brown hair. Eliott's heart skips a beat, and he's filled with a new strength. He swims as hard and as quickly as he can, finally,  finally reaching Lucas. He tries his best to tread water as he gathers Lucas in his arms. His eyes are closed, but Eliott doesn't have time to try and wake him up. He quickly positions Lucas on his back, trying his best to keep him secure.

He lets the waves push him forward, closer and closer to shore. He focuses on keeping his grip on Lucas, keeping them both afloat. He sighs in relief when he feels his feet touch the ocean floor, trudging through the muddy sand with trembling but desperate and hopeful legs. He keeps walking until the sand becomes dry, until the waves are just noises behind them.

Eliott falls to his knees, the exhaustion finally weighing on him. He repositions Lucas to where he's cradling him in his arms. 

"Lucas? Lucas," Eliott stammers, breathless. "Can you hear me? Open your eyes."

Eliott doesn't think he heard him. His eyes stay closed. Eliott places a hand on Lucas's cheek, but he doesn't lean into his touch. He tries to push his hand gently against Lucas's face, but his head lolls to the other side. He runs his thumb down his cheekbone and along his jaw, and he can feel his cool skin growing colder by the second. Realization socks Eliott in the jaw. Familiarity lingers, spreading to all his limbs and traveling across every synapse in his brain. 

"Lucas," Eliott tries again, unable to hide the fear bleeding into his voice. "Lucas, please. Can you hear me?"

Eliott rests his forehead against Lucas's, rubs their noses together, desperately kisses him. Still no response. Eliott shakes his head, pure panic flooding over him.

"No..." Eliott chokes out, his hand drifting down to Lucas's chest. It's not rising or falling, and despite all his searching, he can't find Lucas's heartbeat. He looks up at Lucas's face again, and he can  see the color draining from it. He looks the same way his father did. Ghostly, almost not real. A shadow, a small flicker of light that's out of focus. "Not you. Not you, too. Not you. Not you. Not you, please."

Tears start running down his cheeks as he lays Lucas down on the sand. His brain turns off, and he feels as if he's watching himself press down on Lucas's chest with all his weight, watching himself breathe as much air into his lungs as he can. He begs Lucas to wake up and open his eyes and  live  , begs his lungs to open and empty and  fill  , begs his heart to stir and drum and  beat . He begs the love of his life not to die, not to leave him, not to be lost to the waves. His desperation is stronger, growing out of his body and reaching out to anyone that could help him.

Another eternity passes by of Eliott nearly crushing Lucas's still, hollow chest, of Eliott feeling Lucas's cold, silent lips against his. There's been an ache pooling down his arms, and he can't ignore the strain anymore, nor the pangs in his lungs. As he goes to give Lucas more rescue breaths, his arms buckle and he collapses just on top of Lucas. He rests his forehead against his, exhausted. He exhales deeply, Lucas's name spilling out of his trembling mouth and falling on deaf ears. He takes Lucas's face in both of his hands and musters another mite of strength, giving him as many more rescue breaths as he can manage.

Eliott pulls away after he gives the last breath he possibly can, his eyes closing. There's only silence for a fraction of a moment, but it spreads and stretches itself out, looking to every other moment in time for direction, for answers. It searches and searches, its body swelling and close to bursting. As it takes its last breath, Eliott's heart whimpers, whispers to it,  begging .

Please. Please let it be enough to save him.

Eliott's eyes fly open when he hears Lucas choking, coughing. He sits up, quickly turning Lucas onto his side. New rivers of tears stream down his face as he hears Lucas take labored gulps of breath, sees his chest rising and falling again. His heart swells as he hears Lucas breathing more easily, the hoarse, shallow breaths becoming deeper, fuller.

"Eliott..." Lucas mumbles after a moment, his voice weak.

A sob rips from Eliott's throat as he pulls Lucas close and clings to him. "I'm here,  mon amour  ," he whispers in his ear. He peppers his face with kisses, threads his fingers through his hair. "  You're here," Eliott breathes, joy bubbling from his chest with a giddy giggle. 

"I'm here," Lucas rasps. Eliott can feel him smiling feebly. He sighs, and his breath tingles down Eliott's neck. It's enough to make Eliott feel like he could explode from sheer relief. Lucas is  breathing again. He can feel their chests breathing together, and he can just barely feel Lucas's heart murmuring there, too. It's slow, weak, but it's there. It'll gain strength every day. It'll heal. Maybe it'll love even more than it has before.

"I'm so happy you're here,  mon amour ," Eliott sighs, kissing Lucas's forehead. "I'm so happy you're okay."

july 20th, 1966

23:32

caen, france

~

Eliott can't sit still as he sits outside Lucas's hospital room, waiting for the doctor to finish more tests. He hasn't seen him since they arrived at the hospital. They were separated almost immediately, Lucas being taken to a room to have his vitals taken and some initial tests being performed. Eliott was told to stay in the lobby, where someone placed a warm, soft blanket around him and a nurse kindly guided him as he recalled what happened to Lucas. It's been nearly seven hours, which another nurse told him is a potential turning point for drowning victims. They either stay stable because they were able to get adequate life support, or they start taking a turn for the worst. They won't let Eliott see him until they're sure that the former happens, or that they'll be able to get him stable if it's the latter. 

As time has gone on, the relief and joy Eliott felt initially has faded. He may have been able to bring Lucas back, but now they're waiting helplessly for something to go wrong, desperately hoping for some miraculous recovery. Eliott can't stomach the thought that he might've brought Lucas back only for him to suffer even more for hours and reach the same fate he did before. Yet it still circles his mind, tangling on itself before it forms a knot that squeezes his brain tight. 

Suddenly, the door opens and Eliott rises to his feet, anxiety blooming in his stomach. The doctor comes out, stopping in front of Eliott.

"He's stable," he reports. "We think you got to him sooner than you thought. We'll keep him here overnight, just in case, and we'll keep him on oxygen and fluids until he has his strength back up. He should be well enough to be released by tomorrow evening at the latest. I'm almost tempted to call this a miracle."

Eliott sighs in relief, nodding.

"Would you like to see him?" the doctor asks with an inviting smile. "He's been asking for you all night." 

Eliott grins, his heart warming. "Yes, please," he laughs. "I can't thank you enough."

"There's no need," the doctor smiles. He claps his hand on Eliott's shoulder, then walks down the hallway. 

Eliott takes a deep breath as he enters Lucas's room, unable to hold back his grin when he finally sees him. 

Lucas has a ventilator mask on his face, but it can't hide his smile when he sees Eliott. He weakly holds out his hand, and Eliott bounds over to him, giving as good of a hug as he can. 

"I was so worried," Eliott whispers, kissing Lucas's ear. 

"I know," Lucas whispers back feebly. Then he says, a little louder, "Come here, Maman." 

"No, it's okay," she replies. Eliott looks back and sees her in the corner. She's smiling but there's this deep  sadness in her eyes, shining and dark. It strikes Eliott deep in his chest somehow, filling him with even more guilt than he had before. She nods, forcing a smile. "I'll leave you two alone." 

"Maman," Lucas starts, his voice dying in his throat as she leaves the room. 

"Does she know?" Lucas asks quietly after a moment. 

"I didn't have the heart to tell her," Eliott replies. "But, earlier, they asked me about the bruises on your chest and your rib. So, they must've asked her, too."

Lucas sighs shakily, closing his eyes. 

"I'm sorry," Eliott chokes out. "I didn't know how to say it."

"It's okay," Lucas replies, shaking his head. "I'm... worried."

Eliott doesn't know what to say. He's frozen by his guilt, consumed by his anxiety. He watches Lucas, listens to him breathe. He looks at Eliott, then, his eyes bleary and unreadable.

"Lie with me, Eliott," he whispers, his voice strained. He holds out his hand weakly again, and Eliott feels tears filling his eyes. But, he carefully climbs into the bed with Lucas, resting his head on his chest. The fabric of his gown is warm but rough and thin, and Eliott can just barely see Lucas's bruises through it. They're a greenish brown, and the color creeps across his skin in thin lines, like veins.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" Eliott asks, lifting his head a bit.

"No," Lucas mumbles. "Painkillers are working."

Eliott sighs in relief, setting his back down. He closes his eyes and listens closely, carefully Lucas's heartbeat is a little stronger, but still hard to hear. His breathing is slow, deep, still shaky. Eliott thinks he hears Lucas's blood humming through his veins, too. The more he listens, the more he remembers the way Lucas's chest used to sound, and the more he realizes Lucas shouldn't be here right now. He never should've made Lucas go to the beach with him. He should've let Lucas stay home because he was tired. Lucas's lungs should never have filled with seawater, and his eyes should never have closed, and his heart should never have stopped beating. It doesn't matter that Lucas is alive again. He never should've died in the first place. He never should've been a breath away from heaven.

The more he listens, the more he realizes that this is all his fault. He remembers over and over Lucas's hand slipping out of his grasp. The moment everything went wrong. 

"Lucas," Eliott begins, taking a deep breath before he continues, gathering the courage he needs to ask the question and hear the answer. "What did dying feel like?"

Lucas doesn't reply at first. He inhales sharply, exhales shakily. His hand drifts lazily through Eliott's hair for a moment, tugging gently. "Awful," he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Painful. Horrifying. Dark. All I could do... was think about you. And Maman. The last time I said I love you. The last time I said goodbye."

Eliott doesn't respond quickly, either. The guilt deepens, darkens.

"It would've killed Maman," Lucas continues, tears rolling down his cheeks. "It's killing her..." he trails off as he starts coughing, gasping for air.

Eliott sits up, panicked, pressing the ventilator mask against Lucas's face. "Breathe, Lucas, breathe," he begs. "Breathe, please."

Lucas squeezes his eyes shut, trying to breathe as slowly and deeply as he can. His chest starts to rise and fall much more steadily after a moment, but there are still tears rolling down his cheeks. Eliott wipes them away gently, fighting back his own tears.

"Maman," Lucas sniffles, his voice so hoarse Eliott doesn't recognize it.

"Don't talk, Lucas," Eliott says, trying to keep his voice steady and kind. "You'll strain yourself. You need to focus on breathing right now, okay? Just breathe. You're  alive  , Lucas. You're okay. Your maman will be okay. She loves you  so much, Lucas. You're her baby boy, remember?"

Lucas nods, trying his best to smile. 

"She has her baby boy back," Eliott continues, managing a smile. "She just has to deal with the fact that she almost lost you. She's grieving, right now. I'm grieving, too. But everything will be okay. You're getting better. You're getting stronger. You'll be good as new soon. We all need time to heal, you especially."

"I love you, Ellie," Lucas smiles weakly, gently caressing Eliott's cheek. His eyes start to droop. He mumbles quietly, "I'm tired."

"I love you, too, Lulu," Eliott returns, kissing the palm of Lucas's hand. "Get some sleep."

"Goodnight," Lucas whispers, closing his eyes. Eliott moves Lucas's hand from his cheek and places it on his stomach. He rests his head on Lucas's chest again, listening to the weak trickle of his heartbeat. He waits until he feels Lucas's breaths even out. He looks up and sees Lucas's beautiful, sleeping face. Most of the color has returned, and his eyelids are fluttering ever so slightly. He's the most beautiful person Eliott's ever seen, and he's been able to call him his. But he held Lucas's hand and led him to his death, letting him go and leaving him to his own devices when the waves came. He let Lucas die. He breathed life into him again, but that didn't change the fact that his hand is the one that held Lucas by his throat and  squeezed until his body went limp. It wasn't the water. It wasn't the waves. It was Eliott.

Awful. Painful. Horrifying. Dark.

My fault.

He needs to leave. He needs to go home. He'll call his Maman. Or maybe Madame Lallemant could take him home. He just needs to leave. He can't look at Lucas a minute longer without feeling like he could explode.

He carefully climbs out of Lucas's bed, but thankfully he doesn't stir. Before he leaves, he kisses Lucas's forehead. His lips linger for a moment, feeling warmth there,  life . He smells the sea salt lingering in Lucas's hair, his skin, sighing as he pulls away. He gently cradles Lucas's face in his hand. Lucas smiles, but doesn't wake.

"I'm so sorry,  mon amour ," Eliott whispers feebly, his voice thick with tears. "I'm so sorry."

july 22nd, 1966

04:09

caen, france

~

Everything is cold. The tears on Eliott's cheeks, the rough, wooden floor against his cheek, the air around him, the blood coursing through his veins. He can't even remember what warmth feels like. No, warmth feels like Lucas's touch, sounds like Lucas's voice, tastes like Lucas's lips. But he doesn't deserve warmth anymore. Lucas gave it to him so selflessly, so kindly, so tenderly. All Eliott has ever done is hurt him. He's the cold to Lucas's warmth, the ice to his fire. He's no good for him. He'll only hold Lucas back, keep him cool when he needs to burn bright and faithful. 

They've been best friends their whole lives. They've loved each other their whole lives. Why is it just now that Eliott is realizing that everything could've been a mistake? Why is it only now that he's realizing that something was wrong between them, something that doomed them from the start? 

You're not yourself, my love

"I'm not myself," Eliott mutters beneath his breath, singing along with the memory of Lucas's voice.

You're different

"I'm different."

Something's wrong. He'd taken the money from the jar without telling his mother that morning. He'd sneaked into her room and carefully taken it out, shoving it in his pocket and put the jar back. He'd lied to Lucas about it when he asked where he'd gotten the money. It was a half-truth, really, but the fact that he ever hid anything is wrong. The whole day, his heart beat so fast he couldn't keep up with it. He felt he had no other choice but to follow it. It told him to shower Lucas in love and attention and gifts. It told him that he feels good around Lucas so he should stay with him as long as he can. It was that same anxiety he felt at Christmas, but it fixated on Lucas because it eased whenever he was around. He should've known something was wrong, then, too. Falling in love with Lucas, filling a whole sketchbook with some romantic tale of them falling in love. The other day, he let himself ramble on about Giverny and running across the earth because that same anxiety was eating at him, so he entertained another fantasy. He keeps relying on figment, on Lucas, on what he considers safe, on what he holds dear. 

Then there's the few times when he's been so fatigued and despondent he can barely lift his head from his pillow. That dreary day in January, that long and gray month after his father died. Lucas knew something was terribly wrong in January. Why didn't Eliott know, too, deep down? And anyone would've been depressed after losing a parent, but Eliott legitimately never thought he would be happy again. He didn't eat. He only slept, hoping he would have good dreams so he would have something to hold onto and hope for. He barely spoke a word. He didn't draw. He didn't read. He didn't take pictures. He barely breathed. He barely did anything besides exist and hope that he's wrong and he'll find the strength to smile again. Lucas had warned him depression would kill him slowly, softly, as if it were lulling him to some eternal sleep he secretly longs for. He didn't listen. He read the words on the page, but he didn't take them to heart like he should have. He neglected Lucas. He neglected his mother. He neglected himself. But somehow, the depression eased only to send him off the deep end again, only this time, he was flying instead of sinking. No, he wasn't flying. He was falling. He was falling until he hit the water again and started to drown again.

Is this a cycle his mind is starting to subject himself to? Something's wrong. Something's wrong. He can't deny it anymore, but he doesn't know how to acknowledge and address it, either. What do you do when you're suddenly aware that a poison is entering your system, that a virus is plaguing you and you know that you'll never be able to find the antidote, the cure? Let yourself die?

Eliott's tears begin to dry. He sits up slowly, his mind calming and centering itself on a single memory.

Awful. Painful. Horrifying. Dark.

Eliott gets on his feet, a sense of calm washing over him. He walks over to his desk, sitting at his chair and pulling out two sheets of paper and a pen.

His hand is surprisingly steady as he writes two letters, two apologies. The words come to him as easily as breathing, as easily as a trickle of water down a stream. He folds both sheets of paper neatly, nearly perfectly. He takes them and leaves his room.

He enters his mother's room quietly, where she's sleeping soundly, peacefully in her bed. He leaves a letter with her name on it on her bedside table.

"Goodnight, Maman," he whispers. "Sweet dreams."

He walks down the stairs, and they thankfully don't creak. The front door doesn't groan against its hinges, either.

The grass is soft and quiet beneath his feet as he walks to Lucas's house. The moon is fading, beginning to hide her face. The stars are blinking out.

He approaches Lucas's window, hoping he can open it from the outside. He can barely see Lucas sleeping in his bed in the corner. Ever so carefully, the window opens, and he leaves Lucas's letter on his window sill. 

"Goodnight, mon amour," he whispers. "Sweet dreams."

He walks past the spot where the grass ends, down the white, pearly sand, stopping at the shore. The remnants of crashed waves lapping at his feet.

He takes a deep breath, and walks forward.

july 22nd, 1966

05:44

caen, france

~

Lucas wakes with a start, sharp pain erupting in his side as he sits up. He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling slowly as he waits for the pain to pass. As he opens his eyes, he notices that his window is slightly open, and that there's a piece of paper resting there. He doesn't remember it being there before, and who would leave a letter on Lucas's window sill. Eliott? But Eliott knows that he can tap on Lucas's window if he needs him. A sense of dread he can't explain settles in his stomach, telling him to get out of bed and read the letter.

He takes another deep breath, bracing himself for the pain as he climbs out of bed. He manages to get to his window without much pain, but his dread intensifies with every step, morphing into unease then apprehension then anxiety. 

He picks it up and sees his name written in Eliott's handwriting. His heart starts to race as he unfolds it, as he sees the calm, neat handwriting etched onto the paper. He begins to read, silently praying that he's worrying about nothing. 

 My dearest Lucas,

I'm sorry I wasn't there when you were discharged from the hospital. Whenever I looked at you, all I could see was you when I pulled you to shore. I can't get your face out of my mind. All I can hear is your silence. And all I could think about was how this was all my fault. I could never express how much I regret everything that happened that day. I regret kissing you awake that morning and racing you down the street and buying you clothes and helping you brave the waves. I regret even waking up that morning. I should've just slept all day like I had been for a month, but for the first time since Papa died, I woke up and I wanted to face the day. And I wanted to face it with you. That was selfish of me. And you paid the price for it. You were completely innocent,  mon amour , but you were the one that suffered.

I can't stop thinking about what you said at the hospital the other night, when I asked you what dying felt like. I can't imagine it. It's a pain so few people can say they've felt, but  you  can, Lucas. And that kills me. You shouldn't know what the most permanent thing that a person can go through is like. Not when you're so young. Not when you had so much light in your eyes. But you did, and that's my fault. No one can deny that. When I get to heaven and I'm judged, God will tell me that I let you die and I'll be condemned for that. I deserve it. I deserve every punishment available to me. I don't deserve your forgiveness, though I hope that someday I'll be able to receive it. Maybe in some other life, some other universe.

I've loved you my whole life and yet it wasn't enough to stop me from hurting you. I've hurt everyone close to us. Our Mamans, our friends, everyone. The weight of what I've done is wearing on all of you, when it should only be my burden to carry. So, I'm taking that burden away. I'm letting the waves swallow me up. I'll know what you went through. I'll understand. I'll die and I'll never hurt you again. You can heal. You can start to breathe easier again and your heartbeat will become familiar to you again. My life is a small price to pay for yours. 

When you wake up, when you read this, I'll be sinking to the ocean floor. I'll be painting the ocean the same color as your eyes, and I'll be singing your name until it reaches the waves and they carry it, over and over until the ocean runs dry. I can't imagine doing anything else in my final moments.

I love you, Lucas. And thank you for loving me, too. 

  The letter flutters to the floor from Lucas's hand, its ruffling accompanying the fleeting of a thousand images in his mind. The weight of Eliott's body in his arms, the crack of his ribs as Lucas presses down on his chest, drops of water resting peacefully on his eyelashes, Lucas kissing him for the last time but his lips are cold and still, Madame Demaury screaming when she sees her son, Lucas's fingers hovering over piano keys at Eliott's funeral, a gravestone next to Monsieur Demaury's, thousands and thousands of flowers wilting there, thousands and thousands of tears dripping from Lucas's eyes. 

Lucas throws open his window and climbs out, ignoring his screaming rib and running as fast as he can to the shore. He remembers his own words, the ones that inspired Eliott to take his own life. Pain. Panic. Darkness. Eliott doesn't deserve to feel what Lucas felt. No one does. No one should ever experience something so horrible Lucas believes that a just God could never have designed it for every last one of His children. Eliott deserves it the least. It's not his fault. He never could've known that the water would darken and tremble and scream. It's not his fault. It never could've been and it never will be.

Lucas should have told him when he had the chance. His voice was weak and it hurt to talk, but he could've told Eliott somehow. It's not your fault, my love, please don't ever think that any of this was your fault.

The sun is about to rise, and the world is stained a light, hazy blue. Lucas can see a shadow in the distance, just barely, walking into the water. It has to be Eliott. It has to mean that Lucas isn't too late. It has to mean that he can save Eliott back. Lucas tries to run faster, but his pain is becoming too great to ignore and push through.

"Eliott!" he cries, hoping he can hear him. 

He's closer now, right on the edge where the sand is damp and crumbling. He can see Eliott, still walking forward. He can only see his head, and it's quickly disappearing. No. He can't be disappearing. He has to turn around and swim back. He has to come back to Lucas and Lucas has to hold him again. He can't drown. He can't die. He's just within Lucas's reach, but he's starting to slip through.

"ELIOTT!" Lucas screams, his voice echoing off the air, the water, the sky. His rib feels like it's shattered and he can't breathe anymore, but Eliott  turns around  . He starts running towards Lucas, letting the waves carry him forward until he's falling into his arms. Eliott's body shakes, his sobs come out in wheezes and hiccups, and Lucas holds him tightly, carefully guiding him away from the water.

"I'm so sorry," Eliott chokes out. "I'm so, so sorry."

Lucas doesn't think he can cry, even though his best friend was practically minutes away from death. He remembers all the tears Eliott cried when he woke up, all the kisses he left all over his face, how tightly he held him, but Lucas knows he can't react the same way. Something is stopping him, something that's stirring in his chest and closing his throat. Lucas feels himself begin to shake, too, so he holds Eliott a little tighter.

"You're safe now, my love," Lucas manages to say. "I'm here."

"Eliott?" Madame Demaury's voice calls out. Lucas looks over his shoulder and sees her running towards them. He must've woken her up when he called Eliott's name.

"Maman?" Eliott says quietly, pulling away. "Maman!"

Eliott starts running towards Madame Demaury, calling for her. Lucas watches him fall into her arms, watches her take his face in her hands and ask him what's wrong. She starts guiding him towards their car, leaving Lucas alone on the edge of the shore. That  something  he felt earlier starts swelling in his chest as he watches them drive away, and he finally has a name for it:  anger  . It's a boiling, a scorching, a burning in his throat and in his stomach.

Eliott just tried to kill himself. His only goodbye was a  note  that he left on Lucas's window. He thought his punishment for saving Lucas should be dying himself. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a son for a son. He thought he was committing some act of holy vengeance, divine justice. He thought taking himself away from all of them was the solution, the  only  solution that existed. He thought it was all his fault, but by killing himself, he would've shifted the blame to Lucas. He saved himself and he saved Lucas, but Lucas couldn't save Eliott. How could he ever consider letting Lucas live with that sort of guilt? How could he think he was lifting the weight off his shoulders when he would be adding his own dead weight instead? How could he be so  selfish  ? How could he lack such compassion, such love that they agreed that they shared? How could he leave Lucas in the dark, then thrust more of it on him? How could he leave so many words hanging in the air? Words that were said but never listened to, words that they can never say now? Words that Lucas wishes he could take back, words that he wishes he should've said more often. But it's too late. Eliott is gone. He doesn't know where Madame Demaury is taking Eliott, or what will happen to him now, but for Lucas, he's gone. Eliott left Lucas. It doesn't matter if he thought it was for the best, or if he thought he was doing it out of love and care for Lucas. His intentions didn't matter. His actions did. And he  abandoned  Lucas.

Maybe Lucas was always right. Him and Eliott were both born sinners, but they both had a chance to ignore their nature, to a live a pure and Christlike life. They both gave into their desires, listened to the voice chanting in their hearts and not the one whispering to their souls. They sinned, so they must be punished. Their worlds are imploding on themselves because God had warned them so many times about who they could be and what they could do, but they didn't listen. Maybe this is all a part of God's will. Maybe He's trying to keep them apart so they don't make the same mistakes over and over again. Maybe Lucas was supposed to die, but Eliott somehow managed to defy heaven and save him. Maybe God scrambled and decided Eliott needed to die, but Lucas has defied heaven now, too. Maybe whatever happens to them now is God's plan "C" and they don't need to meddle anymore. Maybe they need to let things be. Maybe Lucas is ready to let Eliott go.

Sunlight starts to peak from the horizon, golden and hazy. It's warm, soft, but it doesn't dampen his anger. He can't breathe. His chest feels like it's on fire. He swears he still feels Eliott's touch brushing against his skin, familiar but cold now. But he knows he feels guilt, knows that Eliott can never touch him that way again. Yet all his thoughts revolve around Eliott, and it makes him want to tear his brain out of his skull. Maybe that would be the only he could ever truly forget Eliott. He starts pulling on his hair, grinding his teeth. Hot, bitter tears pool in his eyes.

He rips open his throat, breaks open his chest, cracks open his skull and  screams  , his voice faltering as he crumbles to his knees. 

[destieldrabblesdaily]

hello there (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ I'm pretty new to destiel and just found your blog because I wanted to look into some fanfics and someone recommended & turns that you have like a billion one shots for destiel! love your writing style but, I'm not sure where to start in your drabbles tag because it's soooo much (ﾟдﾟ) can u maybe point me to some popular ones or some that you preferred writing or something like that to get me started? thank you anyway (ʘ‿ʘ)ノ✿

Hey friend! 

Ahh, I totally get you. :p A billion is a bit ambitious, but with like 400 stories in one tag and no way to sort, it might get tricky. *sweats nervously for not having a better tagging system*

But anyway, you rock for finding my blog and liking my style, so here is a little something to help you out! For starters, a lot of my stories are also on AO3, which is still a realm of chaos, but is a hell of a lot easier to navigate than my tumblr tag. 

Anyway, here is a little map to get you started, sorted by my most popular Destiel fics (according to AO3), and ones I personally just loved writing!

—

Canon!Verse fics, most popular:

1) CursedTeam Free Will is hunting a witch, but before she dies she turns Cas into a kitten. They can’t find a cure, and after two weeks everyone is losing hope. One night when Cas is sleeping on Dean’s chest, the curse fades and he turns into himself again. As Dean’s luck would have it, Sam walks into the living room seeing Dean sprawled out on the couch with a very naked Castiel on top of him.

2) JealousyWhen Dean, Sam and Castiel are having a drink at a bar after a hunt, Dean finds Cas flirting with a guy, and suddenly realizes something about his own feelings for the angel… 

3) Dream A Little DreamCastiel goes after a Djinn but gets captured, and of course his dream world is all about Dean and him being happy together, so he’s very disappointed when Dean and Sam save him and he wakes up… 

4) With A Little Help From My FriendDean is really nervous about finally telling Castiel how he feels, so he practices over Skype with Charlie. Naturally, Cas chooses that exact moment to drop by, and ends up hearing the whole thing…

5) WhiteboardFor a while now, there has been a whiteboard in Dean’s room. When failing to say the words out loud, there’s always the option to write them down. So that’s exactly what Castiel suggests, and Dean humors him, the two of them finding new ways to understand and forgive each other by working through some issues from both the present and the past.

—

Soulmate AU’s, most popular:

1) What Can’t Be SeenSoulmate AU where you first see color after eye contact: Cas is a famous best selling author and he’s promoting his book, so he’s talking to a crowd of people and suddenly his world is in color, and a lot of his fans pretend to be his soulmate. A Cinderella type situation ensues.

2) The PendantAU where instead of a tattoo/name everyone’s born with a pendant/charm necklace that matches their soulmate’s. Dean walks into their bathroom thinking it’s empty, but there’s Cas taking off his shirt to take a shower and Dean sees his necklace (that matches Dean’s, obviously) and freaks out (because Dean is totally 100% NOT gay at all). Bonus if Cas already knows.

3) Daffodils & Forget-Me-NotsSoulmate AU where when you write something on your skin with pen/marker/whatever the hell you want, it will show up on your soulmate’s skin as well.

—

High School AU’s, most popular:

1) No HomoFor the prompt: ‘I wasn’t gay, but then I kissed you in front of some homophobes to piss them off, and turns out I might be kinda gay for you after all’. In which a kiss makes Dean realize that he has feelings for his best friend.

2) This Game We PlayDean and Castiel have been best friends since they were little, and sleepovers are a common event. They’ve always loved playing the game where they draw out letters on each others backs and try to guess what the other is writing. Even though sixteen seems to be a bit too old to still play the game, Castiel uses it as a chance to silently confess something that he’s been wanting to share with Dean for a long time.

3) Camping and CuddlesDean and Castiel have been best friends since forever, and they decide to go on a camping trip to celebrate graduating high school. When it starts raining and Cas’ tent turns out to have a huge hole in it, the boys are forced to share Dean’s tent, and things heat up.

4) The CallCastiel accidentally butt dials his best friend Dean, and Dean overhears a conversation that wasn’t meant for his ears. Or: the one in which Dean finds out that his best friend has feelings for him.

5) Practice Makes Perfect‘It’s not gay if it’s practice, but shit that was actually really nice wanna practice some more?’ Or, the one in which Dean offers to help his best friend Cas improve his kissing skills, until it’s no longer just ‘practice’. 

(If you are particularly into High School AU’s, I also made a complete list of al my HS AU’s that you can find here –> Click!

—

College/Roommate AU’s, most popular:

1) What It MeansDean’s roommate and best friend Castiel always says ‘I love you’ to him every night before they go to sleep. Seeing as Dean has some serious feelings for his friend, he can’t take the confusion any longer and one night asks Cas what it means when he says ‘I love you’. 

2) If At First You Don’t SucceedFor the prompt: “Wait, did you just flirt with me?“ “Have been for the past year, but thanks for noticing.

”Dean has a huge crush on his friend Castiel, with whom he also shares an apartment. When he decides that he finally wants to woo Cas, everything that could possibly go wrong, does indeed go wrong.

3) UnbrokenDean’s best friend and roommate Castiel is asexual, and it’s causing Cas a lot of trouble when it comes to dating. Cas feels broken, but Dean deeply disagrees; he’d be with Cas in a heartbeat, if only Cas would see him as more than a friend… 

4) Safe And SoundFor the prompt: ‘College!AU where Dean and Cas are roommates and one of them is afraid of thunder, so naturally they have to huddle/cuddle together until the storm is over.’

5) Hot & ColdDean and his best friend Castiel get stuck in the middle of nowhere when the Impala’s engine gives up on them. A snowstorm is raging, and it seems that the only way to keep warm is a method that sounds a lot like ‘naked cuddling’. Not that Dean is complaining.

—

Blind/Deaf AU’s, most popular:

1) Through Your EyesDean’s best friend Castiel is blind, which is why Cas loves it whenever Dean describes the things as he sees them. When Castiel gets curious and wants more details about Dean’s looks, Dean is reluctant to go into detail about them. Castiel’s solution is simple, and demands nothing more than a gentle touch.

2) At First SightDean has been blind since he was four years old, but at 18 years old he regains his sight through special surgery. This also means that he will finally be able to actually see his boyfriend Castiel for the first time. Castiel is excited, but at the same time utterly terrified that Dean won’t approve of his looks…

3) MisunderstandingsWhen the handsome new student Castiel Novak arrives at Lawrence High, Dean has every intention of making him feel welcome. However, Castiel seems to ignore Dean whenever Dean tries to talk to him…

4) DeliciousImagine your OTP, based on this text post: ‘Okay, so I’m a waitress at this restaurant that’s open really late and it’s nearly 1am and this family comes in and I’m so tired that I handed their BLIND SON a menu and he’s like “ah… thank you… I’ll just… read this” in a serious voice and I fucking snorted.'With blind!Dean and waiter!Cas.

—

Personal favorites to write:

1) Her Favorite Love StoryThe story of Dean and Castiel as seen through Mary Winchester’s eyes; AKA how she witnesses her oldest son fall in love with his best friend. 

2) The MatchmakerBased on this prompt: “My cat keeps breaking into your apartment next to mine, so I tied a note to its collar to apologize, and you write back. We keep exchanging cat notes, and you turn out to be pretty cute.” 

3) WingsWhen ten year old Dean Winchester and his family move to a new town, he becomes best friends with the boy next door, who happens to be an actual angel. Dean is fascinated with Castiel’s wings from the start, however when they get older, Cas suddenly starts hiding them and no longer wants Dean to groom them for him.

4) BlackboardsFor the prompt: 'Dean and Cas are both high school teachers, and they leave each other cute notes on each others’ black boards.’

5) To Date a DickCas is out on a date with a complete and utter asshole in a really nice restaurant, and Dean is their waiter who feels the need to intervene.

6) Angel Grace (2 Parts)Dean Winchester loves going to conventions to meet the cast of his favorite TV show 'Angel Grace’. Aside from being good at his job, lead actor Castiel Novak is charming, handsome, and has a heart of gold. Like many fans, Dean has a serious crush on the guy. However after meeting Castiel several times, it’s starting to look like Dean’s crush isn’t as one sided as Dean had always assumed it was.

—

Holiday Specials:

❄ Destiel Drabbles: December/Christmas Edition Fluffy Christmas-themed Destiel stories to warm the cockles of your heart during the cold December days! 

❄ All I Want For ChristmasDuring a big family get together, a drunk Castiel starts singing ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ to his best friend Dean while the whole family watches.

🕷Destiel Drabbles: Halloween EditionSome fluffy Halloween themed Destiel drabbles. Happy Halloween!

🕷Kiss Or TreatCastiel has been dutifully handing out Halloween candy all night, entertaining the many kids ringing the Novak house’s doorbell, but he’s in for a big surprise when the bell rings once more and it’s his crush Dean Winchester suddenly standing there on his front porch…

🕷Of Holding Hands and Haunted HousesFor the prompt: 'You’re scared of haunted houses and Halloween attractions, and I don’t even know you but your friends left you behind (what dicks) so I’m gonna hold your hand and get you through this, alright?’

♥Valentine’s DayFor the prompt: 'Cas anonymously sending Dean one of those school Valentine’s Day flowers with a little personalized note, thinking that someone as popular as Dean won’t notice his message anyway because he gets so many. Little does he know that Dean sent one to him as well…’

—

If you feel like reading a multi-chapter Destiel fic, I wrote one of those as well: 

Fortune CookiesDean and his best friend Jo own a bakery together. When a salesman named Crowley visits Dean to make a deal, Dean has no idea of the consequences, and his world turns upside down when an actual angel literally crashes into his life. For the first time in his thirty-year-existence, Dean is overwhelmed by real companionship, wings, and most of all… love.

—

Or for easily reading and clicking through short fluffy (mostly canon!verse) Destiel stories, go here:

~ 100 Days of Destiel Drabbles ~

Or here: 

~ 30 Days of Destiel Drabbles ~

—

Hope this was helpful, and happy reading! :D (I really need to become a better tagger, ahum. :p)

[ivybucky]

soft (s.r)

prompt: it was cold and rainy. it was near perfect. the company of a blond super soldier would make things a whole damn lot better.

A/N: this is literally just to satisfy the mood i’m feeling right now with this weather. i’ve noticed literally all of my steve fics start with s and i dont know how to stop

Current Masterlist

author: abby

words: 1473

pairing: steve rogers x reader

song: in the arms of love - andy williams

“Hey FRIDAY,” you’re muffled call from under your covers sounded to the AI. “What’s my schedule like today?”

“You’re meeting with Captain Rogers has been cancelled and training with Sergeant Barnes is pushed back until he returns from his mission tomorrow. You have a day off, Agent Y/L/N.” You silently thanked whatever gods were out there that you didn’t have to get up at that moment. 

“Perfect. Now, what’s the weather going to be like today?” 

“Thunderstorms started last night and are going to continue well into tomorrow morning. It’s also going to be pretty cold today.”

“So I have nothing to do today AND it’s raining? FRIDAY, open the blinds, and lock my door. I don’t want anyone barging in today.”

“Would you like me notify you when someone is approaching your door?”

After agreeing to that, you continued what you were doing. Relaxing. Rainy days were your favorite, but with your line of work, you hardly ever got to enjoy them. But now a day off presented itself. 

For a few minutes, you just continued to lie in your bed, allowing your body to sink further into your blankets with every deep breath. Your thoughts started wonder and you couldn’t help but think about the blond super soldier who made your day. 

Steve and you had been best friends for a while and recently, you felt your feelings start to change. You acted a bit more shy around him than you did before. He’d been distancing himself and you had begun to see your best friend less and less. And now, while you were glad you had the day off, you felt a little sad your meeting with him had been canceled. That’s when you had a thought. 

“FRIDAY? Did Steve say why the meeting was cancelled?” You pondered. 

“He mentioned to Mr. Stark that he was gonna give you the day off because it was raining.”

You smiled. Steve purposefully knew you’d want to sleep in and relax for once. You grabbed your phone to text him. 

“Can we hang out today? I feel like I haven’t seen in forever.”

“I thought you’d want the day to yourself since it’s raining.”

“For you I can make an exception,” you grinned as you pressed send on your message, letting yourself flirt a little more than you usually would. 

“I’ll be up in a bit.”

You moved out of your bed to put on a record, some smooth old jazz to match with the mood you were feeling today. Feeling the temperature of the room drop due to the weather outside, you put on a sweatshirt you stole from Steve a while back and some fuzzy socks with some soft pajama shorts. You grabbed your sketchbook off your desk and placed it on the brown leather chair placed next to the wall-sized window you had in your room. 

“FRIDAY, let Steve in when he comes.” you called, as you headed into your bathroom to brush your teeth and fix the mop of a bun you had after a night’s sleep. 

Steve knocked and entered the room, taking in the soft mood of the scene before him. The lights were off but the grey light from the day outside was enough to brighten the room. That and the smile you gave when you saw him. 

“Hi Stevie,” you sweetly greeted from your sink drying your face after washing it. You looked down at his hands full with a sketchbook and two mugs. “What’s this?” you questioned.

Steve blushed a little before handing you on of the mugs. “Well, I know it’s pretty cold out and peppermint tea is your favorite.” His hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it nervously. You sighed, taking in the smell of the tea and the warmth in your hands. You looked back up at Steve’s slightly pink face before grinning widely. You cupped his cheek and stood on your toes to give his cheek a peck.

“Thanks Stevie, that’s awfully sweet of you,” you practically sang. His face split into a wide grin matching yours. You pointed to his sketchbook before motioning to the two chairs. “Do you wanna do sketch prompts? I’m in the mood to draw today.”

Steve moved to the paired chair a couple feet away from you and smiled. “I hoped we could do that.” he hummed, setting down his matching mug on the table in between you. 

You plopped down on the soft worn chair and threw your legs over the side, pulling the sketch book into your lap. You reached your hand into a jar that sat on the table in between you, filled with small folded up pieces of paper with sketch ideas on them. After rustling around the papers a little you pulled one out and read it. Your face reddened slightly knowing the topic was seated right in front of you. 

“Uh,” you stumbled. “It says draw something you love.” 

Steve’s cheeks reddened once again, coughing to distract his thoughts. “Hmm, okay.”

Both of your pencils started dancing across the page as began outlining your drawings. You thought back to Steve and took a deep breath knowing that this might be the only time you had enough courage to tell him, even if it was a little indirect. 

You started to sketch a raindrop, slightly smeared across a window, but on a larger scale, much like one of the ones clinging to the window next to you. As your gaze wondered, you noticed a small reflection of Steve across from you in a drop. It was distorted, but it was him. You smiled, inspiration streaking through your mind to your fingers as the mirrored the droplet in front of you. 

As the both of you drew, conversation was here and there, talking about the other Avengers, upcoming holidays, and passing inside jokes. Some of the silence was filled with the both of you humming along with Andy Williams and Fred Astaire, occasionally looking up to admire the other. 

As you finished the details on his face, Steve cleared his throat. You looked up at him, smiling. “I think I’m done,” he said almost shyly. 

“Me too,” you sighed shakily, holding the sketch to your heart, before passing it to him face down. He did the same to you, with almost the same amount of hesitation. You both grinned at each other nervously, before you started counting down.

“One,” you breathed.

“Two.”

“Three,” and you both turned the sketchbooks around. You gasped slightly at the image before you, shaky hand coming up to your lips in shock. 

It was you. Steve had drawn you. From the folds of his sweatshirt, your sock covered calves dangling over the chair, to your furrowed concentrated brow and the loose hairs on the back of your neck and the ones framing your face. You didn’t know you had been biting your lips as you drew. You didn’t know you had been so damn concentrated on your drawing of him to not notice him constantly looking at you. Your face flushed red realizing you’d been caught up in the fact that Steve drew you, that you were something he loved, that you hadn’t seen his reaction. Because you drew him. 

Looking up, Steve’s eyes were already on you, his plump lips parted in shock, with the same red you’ve seen multiple times now dusting his cheeks. Your eyes started watering, unable to turn away now, too full with emotion. 

“Steve,” you whispered. He quickly stood up, letting the sketchbook fall into the chair he once was. The sketchbook your lap fell to the ground shifting to face him. He stepped forward resting his hands on the back of your chair, leaning over you and caging you in, before pressing his lips firmly into yours. 

One of your hands cupped his cheek, while the other fell to the back of his neck, running your fingers through the short soft hair. Your lips moved against each other with so much emotion in them, relief and happiness that you both finally knew how the other felt. His soft lips stole the air from your lungs, but you didn’t care. He could take as much as he wanted. But eventually, you both had to come up for air. 

Out of breath, Steve rested his forehead against yours, grinning widely. You matched it, looking up into his eyes, a breath away from you. He pressed his lips to your forehead, sighing. 

“Thank god,” he chuckled. “It was getting hard trying to stay away from you.” You giggled as he picked you up and sat down in your chair, letting you rest against his chest. You hand cupped his cheek again, bringing his face to yours, noses bumping. 

“I’m never letting you go, now.”

Add yourself to the taglist

Forever Tags: @srgntbarnes, @i-like-tubs, @shamvictoria11, @blaackpanthr, @avengers-do-it-better, @fab-notfat, @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aiolii, @captainrogerss, @sebbies, @seabassbarness, @hdthdthdt, @katzuhira, @ailynalonso15, @nostalgicbex, @conspiracy-teen, @fireismysaftey, @wonderless-screwup, @winchester-gospels-67, @whiyen-has-a-crush, @saltwater-in-the-afternoon, @wooshytooshy, @jjamesbbarness, @i-put-the-bi-in-bifrost, @nanners-the-great, @marvelsundies, @property-of-loki-x, @imagines-4-you-blog, @wizards-magic-and-witches, @alexindahouse , @theglowstickofdestiny, @sobbingforseb, @memory-of-a-goldfish ,@aletheladyinred , @timelordy-fangirl2, @girlwhoisfearless @alexiamiky2003 @thisismysecrethappyplace @silverkitten547 @real-kate-bishop-aka-hawkeye

Steve Tags: @cotidi3morimur, @fruiterias, @goldenkillmonger

[soundofseventeen]

13 Days of Christmas (Lee Chan)

Happy holidays from Erin and me, and thank you for enjoying what our single brain cell manages to come up with! I’ll edit this after work and gif creds to the owners

Word count: 1727

“Gather ‘round everyone,” Junhui said, holding out a Santa hat upside down. “Gather ‘round! It’s that time of year again!”

“You’re finally going back to China,” Minghao quipped, not tearing his eyes away from the article on his phone. “It’s about time too.”

“If I’m going back, you’re coming with me dummy,” he retorted with a roll of his eyes. “Okay, so in this Santa hat are 14 names. You will each pick one name from here and you will be that person’s Secret Santa.”

“Secret Santa’s boring,” Jihoon jeered. “Not everyone can keep a secret.” His eyes flickered to the three idiots on the floor giggling at some video Soonyoung swore was funny.

“Hey,” Seungcheol whined from the kitchen sink, “I was almost there. It wasn’t my fault Chan left his present in the closet.”

Your ears perked up a little at the mention of Chan’s name, but you kept your gaze on your phone, wanting to break your current high score. You already knew you wouldn’t pull his name whether Secret Santa happened or not. But you knew they’d go along with Jun’s plan just because he suggested it. The more uninterested you looked, the better.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Mingyu said, drawing a diagonal line on the tic-tac-toe game he was playing against Chan. He immediately started a new game.

“Y’all hear something?” Seungkwan broke his attention away from the little screen. “It sounded...annoying. Oh hyung! It was just you! Can we hear what the more important ones have to say?” He swatted his hand at the flying pencil which ended up hitting Soonyoung, who then decided his audience didn’t deserve to see the video so he exited the app and sat on the couch, which ultimately distracted you and made you lose your game, which upset you too.

“This better be good Wen Junhui.” You could feel your nerves already hitting overdrive.

“Always the grinch, aren’t we Y/N?” he teased you, holding the hat out to you. “Since you look like the most excited one here, why don’t you go first?”

“Nothing would make me happier.” You crunched down on the candy cane in your mouth, savoring the minty taste (but also knowing you’d need some sweet ones too) before reaching into the hat and pulling out a slip of paper. You had your hopes and your expectations. The odds of getting the boy you wanted was one in thirteen. You didn’t mind having the other boys but maybe you just wanted the opportunity to buy something for him without having to look weird. You unfolded the scrap and read the name.

Junhui.

“Did you get yourself?”

“No,” you shook your head.

“Then my work here is done. He made a show of running back and forth between the members so everyone would have a fair turn, and everything was running smoothly when he asked Seokmin, “Did you get yourself?”

“No, I got Minghao.” And the next thing he knew, everyone was pelting him with whatever they could get their hands on. “I’m sorry, okay? Hey, that one hurt.”

“Alright, scrap this round. Everyone put the papers back in here and I’m gonna shuffle them again and now...Hannie hyung, you’re going first...did you get yourself?”

“No, but this isn’t who I wanted.”

“Too bad, next! Wonwoo-ssi, you’ve been so quiet so it’s your turn.”

The mistake repeated thrice more when Mingyu announced getting Jun (you pulled out Soonyoung for that round); Chan spoiled it when he revealed Seungkwan’s name (you pulled Jeonghan); and Seungcheol ruined it when he said he got you (you picked Mingyu) and then Junhui huffed out a, “Unless you got yourself, keep your mouths shut.” He managed to glare at the culprits as they pulled out their picks. “Okay Y/N, it’s your turn.”

You didn’t bother holding your breath anymore; it seemed like all the pent up anxiety went away with the disappointment of not pulling his name in the last 15 minutes. You didn’t feel your hands tremble anymore as you unfolded the little, somehow dirty with the grease from potato chips (and after a quick scan, you figured out that Vernon pulled out this at least once. You’re ready to get this over with and then you feel the nerves come back tenfold.

“Did you get yourself?”

“No.” You finally pulled out Chan’s name...and now you were terrified.

*

Once you were in the comforts of your own place later that night, you brought out a notebook and your laptop and opened the tabs that’d hopefully help you out. But what the hell do you get the future of kpop? He got everything his heart desired on a silver platter. You fell back on your bed with a groan, hating the universe for finally listening to you. You could've gotten any other of the boys something like a watch, or a pair of shoes or even just a new camera, but you hated the fact that you had a crush on Chan because now you had to go all out and get him something that was special.

You would’ve made him something but your own idol life kept you from actually things you enjoyed...besides the dancing and music. And buying him something just didn’t feel personal. Maybe if you bought him a dog...no, a cat...wait maybe a rabbit...a lizard...how about a turtle...a parrot! Your hand found your pillow and you resisted the urge to smother your face in it when you threw it on you. A wallet? Nah, one of the boys already bought him one when his ripped during a concert. He already had plenty of clothes...and shoes. What if you bought him a MacBook? Nope, one of them (Soonyoung) would try setting it up and then they’d be asking for a new one.

“What?” you answered your phone, your voice still muffled.

“Whose Secret Santa are you?” Speak of Kwon Soonyoung and he shall appear.

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because if you got me, I’m just saying there’s this new grill I saw at the hardware store last week and it’s on sale. And even if youre not my secret Santa, I’d appreciate the gift.”

“Goodbye Soonyoung.”

Suddenly, a trip to Ibiza didn’t sound so bad and you would’ve booked flights but Seventeen had a much tighter schedule than you did so they would’ve gone to waste. You finally stood up, finding something in you to put your shoes in the closet. Okay, they honestly, would’ve been fine where they were, but you didn’t wanna stare at the laptop anymore in case you decided to yell at it for not helping you. You never wanted to do Secret Santa for Chan again. It was a lot more stressful than you decided.

You threw your shoes on the floor, ready to go back to your bed when a pen caught your eye. Admittedly, you wanted a distraction so you bent down to pick it up, cursing yourself for leaving your backpack open so everything could fall to the ground. Not too far from it a plasic bag caught your eye, and you reached over to take it out and a smile broke out on your face. It wasn’t perfect but it’d do.

*

“Merry Christmas from your Secret Santa,” Joshua said with a smile. He gave you a poorly wrapped present which you took gratefully.

“I’m afraid now,” you teased him.

“As you should. I spent almost two months collecting everyone’s toenail clippings.”

“This is why you’re single.” Even though you knew he was kidding, you still shook the gift...just to be sure. Something clinked in there and your paranoid gaze met his mischievous one. “You didn’t really do that, did you?”

“Be grateful it wasn’t coal,” he said, referring to the fact that Soonyoung’s secret Santa (which turned out to be Seungcheol) did just that.

You unwrapped it hesitantly, heart pounding a lot faster than it should’ve and it was only when you saw a Winnie-the-Pooh and friends stained glass design that you breathed a sigh of relief and almost threw it at him. “This is beautiful. I love it. Thank you, okay then, ‘bye. Okay, Chan. Merry Christmas from your secret Santa aka me.”

“Did you get me cologne? Someone, not to name names-” his eyes shot to Jeonghan accusingly, “finished all of mine last week.”

“If you told me that sooner, I would’ve saved myself the headache,” you groaned.

“But you didn’t and that’s okay. So, what did you get me since you can’t give me the world?” He took your gift bag curiously, examining the sides. “It’s too small to be shoes, and you didn’t put it in a box.” He reached into it and pulled out a leather journal with his name written in both Korean and English. He opened it right away and read the little message you put in.

“Now that you’re doing more choreographies, maybe you’ll want a place to put your notes in. Or you can just jot your words down.”

“Y/N, I was wondering when you were gonna give me this.”

“Huh?”

“This is gonna sound really weird but a couple years ago when we went to your house...this was before you moved...I was putting some chicken, i think it was away back in the fridge and I saw this in a bag mixed in with vegetables. I thought it was yours but then i saw my name on it...I thought you might’ve forgotten about it.”

You were confused for a moment longer and then you remembered. “Oh yeah! I did but I didn’t. I bought this for you awhile back but I wanted to give it to you for Christmas but then it would’ve looked bad if I got you something but not anyone else, and then when Jun wanted to do Secret Santa, I was hoping I’d get you but I never did...and then I just gave up on the idea.”

“You are really the cutest. But it’s better late than never.” He tapped your head affectionately with it. “Now if you’ll excuse me...Hey, hyung! Guess what I got.”

You couldn’t stop that stupid grin from forming on your face. Lee Chan called you cute, and it just made your day a lot better.

[otherluces]

Luces’ 2019 Fanfic Round-up

I might do an end-of-the-year thing reflecting on the year in my personal life and Tumblr life, too, but first I’m going to do a masterpost of the stuff I wrote this year because I’m all about that shilling your creative works life. I suppose this is kind of a writing version of those year-end posts that artists do, giving their favorite or best pieces from each month.

March 2019: I ran the first annual @clenny-week from March 25-31, 2019, and although I wasn’t able to do a fic for each day, I managed to complete 4/7 prompts. I thank everyone who participated in that week, and I hope to see you for Clenny Week 2020. ^^

Santa Daddy - Clyde/Kenny - Rated M - The main four are back in town for winter break and Cartman challenges Kenny to sit on the mall Santa’s lap (and ask for a dirty gift). The mall Santa happens to be Clyde, who had a crush on Kenny in high school.

Pinot Noir - Clyde/Kenny - Rated T - Clyde is nervous as he and Kenny go out on their fifth date, as he's decided to finally confess that he has a ten year old daughter.

The Princess of Mischief - Clyde/Kenny - Rated T - Princess Kenny has been captured by the Dark Lord Clyde. Everything was going according to plan...until an unexpected visitor makes Clyde break character.

I’ll Always Be Here - Clyde/Kenny - Rated M - It's the one year anniversary of Kenny's death, and Clyde is not coping well. Meanwhile, in Hell, Kenny is given a special Deathday wish candle by Satan, allowing him to make a wish that is guaranteed to come true. He wishes to spend one more day with his husband.

August 2019: This year, the South Park fandom on Tumblr really blew up with theme weeks! The upside to this is that people are taking charge of their favorite ships/characters, especially underrated ones, and using the platform to try to bring together others who enjoy those. The downside is that the more weeks there are, the more overlap there is, and people have to pick and choose which to do. Also, there can be burn-out. I felt a lot of writing burn out after Clenny Week, and I didn’t really write anything publicly for the majority of the spring/summer. (I’ll get into what I mean by “publicly” later.) @tweekweek and @clydeweekis-canon both got me out of my writing funk a little bit, as I managed to write two one-shots that allowed me to explore concepts/characters that I don’t use often.

Tweek’s New Project - Tweek/Craig (but NOT the focus) - Rated T -When the stress of life and work get to be too much, Tweek likes to retreat to his den where he can work on arts and crafts and practice mindfulness and meditation. He is particularly excited about this new project, and waiting all day to work on it is torture.

Tell Me I’m Pretty - Bebe/Clyde - Rated T - Bebe Stevens always presents herself with confidence and style, but even the strongest of women can break sometimes. Clyde thinks she’s perfect, no matter what.

October 2019: In October, I finally published the fic I wrote for the first zine I participated in, South Park: Growing Up. I wrote this story at the very beginning of 2019, the zine was sold digitally in March 2019, and then I didn’t write or Tumblr much after that. ^^() 

Snow Is Hell - General - Rated G - Snow. Poets and artists and songwriters of Christmas songs may try to convince people that it's always pure, fluffy, and delightful, but those who live where snow is commonplace know the truth. A field of freshly fallen snow is not “a marshmallow world”. It's a battlefield. At least it is for the children of South Park, Colorado. A Saturday morning of peacefully playing in the snow, making snowmen and sledding, can quickly devolve into a battle for school yard supremacy.

December 2019: December means the holiday season, which means holiday themed fanfiction. This year, I was able to finish a WIP from 2018 that I had started for @cryde-week, and I participated in @craigandthoseguys-week Secret Santa event, writing a D&D themed one-shot for @nokoikoi-draws.

Your Voice - Clyde/Craig - Rated M - At his company Christmas party, Craig watches Clyde's co-workers surprise him by showing him they've learned ASL so they can better communicate with him. Feeling ashamed (and a little jealous) that he's never learned ASL despite having a mute boyfriend who uses it, Craig decides to spend the year taking classes so that he can surprise Clyde with it next Christmas.

Dungeons and Flagons (of Cocoa) - Craig/Tweek (but not the focus) - Rated T - It's Christmas Eve and the adults are all out at some boring Christmas party. Clyde is bored, so he invites his best bros over for a Christmas-themed D&D one-shot campaign.

Ongoing fics: Sooo...this year wasn’t great for my ongoing fics. ^^() Back at the end of January, it had been one year since I had started Dumb Boys, I had 12 chapters completed, and I stated that I wanted to focus on it more so that I could do better than a one-chapter a month average. That didn’t happen. ^^() Also I had started a multi-chapter Creek band AU at the end of 2018, but then didn’t update for months. So in 2019, I managed to update two new chapters to the band AU over the summer, and three chapters to Dumb Boys. Needless to say, I neglected my children. =/

Dumb Boys - Clyde/Kenny - Rated E - It's senior year at Park County High and Clyde Donovan is ready to cement his legacy as the number one guy in the school. He's already one of the school's football stars so it shouldn't be difficult, except that Kenny McCormick, the lead snare drummer for the marching band, seems to be taking that spot without even trying. In order to determine once and for all who is the top guy, Clyde decides to challenge Kenny to a contest of who can have sex with the most people in a semester.

He’s With the Band - Tweek/Craig - Rated E - Tweek is the lead singer for the up-and-coming band Humble Folx, but when he's not performing on stage, he's somewhat reclusive, and he always refuses to join his bandmates in interviews. Craig Tucker is a 23 year old music journalist who can't quite catch a break. He's hung up on his ex and his career at Treble and Bass magazine isn't headed in any real direction. That is until he's offered the chance to go on tour with Humble Folx and get the exclusive interview with Tweek.

Unpublished fics (aka fics for fanzines): In addition to “Snow Is Hell”, I also wrote fics for two other fanzines over the summer. (I had to focus what little writing energy I had on them, which is why my ongoing fics were so neglected.) I wrote “Duality” for the Creek zine @adealandadevilzine, which if anyone has the digital copy and has read the fic, I hope you enjoyed my attempt at writing high fantasy. Hard copies should be going out in the spring, so once we get the okay, I’ll be putting it on AO3, so expect a lot more shilling then. I also wrote two fics for the upcoming @crennynationzine (follow for more info!), a sfw story called “The Games We Play” and a nsfw follow-up/sequel called “A Two Player Game”.

WIPs: Finally, I’m going to mention a handful of fics I started this year and will hopefully finish at some point in my lifetime. ^^() “Getting His Just Desserts” is a fic I started for @bottomcraigweek with like 5 Craig ships involved. “The Long Haul” is a Twyde fic where Clyde is a truck driver and Tweek is a server at a roadside diner. “Chicken Soup for the Eldritch Soul” is a Clenny fic where Clyde makes chicken soup for a sick Kenny...but doesn’t notice the body horror going on in the background. “Dr. Craig’s Miracle Tonic” is a nsfw crackfic where Dr. Craig is able to cure his patients with the power of his penis. Finally, I wrote like 300 words for “Born to Run”, the Natural Born Killers AU Creek fic I’ve waxed poetic about for two years.

Total words written in 2019 (not including unpublished works): 53,901

[mandy-hanae]

Forewarning: an exceedingly long list of bullet journal page ideas below :)

Hi everyone, it’s been a while! So, long story short, I’ve made a very long list of bujo page ideas that I think are useful, interesting + fun! Fyi, I’ve arranged the ideas (i.e. the bullet points) under each categories according to my own priority + interests. Also, I’ll be updating this list from time to time, so feel free to suggest new ideas simply by replying this post! ;)

planning

index (table of contents)

key, legend, specifier

goals (daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, future)

goals (short-term, long-term)

new year resolutions / goals

daily spread / log (routines: morning, evening, night)

weekly spread / log / schedule

monthly spread / log / review

future log / yearly calendar

x-year plan (where x = number of years)

to-dos / tasks (daily, weekly)

10 minute tasks

reminders (daily, weekly, monthly, yearly)

important dates

deadlines

birthdays

anniversaries

holidays / special days

appointments / events

diary / journal

trip / travel / holiday / vacation planning

wedding planning

progress tracker (events, goals, etc)

vehicle maintenance (timeline, checklist)

home maintenance (timeline, checklist)

bullet journal (aka bujo)

bujo routine

bujo hacks / tips

bujo themes

header / banner ideas

doodle / drawing ideas

doodle page (doodle a day challenge)

sketchbook (doodling / drawing pages)

title + sub-title ideas

date ideas

divider ideas

layout / spread ideas for bujo

handwriting page

font page

hand lettering / brush lettering / calligraphy

washi tape collection / swatches

pen colours swatches

highlighter colours swatches

brush colours swatches

water colour samples

stationeries / art supplies wishlist

stationeries / art supplies inventor

practice page (hand / brush lettering, doodle, drawing, colour combination, etc)

page to try out new stationeries (pens, markers, highlighters, brushes, etc)

full-page journal entries

bullet journal page ideas

bujo goals

what is bujo + how to bujo? (bujo introduction + guide)

journaling techniques

lifestyle

habits to break

new habits to adopt

chores list / tracker

shopping list

cleaning routine / schedule / tracker

tidying days tracker

laundry tracker

productivity tracker

outfit planning / inspiration / ideas

time management tracker

work / job / career history + timeline

financial

no buy list

no spend days tracker

money-saving tips

savings goals

savings tracker

spending / expenses tracker

monthly budget tracker / planning

debt payoff tracker

income tracker

income growth tracker

bills tracker

gas mileage tracker

self-care / self-improvement

self-care activities / tips

about me (self-introduction)

bucket list

wishlist / wish board

vision board

abstract feelings (drawing therapy: express my feelings, draw my emotions out)

things that make me happy

hobbies tracker

new hobbies to try

hug / cuddle tracker

what do I enjoy + love? / things I enjoy + love

things I got into recently

dream journal / log / tracker

highlights this past year

experiences this year

“fuck it” page (vents / rants; let all those swearings out)

memories of the month

memories / special moments you don’t want to forget

in-do list (things I’ll quit doing)

my horoscope / zodiac sign info

my personality test result / mbti type info / my personality traits

small things that matter

everyday “nothings” I’m grateful for

timeline of my life

map of my life

happy thoughts

notes to self

positive affirmations

sentence-a-day log

one-liner journal

letter to past / future self

personal stories / thoughts (like diary)

random thoughts

skills to learn

things I want to learn

reward tracker

gratitude tracker (things, people)

20 goals before 20

30 goals before 30

things that are stressing me out

how to reduce the things that are stressing me out?

learned lessons / things to reflect on

things to improve

things I love about myself / what I love about myself?

how to stop self-hate / self-loathing?

my values

how to live out my values?

things I’m proud of

things I didn’t do as much as I liked

“flaws” I am grateful for + why

comments

advices

level 10 life

life goals list / tracker

resolutions page

achievements / accomplishments in life

what am I working / fighting for?

how to succeed?

“one smile a day” challenge

my observations about people

where do I want to be in x years? (where x = number of years)

read at least one chapter log

health

hydration tracker (water intake log)

menstruation tracker

mood tracker

relaxation tracker

methods of relaxation

sleep tracker

healthy meals / snacks ideas / options

healthy meal planning / tracker

snacking tendencies tracker

food to eat / avoid list

no x days (where x = food to eat less; e.g. snack, junk food, alcohol, sugar, carbs, etc)

how to cope with mental illness? / mental health management (depression, stress, anxiety, etc)

step count tracker

daily step count goals

energy tracker

migraine tracker

meditation tracker

mental health tracker

meal / food tracker

meal / menu planning

recipes to try / things I want to cook

ratings on things I cooked

favourite recipes

medicine tracker

skin care routine

calorie tracker

exercise / workout tracker

fitness tips / guide

fitness goals

fitness routines / sets

measurements tracker

weight loss / gain tracker

bmi tracker

yoga tracker

yoga poses to try

study (school, university, college)

printables / print outs

things to do before a new semester starts

academic / semester calendar

classes / lectures schedule (timetable)

assessments tracker (assignments, lab reports, projects, homeworks, etc)

project / assignment planning / breakdown (brainstorming new ideas)

important dates (upcoming tests, finals, group discussions, etc)

deadlines tracker (assessment due dates)

study plan for a subject / course / class

studying schedule / timetable/ routine

studying / revision tracker (study hours log)

revision checklist (topics, chapters, subjects, courses, etc)

scholarship activities / events

definitions list

formulas list (maths, chemistry, etc)

vocabulary to learn list

semester goals

grades / exam results tracker

study / school / university supplies list

study / learning websites

reference books / textbooks to buy

study space layout (actual / dream study space)

dream study space ideas

organization tips / ideas for university

productivity tips / ideas for university

before-class routine / checklist

hours spent in library

study tips / hacks

improvement tracker

note-taking method / system

color-code system

studying techniques / methods

how to study smart / efficiently?

how to stay motivated?

how to focus in class?

how to get good grades? / how to improve grades?

how to stop procrastinating?

tips for time management

syllabus / modules list

lecturer / professor / teacher info

past papers tracker

how to overcome failure?

“funny / weird things that happened in university” list

best campus food

favourites

stationeries (pens, markers, highlighters, brushes, etc)

food / meals (desserts, snacks, beverages, drinks, etc)

swatches (stationeries: pens, markers, highlighters, brushes, washi tapes, etc)

colours / colour schemes / colour palettes / colour combinations

hobbies / pastimes

movies / tv series / documentaries / anime

books / manga / manhwa / manhua

genre categories (movies, tv shows, anime, books, manga, music, etc)

songs / playlists / albums / podcasts

lyrics

song artists / bands

apps

ice cream flavours

things / items / products I own (skincare, makeup, etc)

seasons

font types

words

quotes

podcasts

brands (notebooks, clothings, skincare, makeup, etc)

cafes / restaurants

animals / pets

holidays

plants (flowers, leaves, etc)

stores (online / physical stores)

indoor + outdoor activists

poetry

recipes

presents / gifts

feelings

people

aesthetics

celebrities / influencers

characters

blogs / tumblr blogs / websites / youtube channels / instagram accounts

six word stories

scent / smell

fruits + vegetables

sports

checklists

organization ideas / tips

tea / coffee consumed tracker

to watch (movies, tv series, documentaries, anime, etc)

to read (books, articles, manga, manhwa, manhua, etc)

to listen to (songs, playlists, albums, podcasts, etc)

to buy (groceries, shopping, etc)

to try (food, beverages, activities, etc)

to visit (cafes, restaurants, etc)

to travel (places: countries, states, cities, etc)

things to try / attempt

craft / diy project ideas to try

zero waste tips / habits

green living tips / habits

packing checklist (travel, trip, vacation, moving, etc)

adulting list (things I need to learn to become an adult)

maps (colour the place you’ve visited)

before-bed checklist

road trips

random acts of kindness

destinations / places to travel with friends

progress tracker (e.g. book series: pages, chapters, volumes; tv shows: episodes, seasons; podcasts progress, etc)

boredom buster list (fun things to do)

lists

usernames + passwords

playlists for certain moods / occasions

new music discovered

new songs added to playlist

gift / present ideas

things I googled

foreign language vocabulary to learn

new vocabulary

inspirational / motivational quotes

questions I want answers to

story / plot ideas

character ideas

beautiful words to use more often

untranslatable words

365 words to learn (learn a new word per day challenge)

addresses

convenient / useful knowledge

useful unknown facts

interesting / random facts

important contacts / emergency contact info

upcoming releases of things that I like / love (release dates)

pros + cons list

outfits / clothings I own

fashion / outfit inspiration (print outs, magazine cut outs, etc)

how to make someone happy

authors to know

the most important people in my life

collections

flowers / leaves (dried / pressed)

polaroid pictures / photos

swatches (pens, markers, highlighters, brushes, washi tapes, etc)

fortune-telling paper strips / fortune cookie fortunes / amulets

ticket stubs / tickets (movie, train, amusement park, concert tickets, etc)

receipts

stamps (ink)

postage stamps

clothing tags

bookmarks

maps + brochures from travel

greeting cards / postcards

food wrappers / packagings

wrapping papers from gifts you’ve received

cute paper / gift bags

stickers

magazine / book cut outs

business cards

books purchased (titles, date + place of purchase, etc)

social media (blog, tumblr, instagram, pinterest, youtube, etc)

content / post ideas (planning)

social media planning (timeline, content, event, etc)

followers / subscribers count

blog goals

blog information

blog statistics

content updates

social media tracker (time spent on social media)

blogs, tumblr blogs, instagram accounts, youtube channels, pinterest boards, websites, etc to follow

fun

room layout / dream room ideas / room decoration ideas

dream home ideas

aesthetic page (mood board, style board, inspirational photo board, etc)

morse codes

brain dump

brainstorming

pretty + cute things (literally anything pretty + cute)

song of the day

art journal

collage art

colouring page

pen tests page (scribbling page)

random notes

things to look forward to

countdown to a special day / event

“don’t break the chain” challenge

100 days of productivity

moon phases tracker

musical pieces you’d like to play

journal writing prompts

cryptography

invention ideas

best purchases made

“if I had a million dollars”

pet care log

plant care guide + log (plant watering, etc)

family tree

food / snacks / beverages reviews

restaurant / cafe reviews

places travelled review

movies / tv series / anime reviews

book reviews

constellation chart

30 day challenges

hogwarts houses

zentangles

knitting patterns

things that my friends like

friends page (where my friends write stuffs in)

tattoo ideas

philosophical stuffs

[1dffexchange]

Warm Blood

To: Eriza @booksncoffee

From: Natasha @wokeuptired​

Summary: This is ridiculous, and Carver knows it.

She doesn’t even know his name, and he’s all she can think about. One kiss at an office Christmas party—an office where she doesn’t even work most of the time—and she can’t get him off her mind. 

It doesn’t help that she’s spending a week working in said office, sitting at a neat freak’s desk and trying not to leave fingerprints behind while looking over her shoulder every five minutes to see if he—Mistletoe Boy—is at the coffee pot. 

She’s beginning to think she dreamed him up.

ONE.

Carver Cantrell is not somebody who makes stupid decisions.

That is the first thing she would want you to know about her: this is not her modus operandus. She is not the kind of girl who buys a plane ticket and jets off to Paris on a whim. She doesn’t purchase expensive articles of clothing without stalking them online for a few weeks first. The wildest evening she has is when she orders something different from the Chinese place on the corner. Nobody would ever call her a wild child.

And she certainly doesn’t kiss boys she’s never met under the mistletoe at the office holiday party just because she feels like it.

Except she just did.

“Wow.”

Carver pulls back, unsure of which of them said that, her or the guy she’s just been locking lips with. Her heart is beating so loud she can hear it in her ears, and she can feel her blood hot in her cheeks. His eyes are bright blue, so blue she can feel them in her toes.

Which is a feeling she’s never felt before. Crazy, because Carver thought, right before this second, that she’d felt them all.

Her emotions have tended towards the severe ever since she was a kid. Imagine six year-old Carver, throwing a fit at the supermarket because her favorite cereal was out of stock, and her helpless mother, standing three feet away with her hands up so that other shoppers wouldn’t assume she was the cause of the tantrum. Skip to middle school, when Carver didn’t eat for two days after she and her best friend—the same Jess whom she roomed with in college, walked beside at graduation, and is currently accompanying to this party—had a fight. Just last month, she watched a Hallmark movie where a woman reunited with her teenage love after twenty-five years, and she sobbed for an hour.

Anger, sadness, happiness—Carver has always felt them all in extremes. She’s learned over the years to take deep breaths until the emotions calm down so she can figure out which ones to listen to before she acts, but they’re still there, nonetheless.

Like two minutes ago, when she turned a corner on her way to the restroom and walked right into the sturdy chest of the guy who currently has his arms wrapped around her. He sparked something in her right away, and the inches they’ve just put between them have done nothing to dampen that flame.

“Sorry,” he says. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips warm. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

This is where she should say something like, “Fuck that, do it again!” but her mind draws a blank. Her brain is too busy considering his accent, which is decidedly not California surfer boy like every boy she’s dated since she moved here a year ago, to come up with something witty to fire back at him.

“Hey, Car—”

She looks over my shoulder to see Jess coming around the corner. She has a plate in her hand piled high with Carver’s weakness: angel food cake, the literal food of angels.

“I found this,” she says, holding it out. “And you. And, you’re busy, apparently—who’s this?”

Carver follows her gaze back to the boy in question, who’s pushing a hand through his hair and grinning. His hair looks like it’s straight out of a shampoo commercial. She should’ve touched it during their kiss. What a missed opportunity.

“Sorry, I—I was actually on my way out,” he says. His eyes return to her as he brushes a fingertip across her cheek before stepping back. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she manages before he turns away and disappears around the corner.

Jess grabs her elbow. “What was that? Who was that?”

Carver lets her tug her back into the party. “I have no idea.”

Five minutes later, Carver’s shoveling angel food cake into her mouth and recounting the last hour as Jess rambles on with the office manager, Kayla. Michael Buble’s Christmas album plays in the background, stockings hang on the wall, and a small Christmas tree sits in the corner, but nothing can disguise the fact that this is an office. A well-designed office, but an office nonetheless.

Jess has worked for West & Up for a year, and Carver’s going on month three. West & Up is one of those newer companies that’s popped up as interior design has become accessible to anybody with internet access. It’s part online home goods retailer (think Wayfair but a bit less fashionable), part interior design firm. Jess does web design, and Carver crunch numbers.

They both work in the Century City office, where a bunch of nerds in glasses occupy cubicles in a decidedly less fashionable building right next to the freeway. Carver had never been to the Santa Monica office before tonight, and she’s definitely been missing out, because not only can you smell the ocean from the balcony, cute boys also work here.

One cute boy in particular.

Carver has never felt such an instant connection with someone before, and she can already tell it’s going to consume me. This is how her mind works: it can only focus on one thing at a time, and that one thing nearly always becomes an obsession. That’s why she’s so good at math. Her OCD keeps her doing problems over and over again until she’s sure they’re perfect. And her OCD will no doubt have her going over that kiss incessantly.  

“Carver, it’s going to be so great to have you here in January,” Kayla says. “I’m so happy you said yes.”

Carver swallows a bite of angel food cake and fakes a smile. Truth be told, she’s not looking forward to her temporary reassignment to the Santa Monica office. She hates changes to her routine, and she hates things that aren’t her choice. Kayla says she agreed, but when her supervisor presented it to her, it didn’t really seem like saying no was an option.

“I’m really excited to see how things work around here,” she says, which is about the best answer she can manage without the unrelenting guilt she always feels when she lies. She doesn’t tell Kayla she doesn’t understand why she can’t continue her internal audit of the company from her own cubicle.  

She has a slight suspicion that she’s going to arrive for her first day in January and be instructed to count the pens in the copy room.

TWO.

Kayla Warner is not the kind of person who takes no for an answer.

This is typically something that works in Niall’s favor, because Kayla is the office manager and when she’s on your side, she gets shit done. Niall befriended her on his first day at West & Up, and ever since, she’s been going to war for him. She got him the best cubicle (aka the one furthest from the break room), always makes sure he leaves promptly at five, even if she has to drag him out herself, and never fails to order his favorite brand of pens. Usually Kayla Warner is his hero.

But now that she’s decided to be his matchmaker, he’s moving her decidedly into the “villain” column. Once Kayla has an idea in her head, there’s absolutely no talking her out of it. Which doesn’t mean Niall isn’t going to try.

THIS IS A BAD IDEA.

Niall watches as three little dots appear on his phone, showing that Kayla is responding to his all-caps message. He never should’ve told her about Mistletoe Girl in the first place, but Kayla could tell that something was up when he suddenly appeared way more interested in Kayla’s incessant stream of office gossip than he used to be. Kayla practically sniffed it on him.

“You kissed somebody at the Christmas party, didn’t you?” she demanded, the question mark only there out of politeness. Kayla’s like a bloodhound when it comes to secrets, especially secrets related to the affairs of the heart.

Not that Niall’s heart is involved here. He really doesn’t want it to be, because it shouldn’t be, not after one kiss. Even if it was the most perfect kiss he’s ever experienced in all his years of kissing–barely a decade, so he wouldn’t exactly call himself an expert, but he knows a good kiss when he sees it.

Kayla’s still typing, so Niall navigates away from the text message thread and opens Instagram. He’d scoured the employee profiles a zillion times over the past few weeks searching for Mistletoe Girl, looking at all the Carters and Carolyns and Carlas that work for the company, and he couldn’t find her. But now, thanks to Kayla, he knows her name, her actual name, so he can stalk her on social media.

Carver Cantrell. Her profile is private, so Niall can’t see much beyond her bio and her profile picture (her smiling face pressed up against a puppy’s much smaller one), but it’s gratifying to know that she’s real. It’s a relief to know that he didn’t imagine the whole thing. And it’s nice to know that she loves dogs. Loving dogs is a good sign.

Niall doesn’t blame himself for questioning his sanity. It was like something out of a romance film, wasn’t it? Kayla’s obsessed with those things, “Love Actually” and “27 Dresses” and all that. It’s not every day that you’re on the way back from the bathroom at the dreaded office Christmas party when a cute girl crashes into you right under the mistletoe. And it’s certainly not every day that a kiss with a stranger makes you reexamine the way you look at the world.

Kayla’s reply rolls in, distracting Niall from reading Carver’s bio for the hundredth time.

THIS IS A GREAT IDEA

YOU CAN LEAVE HER CHOCOLATE AND FLIRTY NOTES ON YOUR DESK

I’M A FUCKING GENIUS

The messages arrive one after the other in rapid succession. Kayla texts like she talks: without breathing. It overwhelmed Niall when they first met, the speed at which Kayla thinks and talks and moves, but he’s slightly less intimidated by her now. Slightly.

Sighing, Niall clicks through to the text thread and hits the call button. It only rings once before Kayla picks up.

“You’re not going to be able to talk me out of this,” she says. Something clangs in the background; she’s probably making cookies again.

“It’s a terrible idea in every way,” Niall says. He stands from the couch and goes into the kitchen. Speaking with Kayla always makes him feel like he’s not doing enough. Like he ought to be doing at least 6 things simultaneously while talking to her. “You know I hate people in my workspace. It’s like you’re making us move in together, and we’ve barely even spoken.”

Kayla laughs. “Exactly. This is a great trial run. I’m pretty sure she’s just as much of a neat freak as you are, but if she’s not, you’ll be able to tell, and then you can abort the mission.”

“I want to abort the mission already.” Niall opens the fridge and starts unloading it of containers full of leftovers that should’ve been thrown out weeks ago. “You’re the one who’s not letting me.”

“That’s because I am your best friend and I care about your well-being.”

“But—”

“I’m not hearing it, Niall Horan,” Kayla says. “Now stop pretending to clean your kitchen, hang up the phone, and figure out a plan for tomorrow, will you? I can’t do everything for you.”

“Are you sure you can’t?” Niall asks. “Because you’ve done the rest of this for me. So I think you could just—”

“Don’t be facetious, Niall, it doesn’t suit you,” Kayla says before hanging up.

Sometimes Kayla reminds Niall of his mother, and since she’s far away across the Atlantic Ocean, he doesn’t really mind that.

Except right now. Right now, it’s driving him crazy.

THREE.

On Monday, January 7th, Carver parks her car in the lot outside West & Up’s Santa Monica office. She’s ten minutes early, and she fully intends to use all ten of those minutes to have a panic attack in her car.

There’s a post-it on her dashboard that, at her therapist’s suggestion, reads, “EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE,” and she repeats that aloud to herself a few times, but it doesn’t help. She makes a list in her mind of all the things that could go wrong. Maybe her cubicle neighbor will smell like baloney sandwiches. Maybe she will embarrass herself in front of the CEO. Or, maybe, worst of all, she might run into Mistletoe Boy.

She’s done her best over the past couple of weeks to forget about him, but she hasn’t gotten very far. And Jess’s constant mentioning of the kiss hasn’t helped things. She’s scoured the employee profiles on the company website for the guy with the soft lips and the foreign accent that Carver kissed at the Christmas party, and she’s come up empty.

“He must be one of the ones with no photo,” Jess has insisted multiple times.

“Or maybe he doesn’t work at West & Up anymore,” Carver told Jess last night as she was waxing on about how her chances of running into him again were about to increase exponentially. “Or maybe he never did, and he was crashing the party and that’s why he ducked away so fast. Or maybe he’s engaged to one of the girls from HR, or—”

“Or maybe you’re looking for excuses,” Jess said, jabbing an elbow into Carver’s side. They were watching “Set It Up” on Netflix for the zillionth time, and Jess had paused in speaking all the lines along with the actors to remind Carver that she may have watched her chance at one true love walk out the door a few weeks back. “Do not hide in your cubicle for the next week, okay? You need to, like, make yourself visible.”

“How do you suppose I do that?”

“Go to the coffee machine, like, all the time. Introduce yourself to everyone you can.” Jess turned to Carver, her eyes wide, her tone serious. “And, for the love of God, make a fucking move if you see him again.”

Carver tries not to think about that right now, as she squints into the sunlight and curse herself, again, for leaving the house without her sunglasses this morning, as that’s basically a death sentence in Los Angeles.

She reads her post-it again: “EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE.”

Then she takes a deep breath and opens the car door.

Kayla practically pounces on her when the elevator doors open on the third floor. She checks Carver in and shows her where the restroom is and babbles the entire time about how great her New Year’s was and how she hopes Carver’s was great too and did she watch the ball drop this year?   

“You can use Horan’s desk,” she says, leading Carver through the office. It’s an open plan, desks everywhere, most of them totally cluttered. Paper everywhere, knicknacks, dusty computer screens. But the desk Kayla guides Carver to is wiped clean. “He’s one of our architects. He’s on site all week.”

“You’re sure he won’t mind?” Carver runs her eyes over the spotless desktop. There’s a pothos plant in a terra cotta pot next to a black mug holding six identical black pens, and that’s it. The only bit of personalization she can spot is a dinosaur sticker on the corner of the computer monitor. Horan, whoever he is, clearly values cleanliness over, well, pretty much everything else.

It actually reminds Carver a little bit of her workspace, but at least she’s got more than one plant.

“Oh, yeah,” Kayla says. “He won’t care. He might come by in the evenings, though, so you should be out of here by five if you can, and don’t leave anything lying around. He’s a bit of a neat freak.”

“Right.” Carver pushes the keyboard out of the way and puts her laptop on the desk. “I’ll be out of here by five.”

“You know where I am if you need anything. See you at lunch!” Kayla calls as she disappears around the corner

Carver opens her laptop and clicks through her email to the spreadsheets the company wants her to look through. Luckily she hasn’t been asked to count any pencils yet, but the day is still young.

By lunch time, her fingers hurt and her eyes are dry. Kayla takes her to a salad place across the street, and Carver forces myself to choke down kale topped with assorted vegetables. When she was younger, she believed that she’d magically develop a taste for salad once she reached her twenties, since it’s what twenty-something professionals always ate for lunch on tv shows, but it hasn’t happened yet.

Then she returns to Horan’s immaculate cubicle, puts her earbuds in, and zones into the work. She used to think that she’d have to hate her job in her twenties, just as she’d have to love salads, but the truth is, she loves it. She loves columns of numbers and when there’s a knot in the data she has to untangle. She loves losing herself in it, because in the numbers there is always an answer.

In life, there often aren’t answers, and she’s not a fan of ambiguity.

Before she leaves, she can’t resist opening the top drawer to see if that’s where the owner of this desk hides his mess. But, no, it’s just as organized as the surface. Plastic bins hold pens, paperclips, pencils, and post-its, all in separate sections. There isn’t a thing out of place. She wonders if he uses dinner plates with dividers, too.

Carver snags a bright pink post-it out of the drawer and scrawls a quick note on it before sticking it to the monitor.

Thanks for letting me use your desk. I tried not to leave too many fingerprints. Sorry for snooping through your drawer, but I wanted to find your organizational weakness. Apparently you don’t have any. Congratulations. - Carver

FOUR.

Niall chickened out.

After all that berating last night and a pep talk via text from Kayla this morning, he chickened out. He didn’t leave anything at his desk for Carver, and, to top it off, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

Every day at the Wilson project is a busy day, and today was no exception. This morning, two of the guys ripped out the old range and found faulty wiring, which is a remodel nightmare second only to flooding. That should’ve been enough to distract Niall, but it wasn’t. He pulled out a pen to make some notes and wondered what kind of pens Carver likes. He looked at granite samples with the Wilsons and wondered if Carver would think the black countertop would darken the room.

And then he thought about how fucked up it was that he was thinking about what Carver would think, considering he doesn’t even know her. Fucked up and creepy.

But here he is anyway, driving to the office in 5 o’clock traffic to see if Carver’s left any mark on his cuble. A very small, slightly creepy part of him is hoping he’ll be able to catch a trace of her perfume lingering in the air. He doesn’t have the vocabulary to describe scents, but he smelled it on her the night they kissed, and he knows he’ll recognize it instantly if he smells it again.

Kayla’s already left, which means he doesn’t have to face an interrogation when he passes her desk. The entire office is pretty much cleared out, which is how he likes it. Honestly,if he could work from home, he would. Other people are exhausting.

Which is part of the reason he’s afraid, he thinks, of meeting Carver. He’s idealized her so much in his head, but what if when he meets her, really meets her, she’s boring? Or annoying or just plain exhausting? What if spending time with her makes him wish he were spending time alone? The disappointment could crush him.

Which is why it’s easier to pretend he doesn’t care.

As he rounds the corner towards his cubicle, his heartbeat quickens, which is a total betrayal of his attempts to be nonchalant about this whole thing. He takes a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. Then his desk comes to view.

Nothing appears to be amiss. His chair is tucked in just the way he likes it, all of his black pens are still in their black mug, and his dinosaur sticker hasn’t moved. But—

Wait, what is that?

Niall grabs the post-it off the monitor and brings it up to his face. Is this Carver’s handwriting? It’s much neater than he’d expected based on the way her hair was slightly askew at the party. One’s general upkeep, he’s noticed, tends to belay their handwriting, and their handwriting reflects their level of organizational mastery.

Niall’s own hair is always flawless.

He reads the note to himself a couple of times, smiling at the mention of fingerprints. Apparently Carver has a sense of humor. And she might like post-its just as much as he does.

Hmm. Niall takes a seat at his desk, opens the drawer for another post-it, and grabs a pen. Time to come up with something clever to say in response.

FIVE.

In the morning, there’s a new post-it note on the monitor. Carver grins when she first sees it, because she’s always loved the idea of penpals, letters exchanged between strangers. She’s never had one herself, but novels always made it seem like you could tell your friend who lived worlds away things you couldn’t tell your BFF who lived next door.

Carver doesn’t have any such expectations of Niall Horan, of course, but it still makes her a bit giddy to see that he’s written her back.

But that feeling disappears as soon as she reads the note.

Thanks for your note, and thanks for keeping my desk clean. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I don’t really mind fingerprints. As long as there aren’t too many. And you keep them off the computer screen. You have neat handwriting, though, so I think I can live with you using my desk for the week. - Niall

Carver turns the post-it face-down on the desk. Maybe she was slightly rude in my post-it, but his message is ruder. “I can live with you using my desk for a week”—who talks to a stranger like that? It might be sarcasm, but he should know better than to be sarcastic in a note. There’s no room for nuance in a post-it note, they’re much too small.

What Carver wants to say in response is also much too long for a post-it note, so she yanks open the top drawer in search of notepaper. Her desk back in her cubicle hosts a variety of cute notepads and post-its, but all she can find in Niall’s desk is a small yellow legal pad. Despite its unattractiveness, it’ll have to do.

She does decorate the corner with a giant flower, though, courtesy of one of Niall’s five identical black pens.

Dear Niall,

Thanks for your note. I appreciate that you can live with me using your desk for a week, although I’d like you to know that I’d gladly vacate for another workspace if given the chance, since you seem like an asshole. Is that your weakness? You don’t know how to be nice to strangers on post-it notes? Good luck with that. I hope you enjoy being alone.

Note written—or at least started; Carver thinks she might have more to say later—she shoves it under Niall’s keyboard and opens her laptop. She’ll leave it there for the day, keeping it in the back of her mind, and right before she leaves, she’ll decided whether or not to leave it.

No impulsive decisions, even in anger.

Except maybe she should be impulsive. Maybe she should stand up for herself, even though there may be negative consequences, like an even ruder reply tomorrow, or a chastising by Kayla or even a meeting with HR for inter-office harassment.

Carver goes back and forth about it all morning. She spends a bit of mental energy regretting leaving a note at all yesterday, and then a bit more energy wishing she’d asked Kayla more questions about the owner of the desk. Like, is he a nutcase? Is he obsessed with fingerprints? Because he catalogues them? Because he’s a crazy, stalking, murdering, psychopath?

By lunch time, Carver feels like she’s bursting at the seams. Kayla shows up for lunch, and Carver practically leaps out of her seat. They barely make it out of the building before Carver brings it up.

“Hey, so this Horan guy? What’s he like?”

Kayla looks over her shoulder as she pushes out the front door of the building and into the sunlight. “Why do you ask?”

Carver wrinkles her nose at Kayla’s smile. “He left me a super rude note.”

The smile drops instantly. “What?”

Carver squints into the sunlight and stops to fish her sunglasses out of her purse. “Yeah,” she says to Kayla. “I left him a note last night, thanking him for letting me use his desk and whatnot, and I come in this morning to a note that’s like, don’t leave too many fingerprints and I won’t kill you.”

“What? There’s no way Niall wrote that,” Kayla says.

Carver follows her into the same salad place as yesterday. “I mean, I may’ve exaggerated a little. But that was the gist of it.”

The conversation pauses as Carver orders her food—the same salad as yesterday—but Kayla brings it up again as soon as the two of them are seated. The restaurant isn’t exactly quiet, but Kayla is not the kind of person, Carver’s beginning to realize, who lets a loud space hinder her conversation.

“Niall is not an asshole, I promise,” Kayla says. She extracts a metal straw out of her bag and sticks it in her drink. “He’s just not that good at people.”

“What?”

Kayla shrugs. “Listen, I’ve been friends with him for three years. He doesn’t always make the best first impression. Like, he tries, but it’s hard for him.”

What? Carver thinks the question this time instead of voicing it. She understands being socially awkward, but the best thing about written correspondence is that you can revise it a thousand times before sending it off (or, as it were, leaving it taped to a monitor).

“Like, okay,” Kayla continues. “He probably thought he was being funny. But he’s such a dingbat he doesn’t realize that sarcasm doesn’t translate when it’s written down, or he thought he was making a joke and he didn’t realize that he’s not funny. Like, he’s really not funny.”

Carver tries to think of something to say in response, but she finds herself coming up empty. Kayla’s trying to apologize for Niall, but Carver’s realizing that she really doesn’t want to hear it. Luckily her salad arrives, saving her. She shoves a forkful of lettuce into her mouth and chews as Kayla rambles on.

Finally, Kayla pauses, so Carver asks what she really wants to know. “So, do you think I should write back?”

Kayla’s fork hovers in the air on its way to her mouth. “Do you want to write back?”

Carver blinks. “I don’t know what I want to do.”

“Well, I’m a firm believer that you should do whatever feels right to you,” Kayla says, setting her fork down. “So maybe what you need to do is figure out what it is you want to do.”

Carver nods, repeating that over and over in her head until it starts to make sense.

At least, the words make sense. She still has no idea whether or not she should leave the note.

SIX.

“I wrote her a note.”

“Yeah, I know, you idiot,” Kayla says sharply. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

Niall nearly drops his phone. That would be especially bad considering he’s currently squatting over a puddle of water in the middle of the Wilson construction site. He’s downgrading it from kitchen to construction site, since every 10 minutes a new problem arises that requires something else to be ripped out or torn up. The drywall is gone, revealing rotting studs, and when they pulled up the tile this morning, they found mold in the floorboards.

This house isn’t even old. Niall doesn’t understand it.

But he has to deal with it nonetheless.

“What are you talking about?” he asks.

“She asked me about you,” Kayla says. She’s whispering, like maybe she’s sitting at her desk right now and doesn’t want to be overheard. “Hold on, let me go outside.”

Niall stands up and turns his back on the other guys staring hopelessly into the puddle. He walks into the Wilsons’ backyard, which borders a strip of land known for being a mountain lion hotspot. When he first moved to LA, Niall was fascinated with them, with P-22 and his brave freeway crossings (both the 405 and the 101) and  his adventures around Griffith Park. Experts say that P-22 will probably never leave Griffith Park’s 8 square miles, which is only half a victory. He’ll be safe because he’s the only male mountain lion living there, but he’ll never mate. His line will end with him.

Niall isn’t nearly as pessimistic about his own future, but he does have a few things in common with P-22. In a city surrounded by people, sometimes he feels like he’s living on an island. Anyone who wants to get to him will have to cross treacherous territory.

“Okay, I’m back,” Kayla says in Niall’s ear. “Now tell me what the fuck you were thinking, please.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Niall says.

“Your note! You were a total asshole. At lunch today Carver was like, who is this guy and what the heck is his problem? And she’s totally right. What the heck is your problem?”

Right now Niall’s problem is that Kayla doesn’t seem to be planning on letting him get a word in. “Well—”

“Stop talking. I’ll tell you what’s wrong with you. You don’t know how to be nice to people because you are afraid of making authentic connections because then someone might get close enough to see that you’re as perfect as you pretend to be.”

“Hey—”

“It’s not your turn, idiot. You need to fix this now, because you haven’t completely ruined your chances, but you’re close, I can tell you that. I tried to tell Carver that you’re just bad at first impressions, but she wasn’t hearing it. Like, she literally zoned out and stopped listening to me.”

Niall feels like doing that right now. He also feels like jumping headfirst into the Wilsons’ pool, or throwing his phone in so the water can drown out Kayla’s voice. Or maybe he should leave his phone here and walk off into the forest and make a new home with P-22. The mountain lion won’t judge him. It might attack him, but it certainly won’t do so while calling him an idiot.

No, Niall can do that himself. He definitely feels stupid right now. He thought he was being witty and maybe even flirty, but clearly none of that came across. Instead he made himself look like an asshole, and he’s probably completely ruined his chances with Carver, who—he can admit this to himself, even if he hasn’t said it out loud—might be the one girl who could save him from a P-22 fate.

“So figure out a plan, Niall, because Carver is probably sitting at your desk right now writing a note to you about how much of a dickhead you’re being, and your deserve it!” Final words voiced, Kayla hangs up.

Niall sighs, allows himself a moment of self-pity, and opens the notes app on his phone to make a list.

Before end of work day:

- Call plumber

- Figure out how to explain further delay to Wilsons

- Call Wilsons, explain, apologize

- File report with office

By tomorrow AM:

- Fix Carver problem

- Refill gas tank

- Sleep?

It’s shaping up to be a busy afternoon.

SEVEN.

Carver wakes up the next morning feeling perfectly normal, and then she remembers what she decided. Before she left the office, she pulled her note out from underneath Niall’s keyboard, signed her name to it with a flourish, and taped it to his monitor.

She sits up in bed, overcome with a wave of nausea. Assuming Niall went to the office last night, which he most likely did because he seems like the kind of person who follows his routines religiously, without exception, there is going to be a note waiting for her, and it’s probably not going to be a nice one.

But when she gets to Niall’s desk, there’s nothing there. Her note is gone, but there isn’t a new one.

Fuck. There are so many things this could mean. Maybe he read her note and was so annoyed by it that he decided she wasn’t worth responding to. Maybe he laughed and crumbled it up into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder as he walked through the parking lot to his car. Or maybe a janitor threw it away and he never even saw it.

Carver pushes it out of her mind, though, because she has work to do. There are numbers to be crunched and data to be sorted and there is plenty to distract her anxious mind.   

But she can’t get the note out of her head. How did he react to her note? Why didn’t he respond? Is she a terrible person for leaving it in the first place?

Just before 11 AM, Kayla pops her head over the edge of the cubicle, a mug of coffee in her hands. “Morning,” she says. “Can you do me a favor?”

Carver minimizes my spreadsheet and grins. “Of course. I need a break anyway.” That isn’t an overstatement. With all the circles her brain has been going in, Carver wonders how she managed to get anything done this morning.

“Great.” Kayla holds out a manila envelope. “Can you take an early lunch and drop this off for Horan at the Wilson house?”

Drop this off for Horan. Oh, shit.

“Of course,” Carver says, but meanwhile her brain is having a heart attack. She hates spur of the moment plans, she hates going to places she’s never been before, and mostly she hates that she might be about to confront Niall in a place she’s never been before, where she can’t control anything.

She can’t say any of that out loud, though, so she takes the envelope from Kayla and puts the address Kayla gives her into Google maps on her phone. She blasts the “Mamma Mia” soundtrack on the drive, but it doesn’t help calm her nerves.

Even though the house isn’t geographically that far away, it takes nearly half an hour to get there, which must be why Kayla told Carver she wouldn’t expect her back before two.  Los Angeles traffic is no exaggeration.

She parks her car at the end of a long driveway and pushes her sunglasses onto her head. She remembered them this morning, but she doesn’t think they’re going to save her from whatever is going to happen at the top of the drive.

The house is the first thing that shocks her. It’s beautiful, and that’s not a term she typically uses to describe architecture. She may work for West & Co., but she’s a math geek. She’s a human computer. She doesn’t have a natural taste for beautiful construction, but this she recognizes. It’s two stories and massive but not obviously so, because the facade has varying heights and it doesn’t look like an imposing box. She can tell, though, that the people who live here are loaded. There are mediterranean stones and slightly tinted window panes and she can just bet that the back of the house is entirely glass to give the residents the best possible view of the hills behind.  

She walks through a beautifully manicured front yard to find that the front door is open, so she goes inside without knocking. The front hall is two stories high, and a living room with mid-century modern furniture is on the right. It looks like it belongs in an Architectural Digest celebrity home tour on youtube. There is no clutter anywhere, like maybe no one lives in this house and it’s actually just used for filming and photoshoots.

Carver follows the sound of hammers through to the kitchen at the back of the house. There are floor to ceiling windows, just like she expected, and even though the kitchen is entirely deconstructed—it looks like custom cabinets are currently being installed—she can already tell it’s going to be beautiful.

“Hey, Horan!”

Shit. Carver follows the direction of the shout and steps further into the kitchen, and that’s when she sees him.

He’s outside, so they’re separated by a massive kitchen and a sliding glass door, but it’s definitely him.

It’s Mistletoe Boy.

It can’t be, though, right? He can’t be Niall. Niall can’t be him. They can’t be the same person.

But then somebody shouts, “Horan!” again and Mistletoe Boy turns and, oh shit, he’s coming this way, and Carver definitely cannot deal with this right now. She backtracks out of the house and grabs a construction worker who’s just coming in.

“Can you give this to Horan?” she asks, holding out the envelope. The guy wrinkles his brow, but he shrugs and takes the envelope. “Thanks,” Carver says, and then she practically runs to her car.

Carver starts the engine as she’s buckling her seatbelt (even though her mother taught her never to do that), and she drives out of the neighborhood with her heart attempting to beat its way out of her chest. She pulls into the first parking lot she sees, shuts off her car, and leans her head on the dashboard.

Of all the things to happen today, it had to be this. She had to find out that Mistletoe Boy and desk asshole Niall Horan are the same person, and that had to happen at his construction sight and it had to be a total surprise, and now she’s sitting in her car in a parking lot outside of a Whole Foods and this is fucking Beverly Hills or something (Carver really doesn’t know where the fuck she is right now) and she’s probably going to get arrested for having a panic attack in her car.

Deep breaths, Carver, her voice of reason tells her, and she leans her head back and tries to listen. Her dashboard post-it tells her that “EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE” but that doesn’t seem realistic right now.

Nonetheless, Carver says it out loud.

“Everything will be fine,” she tells the steering wheel.

“Everything will be fine,” she tells her bitten-down fingernails.

“Everything will be fine,” she tells her purse, haphazardly thrown on the floor on the passenger’s side as she rushed away from the Wilson house.

“Everything will be fine,” she tells herself.

Then someone knocks on her window, causing her to shriek.

Everything is not going to be fine.

EIGHT.

Carver looks up, eyes wide, and Niall regrets this immediately. When he saw Carver rushing to her car looking as though she’d seen a ghost, he knew instantly that she saw him, realized who he was, and panicked. His brain told him that if he let her go now, he might never see her again.

So he followed her out. He jumped in his truck and trailed her car out of the Wilsons’ fancy neighborhood and into the parking lot of a Whole Foods. Whole Foods is a store that he generally tries to avoid because the prices are ridiculous and all of the Prius drivers in the parking lot give him dirty looks when he parks his truck, but none of that matters right now.

What does matter is Carver, and she looks like she would rather cry than talk to him.

Too bad, because for the first time in a long time, Niall doesn’t want to walk away from this problem.

He meets Carver’s eyes and waves. She grimaces, so he tries to smile. Carver closes her eyes, takes a visible deep breath, and reaches for the door handle.

“Shit.” Niall takes a step back, out of her way, and tries not to panic. He didn’t really think this part through. What the hell is he going to say to this girl? This girl of his dreams? The girl who is now standing in front of him, leaning against her closed car door, looking up at him like he’s already broken her heart.

Damn, what a mess. Niall hates messes.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Carver says. She looks exactly as he remembered her: green eyes, blond wavy hair, oversize glasses. Just as cute as she was before Christmas.

He said hi, then she said hi, so it’s his turn again. Unfortunately, his mind is blank.

This was much easier in December, when they were standing in the dark under the mistletoe and Niall didn’t yet know that the kiss they were about to share would haunt him for several weeks following.

“Sorry about the note I left you,” Carver says, saving his ass. “I shouldn’t have written any of that.”

Niall shakes his head. “No, I deserved it. I’m a terrible note writer.”

Carver bites her lip; she’s either holding back a smile or a frown. “You could definitely use some practice.” It’s definitely a smile.

Niall smiles back. “Will you let me try again tomorrow?”

Carver nods.

NINE.

Dear Carver,

This is what I should’ve written in the first note: I knew that you were using my desk, and by that I mean that I remember you from the Christmas party. I’m glad that you’re using my desk, but what I’d like better is if you’d go out on a date with me. I think you’re kind and funny and sweet, and I want to learn more about you.

Best,

Niall

TEN.

Dear Niall,

Yes.

- Carver

[sleepywiitchh]

witchy glossary + common paths

this is just a beginner’s guide to different terms common in the witch community, and some common paths to consider!

message me if i made any mistakes or if you want me to add more :)

Common Witchcraft Terminology

grimoire (or book of shadows):

a grimoire or book of shadows is a book, binder, or electronic document (or literally anything else you want it to be) where a witch documents every aspect of their journey; spells to try, correspondences, potion recipes, opinions on certain topics, reminders for working with the deities/magickal creatures, moon phases, sabbaths, anything!

spell:

focused intent or energy on a specific purpose, and it can be done through an infinite amount of ways

potion:

contrary to popular belief, not all potions are edible. it’s basically a spell in a physical form. you can drink/eat it if that’s what you want, but some are meant to be topically applied.

correspondence:

basically an association with a concept or deity. some common ones are color correspondences (red = passion, yellow = happiness, etc.), flower correspondences (rose = glamours, dandelion = spirit contact), deity correspondences ( owl = Athena, lightning = Zeus) and many other things. there are correspondences that are generally agreed upon but a witch can make her own correspondences seeing as correspondences are another way of establishing intention. 

divination:

a way to see the future/the answer to a question. this can be done with pendulums, tarot cards, turkish coffee (closed practice), tea leaves, and many more. 

pendulums:

an item (typically a crystal) at the end of a string used to divine the answer to yes or no questions.

tasseomancy:

using tea leaves to predict the future

sigil:

a symbol charged with magical intent and hidden affirmations. sigil creation processes are different for everyone, so do your own research. affirmations to make sigils should always be in present tense and should always be positive. some sigils need to be activated by the elements (burning, burying, etc) or another method, but not all of them.

intent:

the purpose of a spell, ritual, or potion.

grounding:

a method of concentration, meditation, and focus that can amplify the power and effectiveness of a spell

deity:

this one’s a touchy subject for a lot of people, but here are the main interpretations I’m aware of:

1. a deity is a personification of a concept, element, etc and invoking them means calling on that element/concept

2. deities are actual physical beings that are immortal and have personalities that can help their followers in many aspects of life

sabbath:

a witch’s holiday. some of them coincide with traditional holidays (like yule and christmas) and some of the mainstream holidays are based on the sabbaths. you can still celebrate if you’re not wiccan, and dates may vary based on which hemisphere you’re in.

spell jar:

this is basically a bunch of ingredients corresponding with an intent in a jar that’s (usually) sealed with wax. it can be emptied out after the spell has served its purpose.

sachet:

pretty similar to a spell jar, but it’s in a fabric pouch.

glamour:

an illusion spell. usually used for enhancing appearance, clearing skin, etc but it can also be used to make you seem more confident, intelligent, whatever you need

the fae:

the fae are faeries, magickal beings that usually reside on the astral realm. i’m not going to delve into this because there’s an infinite amount of witchblr giving much more qualified information :)

closed practices:

these are forms of witchcraft that are off-limits to those who are not culturally linked to it and it’s considered cultural appropriation if you partake in it otherwise. for example,  üzerlik, the turkish version of sage cleansing which involves burning different herbs and crystals on a stove and spreading the smoke. in that case, you can’t do it unless you’re with a turkish witch or you are a turkish witch (i am a turkish witch so hehe). another example of a closed practice is voodoo. it was created by the black community for themselves, and we have to respect that it’s theirs and nobody else’s. i’m not sure if it’s okay for a non-black witch to practice voodoo with a black witch (probably not) but don’t make any assumptions about exceptions. 

Common Paths (or at least my interpretations of them)

(paths with a * next to them are usually not paths on their own and are considered ‘add-ons’ to other paths)

eclectic*

a witch who takes bits and pieces from several different paths and their journey is a mishmosh of custom magic(k)

secular*

a non-religious witch

green witch

a witch who primarily draws from plant life and other forms of nature, green witches are often healers

kitchen witch

a kitchen witch usually makes their spells into food

hedge witch

a hedge witch is a solitary practitioner of the herbal arts - both, medicinal and spiritual.

sea witch

a witch who works with the sea, its deities (if you want), and its creatures

faerie witch

kind of like a green witch in the sense that faerie witches tend to put a strong focus on the element of earth, but faerie witches work with the fae

solitary witch*

a witch who works on their own

coven witch*

a witch who works in a coven

pop culture witch

a witch who often does spells inspired by books, movies, etc

urban witch

a witch in an urban setting who may not be able to do as much ‘nature-y’ stuff, and may incorporate technology into their craft

nocturnal witch

a witch who draws on the night, its deities (if you want) etc

elemental witch

a witch who mainly draws on the four (or five) elements

crystal witch

a witch who uses crystals (so...all of us lol) more than other paths and focuses on crystals’ energy more in their craft

hereditary witch*

a witch who comes from a family of witches

traditional witch

a witch who practices the old ways and traditions (aka no emoji spells, no pop culture spells, just ye olde magyck)

[kelmcdonald]

Having my First Holiday Sale

New Post has been published on http://sorcery101.net/news/having-my-first-holiday-sale/

Having my First Holiday Sale

This is crossposted with my newsletter.

Hey all, right now everything in my store is 15% off with the code “GIFTS” until December 15th. This is my first time doing a holiday winter sale on my site and it’s thanks to having White Squirrel take over my store. I haven’t done holiday sales in the past because I usually have a kickstarter running this time of year. But also because Christmas time usually makes me depressed and didn’t want to add more stuff to my plate when that basics are hard enough. So I’m really grateful that White Squirrel is taking the lead on my shop. It and any extra funds this sale generates will help with what is usually a tough time of year for me (both mentally and financially).

This months plans are mostly keep writing You are the Chosen One so I can launch it next year. I posted an art round up for the concept art I did this month. I’ve got about 200 pages scripted. So when I’m done with the chapter I’m working on, I’ll probably start drawing. Then I’m gonna switch focus to the next The City Between book. I’d like to kickstarter that in June, so I need to make some headway. Not a lot mind you because like I said, I always have some serious depression issues around Christmas and probably won’t get a lot done.

I’m still on my manga kick this past month. (Also, last month I tried to imbed a video into my newletter for Delicious in Dungeon. It worked in all the preveiws mail chimp let me see but not in the newsletter. So here is a link) I finished up Silver Spoon, which I mentioned last month. My favorite character has to be Tamako who is a fat girl that takes zero shit.

I also read a whole bunch of Love is War by Aka Akasaka. The premise of which is two teens at an elite private school like each other but think the person in a relationship who makes the first move ends up in the weaker position of the couple. Neither wants to surrender the high ground, so they are engaging in a battle of wits where each is trying to trick the other into admitting their feelings. Basically, the first to say “I love you” loses.

It’s extremely over the top and rather funny. So even them playing old maid is presented as EXTREMELY dramatic. And half the time neither of them ends up succeeding but they over complicated everything.

With catching up on those two series, I’ve mostly caught up on/looked into the manga I’d heard good things about. So my reading for December will probably stick American comics on my “to read” shelf. Some of those have been sitting there for a couple of years.

As for stuff this month that some of you might have missed. I already pointed you to the art round up on Patreon. My patreon also hit it’s first goal, so I’ve been posting the reference photos I took for each page of The Dead Deception. Then my Patreon has a round up for those as well. Cat Farris posed in most of them this month. So big thanks to her.

My Patreon dollars this month are going to internet bill. As I said, December is usually tough for me, so I can’t put it to fixing/replacing something this month. Any new patrons or purchases from my store would really help me out.

Other things folks might have missed this month are:

Dirty Old Ladies did two interviews this month. Since Spike, Amanda, and I are all US based, we chatted with some comic gals outside the US to compare notes. The first was with Kate Ashwin to talk about comics in the UK. Then we talked to Nina Matsumoto about making comics in Canada.

Also, apparently my facebook updater (which I use to update my facebook page) is broken. I’m trying to fix it but you’re better off following me elsewhere for update reminders.

Thanks for all your support. I hope December treats you all well.