#‘the breads just going through a final prove and then it’s ready for the oven - wanna make out while we wait?’

[millennium-queen]

No I don’t want to do anything today I just want to sit and think about Everlark finally getting to make out without an arena or war hanging over them thank you

[ijustwant2write]

The First Boyfriend-John Shelby x Reader

(GIF credit to @ilovna​)

Requested by anonymous: ‘Hey when u have the time can you please do a John Shelby imagine where they are married they have been since they were young and Katie their oldest child she’s like 14 or 13 she want to bring a boy to meet her parents and y/n has to calm John down and tell him to give the boy a chance and they they do finally meet him he seems ok but then he starts being all Percy towards y/n and John gets protective and y/n gives him permission to kick him out . Hope it makes sense 😂❤️’

Characters: John Shelby x Reader (Married), Katie Shelby x Reader (Daughter)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Swearing, age gap between teenagers, violence, inappropriate touching, fluff

                                      *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I groaned as I heard a thump come from upstairs, the kids screaming at each other as they bickered. Looking down at the washing up, I decided to leave them for now, they could sort it between themselves. That was, until there was a louder thud, and all of them were screaming. I dried my hands on a tea towel, checking on the pie in the oven before stomping my way upstairs. That always freaked out the children, they knew they were in for a telling off.

“Right,” I announced my presence in the boys room, where the younger girls were also playing,“what is all of this racket?”

“He snatched the toys away from me!”

“She hit me!”

“She said a naughty word!”

“He pulled my hair!”

Everyone shouted over each other, meaning I got nowhere close to an actual answer.

“Alright!” I snapped.“Before you all yell at me again, this is what we’re going to do. Girls, go back to your room, boys you stay in here. You will wait in those rooms until I call you for your baths.”

They all groaned, none of them ever liked bath time, it took valuable time away from their playing. 

“I will have none of that, do as I say.” the children made an act of slumping around, the girls dragging their feet as they walked past me.“I love you all.”

They murmured ‘I love you too’ before the doors to their rooms shut, and I laughed under my breath. They certainly had their father’s dramatics and unfortunately, both of our stubborn tendencies. As I headed back downstairs, the front door opened, John waltzing in and smirking as he spotted me.

“Now this is a pleasant greeting.” he cockily said as I got to the last step, wrapping his arms around my waist.

I cupped his face in my hands, leaning down to welcome him with a kiss.“Thought you would be at the Garrison.”

“You say that like I’m there every night.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, before we both laughed.“Just got to bathe the children, then we can eat.”

His eye line was at a perfect height to stare at my breasts, and he made a point of it.“And what’s on the menu tonight?”

I scoffed, raising his chin to look me in the eyes.“Pie. And that’s it.”

“We’ll see about that.”

The door opened again, this time Katie walking in. She made a disgusted face at the sight of her parents showing love for one another.

“Ah good, you’re back on time for once. You can help me with you brothers and sisters.”

“Alright.” she replied, intending to head towards the front room when I stopped her.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“What? Nothing.”

“There must be, you didn’t protest or huff at me when I asked you to do something.”

“Come on, spit it out.” John pushed.

“It’s nothing, really!”

“Katie, we can do this all day. Perhaps you should have less time out with your mates-”

“Fine!” Katie quickly gave in, which was unusual for her.“I...I have a boyfriend.”

“You what?”

“His name is James, he’s really nice! I’ve been seeing him for a while-”

“How long’s a while?”

“Uh, three weeks, maybe four.”

John’s jaw dropped, looking at me with wide eyes before going back to Katie.“Three weeks?!”

“I said maybe four.”

“Well it certainly won’t go to five.”

“Dad!”

“No Katie, he’s just a crush.”

“He’s not! I promise I really like him!”

“But how much does he like you? How do you know what his intentions are?”

“OK police inspector,” I patted him on the chest as I stood between them,“calm down, both of you. Now, Katie obviously like this boy, so we have to respect that. But Katie, you know you have to be careful around boys.”

“Yes, I remember you saying. I was wondering...could he maybe come round for dinner one night?”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, he liked the idea too. It’ll mean you can get to know him, then you know I’m safe.”

“I think that’s a lovely idea Katie.”

“What?!” John exclaimed.

“John.” I warned him.“You arrange it with him, perhaps sometime next week?”

“Thanks mum!” Katie beamed, giving me a quick hug.

“That’s alright darling. Now, go get your brother’s and sister’s ready for their baths whilst I draw it.”

I kissed the top of her head before she rushed past her dad and up the stairs. I just laughed at John’s shocked expression, wondering how on Earth that all happened before him.

“Oh, Katie!” I quickly shouted.

“Yeah?” her head popped around the corner.

“How old is James?”

Her face dropped. She was still hiding something.“Um, he’s...he’s seventeen.”

“Excuse me?”

“He just turned seventeen! Got to go and do as you asked me!”

Right, that wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I slowly turned to face John, who had an extremely angry expression on his face.

“Seventeen?” he scowled.

“Yeah, I’m not happy about that either. But let’s give him a chance.”

“He’s fucking seventeen! He’s taking advantage of a fourteen year old!”

“Darling, calm down. Please, let’s see what he’s like. Not everyone was like you at seventeen.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They weren’t all as charming as you.” I quickly saved, though he knew what I meant.“If he’s a little shit, we can stop her from seeing him.”

“Or stop him from seeing her.”

“John, do not traumatize that boy.”

“No promises.”

John had not been in a great mood for the rest of the week. He was constantly fussing over Katie, questioning her left, right and centre about anything he could think of. She was getting frustrated, she couldn’t even pop out to buy us bread without John asking if she had seen James on the way. I tried to stop him, but he was so persistent. He was only being like this because he wanted to protect his little girl, he knew what boys were like at that age. I was worried about the age gap. It wasn’t much, but Katie was still so young, only just becoming a teenager, whereas this boy was a year away from being an adult. I only hoped he would prove us wrong at this dinner.

We had scheduled the dinner for the following week, and the day was already upon us. Katie and I had been preparing a meal all day, feeding the kids before us so they wouldn’t act up or take my attention away. Katie was dressed in her best dress, hair pinned back with a nervous smile on her face. However, John was no where to be seen. He had been gone all day, he was at work, but I hoped he hadn’t been snatched away for Blinder business. Katie stressed over this, sitting by the window on the lookout for him. 

“He’s here!” Katie announced, dashing through to the kitchen.

“Your dad?” I asked, wiping my hands on my apron.

“No, James! Why does dad always have to ruin everything?!” 

“Hey, look at me,” I grabbed her by the shoulders,“it will all be fine. Let him him, we will start talking and just excuse your dad. He will be here Katie.”

I pushed her towards the door, taking off my apron and making sure everything was in order; when really, I was stopping myself from rushing out and bombarding the boy.

“Mum,” Katie called me, and I stepped out of the kitchen,“this is James. James, this is my mum.”

“Pleasure to meet you Mrs Shelby.” he politely took my hand, and I thought he was going to shake it, but instead kissed it, keeping eye contact for a little too long.

“You too James.” I smiled, wondering if he was just trying to make a good impression.“Katie’s dad isn’t home from work yet, but we can sit in the front room whilst we wait.”

We engaged in small talk, me asking about his life and if he had a job. He was a good speaker, no stuttering or wondering what to say next. So far, so good. Katie hung onto to his every word, it was a wonder her cheeks weren’t hurting from smiling so much. However, some things James said were a little...I didn’t know how to put it, but the way he spoke was as if he was wooing me, he would sometimes wink, or make a suggestive joke, which would fly over Katie’s head. I was starting to side with John, this young boy made me uncomfortable.

Another hour passed, still no sign of John, and if we didn’t eat soon, the food would burn. I tried waiting for a little longer, but I could tell Katie was starting to worry again. So I suggested we start eating without him, not having to explain why John was late. James would have to be an idiot to not know who her father was. We had only been eating for ten minutes when the back door opened, John walking into the kitchen as he took off his Peaky cap.

“Couldn’t wait for me then?” John said, no humour in his voice.

“It’s nice to meet you Mr Shelby.” James stood respectfully, ready to shake John’s hand, but he didn’t take it. I wanted to scold him for that. 

James hesitantly sat back down. John took off his coat, hanging it on the back of the door, making a show of unbuckling his jacket, which revealed his guns in the holster. I rolled my eyes, this boy was only seventeen, and not one his enemies. He sat down beside me, which happened to be opposite James, a stupid mistake I should have seen coming.

“What have I missed?” John asked as he tucked into his food.

“I’ve been getting to know James, so he’s probably going to have to repeat everything again to you.” I joked.

“Go on then.” 

Silence.

“Go on, tell me what you told my wife.”

"Dad." Katie hissed.

"It's alright Katie." James placed his hand over hers, and I caught the sight of John tensing up, nostrils flaring."I was just explaining how I'm working now, earning quite a bit actually. Finished school too, so I'm not an idiot."

"My brother, Katie's uncle, didn't finish school. You calling him an idiot?" John leaned back in his chair.

"N-no, Mr Shelby. I just meant that-"

"You just meant to keep your mouth shut."

"John, a word."

I stood up from my chair, walking towards the door and waiting for John there. He stared at James as he slowly got up, reluctantly following. I shut the door after us, shoving John towards the front room.

"Whats wrong with you?" I snapped.

"Why did we leave them alone?" he realised."Make it quick, he could be doing anything to her in there."

"Oh my god, John. They're teenagers but they're not stupid. Could you just give him a chance? Please?"

He huffed."I don't trust him."

"Of course you don't. He's the first boy Katie has brought home. She might end up bringing more-"

"No. No she won't."

"John, can you just relax? If we get through this dinner quick enough, he'll be gone."

"Let's just get back in there."

I moaned to myself, quickly going after him. We sat back down, Katie and James had been silent when we walked in. I cleared my throat as the silence continued, starting to ear again and hoping the others would copy. Luckily they did, we were able to make small talk, though John didn't participate.

Once we were done, I collected the plates with Katie, telling her she didn't have to help with the washing up. I thought she would be able to spend time with James (and keep her father away from the poor boy), however, James offered to help me instead. At first I was about to tell him that it was nonsense, until I saw John waiting by the front room, his eyes still set on James as Katie tried to drag him away. 

“I’m sorry about my husband. He’s very...protective of his children.” I said as I passed him a plate to dry.

“I understand Mrs Shelby. He’s got a beautiful family to look after.”

“Aw, that’s very sweet of you to say.”

“A very beautiful family.”

I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. The comment before was lovely, but now he seemed to be suggesting something. Being almost an adult, he was the same height as me, if not slightly taller, and I wasn’t sure how to continue the conversation.

“I could instantly tell where Katie got her looks from, though I must say, the original is always better than the copy.”

Who did this little shit think he was?

“Honestly James, you don’t have to be stuck drying the dishes. Go spend time with Katie.”

“I’m quite enjoying myself here, actually.”

This was weird. At first, I thought maybe he was being over friendly, knowing that his girlfriend was a Shelby and her father was a Peaky Blinder; or perhaps he had some alcohol to fuel his confidence. But now I could sense he was here for something else, as if he ever had a chance.

“Oh, this one is still a bit dirty.” he pointed out.

He walked behind me to place it on the other side of the sink to be cleaned again, however, he pushed his body into mine behind me, and I froze at the action out of shock. His breath was fanning on my breath as he slowly placed the plate down, hand sliding up my arm to my elbow, before tracing across my lower back as he moved away again. I dropped the plate I was washing into the sink, picking up a knife beside me and pointing it at him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” I snapped under my breath. It pissed me off that he didn’t look bothered by my threat.

“Just appreciating what’s in front of me.” he cockily replied.

“You have no respect for anyone, do you? I want you out of my house, now.”

“And break Katie’s little heart? Don’t think she would be too pleased by that.”

“She’ll be happy to know I got rid of a pervert. You;re never to go near her again.”

“You sound like your husband. Katie has been complaining about you two for weeks. She’ll only listen to me, and I’ll deny whatever you tell her. And how would your husband feel knowing we had this moment?”

“He’ll want to cut your balls off.”

“You know, I wasn’t sure if I was absolutely into you when I walked in. You’re beautiful of course, but the foul language...I don’t know, something about it is quite exciting.”

I chucked the knife into the sink, storming past the bastard and out of the kitchen, until I noticed the door was slightly open. I hadn’t left it like that. Continuing on, I took a big, deep breath before walking into the front room. John (unsurprisingly) had a glass of whiskey in hand as he sat in his chair, Katie sitting on the longer sofa, seeming upset.

“You saw, didn’t you?” I asked her.

She nodded, her eyes glued on the floor, they were glassed over.

“Did he touch you?” John snarled.

I sighed.“He...he did but-”

“That’s all I need to hear.” 

He put down his drink, making a beeline for the kitchen. I stood in the doorway of the front room, shielding Katie from what was about to happen. James yelled out in protest as John roughly dragged him out of the house. I watched as he literally threw the boy outside onto the street, people wanting to watch but also not wanting to be involved. 

“You stay the fuck away from my family. You’re lucky I don’t cut you, or do something worse. Watch your fucking back boy.”

Although I enjoyed the fear in James’ eyes, I wish he had the same look when I dealt with him. John slammed the door, causing the pictures on the wall to shake. Katie ran upstairs, upset that the boy she liked wasn’t as respectful or lovely as she thought he was. I decided to leave her for the time being, everyone needed to calm down.

“Are you alright?” John asked me, still breathing heavy.

“Yes, thank you for getting rid of him.” I sighed, wrapping my arms around him.

He embraced me, trying to calm himself down.“I love you. I won’t ever let anyone else touch you like that again.”

“I know you won’t. I’m sorry I didn’t listen before.”

“Nah, I was being over protective. He just turned out to be a twat.”

“But he’s gone now. And he won’t go near Katie again. Just know, she might be crying for a few days.”

“I’ll let you deal with that.”

[jaesvelvet]

jealousy jealousy — kim junkyu

words: 1.7k words

warning: grammartical errors,idk what i write does it make sense? reader being insecure!

pairing: junkyu+fem reader

notes: i want to publish my jihoon's ff but i haven't finish it yet since my school is starting soon😭 anyway this ff inspired by olvia rodrigo's song, jealousy jealousy (remember you're beautiful just like the way you are!!!🤍)

you couldn't help but grinned as you step into the famous YG building. it feels like a dream come true. you used to be a trainee in a small company for 5 months before decided to left, you realized that you didn't have the talent to be an idol, you're just average on everything, that's all. you gasped when you saw a huge screen in front of the escalator playing blackpink's mv on the screen. YG is that rich exactly like the news said.

"y/n!"

you turn, grinning widely at junkyu, who from the convenience store with some snacks on both of his hands. you waved at him and junkyu laugh in response

"i'm sorry for being late," he said, handing some bread to you

"no it's okay i just got here," you said

you and junkyu are best friends since high school, you're the one who supported junkyu's journey to debut, and junkyu was grateful to have a friend like you, junkyu always convince you to audition at YG but you refused since you now want to focus on your studies. but after junkyu accidentally saw a book full of lyrics song at your desk, he forced you to record one of the songs in his studio and release it on soundcloud so junkyu could promote the song to his fans.

of course, you reject the offer saying you can't sing and you don't want any attention in the university. a medical science student releases a song on a soundcloud, out of the blue, and treasure junkyu promoted her music?? no way!

however junkyu being junkyu, he didn't give up and keep encouraging you to record one of your songs, you didn't need to prepare anything just bring the lyrics and yourself, and the rest, he will work on it. after weeks tried to convince the you, you finally agreed with one term; which is junkyu need to buy you food. a lot of food.

"okay so here it's my studio, um it isn't something to brag about since half of the members have their studio," he said, opening the door of his studio showing his messy studio with a big portrait of treasure on the wall.

"you should clean your studio if you want to impress a girl kyu" you joked, getting a whine from junkyu mumbling that he would never see the world again if he brings a 'girlfriend' over.

junkyu pressed something on his keyboard and bass sound came out, making you flinch, the instrument that junkyu creates is mellow and kinda strident? as soon as you heard the instrument you know which lyrics from your lyrics book would go along and make a perfect song

"i have a perfect song for this" you excited, taking out your black notebook and turn to a back page—clearly the lyrics are fresh from the oven.

"okay i'm gonna play it and you sing the lyrics okay?"

you nodded and sing a little bit of the lyrics

"i kinda wanna throw

my phone across the room

'cause all i see are girls

too good to be true"

"woah! it's perfect" junkyu gasped, amazed at how the instrument he made suits perfectly with your lyrics. you smile, you didn't suprised much since you know how much passion junkyu has in music.

"okay now you eat first, i'm gonna rearrange the lyrics to suit with the melody," he said and get a nod from you. you eat the bread that junkyu bought for you, you also eyeing the studio, it's kinda cold in here cause the space not too big and they put a big ass aircond on top of you.

junkyu notice your quiver, he rolled his eye when you only wearing a thin black shirt material, he scoffs before handing you his pink hoodie that he left in the studio yesterday.

"i won't turn off the aircond so you must wear this hoodie, it's been a week since i wash it," he said in a teasing voice, you frown yet you have no choice to wear the pink treasure hoodie or else, you're gonna die in this cold studio.

you sigh in relief when the hoodie warms your cold body, you side-eyeing junkyu who looks so serious rearrange the lyrics, you then click on the instagram icon, you felt blue as you saw haeri post on your feed— haeri is a popular rich girl in your university, you and her once assigned in a group for an assignment and she is very kind and open about her opinions, she also very serious when it comes to study/work and she is pretty, to your eyes she is like a goddess. she is so pretty, kind, and selfless, and you really lying if you didn't jealous of her. she has a perfect life and you still struggling to get a diploma.

you slowly pressed the screen twice, liking a picture of haeri; wearing a beanie and a mask in a cafe without posing too much, getting 2 thousand likes within 1 hour. you wonder how is it to be like a rich popular pretty girl in university? well, damn sure you will get all of the pretty privileges in your life. you sighed as you realized you're comparing yourself again with haeri. you always remind yourself not to compare yourself to anyone since you're beautiful enough but you can't. the funniest thing is you and haeri didn't even know each other, yet you being so jealous of her life. sometimes you just feel small, you want to be like them.

"y/n!" junkyu shakes your body making you slap his hand

"what!?"

"i called you for like thousand times! you didn't hear me?" junkyu said, stroking his hand that got slapped by you

"oh i'm sorry, im zoning out, you're done rearranging?"

junkyu nodded

"you can listen to the instrument and practice your lyric with it," he said

"okay"

an hour passed, you finally get the tempo, beat, and rhythm right, you grin excitedly as junkyu put the headphones on your head and directing the microphone to you

"you ready?" junkyu asked

"yes i am" with that, junkyu clicked on something and you could hear the instrument, you begin to sing the verse of your song choice.

i kinda wanna throw my phone across the room

'cause all i see are girls too good to be true

with paper-white teeth and perfect bodies

wish i didn't care

you stop singing and look at junkyu curiously making junkyu paused the song and look back at you with a confused look

"why?"

"doesn't singer usually stop singing for producers fix their mistakes?" you asked making junkyu giggle

"yes that's true but you didn't have any mistake, you're doing good, i will pause the music if i have something to fix" he explained, getting an 'oh' from you. you continue singing the song.

i know their beauty's not my lack

but it feels like that weight is on my back

and i can't let it go

com-comparison is killin' me slowly

i think i think too much

'bout kids who don't know me

i'm so sick of myself

i'd rather be, rather be

anyone, anyone else

my jealousy, jealousy started followin' me

started followin' me

as you singing the song that you wrote, junkyu couldn't help but wonder who is the person, you dedicated to? or how you inspired to write this song? this song is obviously about your insecurities about some girl, and you don't even know her! junkyu pout when you felt like this, he knew how insecurities could kill you, back then when he was a trainee he felt insecure with all of the trainees that beat him to debut, he felt he doesn't belong in here but with you and his members on his side, he gained confidence and prove to the world that he is himself and nothing can change that.

all your friends are so cool, you go out every night

in your daddy's nice car, yeah, you're livin' the life

got a pretty face, a pretty boyfriend, too

i wanna be you so bad and i don't even know you

all i see is what u should be

happier, prettier, jealousy, jealousy

all i see is what i should be

i'm losin' it, all i get's jealousy, jealousy

you remove the headphone as soon as the instrument stop playing, you handing the headphone without noticing junkyu's face, chaeyul grabbed the water bottle and drink, her throat felt dry after singing a whole song which you have never done in your life, making you wonder how did singer voice so stable when singing live?

"kyu—oh my god why are you looking at me like that?" you take one step back as you saw junkyu looking at you with frowns on his face, you bit her lips was your singing that terrible?

"sit down here" he ordered, you quickly took a seat beside him without saying anything

junkyu grab your hand and rubs it softly while looking at you with his brown eyes.

"what you see is all fake y/n. she living her best life is what you see what you want, but you didn't see her pain, how hard she must through a day in her life, we didn't know if she struggles behind, you also know you can't compare yourself to others right? you're beautiful" he said

"but, i don't know kyu. i couldn't help but felt all jealous of her, i feel like a total loser" you said

“no y/n, you're not a loser! hear me out, you do great, you beautiful and an amazing person, so why do you need to be insecure to a person you never know? everyone is beautiful on their own, you're an original version of yourself and no one else could be you. you are special and unique, you wouldn't know if someone is jealous of your life, a successful medical student who has a great voice. you need to love yourself more, let yourself shine in your spotlight. trust me popular life wouldn't great as you think" he said

you smile at his words

"thank you kyu, honestly, you're right.i didn't appreciate myself enough this past week, hearing you said that making me feel great about myself, i am me, there's nothing anyone could change about me"

junkyu smile and pat your head

"that's my girl"

[amjustagirl]

Notes: Title stolen from Song Of The Soul XXII by Khalil Gibran.

Companion piece: In the absence of sound (she hears her heart break)

Wrote this indulgent piece angst and fluff to reset after the very angsty The Astrophile (which took a lot of my own heart). As always, comments are gladly appreciated <3

Summary: Yaku bursts into her life like a hurricane, even whilst Akaashi lingers on like the memory of a summer breeze.

Pairings: Yaku x reader, Akaashi x reader

She runs into Yaku at the New Year’s Party the Japanese embassy in Moscow throws for expatriates (a fancy term to describe birds who’ve flown the coop after finding it unbearably small). He’s in the middle of chattering with a bemused waiter in very broken Russian about the spread when he explodes into a delighted laugh, so loud that she startles and spills her drink all over his shoes.

Pandemonium ensues – the restaurant staff scatter to fetch napkins and she’s trying to pick up the pieces of her broken glass, stammering out apologies (because dear god, her boss is going to have her head for upsetting a guest – especially one so prominent as Yaku Morisuke, the only Japanese volleyball player who broke into the Russian professional league), when his laugh cuts through the noise.

‘This was my favourite pair of shoes’ he tells her when he stops laughing, and she’s about to launch into a litany of apologies when he grins at her cheekily – ‘But you can make it up to me by buying me dinner instead’.

‘Now?’ she gapes at him in shock. ‘I can’t, I’m working’.

‘Whenever’, he answers, stealing her phone from her hands. ‘Look – here’s my number. Call me when you can’.

She’s left in shock, watching him in silence as he bounces off to join another conversation.

She texts him that night (because a deal is a deal, and she always pays her debts) and they arrange to meet the next day at a dumpling place he recommends.

She’s there five minutes early, and he bursts into the restaurant five minutes late, apologizing whilst complaining about goddamned Russian traffic. He orders for the both of them in such an excruciatingly terrible Russian accent that she winces, but he must have been here before because the waiter takes their order without batting an eye. The owner, a wizened old lady with apples in her cheeks swings by to smack kisses on his cheeks noisily.

‘It’s a little strange, but it’s the closest thing I can find to home’, he tells her when the waiter presents them with their dumplings with a flourish. It is indeed strange – the dumpling skin is thicker and doughier than she’s used to with Japanese  gyozas, stuffed with varying fillings of beef and pork and cheese, but his eyes are bright when she takes her first bite and gives a hum of appreciation because it is as he says, strange but good.

There is indeed an echo of home in her heart but she clamps it down firmly.

‘It’s good right?’ he asks and she nods mutely, mouth full of dumplings. He talks her ear away, telling her about his time in the Russian league, how he’s just made the first team this week. She learns he can’t remember a time when he doesn’t know the feel of a volleyball in his hands, and how he broke his mother’s heart when he chose to train outside of Japan, six thousand, four hundred and forty-eight miles away from home.  

He asks her why she’s in Moscow. She tells him she’s studied Russian as a child – her father, a math professor, believed it necessary for her and her sister to learn Russian, and while she’s never quite had a head for numbers, she takes to languages like a fish to water – and since she was looking for a new adventure, Moscow seemed like a good fit.

(She does not tell him she’s actually on the run from her broken heart)

‘You can teach me Russian then’, his words presumptuous, but there’s mirth and warmth flickering in his eyes that makes her hesitate to tell him off.

‘Maybe’, she responds with a shrug, standing up to pay the bill. To her surprise he lets her pay without a fight - very unlike Akaashi, who had only agreed grudgingly to allow her to split the bill on their first date.

‘It’s my turn to pay when we go out next time’, he tells her when they stand outside the restaurant about to part.

‘Will there be a next time?’ she asks him archly, and he pouts at her with puppy-dog eyes. He texts her less than five minutes after he takes his leave, inviting her to an ice skating rink.

To neither of their surprise, there is indeed, a next time, and a next time after that.

Yaku has an extremely sweet tooth, unlike Akaashi who prefers the bitterness of black coffee.

She tells him to drop in on her apartment after training (only if he’s up to it of course, she’s learnt that lesson from Akaashi after all). He does so without complaint, and she’s removing the pie from the oven when he lets himself in with the key he sweet-talked out of her.

‘Tadaima’, he calls cheerily, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he drops his gloves on the kitchen table. ‘Is that for me?’ he asks, gaping bug-eyed at the steaming pie in her hands.    

‘I don’t see anyone else it could be for’, she teases, setting the pie down on the table, cutting him a slice. The fruit seller at the corner of her street had a sale on apples, and she remembers Yaku telling her that he used to buy apple pie on the way to school every week, but would always end up giving it up to Kenma as a bribe to train harder during practice and finish running his laps.

He takes a bite and moans loudly even though he burns his tongue – it’s so good, a flaky, buttery crust hiding a jammy filling of caramelized apple and browned butter. It tastes like home in the fall when the leaves turn golden and red, when his mother brings home apples on discount from the store and he and his little brothers fight over the apples pastries his grandmother makes.

‘I love you’, he declares firmly, as he reaches for a second helping, and he pretends not to notice when she shrinks back and does not respond.

Yaku revels in public displays of affection - unlike Akaashi, who used to shy away from it.

‘I like your hair. Have you always kept it short?’ He asks her one day when they’re feeding ducks in the park near his house.

She laughs at him as he quacks exaggeratedly back at a very greedy duck chasing the bread in his hand and answers without thinking - ‘no, I cut it before I left Japan because I hear it’s what break-ups make you do’. Then she freezes, because this is the first time she’s ever alluded to Keiji to him – it’s a part of her life that she’d very much like to bury in a deep, dark vault and throw the key away.

But the expression on his face is very much like a cat eyeing a rat it’d like very much to trap and she’s right, he’s relentless (she should’ve known that, could’ve seen that from just watching one of his matches). As he walks her home, she finds herself telling him about Keiji - how his lack of affection and inability to step away from his job created a silence so still she heard her heart break.

When she finishes what she self-deprecatingly terms her tale of woe, he pulls her to a stop, ignoring the indignant protests of the people walking behind them. ‘What on earth, Mori’, she squawks, but he ignores her too, choosing instead to wind his hands into the ends of her scarf and tug her face to face with him. She does not want to look at him, does not want to see pity in his eyes – but there is none of that, only a quiet tenderness that warms her to her core.

‘I love you’, he tells her softly, and it’s a wonder she can hear every inflection of his voice through the rush of blood to her ears. ‘I will continue saying it as many times as you need, as loudly as I can until your heart is no longer broken and the silence is gone’.

Then, without an ounce of shame, he kisses her right in the middle of the busy street, completely oblivious to the glares of the people who pass them by.

Yaku is quick to anger, whereas Akaashi is the calm before the storm.

She’s told him again and again not to send her flowers – she swears she’s developed an allergy to them, the memory of Keiji sending her flowers every Friday even after they broke up sends bile up her throat (pink camellias for longing, violets for devotion, forget-me-nots for obvious reasons) – but Yaku doesn’t listen and sends her a bouquet of red roses for her birthday (for love).

So she screams at him when he pops by her flat after training –  because why on earth doesn’t he just listen to her, he knows she hates flowers, what on earth would possess him to send her flowers for her birthday, and he screams back that he does, damn it - but he’s not Keiji, he’s spent their entire time together trying to prove that, why can’t she just trust him for once.

Finally, he storms out shouting that he’ll come back when she’s calmed down, when she’s finally ready to forgive him for whatever Keiji has done – even though for the last goddamned time, he’s not bloody Keiji and she sinks to the floor, wondering why she’s allowed the ghost of Keiji to continue haunting her, six thousand, four hundred and forty-eight miles away from home.  

He’s right - it isn’t fair to him for her to keep comparing him to Keiji, to keep watching and waiting for him to slip up, not when he’s poured all his love and affection into her – into them . He’s not Keiji, never has been and never will be, and she wonders if this is the point his patience and kindness and love finally runs out.

But she’s not going to let another man she loves walk out of her life without a fight.

So she throws on her coat and climbs down the stairs, determined to march to Yaku’s apartment just a couple of streets away when she slams into him head-first at the corner of her street. ‘I’m sorry’ they both chorus immediately, and despite themselves, they break into a laugh.

‘I’m sorry for not listening’, he says, but she shakes her head, determined to say her piece. ‘You're right, it's my fault for not letting Keiji go. I should have figured this out earlier, but I know you’re not Keiji, you never have been, and I trust you never will be’.

And to drive the point home, thanking her lucky stars he’s not tall, she pulls him close by his collar and presses her lips to his. ‘I love you’, she whispers, when they finally come up for air. He looks at her like she just hung the stars up in the sky.

The next day, she presents him with a literal bushel of red roses, and he laughs at that - loud and clear and bright.

(The sound makes her heart feel whole again)

‘Why don’t you move with me’, Yaku asks her matter of factly through a mouthful of rice, at the end of her tirade about her awful landlord who just tried to stiff her by doubling her rent in less than a year with a month’s notice.

She stills, hand frozen halfway to her mouth. He does not swallow for fear of choking the mix of uncertainty and hope rising in his throat - because sometimes even though he promises to wait for her as long as she needs, he wonders if she’ll ever forget that he’s not her bloody ex – until he senses her relaxing her tense shoulders, and decides to close in for the kill.

‘Come on’, he wheedles. ‘We could even adopt a kitten so you won’t be lonely when I’m away for work’, and he laughs fondly when her face lights up. There we go.

‘You drive a hard bargain, but alright’, she pretends to grouse, but she laughs along with him when he triumphantly presses his lips to her cheek, dodging her swats when she scolds him for leaving grains of rice on her face.

They adopt a black kitten from the shelter and they name him ‘Kuroo’.

Much like its namesake, their cat is a piece of shit and contrary as hell. He doubles over in laughter when he comes home one day to find her chasing Kuroo (the cat, not the middle blocker) around the house, furniture upended everywhere. He later understands through her huffs that she meant to give him a bath.

He sends endless pictures of Kuroo (again, the cat and not the middle blocker) to the Nekoma groupchat and they all fall head over heels in love. Kai sends him advice on how to grow catnip in an apartment. Fukunaga asks to video call the cat more than he texts him. Shibayama and Inouka ship a box of clothes for the cat because they’re worried it won’t survive the Russian winter. The worst offenders are Kenma who sets up social media accounts for it, and bloody international supermodel Lev who pours oil on flames by tagging the damn cat on his own posts. Yaku is alarmed to wake up one day and find that his cat is more popular than him.

Well, all of them save for its namesake, who threatens to retaliate by naming his dog ‘Yaku’.

He gets drafted onto the National Team, and he’s elated until he realizes that he’ll have to spend months away from her.

‘It’s fine’, she reassures him. ‘Kuroo will keep me company while you’re back home’. The little demon licks its ass and looks intolerably smug when he shoots a glare at it behind her back, because he knows damn well the cat is going to take advantage of his absence to take over his side of the bed.

He extracts a promise from her to call him every day (screw the time difference, seriously) and he in turn promises to send her tickets to watch him play. Then he packs his bags and flies back to Tokyo.

It’s nostalgic being back in his childhood home. The posters from his teenage years are still on his bedroom walls (gods – he was such a horny bastard back then), and his mother smothers him with his favourite foods and far too much attention. But he lays awake at night thinking of their little apartment filled with the smell of her baking and the sound of her singing and realizes he misses  Kuroo - again, the cat, not the middle blocker, who’d miss him - despite its despicable way of stalking him while he takes a shit and most of all - he misses  her.

He figures he has it bad when he starts turning down his grandmother’s apple pastries because they remind him too painfully of the apple pies she makes after either of them have had a hard day at work, and wonders when he started thinking of Moscow and the little apartment he shares with her as  home.

But he soldiers on because playing for Japan is his dream (and has been, ever since he first learnt the thrill of keeping the ball in flight with his hands), and gets by on video calls and texts and pictures of Kuroo and the promise of dumplings and apple pies when he comes home.

He makes the mistake of mentioning that he has a girlfriend in Miya Atsumu’s earshot after practice one day.

‘You have a girlfriend?’ the piss-haired setter asks in disbelief. ‘You? Mr bossy - under five foot five – libero-chan managed to land himself a girl that’s willing to tolerate him?’

‘Just because you have an issue keeping girls from running away from you doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t find girlfriends’, Sakusa interjects flatly, face firmly masked up, trusty bottle of sanitizer pointed in Atsumu’s direction.

Yaku is about to claw Atsumu’s eyes out when Hinata prances by and asks to see a picture of said girlfriend. Growling, he whips out his phone, and is mollified when the rest of the team crowds around and pronounces her to be very pretty. Everyone – except Atsumu, who sulks in a corner, sneering that he could do better (no he can’t - he really can’t get a girl to save his life), and Bokuto, who corners him later when he’s about to leave.

‘She used to date Akaashi, you know?’ Bokuto tells him solemnly, a marked departure from his usual jovial self. ‘They broke up on a pretty bad note’.

Yaku does not in fact know, because she’s never mentioned her ex-boyfriend’s last name, always opting to refer to him as ‘Keiji’, a fairly popular name for guys their age. ‘Oh?’ he replies, and tries his best to sound encouraging and not derisive or threatening or whatever it is that Atsumu has accused him of over the past few weeks of training.

‘Yeah. She’s a nice girl, I met her once or twice, but between you and me, I don’t think Akaashi is really over her’.

Too bad for him, he wants to say but doesn’t, because despite whatever Atsumu might say about him, he’s tactful, thank you very much, and knows it’s probably not the best idea to badmouth his teammate’s best friend to his face, especially a teammate he likes as much as Bokuto. Instead, he stuffs his shoes in his bag, shrugging and grunting noncommittally before heading off.

He doesn’t mention this to her during their nightly video calls. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want them to have to talk about him being an old acquaintance with her idiot ex over a call, their time together is too precious to be tainted by any mention of him. But there’s a part of him that wonders if it’s because he’s afraid that she’ll bump into Akaashi when she’s back in Japan and he might convince her to let him sweep her away. Akaashi is tall, dark and handsome, and most definitely smarter and more educated after all - a better match for her than him, an idiot that chases balls for a living.

But then her laughter chimes through his phone’s speakers as he pouts when she carries Kuroo to the screen to ask if he misses his daddy (the traitorous hell spawn refuses to even look at him) and it banishes the shadow of his doubts away. It’s as clear as day that she loves him, ball chasing idiot Yaku Morisuke.

He falls asleep to the sound of her humming his favourite songs.

She flies to Japan with their cat in tow a week before the Olympics and even though he’s moved into the Olympic dorms by then, he sneaks out to meet her for dinner as often as he can. Atsumu catches him once and grumbles something about  ‘hypocritical bossy know-it-alls’  - but shuts up when Yaku turns up for practice the next day and is too busy grinning ear to ear to yell at him for flubbing an easy receive as he usually does.

When he finally steps onto the court for his first match, it’s easy to get carried away, because the light bearing down on the court is brighter than any game he’s played in before, and the roar of the home crowd is so loud he swears the tremors in his feet are from the floor - but he doesn’t. Because there’s a girl in the VIP stands shouting his name, and maybe it’s childish of him, but he has something to prove - he wants to make her proud.

And he does, because they win.

The entire team is in the locker room when he hears the clatter of familiar footsteps, then a shrieked ‘Mori’ before she tackles him into a bone-crushing hug. Atsumu barks at her ‘not to break our dear libero-chan’, but neither of them pay him any mind - she doesn’t even care that he’s literally dripping in sweat and snot and tears - because they won, they won, they won  -

Then he looks up and sees Akaashi staring at them. Ah. The idiot ex-boyfriend has to ruin their moment.

Just as he’s wondering whether his fist should meet Akaashi’s eye or nose first, Bokuto swings by at the moment to distract her. She’s so excited at seeing a familiar face that she disengages herself from their hug and throws her arms around Bokuto instead. Yaku thinks that Bokuto is probably a lot smarter than most people give him credit for as Akaashi approaches him, his hand outstretched.

‘Take care of her’, Akaashi says with a bittersweet smile on his lips. ‘You’re a lucky man’.

He pauses briefly to glance at her - and gods she’s radiant even as she’s chattering away to Bokuto, her eyes sparkling, the light shining softly on her hair -  fuck, Atsumu’s right, he’s whipped - and tries to imagine a world where she slips through his hands. Suddenly, the twisted knot of spite in his chest unravels, and he can only feel the dregs of pity pooling in his belly. He's not blind, he can recognise the look of wistful regret on the taller man’s face, and he's certainly not deaf - he suspects that if he listens hard enough, he can hear Akaashi’s heart break.

I know, I’m lucky to have her - he wants to say but does not because that would mean twisting a knife in an already broken man. Instead, he steps forward to take Akaashi’s hand.

‘Always’, he promises firmly. Akaashi inclines his head in thanks.

Her heart is safe in my hands.

She returns to Russia first, and he follows a few weeks later, after a whirlwind of awards and press interviews.

He breaks into a run when he sees her standing at the arrivals gate with a bouquet of red roses and a cheeky grin on her face. ‘You’re rubbing it in at this point’, he pretends to pout, but rather spoils its effect when he swings her into his arms.

She cooks dumplings for dinner and there’s an apple pie waiting for him in the oven. His jaw drops in surprise when the dumplings taste exactly like his mother’s cooking. ‘I learnt it from your mum while you were at training, in case you already miss home’, she teases.

‘But with you, I am home’, he responds, his voice earnest and low. She flushes pink and blushes bright red when he carries her off to bed.

She is his home now, she and their cat in their little flat in Moscow bursting at its seams with apple pies and dumplings and  love .

‘I want this to be my forever’, he tells her later, laying his head in her lap. His heart skips a beat, waiting for her response.

‘So do I’, she finally replies, running her hands through his hair. Her heart hums quietly, finally in safe hands.

[kitkat1003]

Who Are You Really?

Chapter 4: Rush Hour

Summary:

Huh.  Guess Spirit doesn’t have too much time to introspect.  That’s okay, though.  Introspection doesn’t lead to anything good, and Spirit much prefers action over thought when they start to think too far back.

They dig into their pocket, pulling out the proper token.

Ft. Almond, who belongs to @strange-lace

Spirit Masterpost

Spirit is nervous.

Macaque’s token is buzzing.  

They don’t know if they should be.  They’re nervous for clients, of course, and they’re polite to everyone they meet, but Macaque is...different.  They’ve known him longer, longer than most of their clients.

They’ve done so many favors for him, he can’t hurt them.  They know that.  They know they know that.

They still tremble a little as they reach into their pocket.

Are the favors not enough?  They have to be.  Spirit has been operating on them for as long as they can remember, likely longer than that.  Favors are dependable, favors make sense, they can tally them down and be assured, and know, and can quantify, and

And yet.

Macaque is like Red, but different.  Close, but not a friend.  Something else.  And Spirit shouldn’t be afraid.  They’ve done him favors, they’re safe.  They’ve done everything he asked, even when it wasn’t good.  Because they aren’t stupid, and they know what is and isn’t right.  They haven’t been right for a long time maybe ever, but they just want to be safe, and this is how they will be.

They know that.  This is how it has to be.

Because if it isn’t, then Spirit would have, and wouldn’t have, and

Spirit doesn’t like to think on the would haves, because they turn into should haves.  They should have this, they should have that—none of that is helpful.  Wanting more from the past doesn’t change the present.

Besides, they should have what they deserve, and

Spirit grabs the token and goes to where they are needed.

They’re not quite sure where they are, at first, but the cliffside they appear at is just a few miles from the town.  They can see the weather tower from where they are.  It’s the tallest building in the city, after all.

Macaque’s seeming lack of appearance would be worrying, but Spirit feels the itch that always happens in their eye, the big one, when Macaque is hiding in the dark.

“You test that a lot,” they say.  “I haven’t missed you yet.”

They turn around just as Macaque steps out of their shadow.  It’s kind of interesting, watching the flat object liquify into what seems like smoke, pulling from the rockface upon which Spirit’s shadow is cast.  From shadow to smoke to flesh and bone, the transition seamless.

“I’m your teacher, aren’t I?  Who else is going to test you?” He stretches his arms leaning back against the cliff face with his arms crossed over his chest.

Spirit supposes that makes sense.  Macaque is their teacher, in the sense that he’s really the only person who has bothered to teach Spirit anything, save for their mom.  But Mom isn’t a teacher, she’s Mom, so Macaque is their teacher.  It makes sense when you think about it.

“So,”  Macaque starts, a claw lazily tugging at Spirit’s sleeve to get their attention.  “Got any new information?  As a favor,” he adds the last part like he always does, and Spirit perks up like they always do.

A new favor is always so nice.

“Oh, well, the Demon Bull King was released,” they start.  “Red Son, Princess Iron Fan, and the Demon Bull King have congregated on the outskirts of Wán Qiãn Chéng, where Monkey King’s successor lives, and they battle him from time to time—”

“Monkey King has a successor?” Macaque all but shouts, loud enough that Spirit takes a step back.

They fidget, and hide their hands behind their back.

“Um, yes?” Spirit shrugs at Macaque’s incredulous look.  “He stopped the Demon Bull King when DBK first emerged, and has been protecting the city and, uh, the world since then.  He’s a little younger than me, age wise I think.

“I haven’t gotten a good look at him, but he’s friends with the youngest member of the Long family, so he might be aristocratic?  I don’t know,” They finish lamely, smiling a little.

Macaque grins.  It’s not a nice one, one of his scheming grins he gets when he wants something and is figuring out how to get it.  Spirit finds it familiar, considering Macaque always wants something from them, in one way or another.  Why he feels the need to scheme is beyond them, because Spirit does most anything if asked politely.

Then again, they were a bit obstinate when Macaque and them first met.  They made Macaque work for their favor, which is stupid.  They should’ve listened better back then, and Macaque would maybe like them more now.  

Most people don’t like them, though, so they suppose they should be used to it.

“Well then,” Macaque starts, rubbing his chin with his hand in thought.  “That is something.  Thanks kid.  I’ll use that.”

Spirit brightens at the praise.

“You’re welcome!” they beam.  “Um, anything else, sir?”

Macaque waves a hand.  “Nah.”

He turns towards the horizon, and then, for some reason, looks back almost...shy?  Spirit doesn’t really understand Macaque’s moods.  He can flip flop in terms of good or bad feelings very quickly, with no rhyme nor reason Spirit can discern in regards to why.

They jump, scrambling to catch an item as Macaque just...tosses them a bag of what they soon realize is coins.  A fair bit, if the weight is any indication.  The bag is purple, with a silver drawstring for the pouch.  They love purple and silver!  Macaque doesn’t do silver, save for the token he made for them; his cuffs are gold.

They glance up at him in confusion.

“Got tired of carrying that,” Macaque says, looking away from them.  “Figured you wouldn’t mind.  Buy yourself something with it, or whatever.”

He glances back at them again.  Spirit waves.

Macaque jumps off the cliff, and disappears.

Spirit heads back to town, after that, flitting through different shopping centers.  They don’t really have a lot of money regularly, but they also don’t spend a lot of money regularly, so they’re typically okay with spending money when they want or need to.  

The last thing that was a big purchase was getting their outfit fixed up for the third time.  They always wait until the fabric is so worn that they can’t stitch it together to do so, because they try to be frugal, but keeping their one and only outfit in fair condition is a necessity.

Macaque had mentioned the practice, saying that it was how he kept his outfit pristine after centuries.  Demons who could weave silk would restring the fabric line by line until it was simply the same but brand new, keeping the old string to be salvaged for whatever they could find within.  It wasn’t terribly expensive, but was still a purchase to be saved up for.

They don’t shift into human form, staying in the alleyways where they’re hardly seen and glancing out to the streets to see if there’s anything neat to find instead of walking in the open as a human.  Their eyes catch on a shop in the food district, a colorful storefront.

Bitter Sweets.

They can see the colorful creations set up in the window display.  Sweets, pastries.

Pastries.

They remember pastries.  It was such a rare thing to have.  Father was always in the Inn, always toward the front side they’d have to cross to get to the indoor kitchen.  They never wanted to cross Father.  They knew what would happen.

But it became a game.  Find whenever Father is gone, fixing up a room for a new customer, off to the town to find tourists, and sneak into the kitchen.  Throw together the ingredients, skipping across the floor to find each and every item needed for the recipe.  Mixing the ingredients into dough, kneading it and playing with it as Mother laughed, shaping it into its proper form, placing it in the stone oven and watching, waiting.

And then the dough would rise, and Spirit would lean in so close to watch that Mom would gently tug them back with a soft smile.  She would pull out the finished product, and Spirit would tug on her sleeve and say ‘Now?’, and she would smile and shake her head and make them wait until it cooled.

They would pull apart the warm (but not hot!) balls of sticky bread just to see the inside and finally stuff a piece into their mouth, giggling.  They’d take the lot and scamper off into safety with Mom, off into the back area where the infirmary was, where father couldn’t reach, the taste of sweetness on their tongue.

Spirit remembers pastries.

Entranced, they cross the street and enter the shop.

The inside is just as warm and bright as the outside, purples and pinks in pastel hues the general color scheme, with cool gray walls and white highlights to accent the colors. There’s a second display case by the front counter, a small table with two chairs off to the side, and a sweet smell of something baking that hits you both with nostalgia and hunger.

Spirit thinks about the last time they’ve eaten, and can’t quite remember.  Then again, that’s not too terrible, considering they don’t need to eat regularly.

“Hello, dear!” A voice calls from further inside.  

Spirit jumps at the sound, and stares as brown hair, purple skin, and red eyes greet them.  The demon is of the spider variety, a cap on her head and smudges of flour and icing on her apron and face.  

She has 3 eyes, just like them.  But they’re not supposed to have three eyes, so it’s different.  She’s allowed to like hers.

She wipes off her hands on her apron and steps up to the counter, a pleasant smile greeting them with her hands on her hips, ready to be of service. “What can I get for you today?”

Spirit stares for a moment.

Right.  They have to order something.

“I-uh-um,” They stammer, because they didn't have time to prepare for this, and just a glance at the display case proves that they don’t know what any of the pastries are, nor do they know what the names mean.

And what did they even expect?  That this random sweets shop would have the exact type of pastry they remembered making centuries ago with someone who has been gone so long it shouldn’t matter?  Those things are lost to time, lost to a world they left behind when there was nothing left but blood and memories.  The soft moments are held only by the crumbs left in their head; there’s nothing tangible here.  They’re so stupid.  So, so, so stupid.

“I can always help you pick something out, if you need help,” the shopkeep says, gentle as Spirit’s anxiety mounts.

No, they can’t ask for help, they’re not allowed to.  They can’t do this, they should just run, run and never come back because this is stupid, what are they even looking for-

“Mooncakes!” they nearly shout, clapping a hand over their mouth a moment later, face bright red as they look away.

Their tail curls around their leg tight enough to hurt.  The shopkeeper's eyes glance down at their leg, for a moment.

Spirit tries again, softer, and fidgets with their belt. “Um, if you, uh, if you have any mooncakes. I would...like those.”

They bite the inside of their cheek hard, just short of drawing blood.

Mooncakes are the only pastry they know by name.  The only pastry that Father allowed and wanted them to make, special for New Years.  That was when they could be in the kitchen for hours, baking batch after batch for customers in the Inn and to hand out to those in the infirmary.

Father never let them make anything outside of what people wanted, what could bring them in money.  He was always so worried about costs, irate by a single lost yuan.  They were only to do what could be profitable.  Providing mooncakes to the tourists brought them business.  That’s all he cared about.

Mom’s hospital business always made far more than the Inn ever did.  It’s a point of pride they carry, that their Mother’s sunny disposition, kind nature, and astute healing practices made her far more of a matriarch than their Father liked.  No one likes staying at an Inn with an owner who has such a cruel gaze, where the owner’s wife and child are too afraid to show their faces.

No one likes staying at an Inn where the owner doesn’t even have a face, but, well, Spirit wouldn’t know anything about that.  Why would they?  They’ve had claws for a long, long time, claws that are strong enough to rip and tear, but that has nothing to do with this.  Nothing happened.  

It’s none of your business.  Stop asking.

The shopkeep smiles.

“Ah, Mooncakes,” she says.  “It’s been a few months since the New Years celebration, but people are still coming around looking for them.  I make a batch every other day just in case.  Lucky for you, today’s the fresh batch!”

She turns away to the back, and Spirit lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Miss.”

“Call me Almond,” Almond calls from the back.

Spirit smiles.  “Thank you, Miss Almond.”

They only ask for a few, maybe three, but after they pay and leave they find nearly ten in the bag they’ve been given.  They idly chew on one, and almost stop in the street as the rush of nostalgia is accompanied by the taste of an expertly baked mooncake.

Watching the fireworks with Mom, bright lights up in the sky, sharing a mooncake with someone who cared, being carried home, half asleep under the stars and wanting to be nowhere else but where they were then, because the only place that was home was her arms because they were warm and safe and now they’re….

They blink back a couple tears and continue to chew.

They walk around aimlessly for a while, and eventually climb up a random building to sit on its ledge, letting the wind brush through their fur as they chew on their second mooncake.  

They wonder if Red would share one with them, if they asked.  They never stayed around long enough to share one with him on New Years.  They almost pull out their cell phone and text him, but…well.

Red hasn’t been close for a long time.  A rift was made because Spirit failed him, and they’ve always been a coward, too afraid to reach across the gap where something safe and special used to be.

They put their phone away.

A token buzzes in their pocket.

Huh.  Guess Spirit doesn’t have too much time to introspect.  That’s okay, though.  Introspection doesn’t lead to anything good, and Spirit much prefers action over thought when they start to think too far back.

They dig into their pocket, pulling out the proper token.

Oh.  It’s Spider Queen!  

Spirit hasn’t heard from her in a long while, but they’re always happy to help, so they let the token whisk them to where they need to be.

They can hear the rush of cars overhead when they appear in what they assume is the sewers.  Eerie green pods of something litter the walls and ground, and there’s a fair smattering of purple grey spider webs that lighten the dark stones.

“Spirit!”

They turn, and see the Spider Queen just a foot or so away, bathed in green light from a crater shaped pool that has a green, bubbling liquid boiling within.  She’s grinning wide at them, and Spirit will say that, for a demon lost for half a millennium (that’s most demons, to be fair.  They all disappeared when the Demon Bull King did.  After all, if Monkey King could do that to someone, what would he do to them, the weaker ones?), she looks just as much of a threat as she did the last time they saw her.

They bow.

“Hello, Miss Queen,” they greet, and, after glancing back at the bag gripped tightly in their hand, they say “Would you like a mooncake?”

Spider Queen stares, for a moment, and then laughs. “Ha!  My, aren’t you sweet?” 

The sound of Spider Queen’s mechanical spider legs sends a shiver down Spirit’s spine, but Spirit has never minded spiders all that much.  As long as bugs stay away from them, in the sense that they don’t crawl onto them, Spirit leaves them be.  Spider Queen is more than just a bug, they suppose, and therein lies the danger.

They stand up, reach into their bag, and pull out a mooncake.

“This is just the thing I needed!” Spider Queen plucks the mooncake from Spirit’s hand.  “You would not believe the day I just had!”

She takes a bite and Mmms at the taste while Spirit fidgets silently.

“You know, I had my favorite meal taken from me, but this might be the next best thing.”

Spider Queen is a lot like Macaque, in the sense that they both talk a lot and Spirit never knows what to say in reply.  There’s a lot of bragging, grandiose statements and plotting, and then eventually an expectation of a response.  Spirit is never good at responses, though.

Then again, Spider Queen likes to hear herself talk a little more than she cares for a response.  She’s easier to handle, in that sense.  Macaque is harder.

“Would you mind giving me a buff, sweetheart?  As a favor.  I’ve got a bigger task for you, and it requires a bigger explanation.  Why waste the time, right?” Spider Queen holds out one of her mechanical spider legs.

“Right,” Spirit replies with a small smile.  “Of course.”

Lucky that they keep the polish for this sort of stuff on hand.  They pull it out with a rag and start to polish the metal, working out old scratches and making them disappear until the surface glitters like new.

“This town has become a hotbed of activity since ol’ Demon Bull King jumped out from the netherworld,” She starts, talking as Spirit works.  “I thought I’d sneak in and see what the fuss was about, maybe grab a meal or two.  It has been ages since the Spider Queen has ruled, and now that we’re allowed to play, I’m planning on rebuilding my empire!  The monkey boy came in and stole my meal, but he left behind a little piece of himself that I can use.”

She chuckles darkly at that notion.

“Monkey Boy?” Spirit inquires, moving onto the second leg.

“Ugh,” Spider Queen growls under her breath.  “Monkey King’s newest pet project.  He comes tearing in, stealing my perfectly good dinner, that little—” She cuts herself off.  

Spirit hands her another mooncake. She makes a motion with it in the air, huffing indignantly before continuing.  “His hair is enough to give my venom the kick it needs, but I don’t have the minions I used to.  I need tech.”

Spirit starts on the fourth leg.  The position they have to be to buff is uncomfortable, a strain on their back, but to complain would be stupid, so they deal with the pain.

“That’s where you come in, dear,” Spider Queen turns to them.

Spirit glances up.

“You’re good at getting information, and you probably understand this modern stuff better than I do.” She waves a hand, almost dismissive.  “I need someone to build me some spider robots to transport the venom.   You don’t need to worry about the transport, I’ve got Huntsman for that, but they don’t know what to look for.”

Spirit worked on finishing the fourth leg while they respond. “Of course, Miss Queen.  Does it matter if they’re a demon or not?” They like to know specifics.

“Pfft—no self respecting demon knows anything about these new fangled devices!  We thrive off of power and magic, not tech like phones!  Those are things humans use as a crutch,” Spider Queen rolls her eyes, huffing.

“...Right,” Spirit replies, pointedly not getting offended on Red’s behalf.

It’s okay.  She doesn’t know she’s being rude. Spirit stands up, having finished with buffing Spider Queen’s armory.

“I’ll get on it right away, Miss Queen.  Anything else?”  Spirit finds that being polite does wonders, and Spider Queen likes it when she’s called a Queen.

“Nope!  I’m gonna relax.  Good luck!” Spider Queen’s legs sound with metal clicks as she leaves, waving as she does so.

Spirit waits until they’re sure Spider Queen is far enough away for them to relax.  They turn, walking toward where they can hear open rushing water.  The sewers are essentially a river, and all rivers lead to the sea eventually.  Macaque taught them that.

It takes them around an hour to walk to the end of the sewers, climbing out of the pipe and sitting atop it.  

They’re just a few hundred yards away from the city’s docks.  They dangle their feet over the edge of the pipe and watch the rushing sewer water drain out into the sea.

They pull out their phone.

Red Son would likely know how to work robotics, but they’re supposed to find a human.  Plus, they don’t want to involve Red in this sort of stuff.  They can probably ask Mei.  She doesn’t know about their favor business, so she won’t be any the wiser, and she won’t feel guilty!  It’s the perfect plan.

‘Mei.

Hello!  It’s Spirit.  I was wondering about the technology of the city.  It is very advanced.  How was it constructed?  Who keeps it running?

Let me know if you know!

Spirit’

That should be inconspicuous enough to get Mei to start discussing things.  They don’t like dancing around subjects, but they don’t think this is the sort of thing they can just tell Mei about.  Mei is the type to have more of a moral backbone than Spirit does.  Spirit has their rules, of course, their lines in the sand, but they do most anything regardless of consequence.  What is good, what is bad; they don’t have the power to deliberate on that sort of thing.

If they were powerful enough that no one could hurt them, they would choose good, of course.  They don’t enjoy most of the work they do, they don’t find satisfaction in it besides the comfort of knowing that they’re a little safer, but it’s necessary.  They don’t have the luxury of knowing powerful people to protect them.  They don’t have anyone who would.

So they protect themself, somehow.  It works.

They pocket their phone, and head back towards the city.

They take a detour to the forest, because being in the sewers did nothing to keep them clean.  There’s a stream a few miles out of town that’s perfect for washing in, though, so that’s where they end up, carefully scrubbing the scent out of their clothes and fur and sunbathing on a rock.  They sprawl across it, back curved as their head hangs off one end and their feet and tail the other.  They have to bend their legs a bit, because the rock isn’t tall enough to keep every part of them off of the ground, but it’s mostly comfortable.

Just for a few hours, they let themself rest, polishing off the last few mooncakes as their fur and outfit dry.

They end up falling asleep and wake up as stars dot the sky.  The more they stare, the more their vision becomes unfocused, so that the lights triple in number.  It’s fun, sometimes, to have lopsided eyes.  It creates an interesting view.

They stretch, grabbing their now dry clothes and putting them on.  They’ll take a leisurely walk back to the city, maybe pick up breakfast.  Maybe.  They already ate something this week, and it’s not like they need much.  Why waste the money if it’s for something unnecessary.

Then again, Comes a voice that sounds a little bit like Macaque, a little bit like Father, and mostly like a part of themself they prefer to ignore; Were the mooncakes necessary?

Spirit doesn’t have an answer to that.

An hour’s walk gives them plenty of time to introspect, but Spirit prefers to avoid that.  Their mind is a winding road paved back centuries, but while it started with lovingly placed bricks somewhere along the way the materials were left shattered.  Glass and broken stone leaves feet bloody and pained, and you can’t go around, only through.  So Spirit chooses neither, and leaves the rest of the road to be forgotten.

The road they’re on now, the present, is made with a mosaic of materials they managed to cobble together, after everything broke.  It’s bumpy, there are cracks in the pavement, and you have to be careful.  Spirit is always careful, though; they’ve had the practice.

The issue with being so, so careful is that leaving behind the earliest stretches of road means they remember little of their childhood.  Spirit would never say it aloud, but they don’t remember their mother’s face.  To find that picture would mean flipping through the bloody pages of their photo album, and Spirit is, at the end of it all, a coward.

That’s enough thought for now.  We have to move things along.

Spirit thinks they can have a leisurely morning, but yet another token buzzes in their pocket, much to their chagrin.  Spirit wouldn’t say it, but sometimes it’s exhausting to be at everyone’s beck and call.  They signed up for it, however, they’ve no room to complain.

Reaching into their pocket, they pull out Yin and Jin’s token.  They frown, if only because Yin and Jin call them the most frequently and, often, the favors they’re called for are mundane and silly.  

Though, compared to the harder, less moral favors, they find these preferable.

They consider letting the token ring.  They’ve done that before.  Yin and Jin have so many favors put down that they get a little cavalier with how they interact with the pair.  The two used Spirit a lot before they knew how the system worked and realized using them as a crutch was a bad idea.

Apparently owing Spirit something is a bad thing.  Spirit can’t imagine why.

They sigh.  As much as Yin and Jin are long-time clients, that’s no excuse for being late or lazy.  They take a deep breath, and let the token whisk them away.

They arrive within the city, at the front step of a hideout.  Spirit recognizes the alley once they swivel their head around.  It’s a fair few miles in the middle of the city, where a lot of nooks and crannies lie between the bustling streets.  Perfect for hiding.  It’s not too far from the main road that it would be invisible, though Spirit isn’t sure if that’s because Yin and Jin want to be near the main road or if they just didn’t think about it.  With their general intelligence, it’s 50/50.

They step inside, posture straight.  All business.

“Hello,” they greet.

Inside is a rather sparse dwelling.  There’s what appears to be an unused kitchen off to the right of the main room.  Said room is a large expanse, and a dirty one at that.  At the back of it is a board, covered in pins and string, tying threads together in myriad ways that Spirit can’t quite decipher.  They see Mei up there.  A picture of Pigsy.  The rest are unrecognizable.

“Hey!” Yin calls.  

Spirit’s gaze drops down to them.  They’ve been taller than the two for centuries.

“Got a favor for ya,” Jin continues.

“I assumed,” Spirit replies.  “What do you need me to do?

Red eyes squint with twin sharp-toothed grins, and they pull out a large book.

“Well you see,” Yin starts.

“We wanna go after the Monkie Kid, yeah?” Jin continues.

“So we made a plan,” Yin finishes.

They open the book, straight to the middle, and on the page are...two steps illustrated.  Pretty self explanatory, in the sense that Spirit can tell that they want to use some sort of artifact to trap the Monkey King’s successor.

“So, we figured, Calabash,” Jin points to the first picture.  “We capture him in it, keep ‘im in there, right?”

“Right,” Yin agrees.

They look to Spirit.

“Right?” Spirit says.

They both nod.

“The thing is,” Jin moves on, which Spirit appreciates because they don’t know where this conversation is going, “The calabash is uh, in a museum.”

“It’s old,” Yin supplies.

“You want me to retrieve it for you?” Spirit parses out.

Yin and Jin smile again, all teeth.  It used to be intimidating, but, well, Spirit is older, and smarter.

Spirit is scared of everyone, but there’s a certain safety that comes with knowing that when push comes to shove, they just need to kill one to incapacitate the other.  They’ve seen the two when one is absent without cause.  They can use that, if needed.  Not that they would, but they could.  That makes them safe.

“Now you got it,” Jin crosses his arms over his chest.  

“Sound good?” Yin asks.

“Do I have a time limit?” Spirit likes to know the conditions.

They’re already working on one favor, and if they have to worry about the time limit of another favor, then they have to balance things.  Not that they do much else when not working on favors, but still.  They like to be a little organized.

“We’re gonna order from the restaurant the kid works at in a week or two,” Yin explains.

Spirit nods.  That gives them time.  They have a phone now, too, and Mei taught them how to search stuff on it, so they can look up the museum once they’re out.

“Okay,” They respond.  “Anything else?”

Yin and Jin glance at each other.  They have this way of communicating without words, and Spirit finds it kind of cool.  There’s a twitch of an eyebrow on one face, a small mouth movement on the other.  Their expressions don’t really change, just shift a little.

“Nah, we’re good,” Yin waves them off.

Spirit nods and vanishes without a farewell.

All in all, they don’t dislike Yin and Jin.  Sure, the two are loud and rambunctious, but so is Red, and Spirit could never dislike Red.  In a way, they’re almost jealous of the pair.  They have each other.  They have someone who will never leave, who could never leave.  Inseparable, two against the world.

One is the loneliest number, and maybe Spirit is just a little jealous to know a Yin who isn’t always alone. 

As they head off, scaling the wall and choosing to traverse the city over rooftops, they get a text.  It’s from Mei, a response to their earlier query.  Spirit stops, tail swishing back and forth as they perch on the edge of a roof, toes curled over the edge to grip it as they squat, leaning down to read the text.

‘hey spirit!

the city is the sum of hundreds of years of advancement, with tens of hundreds of programmers and hardware engineers building it up! ive been looking up a lot of them as inspo for my work in tech. 

i like this one programmer, syntax.  hes a mystery, theres only one public picture of him, but hes responsible for most of the tech in the city!  he was the leading programmer for the weather tower and has a bunch of patents he makes money off.  total recluse lol no one knows where he could even live near!  ive always wanted to meet him.  lemme send you some articles!!!!!’

Interspersed between the sentences are a deluge of emojis.  A lot of green hearts, a couple dragons, some rain clouds when mentioning the weather tower.  Beneath the text are a few articles.  Spirit squints.  They think they press their finger on those.

Sure enough, pressing their finger on the article pulls it up in a...they think Mei called it a web browser?  They should ask her next time they’re called over.

Or...well, Mei doesn’t know it, but they’re doing Spirit a favor, giving them this information, and if there’s anything Spirit fears, it’s being in someone’s debt.  She doesn’t know, but she could find out, and if she did, she could use them, she could hurt them—

Well, Mei doesn’t seem the type, but one never knows.

‘Mei.

Thanks.  I’ll read them soon.  Hey, do you want to meet someplace? I know your mother was not thrilled at my offer to teach you swordfighting, but I am still willing to.  As long as we meet away from your house.  I wouldn’t want to get in trouble.

Let me know!

Spirit.’

That should even things out.  A good lesson or two, maybe more.  Spirit would prefer to do more than less when repaying a debt, just to be sure.

They start to peruse the different articles.  The only public image they have of this programmer is striking.  He’s got eccentric hair and a small mustache.  He frowns at the camera, clearly displeased with having his picture taken, a pristine lab coat on and a pair of bright green glasses adorning his face.  There’s a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place as the picture is taken.

The only known thing that he does is go to a specific coffee shop.  Evidently, anytime he goes, the cameras in the area including phones stop working, thus contributing to the lack of photos.  People like to chat about him, simply because of the mystery of it.

They get a text back from Mei.

‘sounds great!  i know a place.  text u the deets later! <3’

Spirit smiles.

They decide to stake out the coffee shop this Syntax goes to.  It’s toward the outskirts of the city, small, with a reputation for using specially designed and grown beans that no one else can replicate.  Supposedly.  It keeps a low profile, as well as a very high end coffee shop can, but most people are priced out of it anyway.  From what Spirit read from reviews, a lot of people would get this coffee as a treat, something to save up for as a present on a weekend.  It’s a large place, and people often go to sit and relax for a while with their drink.

Syntax, evidently, goes there up to five times a week, to the point that his drink is memorized by everyone who works there.  He pays in cash, to avoid any trace that he was there, and then disappears.  People say he avoids being followed.

People, though.  Mortals.  They can’t see souls the way Spirit can.

They catch him on day two of their stakeout, and they sit, waiting, as he orders.  Cash is exchanged, and he walks away.  No one tries to follow him, but Spirit must, so they will.

They blink, and the world bursts into different colors.  Souls of all different shades, constantly interacting with one another.  Syntax’s soul is a neon green, with lavender lines within that resemble code.  The soul takes on the whole of the person, after all.  People more powerful can have souls that show it.  Spirit likes that.  They like knowing that they can always check if people are lying.

They follow, and soon realize why Syntax is so hard to follow.  Every turn and twist he sends out a...well, he can’t make clones, but they’re digital recreations of himself that continue walking in a different direction than the real Syntax is.  They’re near perfect, able to fool anyone who just saw them as is, but they don’t have souls.  

So Spirit follows the soul.

It’s a good hour walk, not that Syntax walks all the way.  Once he’s out of the main city area, he hops into a hover car that seems like a personal project (if the paint job is anything to say about it) and blasts off.  Spirit follows the trail, far enough behind that they can’t see Syntax but close enough that they can catch his colors in their eye.

It’s a good twenty minutes before they reach Syntax’s house.  It looks like a fortress, a large mansion gated and hidden.  Spirit takes a picture, grabs Spider Queen’s token, and disappears.

They were just told to locate him, after all.  They prefer that.  As much as Spirit is good at their job, they don’t like the thought of having to kidnap anyone, because the person would likely scream, or cry, or beg, and Spirit would have to see that.  

It’s easier if they don’t see it.  They already know it isn’t right, they don’t need the painful reminder.

Spider Queen’s lair is as dark and damp as they remember, with the added addition of an expansion of the green pool of bubbling liquid.  It has spread to little pods scattered about the place, glowing ominously with newfound energy.

“Miss Queen?” They call.  

Green eyes blink from the dark, and Spirit stays very still as she comes into view.

“Back so soon?” Spider Queen leans back on her mech, grinning like...what was the phrase Spirit had heard.  Like a cat who had caught the canary?  That’s it.

Spirit doesn’t know why it has to be a canary.  Cats eat plenty of birds.  And mice!  Odd.

“I have what you want,” Spirit replies, keeping it short and to the point.  “He’s an engineer and a programmer, and a recluse, so people probably won’t notice if he goes missing.  I have a picture of his house, and I can take you to it if you want, bu_t”

“That won’t be necessary,” Spider Queen waves a hand.  She clears her throat with intention, and Spirit tilts their head to the side as another figure comes out from the shadows.

“My Queen,” Huntsman’s voice is as gravelly as ever, and he bows a little in greeting.

Spirit gives him a small wave.  He rolls his eyes at them.  

Fair enough.

“I need you to hunt down this human.  He’s important to my debut as Queen of the world!  Spirit here has the details.”

Spider Queen gestures to them, and Spirit jumps a little as the weight of seemingly eyes all fall upon them.

“O-oh!” They fumble to pull out their phone.  “I have-uh-I have a photo of his house, so you can use that, and, uh—”

They look down, and Huntsman is suddenly very, very close to them.  They take a wary step back.  

He sniffs them.

“Were you just there?” He asks.

Spirit slowly nods, holding out their phone so Huntsman can see the picture of Syntax’s house.  He glances down at it, and then after scanning it over, nods decisively.

“I’ll have him here by tomorrow,” he promises.

“He-uh-!” Spirit raises a hand, pressing their fingers to their mouth in apprehension.  “His house looks very high tech.  There’ll uh-there’ll probably be, um, defenses.”

They haven’t talked to Huntsman or Goliath much, in the centuries they’ve been around to help Spider Queen with different things, but Huntsman gave them a knife once.  Said it was because they looked pathetic without a way to defend themself.  They didn’t want to tell him that they already had a weapon, so they kept the knife.  He got them one with a purple grip, even!  It was a nice gesture, and Spirit would like Huntsman to stay alive.

Not that they ever really want anyone dead, but they know it’s often an eventuality, and saving every person, wanting to keep every person they know around is hard, and will only lead to pain.  They know from experience.  Besides, they’re pretty sure no one would do anything to keep them alive.  If a tool breaks you can always get a new one, so Spirit is expendable, and expendable means that you can’t be expected to be kept safe.  They know from experience.  But they like certain hands that wield them over others, so they’d like those ones to remain, at least.

Huntsman grins, at that.

“I love it when they fights back,” he almost purrs before skittering off.

Spirit watches him leave, head tilted to the side.  They suppose it makes sense that he likes hunting, considering his name is Huntsman.  They wonder if his name was because of his type or his profession.  Or maybe his type dictated his profession?  Then again, there isn’t such a spider type as queen, so that’s a little silly to think about.

“Thank you, dear,” Spider Queen says, jerking Spirit out of their thoughts.

Spirit bows.  “Of course, Miss Queen.”

When they stand up, there’s a bag of money—smaller than the one Macaque gave them, but hefty nonetheless—being offered to them.

“You’re too skinny,” Spider Queen says. “I can’t have a servant of mine looking half starved!  Do something about it.”

Spirit blinks.  They didn’t think they were too skinny.  Sure, they could feel their ribs easily, but that's nice, because whenever they break their ribs they can figure out which one super fast.  It’s useful.  They don’t want to disappoint Spider Queen, though, and while she didn’t say it was a favor she is giving Spirit money, so they might as well get something to eat as a job well done gift.

They ignore how that thought makes their stomach squirm.  How they feel about the jobs they are given does not matter.  It never has.

“Of course,” They repeat, taking the bag.  With another bow, they leave.

Thankfully, this trip hasn’t ruined their clothes, so they don’t need to wash them.  They leave through a manhole cover in an alley, and when they peek their head out to see where they are, Bitter Sweets stares them down from across the street.

Well, at least they know they’ll like something from the shop, right?

The bell above the door rings in their ears long after the sound leaves the room, and Almond comes in with a smile that is slowly becoming familiar.  It’s almost motherly, but Spirit wouldn’t say that, because if they did they’d have to run.  Run before the motherly figure burns to dust, disappears for the sole reason of being motherly to them, of all people. 

So for now, they say it is kind, and warm, and comforting.

“Spirit!” she grins up at them.

Spirit smiles hesitantly back.

“More mooncakes?” Almond prompts.

“Yes,” They nod, toes curling in excitement.

Nostalgia hurts a little, but it’s nice, too.  “And—” they start, because Almond is kind, and open, and soft and Spirit can be brave a little. “Maybe, um, you could recommend some stuff?  I-uh,” They rub the back of their neck sheepishly.  “I don’t know the names of most of this.”

They gesture to the display case lamely.

Almond’s smile somehow gets softer, and her eyes light up with excitement.  Spirit’s tail swishes back and forth with a calm joy from making someone happy.

“Of course,” Almond replies.

Getting the Calabash is, unsurprisingly, boring.  Stealing an item is much easier than tracking a person.  One quick search and they find it in a museum, nestled near the center of the city.  Sneaking in is easy, because while they are tall, they’re quiet, flexible, and smart.  That, and the people here are very lax in security.  Being so used to peacetime makes people complacent.  In a way, Spirit is relieved that they have known conflict most of their life.  It keeps them sharp.

They don’t know what to do in peacetime.  There’s always something to do, a job to accomplish.  A fight to help with.  What else can they do?

The only thing that gives them pause is the existence of two Calabashes.  One, older and far larger, is stated as the original.  Evidently, using a mix of demon magic and more modern technology, a new one was made, one that aimed to capture rather than kill.  

Yin and Jin never specified which one they wanted.  If Spirit was to guess, they know the pair would want the original.  The one that melts whoever is trapped within.  The one that kills.

Spirit doesn’t kill children.  And they don’t know the Monkey King’s successor, but he’s a child.  Younger than they are.

Are they a child?  Were they ever?

So they hedge their bets on the idea that Yin and Jin won’t notice the difference, and pick the newer, kinder one.

The pair does not notice.  They’re a bit scatterbrained like that.  Or maybe they don’t care.

Once the Calabash is secured and delivered, Spirit sits atop a random building, chewing on leftover pastries from their last visit to Almond’s bakery.  The sunset is looking awfully nice, but Spirit thinks that the charm is lost once you lose someone to watch them with, so they pull out their phone.

In the news section, there is a small article about Syntax abandoning his favorite coffee shop.  The article supposes that he picked another spot to get his caffeinated beverages.  There are thousands of comments speculating, wondering where he could have gone.

Spirit knows the truth.  The weight of that, the guilt, sits at the bottom of their stomach like a stone.

But there’s a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand stones sitting there, and they’ve been dragging Spirit down for a long time.  One more isn’t going to change much, isn’t going to drag them deeper down than they already are.  They’ve been drowning for centuries.  Drowning, mouth clenched shut, holding in their final breath, as if the moment they let it go they’d finally succumb to the suffocation pressing against them on all sides.  

When they were younger, they’d claw to the surface, take a breath or two, before another stone weighed them lower.  The sunlight doesn’t reach them, with how deep they are now.  Nothing does, because Spirit is alone.  That’s what happens when you hurt everyone around you, isn’t it?

One of these days, they were going to let go.  One of these days, they’d open their mouth, and finally they would be able to scream.

Sometimes all Spirit wants to do is let go, scream, and drown. 

They look at the sunset.  It’s looking awfully nice, don’t you think?

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter six: the island and the bay

It would be another few days before Sam could fetch up the courage to call up Alex again, especially since she had no way of roaming about Los Angeles again: a ride over the channel with the boat would prove to be pointless in the end, and Esmé was wary of her heading over there alone in the wake of the riots in the two years before. But she did in the end: he skirted all along the spine of the United States with Ozzy Osbourne, and all the while with the hope that someone would take him and the guitar on his back. And in the end, he always came back to the safety of his hotel room in time for him to pick up the phone and dial the number back to the house on Catalina Island.

Twice in a row, he had a husky tone to his voice as well, as if he was already in bed and in his pajamas and ready for a good night’s rest.

She finally pointed it out to him one evening right before Labor Day weekend, and a few nights right before the stop in the heart of Los Angeles. Esmé had left for Avalon which in turn left the house all to herself, but not that she was at all in the mood to do anything. A summer which came and went for her and one where she had no time to do anything such as that, especially since there was no one else around besides her own mother. She took her seat on top of the bed with her legs loosely crossed before her and one hand down on top of the bedspread itself. The pains in her knee, her ankle, and her hips still persisted but she was finally able to sit with comfort after months of agony.

She had considered putting the cordless on speaker phone but at the same time, there was something intimate about her sitting there on the bed in her pajamas while she talked to him over the phone.

“It’s just... you know, exhausting,” he explained. “Yeah, I'm hanging out with Ozzy and Sharon. Yeah, I'm more or less filling the shoes of Zakk and Randy Rhoads—one of my heroes, Randy Rhoads—but there’s just something off about the whole thing. Like, something’s missing. The road gets lonely sometimes.”

“It’s a lonely profession,” she said in a low voice.

“It’s a lonely profession, exactly. Just like how being an artist is a lonely profession. Lots of solitude. Lots of people around you, but at the end of the day, after you’ve put on a show and played around with thousands of people, you go back to your room alone.” He sniffled.

“You okay?” she asked him.

“Yeah, it’s just—really dry here in Phoenix. Dry and hotter than holy hell outside. Samantha, I'm sitting in my hotel room right now with the air conditioner on and I still feel the heat pulsating right through the door next to me. It's unreal how hot it is.”

“Oh, my god. How hot are we talking?”

“Well, it’s... not tomorrow but the day after, which is when the Oz man and company leave for Santa Fe and then Albuquerque, we’re supposed to get the monsoon flow—finally! It feels like a bread oven outside, even at two o’clock in the morning. Testament came out here—I think it was when you were hanging out with Anthrax, so you weren’t with us—but it was hot out here, though. Like a hundred and ten out if I remember correctly.”

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah! And today, it was about that—I think, anyways. Wouldn't surprise me in the least if it was or higher. Looking at thermometers and wondering how they aren’t exploding.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of heat, you heard James got burned, right?”

She gasped. “No? When did that happen?”

“It happened—well, I guess it happened right before the accident, so naturally—just, now that I think about it, naturally, you never got word of it. But they were touring Guns ‘N Roses and a big riot broke out and he got burned pretty badly from a fire.”

“Is he okay?”

“Oh, yeah. He's long gotten out and healed from it. It was pretty bad, though.”

“So, is the show up in L.A. the last one?” she asked him.

“Yeah, we stop there for two days and then we go home. Speaking of which...”

“What’s up?”

“Well, I just think about how you and I haven’t really done all too much since I got fresh off the boat from Testament—outside of, you know, the road trip up to Oregon and then coming back to your place when you were living back east. Our little blowouts just make me realize some things about—you and me.”

“What’re you saying?” Sam asked him, and her eyes darted about the bedspread before her. “You wanna hang out?”

“If it’s not too much to ask. I'd like to just chill with you over there in California for a bit. Before something else comes up again, you know?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, okay. Um—do you want to come back here to Catalina or do you want to go back up to the Bay Area?”

“If I go back to Catalina, I'm not gonna hear the end of it,” he chuckled.

“Oh. Right.”

“Yeah!” He laughed at that again. “Especially since you’re there again now. I mean, even if you weren’t there, I probably wouldn’t have risked it with your mom again. As much as I like your mom, and as much as I like Catalina, I just... I just can’t. I can’t go through with that again. It'd be awkward.”

“Thing is I don’t have wheels, though. I'm just kinda... stuck here.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I'll come get you. I'll ring you up and tell you when we’re leaving in a couple of days and then I'll tell the driver to make a stop in San Pedro to come get you. We'll hang out before the show and then we’ll mosey on up the Valley to the Bay Area and then we’ll hang out at my parents’ house. I did have my own place but ever since I got—freaking fired—I've had to sell it and move back in with my parents.”

“Really?” Sam was stunned by that.

“Yeah. Kind of like—what happened with you. Minus the horrific traffic accident that knocked you out cold for a whole three months and the blood transfusions and the fear that you wouldn’t wake up, of course.”

“What am I gonna tell my mom, though?” she asked him. “I’m going to explain it to her once she comes home and she’s going to want to know why.”

“Just tell her the truth,” he replied. “No harm, no foul.”

“Alex?”

“Mm-hm?”

“What should I wear?”

“What should you wear? What do you got? Actually, you know what?” He paused. “What do you have on right now?”

“Pajamas. Pajama bottoms. One of those old Death Angel shirts that used to be really loose on me but now it’s snug.”

“Nice and modest.”

“What about you?”

“I’m in my shorts and I got my old Gary Moore shirt on. Just got out of the shower so I smell clean.”

“That nice clean smell that lingers on your neck and your hair,” she remarked with a smile on her face. “You know, before the accident, I was working on something alongside Marla and Belinda in their shop in Scarsdale and I was in the process of making a stained-glass window based on Joey’s likeness. And I planned on doing one of you, too.”

“Really? Off of my likeness?”

“Yeah. I had a sketch comprised and everything. I lost it in the accident, though, so I don’t have anything to work with anymore. But Belinda's gonna ship the window I have in progress to me, though.”

“Give you something to do,” he added.

“Something to do and something to get me going again.”

“How is Belinda, anyways? I consider her a friend but I haven’t seen her in forever it seems. Her and her little snake pendant. When she and Marla made that card for you after the accident, I missed her.”

“She’s doing excellent. The glass shop was kind of her thing, too. She invited me into it.”

“And now she’s gonna ship you the window.”

“She’s about to ship it to me, yeah.”

“Kind of curious about what the sketch of me looked like now,” he confessed, once more in a husky voice.

The front door outside of her bedroom swung open.

“I gotta go, Alex,” Sam confessed to him. “Big Mama’s home.”

“Oh, snap,” he blurted out, and she giggled at that. “But yeah, I'll call you once we’re ready to leave here in a couple of days, though.”

“Okay. Good night, Alex.”

“Good night, Samantha.” And they hung up at the same time. But Sam realized she had to tell Esmé what the deal with Alex was once she strode into the next room to see her; and she burst out laughing at that.

“Why doesn’t he want to come here, though?” she asked Sam as she took out some bottles of olive oil from the paper bags.

“He just—wants to be with his parents,” she replied.

“I kind of want him here, though,” Esmé confessed. “He’s such a sweet boy and I want to see the two of you together here again. Nice little party together. There'll be no wine this time, though.”

“That means he’d have to take a trip over the channel from San Pedro and then back again and then he’d have to fly back up. He sounded awful tired, too.”

“Why not have best of both worlds? He comes here and then you go back up with him for a couple of days?”

“That’s... not a bad idea, actually,” Sam admitted with a little nod of her head.

“It’d get you out of the house, too. Out of the house and back to the Bay Area.”

“I could see my dad while we’re up there, too,” she added in a soft voice.

“There you go!”

Indeed, like clockwork, in a couple of days’ time, Alex called up the house again to which Sam was rather reluctant to explain it to him, especially when she took the ferry across the water to San Pedro and she climbed into the back seat next to him.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, no, no, no, no. No way.”

“Look at it this way: you come down to Catalina with me for a couple of days and then we go up to San Fran together afterwards. We get the best of both worlds.”

“She’s not gonna bust out the booze again, will she?”

“Nah, I checked. There's not a drop of alcohol in that house.”

“Okay, good.”

“Besides,” Sam assured him as she pushed her sunglasses up her nose, “if anything happens between the two of you, I'll keep an eye out.”

Ozzy and his band, as well as openers Infectious Grooves, were playing at the Forum in Inglewood for two nights, and all the while, Sam couldn’t help but think back to that pendant that Joey had given her when she met Ronnie in England. She had packed it away somewhere but she wondered if she would put it on again once they had returned to the house on Catalina.

Alex slung his guitar over his shoulder and he gave his black hair a little toss back. It wasn’t until there when Sam noticed the signs of aging on his face, with the minute line between his eyebrows, the creases on his lanky arms and the prominent veins on his hands, and his lips a touch more prominent than she had remembered. His skin was still pearly and smooth in appearance, to which the monsoon flow in the Southwest had a help in that as well, and the way he happily plucked the strings in practice showed her that he was still very much a boy at heart, but she could see that the signs of time began to show up on him.

She leaned her back against the wall, complete with the cane in her hand.

“How’re you doing down there, by the way?” he asked her with a glimpse down to her left leg.

“Better than it has,” she replied. “I’m able to sit comfortably again. It still hurts, but it’s not like agonizing like it used to be, though.”

“How ‘bout your ribs? I remember you broke a few of those, too.”

“They still hurt. I'm having to sleep on my back more, and I can’t stand it.”

“Why’s that?”

“I dunno, I just feel better sleeping on my side.”

“You like being held,” he pointed out in a low voice. “I say that because I know I do.”

He turned his head and gazed on to the rest of the backstage area.

“So, after Ozzy, what’s next?” she asked him.

“Go back with Savatage for a bit and then who knows after that?” His face fell when he said that, but then he perked up again.

“Remember when we went up to Oregon and there was that deal we made with each other?” he recalled. “If we weren’t going anywhere in terms of our career, we’d go off to school together?”  

“How could I forget?” she said with a chuckle.

“Let’s do it.”  

“Ah, but we said five years, though,” she pointed out.  

“Yeah. But understand that 1997 isn’t too far off.”  

“A lot can happen in two and a half years, though, Alex,” she persisted. “Take me for example.”

“And me, too,” he declared.

“And you, too! A lot can happen.”

The lights on the other side of the curtain changed to a bold golden color.

“Oh, jeez!” he declared. “I gotta go.”

“I’ll be right here for you,” she promised him.

“Alex?” Sharon’s voice floated over to that part of the backstage.

“Coming!” He ducked away from there and towards the lights. Sam gripped onto her cane and she hobbled over to the edge of the curtain: those old familiar feelings returned to her once again.

Alex stood there on the other side of the stage with his guitar before him. Once a humble young boy from the Bay Area with a yarmulke on his head, now a smooth-haired tall dark and slender young man in the shoes of one of his heroes, right next to the prince himself. And yet there was still something scrappy about him, something humble and focused all at the same time as Ozzy belted out to the audience. It wasn’t his own doing, something he helped build from the ground up like with Testament.

Maybe they were due to return to school together after all.

By the end of the set, Sharon sauntered over to Alex and spoke to him about something. She moved her arms forth and lunged forward as if she was imitating a body builder, to which Alex tilted his head back and groaned. She set a hand on his shoulder for a gentle pat but Sam had a bad feeling about it.

He returned to her and shook his head.

“What’s the matter?” she asked him.

“Just played my last show,” he promptly replied. “Sharon told me that she and Ozzy both wanted me to be like Zakk—Zakk Wylde—but it’s just not in me. I'm too willowy and comprised. Her words, not mine.”

He took his guitar off his shoulder and gave his hair a toss back.

“C’mon, let’s go back to Catalina,” she told him.

“Let’s go back to Catalina,” he echoed her with a nervous laugh.

Once he had tucked his guitar back into the safety of the case, they returned to the car for another trip back to San Pedro and the penultimate ferry out to the Island. Sam shivered as they boarded the ferry together.

“You cold?” he asked her as he huddled closer to her upon their sitting down.

“Kind of. It is September in L.A., after I had lived in New York for a time no less.”

“True.”

But they stayed out of the cold winds all the way across those dark waters. Alex shuddered and tried to keep his composure once he recognized Esmé there at the dock in anticipation of them. He lingered behind Sam as she hobbled up to her mother.

“Hi, Alex,” she greeted him with a little nod of her head and a sly grin on her face.

“Hi, Miss Shelley,” he replied. “You’re not going to get us tipsy again, are you?” he asked her with a tremble to his voice that time.

“Heavens, no! I'm trying to cut back on the wine, anyways.”

Given it was nearly midnight, neither Alex nor Sam was in the mood for a bite of dinner, and he swore to her that he had eaten just prior to the show.

“That’s what you said the last time you were here,” she teased him. “’It’s too late and I just had something to eat, too’, and yet you scarfed it up anyway.” He bowed his head to the counter top so she wouldn’t have to see the blush on his face; Sam meanwhile couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“It’s not that funny,” Alex teased her once Esmé’s back was turned to them.

He had volunteered to sleep on the couch that night even though Sam had invited him to bunk with her that night.

“Nah, I just think about what you said,” he told her in a low voice. “You can’t really sleep on your side anymore.”

“And? What about it?”

But he was cut off by the sight of Esmé right behind her and he lay down flat on his back on the couch. Sam shook her head and she headed back to her bedroom for the night. Another dreamless sleep and she awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and Alex seated at the counter in his shorts, his socks, and his disheveled hair.

“Cute!” she declared.

“I didn’t sleep a wink last night,” he confessed as he took a sip from his coffee cup. “I kept thinking your mom was gonna come to the couch and tickle me or something.”

“Is she up right now?”

“Yeah, she made us this coffee and now she’s running an errand. Writer stuff.”

Sam padded into the kitchen for a mug herself. She poured herself some coffee, followed by a kiss of cream, and then she returned to him.

“Do you ever think of going into writing yourself?” she asked him as she took her seat next to him at the counter.

“Now and again,” he confessed with a shrug. “The bitch is finding the time for it. So far, I just haven’t.”

“I just think of all you’ve done so far in life,” she told him. “And how you’re still kind of an unknown in the world. People deserve to know your name, Alex.”

“Know my name and the way I look,” he joked.

“And the way you look, exactly!”

He took a nap later that day after he had picked up one of Esmé’s old books from her shelf and fell asleep reading it. This, in turn left Sam to pick up her pencil and sketch out something on a sticky note on the fridge. Nothing fancy, but she knew that she was coming back again.

She remembered what she wished to study if the two of them ever left for school: earth science and fashion. If she had to go into fashion, she needed to polish up on some things. She picked up the sticky notes and she peered into the living room at the sight of Alex sound asleep there on the couch with his feet up on the arm. The long lankiness of his legs paired with his slender but shapely hips and his lovely body. The way his hair spread over his face and obscured his eyes and part of his nose from her view.

Maybe she would have something to draw with and on once they made their way up to the Bay Area in the next day. There was that old journal she had packed with her in her travel bag, the one she had filled with those old feelings before the accident. Most of it had remained blank in the meantime.

On that day, after a round of breakfast and some coffee and a hug from Esmé all around, the two of them took the ferry back over to San Pedro and over to the same bus stop by Long Beach Arena for the long five hour-long bus ride up to the Bay Area.

“Just a whole lot of nothing,” he remarked as they crossed over the Grapevine and down into the Central Valley.

“A whole lot of nothing that requires you to have a car,” Sam added in a low voice, to which he nodded his head. They weren’t to arrive there in Berkeley until after the sun went down, and at that point, the sun had long gone down at five in the afternoon. The fog settled in the San Francisco valley as well, and thus the walk back to the house of Skolnick was a lot more sinister than Sam had remembered.

“Doesn’t help that this place has grown so much since you were last here, too,” Alex pointed out as he adjusted the straps on his travel bag and his guitar case over both of his shoulders.

“Are your parents home, by the way?” she asked him.

“They aren’t, no,” he promptly replied. “I’m not really ready to face them, either. Tell them that I got fired by Sharon Osbourne.”

Indeed, they were alone for most of the evening, and Alex’s bedroom remained exactly the same as it had when she first spent the night there with him. She set her things down on the floor of his room and then with a bit of a struggle, she took that journal out of her handbag.

“I remember that,” he remarked as he took his seat there on the edge of his bed. He pried off his shoes, one right after the other and then he took off his socks. “That’s the one that caused the blowout between us.”

“It did,” she said in a soft voice. Even though it was behind them at that point, she still pictured the pain on his face when he stumbled upon those drawings.

“Alex, I have an idea,” she started. “It’s crazy and it might get us into trouble in the end, but it’s something I have to do if you and I are going to be in school together.”

He sat upright and gazed on at her with a serious look on his face.

“What’s that?”

“I have to get down with you again.” She raised the journal up by her head. “And for real this time. Nothing from my imagination. I have to study you.”

He nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Does it involve booze?” he asked her, and he raised his eyebrows when he said that.

“It won’t unless you want it to,” she vowed to him. “I just figure—you know.” She shrugged her shoulders. “We’re here all alone right now and we’re in your bedroom.”

“There’s not really the best lighting in here, though,” he pointed out. “You know, it’s awful dark in here, even with the window.”

“True. You wanna head on across the hall to that spare room you were showing me when I first came here way back when?”

“There is better light in there,” he pointed out, and he flashed her a wink.

He let her out of there first, with her cane still in hand and her journal in the other, and he took his seat by the table on the side of the room: a pale ivory white telephone sat there on the table top, right next to his left elbow. They left the door ajar so they could hear if and when the front door opened again.

“So, what do you want to do?” he asked her as she took her spot across from him. “You want to draw me with clothes on or off?”

“How ‘bout off? The major I'm thinking of is going to be fashion, after all. I have to draw you without the distraction of your clothes on your body.”

“Gonna sex me up,” he muttered. “Sex me up and put me up on the catwalk.” And he stood to his feet and he dropped his pants without even thinking about it. He then peeled off his shirt and his underwear; in seconds flat, he stood there before, completely naked.

“Where’d this come from?” she asked him, taken aback. “I just remember how reluctant you were when you posed back at my old place.”

“I’m in a familiar place,” he replied. “I could find my own place again and I'd still call my parents’ house home to me.”

No sooner had he taken his seat again when his father poked his head into the room. Alex clasped his hands to his waist even though that did nothing.

“What’s she doing here?” he asked in a broken voice.

“Drawing me naked,” Alex replied with haste.

“Don’t tell your mother.” Jerry strode on away from there and closed the door part of the way for them, and thus he left the two of them alone with each other. Sam looked on at him and she let out a low sigh.

“That was close.”

“That’s an understatement,” he said with a flick of his tongue. “So, um—how do you wanna do this?”

“Pose for me,” she told him. “Nothing too over-the-top or cheesy or anything like that. I just want to see how your body looks at certain angles. There's only so much I can see while I’m standing off to the side and watching you while you’re up on stage.”

“True.” He crossed one leg over the other so she could see the underside of his thigh. She tilted her head for a better look.

“Want me to stand up?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

He did and he kept his hands hovered before his hip bones.

“Just relax,” she told him with a wave of her hand. “It’s me, Alex. Not your mom.”

“Oh, my gawd, Alex, what’re ya doin’?” he imitated her again, that time in a lower voice given his parents had returned home. She giggled at him for that nonetheless. He took his seat there in the chair again, that time with his legs spread open for her a bit. She nibbled on her bottom lip at that and he raised an eyebrow in return.

“You want me to lay on my back or something?” he suggested.

“If you want,” Sam told him as she twirled her pencil in her fingers. “Hey, you know my whole thing, Alex: I won’t do it unless you’re comfortable.”

He slithered out of the chair and onto his knees there on the floor. He leaned forward onto his hands and knees, and then he rolled over onto his back on the heavy shag carpet. His smooth inky black hair tousled around over his shoulders and his collar bones, the narrow double helix pendant which he wore under his shirt sprawled over the inside of his throat, and then he lay still for a moment before he put his feet up to the arm of the chair.

“Lay on my back and with my feet up in the air,” he said aloud. “How’s this look?”

“Adorable,” she replied with a little chuckle, and she spread her hand over the surface of the paper. But then again, she wondered if he was at all comfortable since he lay flat on his back on the hard wooden floor.

“I feel like I should have something between my legs,” he confessed to her in a low voice.

“You do have something between your legs,” she pointed out.

“No, not that,” he scoffed, and then he snickered at that. “I mean like—a jar or a vase or something. Something to keep my legs spread apart.”

“Again, you do have something between your legs for that,” she repeated with a straight face. “I want you to kind of—do something with your hands, too. Don't just keep them on either side of you down on the floor.”

“You want me to—touch myself while you’re drawing,” he sputtered with a nervous bout of laughter.

“Maybe put your hand on your thigh or your stomach, or something. Because right now it just looks like you’re lying there with your feet up like that like you’re a tired little boy.”

“In a way, I kinda am, though,” he pointed out as he lay his head flat down on the carpet.

“A tired little boy?” she said.

“Yeah. I mean, think about it: I'll be turning twenty-six here in a less than two weeks. Looking at thirty in a few years’ time.”

“You’re telling me,” she told him. “I’m going to be thirty this upcoming January.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself.

“About to be thirty and it feels like I’ve been alive for a thousand years,” she added.

“It’s funny, that was Eric’s exact reaction to it when he turned thirty back in the spring. You know, when we were all together at Coney Island and we were trying to make you feel better about yourself. He literally freaked the hell out when he came to that realization earlier this year. Like, ‘holy shit, dude, I'm going to be thirty this spring!’ But once it happened, he just faced it straight on. It's time. It just passes, especially if you let it and you want to feel it. It's just going to happen.”

“Like a car accident,” she said as she brought the pencil to her paper. With Alex on his back, she eyed the shape of his knees and his ankles, and she began in the scratchy sketching. Since he lay on a hard wood floor, she did it with a bit of speed. She hadn’t drawn anything in almost a year at that point and yet she sketched him out as if she had been doing it every day since the accident.

“Like a car accident, exactly! Hence the ‘accident’ part of it. Intentional or not, it's just a fact of life.”

He raised his gaze to her, still upside down.

“How you doing?”

“Going quickly, believe it or not,” she said. “I dunno what came over me but I’m sketching you like I’ve been sketching you every day for a whole year.”

“Wow, really?”

“Yeah. Have a look.” She lifted her journal and showed the faint but scratchy sketch of him to him. He slid his feet off of the wall and rolled over onto his side, and he crawled over to her, still completely naked. He gazed on at it with his eyes wide in wonder.

“I think you’re back, Samantha,” he told her with that lopsided grin plastered across his face. He stood up on his knees and the phone on the table rang.

“Didn’t know that phone works,” she wondered aloud.

“Didn’t even know it was plugged in,” he confessed, and he reached back for the receiver. “Hello?”

Sam glanced down at the sketch on her lap. Still a long way to go, but at least she managed to pull through and do it for the both of them. Two and a half years wasn’t too far off, but at the same time, two and a half years showed that they could mean everything, life or death, especially in terms of her social life. It would be nice to get back into the groove of school, after all.

“What—really?” Alex knitted his eyebrows together. He glanced over at her and she tilted her head to the side in question. A nervous sensation emerged in the pit of her stomach.

“Okay, yeah. Yeah, I'll definitely tell her.” A brief pause. “Okay. Talk to you soon, Lars.” He hung up the phone, complete with a stunned look upon his face.

“What is it?” she asked him, and he turned very slowly to her.

“The middle of September 1994, the Cherry Suicides announce their breakup,” he said in a low voice, to which Sam gasped. “Zelda’s going to talk to Lars as we speak. He's gonna pick her up at the bus station. Same place we were at before.”

“Well, get dressed. Let's mosey on up there.”

He put his clothes back and then they ducked back to his bedroom for a brief moment. Before either of his parents could ask them, they bowed out of the house and made their way back up the street. They hung the corner and there was Zelda, wrapped in a leather jacket and fitted black jeans and black go-go boots. Even from a distance and through the darkness, Sam could tell that she had gotten heavier with time and pounding away on the drums on herself. She nodded at the two of them once they came closer to her.

“Zelda!” Sam called out. “What happened?”

“What happened? I'll tell ya what happened: our last album bombed and Rose bailed on us.”

“Rosita left?” Alex dropped his mouth open at that.

“Yeah, we lost our bassist and had no luck telling that to our label, either.” She shook her head and glanced about the deserted block. “I can’t get a hold of her, either. Don't know where she went and don’t know what she’s gonna do, either. It's not like Providence is a friendly place anymore, either. Last time we went through there we almost got into a brawl.”

“Again?” Sam asked her, and she held her cane before her.

“Yeah. I thought for sure we got away from those. The other thing is it happened on the street.” She glanced about the block again, and she fetched up a sigh. “Where the hell is Lars. Ten years in this whole shebang and I don’t know what to believe anymore.

“So, you guys are officially broken up?” Sam asked her.

“Yeah, but the thing that caused it, though? We really just needed a bass player. We declared that we were disbanded just to get away from the label, too. I just—I couldn’t take it, you guys. I literally could not take being on a big label like that, as popular as we were getting. Fought so hard to get onto it and we realized it wasn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.”

Sam glanced over at Alex right there next to her in the shadows.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Alex?”

“Maybe.” He squinted his eyes at her. “Does it involve me playing bass?”

“Maybe.”

“Wait,” Zelda said, and she bowed her head a bit. “Alex, I didn’t know you played bass. When you and I went out with each other, you never mentioned that you play bass.”

“I do somewhat,” he admitted with a modest shrug. “It just—never came up in conversation. You wanted more guitar out of me than you did bass.”

“What, you wanna be a part of the whole thing, big guy?” Zelda teased him. She pressed her hands to her hips and showed him a sly smile.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” he said in a small voice.

“We’d have to resign somewhere, though,” she said with a wag of her finger. “Although, because of the times right now, what with all of our punk chicks coming into the foray and all the stuff out of Seattle, we can always do it independently, though. A lot of people have been doing that lately, too. We almost did—and then Rose bailed on us.”

“Come on, Alex, you can do it!” Sam insisted.

“We were supposed to tour with Hole and PJ Harvey this summer,” Zelda continued. “The former of whom is a mostly female band with a male lead guitarist—the lead singer by the way is Cobain’s widow. If he joins us, we’ll be a mostly female band with a male bassist. Be a little token for a time.”

“I got no problem with that, actually,” Alex pointed out.

“You’ll have to learn forty songs from now until May.”

“Again, I've got no problem with that. No idea when Savatage is getting back to me and Ozzy just let me go a couple of nights ago.”

Zelda squinted her eyes at him. Her former lover and yet they would be on the stage together.

“As long as we don’t turn into Fleetwood Mac, we’ll be stylin’,” she remarked.

“So yes?” Sam asked her, excited.

“Yes!”

And she flung her arms around Zelda’s body, even with the cane in hand.

“And just like that, there’s Lars,” Alex proclaimed, and Sam let her go as the pale-yellow glow of the headlights spread over their heads and the tops of the houses behind them. She lingered closer to Alex and the little smile on his handsome face.

Maybe things weren’t so bad after all.

[unstoppableforcce]

“you love me, right?”

pairing: Javier Peña x reader

for 1k celebration ! for @tiffdawg !! thank you so much!! I had to do javi, I had to aim to make it sweet bc i made dark side so angsty lol

a/n: honestly, I don’t know when called id became a thing and I didn’t put that much research into this but bear with me

Javier couldn’t remember the last time he threw his keys into the bowl by the door and didn’t feel like it had been the world’s longest day.

Since the first day he got to Colombia, every day had been worse than the one that came before. Especially since you left.

Especially since he was the one who told you to go.

Colombia was just as bad for you as it was for him, taking down Escobar took its toll.

The first day he met you, fresh off the plane in the Bogota airport, he found your smile naive and childish. He had been in this war for six months at that point when you came in fresh faced and ready to try your hand at it.

But you had grown on him everyday since then.

Your optimism was the only light in the whole embassy, stakeouts were tolerable, nights out were distracting... you were a good constant to have.

A really good constant to have...

“Do you want another?”

Ten months in with you at his side and this was the first time he had seen your smile fall, and that night was meant to be a celebration. Yet, you sat back in your normal booth, head somewhere else until he nudged your arm with his elbow.

He repeated quickly as you turned back to him, “do you want another?”

“No, I uh, I think I’m okay.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I uh- I think I just need to head home...”

He quirked his head, angled in your direction.

It wasn’t necessarily early. Half the bar had already gone home but this was the kind of position the two of you often found yourselves in.

Alone together. Drinking your sorrows away in a busy Colombian bar until the early hours of the morning, or at least until either of you found someone to go home with.

So what was on your mind?

He was dancing around his words, he never did that with you. “Yeah, sure... do you want me to drive—“

“Yes.”

Your answer was quick.

And when the two of you got back to the building and he invited you in for one last drink, knowing there was something still on your mind, your answer was equally as speedy—

“Yes.”

But he knew something was wrong. You were too quiet, you were too sad for the occasion...

It just wasn’t his place to say anything. He grabbed a beer from the fridge for each of you, sat down next to you on the couch and just waited.

Waiting for an explanation he would have never expected...

“The ambassador recommended me for a job in Mexico...” your eyes refused to meet his, staring at the bottle in your hand. “I didn’t think it would go anywhere, you know...”

He knew that tone. He knew it better than most because he knew you better than most.

Bringing his bottle to his lips, he let you continue.

“It’s to head a task force... I didn’t think I’d get it, but I got the call earlier.”

“Heading a task force in Mexico?” He hummed, picking at the label. “Wow—“

“I haven’t accepted it yet—“

“You should.”

Your eyes snapped to his, or at least, where you expected his to be but his stare stayed trained on the bottle in his lap. “Really?”

“It’s a promotion, you deserve it.”

He couldn’t tell you that he didn’t want you to leave. He couldn’t tell you that you were more than just his partner in his mind, that he felt something more for you, that he didn’t want you to leave...

But when you asked again, “yeah?”

He lied.

He lifted his eyes from the label, connected his stare with yours and lied. It was the first time he ever lied to you.

He didn’t lie about informants, not about work or women. He didn’t lie when things looked bad; when he pressed his hands to your bullet wound and feared you passing out on him, he didn’t lie. He didn’t lie when things looked good; when he wrapped his arms around your waist in a happy hug to celebrate a win and you asked if he felt as good as you did, he didn’t lie.

But now, he looked you right in the eyes, kept his heart under lock and key, and lied.

“I think you should go.”

And every day since then, he had regretted it.

Hours spent at his desk without you? Unbearable. Nights spent with women who would never be you? Insatiable.

He never got to hold you the way he wanted to, he never got to know you the way he wanted to.

He made his way to the kitchen, pushing aside boxes of leftovers for the last bottle of beer. He needed to go grocery shopping, he needed to cook a meal every once in a while...

You used to remind him of that.

“I’m a grown man, I can buy my own groceries” he would mock you as he left his apartment, running into you coming in with bags in each arm.

You still tossed him a loaf of bread and bunch of bananas, “yeah, and one day, you’ll prove it to me.”

He figured if he really wanted to calm himself a grown man he would have to tell you how he felt. Grown men buy their own groceries, and they tell their partners how they feel before they move countries...

He owed you the truth.

It had been two months and every night when he got home, he grabbed the slip of paper you left for him with your new number and stared at it as he drank.

He owed you a phone call.

He just didn’t think you’d answer.

“Javi?”

He almost laughed at himself when he heard you pick on the other end, crumpling the slip of paper slightly.

“You knew it was me?” He taunted casually, trying to find his footing with you again.

It used to be so easy, why was his voice trembling at the mere thought you miles and miles away.

“Colombia area code...”

“Right, yeah.” He sighed, not sure if it was just hearing your voice but he felt lighter, much lighter. “Sorry it’s so late.”

“No, I’m glad you called, I miss you.”

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you— it wasn’t missed. You said you miss him, not you missed him. He didn’t know what that meant but it felt like it meant something...

“You know you’re on the phone with me, right, Sweetheart?” He missed you, he missed this fun with you, he missed all of you.

“Yes, Javi, I do.”

Did you feel the same? Is that why you told him you were leaving first, before everyone else in the office? Did you want him to talk you out of it? Did he want to talk you out of it?

He should’ve told you how he felt, now he was just silently holding you on the long distance call.

“How’s everything going down there?” You hummed out in place of his silence, clearly cooking your own dinner on the other end with the sounds of pans and utensils.

You used to invite him over, tell him you didn’t know how to cook for just one. Was that just an excuse to eat with him the same way he used to invite you over to drink, saying it was dangerous to drink alone?

“Things are fine, same as when you were here.” Just without you, so worse. “How are things up north?”

“Busy, I didn’t think anything could be busier than Colombia but it’s good work,” You continued to work in the background, talking over the sizzling of your pan. “You ever think about taking a trip? Im back and forth over the border pretty often, close to home for you.”

“As soon as things slow down here...”

You both laughed at that, the chuckle shuddering through his chest as he continued to drink his dinner.

He missed you. He wanted what was best for you, and deep down, he knew this promotion was nothing to scoff at, he wanted it for you. He just also wanted you.

He should have told you. That night. When you told him about the job, he should have told you what he felt.

He had to tell you know.

“There’s something I have to tell you...” he hated those words, he only got them out now because he knew they were better than the three little words that came next. He wasn’t sure he ever got them out before and meant it like he did now.

Not in Laredo. Not in Colombia.

“Mmhm?” You hummed, sucking on a spoon by the sounds of it.

He wanted to be there, or maybe he wanted you here. He just wanted to be with you, the country didn’t even matter.

“I meant to tell you the night you told me about the promotion but...” they were right there on his tongue, he wanted to say them but he couldn’t.

He stole another drink, taking in a deep breath and—

Your stove clicked off, “you love me, right?”

You knew. Of course you did. Promotions weren’t handed to bad detectives...

“I uh—“ he rubbed over his mustache with the back of his hand, feeling his cheeks heat up and you weren’t even there to pinch at them and call him cute like you did when you had too much to drink. “You knew?”

“I think I was hoping you would tell me, you know, that’s why I told you before anyone else, so you’d convince me to stay...” you mused, tapping something against a metal bowl, maybe opening up the oven from the sounds of it. “But thinking about it now, I think I’m glad you didn’t”

“I didn’t want to stop you from going... I meant what I said, you deserve the promotion.” He sighed, letting his head fall back against the fridge. “That wasn’t the right time.”

“But over the phone?” You chuckled, silencing the beeping of something in your kitchen. “That’s not why I’m glad you didn’t.”

“You wouldn’t have stayed?”

“That’s not what I mean...”

He took the final sip from the bottle and set it back on the counter in front of him, waiting for you to continue.

“Maybe I stay, maybe I don’t, I don’t know... you weren’t ready to love me then.” All sounds on your end stopped, just you and the phone connecting the two of you.

“I can’t really love you from here now either...”

That wasn’t what you meant though, he knew that.

You meant that the two of you, fighting to get Escobar in the Colombian heat, he wasn’t ready. He was seeing informants every other night, he was drinking himself to sleep every other night. And more than anything else, he was putting his life on the line every day and not caring what it took to get Escobar.

He wasn’t ready to love you. Or maybe, he was always ready to love you, he just wasn’t to be loved.

That’s why he didn’t tell you, that’s why he let you leave.

“You should take that trip, Javi, maybe when things die down, maybe when you are ready...” you hummed.

“I don’t know when we’ll get Escobar, I don’t know how long that’ll be.” He huffed, rubbing over his face and leaning forward onto the counter in front of him.

“It’s okay...” he heard your plate hit the counter, “I’ll be here.”

He needed you to be. Just the thought of having you one day could be enough to get him through the rest of this hell.

“You didn’t let me say it.” He added, a smirk slowly growing on your face, he wondered if you could hear it.

“Hmm?”

“That I love you, you said it for me...”

He could hear the smirk on your lips, “yeah I guess I did.”

“You’ll have to wait then.”

“Really?” It wasn’t a smirk he could hear, it was a real genuine smile. He wished he was there to see it.

“So I can say it in person.”

You’d wait. He’d wait.

No matter how many long days it took.

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

A Helping Hand

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Warnings: Smut

A/N: I don’t know why I’m taking so long in writing for Pedro’s softest characters - Catfish and Marcus Pike.  Still working on the next chapter of Sunshine, so hopefully I’ll have it ready for you for Thursday!

Reminder:  I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  

—***—

“Francisco!  Get out of there!  Did you even wash your hands!?”  You threw the towel at him as he scurried away from the bowls of cookie dough set out on the island.  He was laughing as he shoved another chunk into his mouth.  He could eat this shit forever; it was so good.

“But you know I love it so much.”  He mumbled as he chewed, his smile getting bigger.  God, he loved Baking Sunday, it was his favorite day of the week. The house always smelled good, you always baked tasty shit, and something about you in that waist apron did a number on him.  Yeah, these were good days.

Last night he had gone out with the guys for a few beers and when he said he was heading home early, they all started ragging on him.  It was all in good fun, they knew about Sundays and knew that they were going to reap the rewards, too.  But even if they were being dicks, he didn’t care, he wasn’t going to wake up late on baking day.  He leaned up against the far counter, looking at you as he swallowed, already planning on his next covert theft operation for more.  

He might have the brain of a military tactician, but you weren’t no slouch yourself.  You were ready.

“Hey Cat?”

“Yeah mijita?”

“You see that bowl the table?”  He nodded. “Go open it for me.”

He pushed himself off the counter and sauntered over, thinking he was going to get his taste even sooner than he thought.  But when he opened it, it was filled to the brim with chocolate chip cookie dough – his favorite.  He could feel his mouth watering at the sight.

“Now that’s yours, so keep your fingers out of my bowls.”  You smiled while pointing at him and he groaned in pleasure.  You must have made it last night when he was out, which made the most sense because if he was annoying now with his little sneak attacks, he would have climbed you like a tree to get this whole big ass bowl.  He walked around the island and yanked open the utensil drawer and pulled out a spoon.

“Oh, now you’re going to get a spoon?  You’re a dick, Cat.”  There was no malice in your words, and you said them with a laugh.  As he walked behind you, he laid a sloppy kiss on the back of your neck as a thank you.  Your smile got bigger, a little shiver running down your spine.  God, he always managed to turn you on in the littlest of ways.

Frankie sat at the table, eat his prize as you stood at the island, almost zen-like, as you rolled out the different doughs into small balls.  The calming familiarity of your movements, combined with the sunlight filling the kitchen, made for a moment of peace you found practically nowhere else but in Frankie’s arms at night.  Here was your heaven and you reveled in it.

When you two had saw the house, the cozy craftsman cottage was perfect in every way except the kitchen.  But given it had everything else you both wanted, you felt you could compromise and work with what you had.  Six months after you and Frankie had moved in, you went away for a weekend with your best friend and came home to a completely renovated kitchen.  The boys came and helped him get it done and you cried so hard, he was worried that you were upset at first.  Of course, he learned later than night after everyone left how thankful you really were.

As you walked through the familiar routine of Baking Sunday, you hummed a small tune to yourself.  One of Frankie’s bigger splurges had been on the professional level oven, letting you bake three or four batches of cookies at once.  Soon the mounds of raw dough were turned into warm and gooey cookies laying on the cooling racks.

You began to knead out the dough for the week’s bread when your phone pinged at you.  You looked over and saw it was a message from Benny, asking for a couple of loaves of your bread.  You smiled.

“Cat, baby, can you get me two more bowls from that cabinet?”  You pointed with your toe.  Then your phone pinged again, and you saw it was from Tom. “You better make that six bowls.”

“Why so many?”  Frankie grunted as he squatted down and began pulling out what you needed.

“Benny and Tom both just texted wanting bread and I’m going to say that Pope and Will are going to text soon, too.  Might as well be prepared.

“Well, will my favorite baker need a helping hand?”  He brought over the bowls and set them on the counter, giving you a kiss on the temple.  You smiled and nodded.  Together, you got the bowls prepped and seven loaves of bread ready to rise.  As you worked, you saw the texts from the other two and smiled while shaking your head.  

“Maybe you should start a group chat so they can send you their orders all at once instead of whenever the mood strikes them.”  Frankie covered the last bowl and placed it on the counter under the sunny window.  You could have proved them faster in the warming tray of the oven, but you liked giving them the full hour to rise so you could get your workspace cleaned up.

“Mm, maybe.”  You hummed as you started the dishwasher and began to wipe down the counters.  You weren’t a messy baker, but you hated a dirty space to work in.  When the kitchen was cleaned and ready to go, you glanced at the clock and saw you still had half an hour left.  Frankie was turned away from you and you could see his back muscles moving under his shirt as he dried the last of the trays.  God, you loved his back.

Without hesitation, you walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades before nestling your cheek there.  You could feel the warmth of his skin through the cotton against your cheek and you sighed contently.  Frankie put the last of the trays on the counter and toss the towel in the dish rack before turning around in your arms.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

He leaned against the counter and wrapped his arms around you as you leaned further into him, head resting on his chest.  There were times in his life that he felt he would never have moments or days like this again and here he was, experiencing them regularly.  He was thrilled to his toes and he bent his head to kiss the top of yours before resting his chin on the spot.  The hazy sun of the summer afternoon filtered through the windows, creating a cocoon, where time stopped, and the world centered only on the two of you. Here the silence was comfortable, and you were surrounded by the smell of yeast and sugar and Frankie.  This was as close to heaven as you two would ever get without dying.

As the magical aura of the moment surrounded you, you tipped your head up and propped your chin on his chest to look at him.  This man had you wrapped around his finger, although he was likely to say the same thing about you.  His soft curls rested on his forehead, free of the worry frown it sometimes held. The scruff along his jawline had hints of gray, as did his hair, but you loved it.  It gave him a soft look that fit him so well.

As you continued to drink him in, he smiled at you and his dimple appeared. God, that was so sexy to you and you couldn’t stop yourself from raising up on your tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on it.  It deepened as he grinned at your touch.  He expected you to kiss him on the lips next, but you instead placed a small kiss on his jaw, letting his beard tickle your lips and face.

You positioned another kiss on the other side of his face, then another on his chin, and a final one on his nose.  You pulled back and he smiled at you, his eyes sparkling with love and a little lust. He bent his head to capture your lips, but he was gentle about it.  He followed up with a series of pecks against your lips, ones that always made you weak in the knees and he knew it.  You moved your hands from his back to the front of his shirt, gripping the soften cotton.

Under your fingers, you heard his heart beginning to beat faster and you knew yours was matching his pace.  He kissed you again, harder this time and you respond in kind before pulling back to look at him.  The glimmer of lust in his eyes was brighter and his eyes were darker, the soft brown nearly black.

Letting go of his shirt, you pushed yourself out of his arms and stepped back.  His arms dropped to his sides and you could see his chest rising as his breaths grew heavier.  His eyes were glued to your chest, where your pebbled nipples stood in stark contrast against your thin tee shirt.  For all his bravado in many other things, it never failed to surprise Frankie that you were so turned on by him, that your moans, whimpers, and screams were his doing.

You give him a flirty smile as you turned to walk around the kitchen island, letting your fingertips glide along the cool marble, and you walked over to the kitchen table.  Leaning against it, you crossed your arms under your breasts, pushing them up and from where you stood, you could see a bulge forming in Frankie’s pants.

“Cat, baby?”  The coyness of your smile was matched by your tone of voice.

“Yeah mijita?”  His voice had taken on a raspy edge to it, sending a little shiver across your skin.

“Come here, I want to show you something.”  You didn’t need to tell him twice and Frankie practically leapt over the island to stand in front of you.  You laughed at his grin, akin to a little boy at Christmas time.  You moved to sit on the table, letting your legs naturally fall open as you placed your hands on the table behind you.  Frankie wedged himself between your thighs and you sighed as you felt your jean skirt bunch up at the top of your thighs.  The warm air of the kitchen felt almost cool against the heat of your core.

“Mijita, you are killing me softly over here.”  He slightly bent down so his hands were flat against the tabletop and his lips level with your own.  You shimmed forward a bit so that the part of you most aching for him could feel his hardness and in return so he could feel how much he turned you on.  Frankie groaned at the contact and he rolled his hips to rub up against you.  You lolled your head forward to rest it against his, noses touching gently. Despite being warm, you body broke out in goosebumps as pleasure gentle coursed through your body.

After a few more rolls of his hips, Frank angled his face to kiss you, tongue darting out to lick along your lower lip.  You sighed as you opened to him and as your tongues began to dance against each other, you could taste the sugar and chocolate of the cookie dough.  You kissed passionately until you moved away, needing to take a breath.  His plush lips tried to chase you, but you tilted your head and instead he found purchase along your beck, just under your ear.

As you drew a ragged breath, your pleasure crowding out the air in your lungs, you moan when you feel him drag his lips down your neck in those soft kisses that you so adored from him.  Your nipples had grown harder and your core wetter with each touch of his skin against yours and you moved your hands from the table to his wrists, needing to feel him to anchor yourself.

“Cat.”  His name came out on a sigh and as he continued to kiss down your neck, Frankie was certain he was going to lose it if you said his name again.  He instead focused on covering your neck with kisses and he was grateful that you were wearing a v-neck shirt so that he could continue down into your cleavage, where he dipped his tongue between your breasts.  He could taste the faint saltiness of your skin, sweat from bread making.

You moved your hands to draw up your shirt, but he stops you, his warm palms almost too hot against your wrists.  He lifted his head so he could look you in the eyes – the brown in the them completely gone by now – and his teasing smile seeming almost predatory.  He was plotting something, and you grinned back, letting yourself fall back on your palms.  You knew he could see your breasts thrusted towards him and you bit back a smile when you heard the growl deep in his chest.

“Patience mijita.”  He pulled back, taking you in – a slight sheen of sweat now covering your body and he could see the crotch of your pink panties nearly soaked through.  His smile grew wider when he saw it and his mouth watered, wanting to taste everything you had to offer.  He stood back and drew himself up to his fill height and you shivered in want.

Before you could admire him fully, he dropped to his knees, placing those blazing hot hands on your calves.  You sat up and reached behind you to untie your apron, but he squeezed your leg.

“Stop.”  It was a command, but it was soft, and you stopped, an eyebrow raised.  “Leave it on.”

“Oh?”  Now both eyebrows were raised and you face was split with a shit-eating grin.  You could see the blush creeping into his cheeks. Your voice had a rasp to it that sent shivers down to Frankie’s toes, making them curl inside his boots.  But he shrugged as you put your hands back onto the tabletop, eager to see what he has planned.

He slowly let his hands drag up your legs until they rested on your thighs, the heat practically scorching the sensitive skin there.  You widened your legs, hoping to encourage him higher, but then he took his hands off you and you groaned at the lost of them.  But you were moaning again when you saw him push the apron up and you reached your hand out to hold the bunched-up fabric in your hand, out of his way.  He smiled.

He brought his hand up to the waistband of your skirt and popped open the button.  You helped by shifting your hips so he could drag the worn denim over your hips and down your legs.  Without the fabric around your hips, he brought up his hands and placed them against your inner thighs.  He pressed and your legs went wider.

You dropped your head back and let out a breathy moan as you felt Frankie’s tongue slide up the cloth of your panty-covered slit.  The extra pressure on your clit made your hips jerk and you could feel his smile against you.  He did it again and then a third time and by now your panties were so soaked, they clung to your core.  

He continued to pleasure you with his tongue, the once smooth fabric feeling rough against your sensitive clit.  Suddenly he stopped, and you whimpered, knowing you were so close to your climax.  You opened your eyes and looked down at him, noticing that he was watching you with lust-filled lust orbs.  Frankie raised his hands to your hips again and tugged at your panties.  Dropping the apron, you pushed up on your arms to give you leverage to raise your pelvis and he swiftly dragged the cloth down your legs.

The minute they landed on the ground, Frankie dove under the apron and back between your legs, licking furiously at your clit and the sudden rush of pleasure sent your whole-body vibrating.  You body bowed forward and your hands, seemingly on their own, yanked at the fabric to grab onto his head.  

The fine hairs of his head felt like silk against your skin, almost as silky as his tongue on you.  As you began to shiver from the building of your climax, he moved a hand from your thigh and sunk two fingers into your core, you wet heat surrounding him.  The soft fabric of the apron brushed against his neck and ears and added with the other sensations, his cock throbbed painfully.

“Oh god, Cat!”  His name ripped from your throat on a sob as you raced towards your orgasm, almost scared of how strong the waves of pleasure were that rolled through you. He pumped his hand a few more times as he sucked on the very part of your anatomy that screamed for attention and you screamed as the tension inside of you broke.  Frankie could feel your walls clench around his fingers, almost painfully, and he lapped up everything you gave him.  Your hips jerked violently as your aftershocks rolled through you in quick succession.

After what seemed like forever, you untangled your fingers from his hair and pushed him away; the sensitivity you felt was almost painful.  He rocked back on his heels and looked up at you, so incredibly turned on by the flush that colored your skin and god, that keening scream you gave when you came just sent a thousand watts of pleasure to his cock. He was so hard, and he wanted nothing more than bury himself so deep inside of you that he felt nothing else in this world.

He spent years chasing highs – the military, his helicopter, even the coke. But none seemed parallel to how he felt with you and Frankie was certain he could bed you every day until he died, and he still wouldn’t get enough of you.  He stood on shaky legs, every heaving pant out of your mouth making his skin feel tighter and hotter.

You head, which had been hanging down, rolled to the side and then backwards so that you were looking up at him.  God, this man was so beautiful to you and watching the lust on his face as he stood there just looking at you was intoxicating.  No man had ever made you feel so wanton and hedonistic as him.

You reached out an arm to drag your hand across the bulge in his pants and the heat of his erection felt scorching through his jeans.  His hips jerked at your touch and you could hear the hiss of his breath as he sucked inwards.

“Where do you want your cock, Cat?”  You raised your eyebrow at him, and he groaned.  You were the girl next door especially with that damned apron on, but god, your mouth was something out of his most deprave fantasies.  And you knew it.  “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

He groaned at the pun as he moved forward.  You grabbed the front of his shirt to bring him close and he slightly stumbled against you, that heavy erection pressed up where you wanted him most. But you were always a generous soul.

“What do you want, Cat?  Do you want me to suck your cock or do you want to fuck my pussy?”  He moaned through gritted teeth.  God, you weren’t playing fair.

“Pussy.  I want to fuck you so bad.”  His eyes were closed now as he was willing everything in him not to come just yet, he had to feel you surrounding him.  He wanted to feel the wet heat that haunted his dreams.  He didn’t need to tell you twice as your hands made quick work of his belt and then his pants.  You reached inside his boxers and you pulled out his erection.

You let your hand ghost over his cock and Frankie grabbed your wrist, the grip almost painful.  You drew back and again, propped yourself onto the tabletop, pulling up the apron and widened your thighs in silent invitation.  He took it eagerly and notched his head against you.  You looked into each other’s eyes as he slowly filled you, your walls stretching almost deliciously.

When he bottomed out, you both paused for a moment and you bowed your heads towards each other so your lips could brush against each other.  Frankie wrapped his arms around you, drawing you closer to him so that you were flush from chest to crotch.  You brought your hands to his upper

You rolled your hips against him, flexing against his thick cock.  He took the hint and pulled back before plunging back into you.  You groaned at the sensation; the sound captured by his lips.  Soon his easy thrusts began to pick up steam and you pulled away from him to catch your breath, which he robbed you of with every movement of his hips.

Soon you could feel your pleasure building from gentle laps to cresting waves and you knew he felt it too because his hips began to lose their steady rhythm.  You tightened your thighs at his waist and your arms at his shoulders.

“Cat.  Make me come, I want to feel you.”  The words came out on a breathy moan and he buried his face into your neck, nodding in response.  He dropped a hand between your bodies and brushed his fingers against your clit. Your moaned.  “Yes, like that, baby.”

“Fuck, mijita, you’re killing me.”  He ground out the words as he began to thrust faster, his fingers matching pace with his cock.  “I fucking love you, you know that?”

“Yes!”  The waved broke and your orgasm washed over you, curling your toes.  As you bowed into him, your fingers clutched his arms even harder and you both knew your nails were going to leave marks.  “Cat, I love you so much, oh god!”

Like before, your aftershocks tore through your words stutter through you. You could feel Frankie stiffening as he came, his groan deep and guttural.  As the last of your orgasm petered out, you dropped your head to his shoulder, and he did the same to you.  Your heavy breaths mixed together between you.

After several long minutes, Frankie felt like sensation was coming back to his body and he slowly withdrew from you, even as your thighs tightened against the loss.  He kissed you gently on the forehead after he pulled away from you, before walking over and grabbing a paper towel.

After gently wetting it, he came back over to clean you up and you pressed gentle kisses to his temple and cheek as he did so.  He returned to wash his hands after slipping his cock back inside his pants.  You sat a few minutes longer to let sensation return to your legs before sliding off the table to put your panties and skirt back on.

Frankie came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder.  You laid your hands on his forearms and bumped your head against his.  You stood like that for only a moment before the timer pinged at you, causing you both to jump at the shrill sound in the quiet kitchen. You laughed.

“Hey Cat?”

“Yeah mijita?”

“Care to give me a helping hand?”

“Always.”

[dropsofletters]

break-up season

title: break-up season pairing: ten/reader genre: pizza shop worker!au/strangers to lovers!au summary: break-up season, the time in which a love-hater like ten finally proves to himself that love is a mere stigma of society, rather than a concept. his favorite pastime is to look out of the window of the pizza shop he works at, watching as couples gather for dinner simply to leave as two separate individuals that couldn’t even look each other in the eye. that is changed when he actually sees someone trying to get together with a woman, a love confession so cringe-worthy that he just had to intervene. the only thing he wants is to save this woman from the horrid taste of love, but maybe his views change by the time he gets to know her. type: fluff/romance/humor word count: 14,406 ⚠️ disclaimer: this is part of the love diaries, my valentine’s day project with wayv, if you want to read the rest of the members’ stories, you can click here and find the masterlist for it.

The corner of the pizza shop is his favorite spot out of the entire room. Not too breezy, not too coated with the smell of mozzarella cheese and thick sauces, definitely close enough to the laptop his job asked him to use for costumers so he can do his job as a waiter, but far from the sets of people seated by the tables, most of the time consisting of couples. Under his red cap, Ten brushes the bangs that cloud his vision to study the clients he has—watch as they socialize, fall in love and fall out of it, as well. One would think that Ten likes that corner so much because he seeks for warmth, or he loves the view he gets through the glassed windows, getting to see the jewelry store that is right in front of his vision, as well as the beauty of the mini garden in between the two spots, but there are whole other reasons as to why he is obsessed with it.

In reality, Ten just enjoys the gossip and it became part of him the more he worked at the pizza place. From his peripheral, he can see bad dates and couples breaking up, he can see coworkers that can’t stand each other and friends that are too entranced on their phones to even look at each other. He can connect the dots, create stories and figure out the reason why deep feelings are normally followed by disappointment. If people fear being alone or it is the human mechanism of life to look for the worst matches, he doesn’t know, but he has grown to love storytelling for the past year and so.

Synchronized with the beat in the background, Ten’s fingertips tapped on the counter, diverting his gaze from the window to look around the pizza place. In the background, an upbeat pop song has him humming to himself, studying the couple that sits only a few tables away, and annoying Ten with all the reasons in the world, considering he is supposed to close the pizza place in twenty minutes and they haven’t even gotten halfway through their pizza, their drinks or their laughter. One of them is a guy he actually knows; wearing long black hair and one of those stupid smiles from people who think their jokes are the funniest ever told in the world. He’ll give it to Kunhang, he’s pretty funny when he tries to be.

Pushing his cap off his head to run his fingers through his hair, he takes another look out of the window, staring at the faint reflection of the lights outside of his workplace, a few people walking around hand in hand. Some people call the beginning of February the love season, but he prefers to call it ‘The Break-Up’ season instead. The amount of relationships broken to get into another one grow exponentially each year, like feelings become vainer with the pass of time…and that is a reality people never really accept. In his mind, he can already read the posts in social media about how unnecessary love is, braggers who say it because the person they like never paid attention to them. The people who are truly closed to the idea of love are realists, though not a lot existed in the world. Either way, Ten is one of them. He knows how fleeting a relationship can be and embarks more in flirtatious gathers instead of getting in the directionless ship that is love.

Past his reflection, showing the sweat that presses on his forehead and the tiredness in his gaze, Ten catches the sight of a couple that don’t seem to be having such a great time, even when the atmosphere is love is practically being pushed to everyone’s faces in that time of the year. The subtle frown on her face is indicator of her discomfort as the guy cradles his head in between his fingers, spewing out whatever cages him inside his brain, the typical ending to a pair of lovers, but by the look on her face…there was more than discomposure in her brain, confusion, too, like an outburst that came unexpected. Ten leans forward slightly, trying to read their lips to the best of his capabilities.

He comes up with nothingness, really, it is not one of his talents to read someone’s lips to perfection, much less when the words are not being repeated to him like a mantra. The weight of the situation falls far from a tale to talk about when he wants to prove love is not real when Ten’s eyes make out the figure of the man’s jaw clenching, mouth spitting words quickly, his neck turning a deep shade of red, the veins around the skin marking down uncomfortably. His mind runs a few miles per minute, weighting the possibilities of actually getting in the middle of a relationship and earning a few shouts from the man for him to keep, but he couldn’t care less.

Today, Ten curses the name of romance again, opting to believe in something stronger—helpfulness.

Today, Ten takes his sketchbook out of his backpack, one that he doesn’t even use that often anymore with how packed work has been for him, and he scribbles down a few words with his thickest black marker, pressing the sketchbook to the window and knocking on the surface loud enough for the couple in front of him to listen to him. His knuckles touch the window repeatedly, taking a few tries to have the woman’s date to shut his mouth when her gaze turned to the pizza shop, squinting at the letters written in the piece of paper. Call it being nosy, or perhaps something deep within him tells him that he has to get that woman out of that situation before anything goes out of hand, but his fingers point at the piece of paper like his life depends on it.

Her otherwise angered expression turned to confusion again, her eyes scanning the words like her life depended on understanding the message. Your pizza is ready, it read, and damn him and his excuses…because she had not even entered the place, let alone asked for anything over the phone—there was no way he would know in this case, either—, but it was the best he had managed to think about in such a quickened moment of pressure. The stranger in question nods her head, pushing her purse higher up her shoulders, the golden chain dipping on her skin thanks to her short sleeved shirt, but the worst bruise would harm her ego, watching from afar as the woman’s date wrapped his hand around her wrist, trying to bring him back to him, like the devil asking an angel to be dragged down to the pits of hell. Instead, she elbowed his side, getting away from his grasp just in time for Ten to read the most important words of the conversation the two lovers had.

“Don’t call me again.”

When he was a mere child, he had wanted to be a superhero and maybe, this was his superpower. To battle the wronged, toxic, twisted romance that the world was selling nowadays, sold to softened and easily loving individuals like fresh bread straight out of the oven.

The sound of the bell atop the door ringing is what he hears first, catching a glance of the man outside who simply rolls his eyes before turning on the heels of his extremely shiny boots before going away. To hell, really, that was exactly what he deserved. By the door, he sees how she inspected the world, a firm frown resting upon her features, home of all the despair, the entirety of her anger, the tail of the snake that lived inside her head, wanting to scream at the world for giving her such a bad date. Then, she lifts her face, chin tipped high when she stops leaning against the door to look at the waiter and Ten can only manage to give a faint smile, closing the sketchbook with his fingers before pressing the surface to his chest.

“I didn’t order anything.” She breathes the words out and maybe, it is too soon for Ten to figure out that the sound of her voice is calming. Something about the way she speaks is admirable, like all the clouds in the world had filled her vocal chords, giving it that sense of softness. A weighted blanket would be the best way to describe it, warm and tranquil, perfect to complete a night.

“I know.” Ten says, reaching for his cap and putting it over his head again, trying to cover up his messy hair. Now that he notices, the guy outside does not deserve someone like her—far too pretty with her mascara-coated eyelashes, her eyes that glisten under the most miniscule of lights, holders of speckles of sugar in their sweetened glare. “I just…I thought that guy was bothering you.”

Leaning forward on the counter, she bites down on her bottom lip, playing with her own nails as she speaks. “Was it that obvious?”

Nodding his head, he pushes his body back on the wall behind him, crossing one leg over the other as he spends the last few minutes at the pizza shop talking to a complete stranger. “It was.” He breathes out, the warm air of the shop kissing his skin. “I am just a stranger and you probably will think I am getting into your business…but was that your boyfriend?”

Sliding her purse off her shoulder, the chain clinking against the counter obnoxiously as she looks for something inside, he receives an answer soon after, mixed with a chuckle of her own. “God, no, no. I thought—That was our first date.”

As he watches her fingers take out some money, her eyes staring at the chalkboard behind him with the prices and the specialties, all the color is drained from his face. Now, he has heard of bad first dates, but with the argument that guy had just created…he would have thought they had known each other a bit more. Some people are just crazy, and that is the first reason why serious dating sounds so atrocious to him. “What do you mean first date?”

“It was supposed to be in here, you know.” She starts, pushing the money forward before pointing at the chalkboard. “Can I have some Sicilian Pizza, please? For takeout.”

“Sure.” Even though they are supposed to be closing soon, Ten doesn’t mind giving this poor soul what she is paying for. Taking the money and writing down the order on a piece of paper, he touches the bell that calls out for the chef, watching Randy’s tired expression when he pushes the piece of a paper towards him. Sooner than later, the chef is cussing inside the kitchen, too far away from him to even listen. “So,” Resting the weight of his head on his hand, he watches her expression as she talks to him. “Your date hadn’t even started and he was already making a scene.”

Shrugging her shoulders, she pushes out a gush of breath from her parted lips. “He was saying some bullshit about how I am a woman of respect and how I should cover up more skin, because if I plan to date him…I just had to look decent.”

Looking at her outfit, Ten simply scoffs at the mindset of such a close-minded man. The pink tank top barely shows a glimpse of her chest and if it did show more, it would be entirely her issue. High waisted pants wrapped around her body snugly, pairing it up with her small handbag and her sneakers. “You’re probably not asking for my opinion, but you look great. Don’t pay attention to guys like that.”

Smiling, he watches as she presses her pink lipstick coated lips together. The magic of her comes from how enchanting she seems to be; not like a princess of sorts, but definitely like someone who holds conversations nicely, being sweet from the moment someone approaches her. “Thank you for saving me, by the way.”

“It’s what I had to do.” The black haired man says.

“No, most people wouldn’t have done anything.” She pushes, her argument becoming valid with the ignorance of the actual world. People are so obsessed with love they confuse it with absolute insanity. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“What you’re saying is enough,” Ten indicates, turning his back to look at the fridge nearby. He asks for her name as he scans the sodas there, watching the different sizes and looking for the coldest one. “Cool. My name is Ten.” Introductions come easily to him. Coming to terms with himself, he really does think that he is the type of person that makes friends everywhere, but holding feelings towards someone comes uneasily for him. Never has he ever been in love, much less does he consider it important. A mere title to cover up hook-ups and heartbreak, that is all love is. “Do you want a Coca Cola? It’s on me.”

“No, no—”

“You don’t like it? I could offer you another brand, let me see…”

“No. I like it, but you don’t have to give me one.” At the sound of those words, Ten takes out the small bottle of soda and puts it in front of her, taking a straw out and placing it just beside the drink. An amused huff leaves her lips, because she has barely known the man for a few minutes, and yet he has acted far nicer than her date had done. “Okay, thank you.”

Rolling his eyes, he continues. “Don’t thank me so much.”

“You’re a godsend.” She replies, twisting the lid off before pushing the straw inside, taking a long sip to bring one of those delightful hums that cold drinks bring after a tiresome day. The muscles in her arms relax, the color returning to her lips after the second sip and in the matter of seconds, she is speaking to him once again. “Ten, I need to ask you a question. I hope you don’t mind.” She starts, looking up for a few seconds before shaking her head. “Are all guys like this? Such assholes, like, I can’t seem to find a good one. Not even my friends can. That guy was a blind date, and it didn’t even start!”

Taking a cloth to wipe the counter with, Ten takes a few moments to think about it. “I mean…love and romance and all those things…they have always been a headache.” He tries to make her feel better, but in reality, Ten doesn’t have much knowledge about what could bring a person to want to date so seriously. Most of his relationships included people he was already friends with, simply taking common attraction and casualties as their starting point and basing it in mutual feeling rather than in love. “Don’t look and you’ll find something. You shouldn’t rush.”

“…I know that, but I had to hear it again.”

“Yeah, just don’t pick any more idiots.”

“Easier said than done.”

The conversation holds for longer, work tangling in their words, talking about the frustrations of life and the longevity of the heat during the week, an anomaly to what the weatherman had indicated on Monday. Talking to her comes in the form of sweet smiles, thankfulness for something that she considers brave, but he claims it is normal. Someone like her speaks about friendships and love so highly that her feelings are out in the world, heart ready to be destroyed if it came to end in the wrong hands, and Ten is the absolute opposite of that. A man that is naturally charming, but rarely thinks of the depth of his connections with people. While she wants an ocean of feelings and to dive in them, Ten is fine with surfing across them, feeling like the king of the world for never being kicked by any of those waves.

Even then, he thinks the simplicity of their conversation will only fall as one encounter and by the time he is closing the pizza shop, his heart feels full. Heavy with pride for doing something great today…saving someone from the asphyxiating grip of hate dressed as love, or what people claim to call ‘romance’ nowadays. Toxicity at its finest.

To Ten, love is an impossibility in this era and nothing could change his mind.

🍕

In the confines of the highly illuminated room, Ten goes from one side to the other, repeatedly bowing to the clients in front of him, taking his notebook and writing down their orders, taking as many as he can in his hands—while also keeping them in order—before giving them to Randy, filling him with more work to do at the kitchen. It is tiresome, if February was difficult, March just exudes that draining energy that leaves Ten in a grumpy mood, more often than not tugging at the uncomfortably tight cap that he has to use with his uniform and swearing the damned red chemise that bruises his eyes with its bright color, warrior of all fashion that existed in the world. If anything, such a busy atmosphere would have filled his body with life if he was the one eating or enjoying the presence of background chatter, but being a waiter in such a situation—and the only one working, too—is quite the displeasure.

Seriously, the pizza place has been doing excellently nowadays and still, his boss acts as if it would be too expensive to hire another worker, either for the kitchen or to attend the costumers. Those who are the wealthiest are the most obsessed with their money.

Pressing the phone to his ear, he is trying to talk to one of the customers that wants to order through the device, but it is far too loud in the pizza place for him to listen. His vocal chords hurt from how loudly he is speaking, cursing the day he decided that working as a waiter in a pizza shop was going to be easy, but that is far from the reality. The sound of a pair of long fingers tapping on the bell makes him look up from his position, staring at the tall man with the chef hat on. Randy was a little bit over his thirties, in love with cooking and the smell of the fresh sauce he made for every pizza, spending time all around the world to prepare the majesties that they serve in Ten’s workplace. “Hey, dude, there are a group of girls that have been waiting there for a while.” Pointing at one of the tables in the pizza place, Ten hangs up on the call—thankful that it ended, really—placing the neat piece of paper on Randy’s hand. “And the Greek one is ready. Table seven.”

“Table seven, okay.” Ten repeats, fixing the hat over his head before huffing. “I am an absolute mess. How difficult is it for the boss to get another person to help us out here?”

The smell of the pizza makes him gag slightly when he picks it up; tired of the cheese, of the thick sauce and the toppings, everything seems to be too much for him. “I don’t know. I could help you out if you need it—”

“No, take care of the pizzas. Thank you, though.” Ten comments in a rushed manner, moving away from the counter and going towards the seventh table, seeing the happy smiles the family give him before he is off to the table Randy had talked about. The third table, if he is not mistaken, closer to the door and with more seats than most. Once in front of his new clients, he opens his small notepad to write their orders down, starting his introduction without really looking at who he is talking to. “Good night, welcome to The Tower of Pizza, is there anything I can serve for you tonight?”

“Ten!” The excitement in a woman’s tone makes him stare away from his notepad, instead settling his gaze on the person that is calling out for him. The same woman that had been there a little bit over a month ago, the one that he had given a free Coca Cola to and the same one whose tastes in men were not equal to her tastes in the delicious Italian treat. This time, she looks even more radiant, hanging around with a group of women—all looking at him by now, interested in why their friend even knows this person in the first place, portraying an easygoing smile and a beautiful floral shirt. “I didn’t expect you to be working today.”

Ten chuckles, taking the time to smile for the first time in the entirety of the day, and it all comes thanks to the slice of sweetness that comes with her greeting. “I work here every day. I’m the only waiter that works here.”

“For real?”

“Yes.” Ten looks up and down her face, realizing that she is far more radiant around her friends, who are stealing glances from Ten to their friend, back again and repeatedly. “I would love to talk for longer, but I have to attend more clients. What do you guys want?”

“Two of your lasagna special and one extra-large pizza. Which one do you recommend today?” After writing down their orders, Ten notices that his tongue is sticking out in concentration, something he does specifically when he is writing and focused in something. Looking over his shoulder, he sees what is written in the chalkboard before humming.

“I think Chicago could work well with you tonight.” Ten comments, deciding to bite back a smile but it is far too impossible for him to do so. It would be a lie of him to say that the sight of her hasn’t brightened his day up, for some reason that still remains unknown for him, but maybe it is the visual of her, the beauty of her smile that lets him know he just has a piece of art to look at while he works.

“Give me one of those. Thank you.” Their fingertips barely touch together when she pushes the menu towards him, skin coming in contact with a brief electrocution state before it fades to blackness. With a bow, Ten is gone, not without sparing one last glance at her to see that she is already looking at him, giving him a tight lipped smile that reads ‘I feel sorry for you, but you can do this’.

Other than that, the night goes in a blur for him, from talking to yet another customer to remembering which pizza went to certain table, to giving out the takeout boxes before anyone complains about his slowness. By the time it is about to close, he realizes there is one person seated in table number three, her purse resting over the surface, hand holding her chin up while she watches the rerun of some old show that plays on the big TV screen of the pizza shop. Ten pushes his cap off, looking at the serenity of her face and feeling a bit more relaxed, even when his chest is rising and falling with each breath and he feels like once he gets home the shower is going to have to welcome him for more than an hour.

Fixing his hair with the tips of his fingers, the man can’t help but walk over to his client, the one that should have left three hours ago just like her friends, but that decided to stay back for some reason. His hands hook around the edge of the seat beside her, dragging it across the floor obnoxiously before sitting down. The look she gives him is peaceful and he simply doesn’t get it. That type of patience and interest can only speak wonders about her and even if she just wants to talk to him or it was something else that kept her there, he thinks it’s enviable. And today, out of all days, Ten is feeling the slightest bit touched that someone would give him both a nice tip and also, stay for him a few minutes after the closing time.

“I thought you would have left with your friends.”

“I wanted to make sure you were fine after all that work you did.” She comments, watching as the apples of Ten’s cheeks lift up in a smile. In all sincerity, Ten has gotten a million gifts, surely a lot of effective nice touches of sympathy that would have warmed his heart back then, but for a complete stranger to do something as kind as that for him is truly unexpected. “I hope it doesn’t seem creepy.”

“A little bit. It matches with my nosiness in that date of yours.” The laughter that leaves her lips is joyful, pushing a few strands away from her face to get a good look at him. His eyes trail over her features, as sweet as her, with this air of innocence that has him thrilled, but instead, he opts to look at the screen that had taken her attention for most of the time she spent at that table alone. “You’re watching How I Met Your Mother?”

While leaning back on her seat, she answers. “I never really got to know how he met the mother. I actually thought the mother was Robin all along.”

“I don’t know who the mother was, either.” The realization downs him, watching the episode running but he is not actually paying much attention to it. “I stopped watching when I realized Barney and Robin wouldn’t end up together.”

“They don’t?!”

“Sorry, did I just spoil it?” Though he smiles, because the honesty in her face is a complete gush of fresh air. “They get a divorce I think, I don’t know. I read it online and stopped watching after that.”

Pushing her lips forward in realization, she lifts her eyebrows in surprise. “Real love doesn’t exist now.”

This is the matter in which Ten specializes the most, a love-hater from the moment he recognized what the meaning of such thing was. Funnily enough, it didn’t take a heartbreak for Ten or falling in love tremendously with someone for him to realize what it means to fall in love. It is a responsibility, to start with, so heavy that it connects two people and falls upon different parts of their lives. Secondly, love is only a conceptualization that a person can individually get to know and someone may never know if the feeling is as strong for the other, or as weak in certain occasions. Sometimes, routine and romance sound exactly the same and damn him for hating it so much. “It doesn’t take a show to realize that.” Bringing his beliefs forward, she turns to look at him.

“You don’t believe in love, do you?” She asks, the conversation becoming seemingly interesting to her.

His fingers play with the cap in between them, touching the fabric as he speaks. “Not really, no.” The smell of her cologne becomes more prominent for him when he folds his body forward to get closer to her, his hands sprawling across the table. “What about you?”

“I believe it exists.”

“Why?”

“Just…look at the amount of people who are married or live together or survive long distance relationships. That takes love.”

Tilting his head to the side, Ten gives his own train of thoughts a chance. “I think of that as compromise, not exactly love.” The tone of his voice is soft, mainly because he knows love is such a subjective feeling for most people and he doesn’t want to ruin it for someone who may just feel it, but in reality, love has died down with the passage of time and now, people have started to love more things rather than other individuals. Passion became the new version of love and he feels far more attached to that part of himself. “Like sure, I can love dancing or going out to the karaoke with my friends, but I am not married to any of those activities. That doesn’t mean I love them less.”

“That’s true—” Her voice is cut off when her phone vibrates and his eyes immediately look down, catching a glimpse of the name of the contact. “It’s this asshole again.” She cusses, pressing the red button on her phone only to sigh. “You know, after this guy…I may think you are right,” She shakes her head, lost in her thoughts of anger and frustration. “He keeps calling me and I don’t know what his issue is. I don’t even know why I want to fall in love when all I get are these half-assed guys that don’t even deserve the title of romance.”

“Sure, love doesn’t exist in my eyes…but that doesn’t mean you don’t get the chance to find a nice guy.” Ten comments, shrugging his shoulders soon after. “I think you just have a radar for finding the wrong ones.”

“How do I know if it’s a good one?”

“…I don’t know. I don’t date to find ‘the one’.” Doing quotations in the air, she smiles at his antics before her phone vibrates once again. The noise is insupportable to her ears, as if the earth is shaking beneath her fingertips in the reminder of the mistakes she made, and Ten is not so fond of the idea of a creep going around and ruining her night after spending such a great time with her friends. His hand reaches forward, asking permission with his gaze to pick it up before she hums, watching as he brings the phone up his ear.

“Why the fuck aren’t you answering?! You didn’t come back to the parking lot after our date and I was waiting for you. Do you think—?”

“Sorry man, wrong number.” Ten announces, the man on the other end being cut off immediately before he huffs out a breath.

“This bitch didn’t even give me her number properly?”

“I guess…” Though, he doesn’t like the tone this guy is speaking in and surely, all he wants to do is hang up right at that moment. Which he gets to do with all the pleasure in the world, anger emanating from his words the moment he mumbles out a quick goodbye and pushes his thumb own on the red button on the screen. Her eyes are wide, gleaming even though the lights in the pizza shop may be the main cause of it all and soon after, she breathes out at the appearance of her grin. “Block that number and never look back. You don’t owe him anything.”

“Thank you.” She stands up from her spot, pushing her purse up her shoulder while holding her phone on the other hand. “I suppose you’re going to have to close down soon.”

“Yeah, I’m going out to eat with Randy, that guy in the kitchen.” Ten chuckles, pressing his hands down on the pockets of his jeans before looking up at her. “But thank you for waiting for me to check up on me. It means a lot.”

“I’d do it again.” She nods her head, almost turning around on her heels but her movements halter to a stop, instead opting to take a good glance of the man in front of her, giving him his phone as embarrassment takes over her features. “I was actually going to ask for your number. You were so nice to me and you still are…so if I ever need someone to talk to, I would like to have you in my contacts.”

“Is that so?” Ten’s voice lowers a bit, fixing his cap over his head before writing down his number, saving his name as ‘Ten’ along with a pizza emoticon by its side, taking the time to take his phone out and jotting her number down as well. There is something about her, past her enchantment and the dulcet personality that he always talks about, but the facility he feels when talking to her, like there is nothing beneath her that could ever be used to judge someone. Her caring nature is the most outstanding, a person of energetic happiness out of all the somberness of the world. “Just text me anytime.”

“I will.” She smiles, waving her hand in the air before getting out of the pizza shop, leaving with the dangle of the bell on the ceiling above the door. Something about that night leaves him with a smile on his face and putting How I Met Your Mother in his list of ‘to watch’ shows. Something twists, changes and perhaps, he should pull away—attraction is what he feels, but for someone who adores love and the thought launches his brain away from her, thinking that their goals are far too different for him to even try flirting. Perhaps, he should really ignore it all and let the start of a simple friendship blossom without any second thoughts partaking on that decision.

🍕

What are you doing now?

The vibration of his phone shouldn’t startle him as he is washing the dishes, soapy hands coming up from the plate in between his hands to hover in the air, eyes staring at the blinking notification on his phone. But it does. The past few weeks have been a reminder that there are so much more than the tedious hours of working in a food place, that there is more to the world than waking up, going to the dance studio to practice a bit, going to the pizza place he works at and returning home so tired he can’t even keep his eyes open. His phone finds solace in the company, texts of questioning coming from his friends and family as they ask how his life is doing and when the next adventure is going to surface for them to share new moments together, but now he has something else to look forward to. A conversation that is far more interesting in the twists and turns that come from it, the initiation a mere greeting and then, it was an endless chat in the hopes of getting to know each other.

He promises himself that he’ll finish washing that one last plate before going over to his phone, but the smile is already settling on his face at the reminder of his new friend on the other end, taking time away from her tedious hours of studying to respond to his texts. The last one they shared was during his lunchbreak, and she only got to answer now, following her dream with so much strength that one would think she’d break her head in the process. However, considering that she is probably taking a break from studying for her tests and that he is actually not doing anything too important, then he might as well answer…

Patting his hands dry in a cloth, he goes over to the counter to grip the device in between his fingers, sliding his fingers across the screen to write down his password before he is met by the sight of the opened conversation with his new friend. He calls it endless, mainly because from the moment it started with a brief ‘hello’, it never got a goodbye. Talking to her comes naturally, coming together thanks to art and connecting with each other in the name of passion, for they equally thrive for a dream.  

The simple text stares back at him and in no time, he is answering.

Washing the dishes, but I am too lazy to continue…My roommate is not there for me to boss him around, either.

For a moment, he thinks of what he should write next.

How is studying going?

What he learns from her is that her dramatics are palpable, the hyperbole ever present in anything she says. It brings excitement to them, considering Ten has always enjoyed to live life with interesting people at hand. Like a show or a meal, two things that he has gotten to know well with his dream in one hand and his job in another, they all need to be outstanding to be exciting and enjoyed by other individuals.

The three dots move repeatedly, until a message arrives at his sight. The amount of emoticons in the verge of crying that she adds is exponential, definitely enough to bring a smile to his face. The pressure a university student must feel at this time of the year is not quite the highest, for April is just another month in meaningless existence, but for her…every day is a final test type of day and the fear of failure clings to her. It’s difficult to learn some of the passages from those books and even though she studies her hardest, there are times where she doesn’t get the grade she wanted—or deserved, for the matter—and Ten has self-taught himself the ability of making her feel better.

I can’t understand shit. I want to cry.

Ten’s eyes widen at that, brown hues becoming soft at the reminder of how difficult it is to have someone’s hard work not paying off for them. That was how he felt at the start of the previous year, the reason why he started working at a pizza shop in the first place.

Take a small break and then, go back to studying. You can do this. Learn the most important stuff. You don’t have to pressure yourself.

Easier said than done, he knows, but when he doesn’t get an answer for the next five minutes, he knows he either lost her to the need of sleep or she went back to studying. It is actually a push for him to continue doing errands, finally cleaning up his place after a draining week, making sure that the sheets on his bed are changed, the cushions on his couch are fluffed out, the bathroom is clean…and in the matter of seconds, he is trying to relax with a shower and a nice, hot meal. Not that he can fully relax, not when he is watching an episode of that damned show that pulled them together the last time they had physically seen each other and he is constantly reminded of her. His mind comes up with the most absurd of questions: Has she eaten? He wonders, and it is the type of question he rarely wonders about someone, and yet…there she is, in the back of his brain like a warning sign, shining bright and leaving him in utter distress.

His sheets are well wrapped around his body by the time eleven hits in the clock, his drowsiness getting the best of him and dragging him to the bed before he can even watch another episode. The fabrics are comfortable around his legs, the restriction from his jeans long gone and replaced with the sweet touch of relief. His black hair is made a mess, his skin still glistening with whatever skincare product he managed to put on his face with such sleepiness and still, he opens his eyes when he hears his charging phone vibrating on the bedside table. He should let it be, keep it as a nice touch for his early morning tomorrow, but his fingers move far too quickly, worry overtaking him when his eyes squint to look at the bright source of light.

Giving importance to someone in a few weeks of talking is stupid, but Ten knows the name of all of this—attraction, but the thought is often pushed to the back of his brain. Though his flirty remarks are there, he knows it is not a good idea to go out with someone like her, for she has never shown interest in that way and she is a huge believer of real love and fairytales.

Hence, the text.

Ugh, sorry, I was studying again. All I want to do is sleep and have someone cuddle me because my head is hurting so bad.

Their views about love are absolute different and Ten doesn’t understand the importance of intimacy past relief quite well. He doesn’t want to get the connection of two people through skin and soul, merely because it seems too unprotected, like all the walls a person could have holding up being torn for the mere action of feeling accompanied. That, he doesn’t understand, and most of their nights—and days—talking don’t consist of her imminent love for…well, love, but he knows that it is always in the back of her head. A love like one in the movies, like one in TV shows, a forever and always disguised as reality.

Haha, you should go rest now. Also, what’s your deal with cuddling and all those soft things? Too many rom-coms or what?

The joking manner is there, only highlighted by his emoticons and he gets the response equally as fast, probably because she is opting to go to bed, laying down against her sheets just like how he is doing in his own room.

I just want to experience it. Everyone talks about dating and being in love, it must be a good thing. Let me have my fun. Don’t be such a hater.

A scoff leaves his lips, the corner of them lifting up in a smile.

Love is overrated.

You have not fallen in love either, hush. Don’t judge it until you try! What makes you think it’s overrated?

He doesn’t remember falling asleep but once he opens his eyes in the peak of the morning when the Sun is barely peeking on the sky, his alarm ringing in his ears obnoxiously, his body frightens in fear of not charging his phone, only to be met by a fully charged battery—thankfully, and he sighs in glee at that, turning his alarm off in a hassle—and a text that has him laughing.

Never. And it’s just a gut feeling.

Maybe, his gut feeling is right…but there is always an exception to the rule.

🍕

“You’re telling me your favorite cinnamon rolls come from a food truck?”

After an entire month of talking is when Ten finally has the time—and the energy—to go out with his pizza-place-found friend. Not that she is any less tired, sporting a pair of sunglasses that now rests on top of her head, a perfect mask for the bags under her eyes after such tedious times in school and work. Radiant and beautiful, still, she is, though visibly stiff by the way her shoulders remain tight under the fabric of her patterned blouse. The streets of such a welcoming city are what surrounds them, the sidewalks filled with people in that side of town—as it turns out, there is a universe of street food that he has yet to know and she has a PhD in junk food knowledge. The conversation had started nicely, meeting at the nearest park before diverting their attention from formalities to asking about their lives whilst walking and finally, the most important, filling their stomachs in this meeting.

Meeting, since it’s not a date. She brought it up first…and never really called it a date, either.

His attire is different from the one she had seen him in at his workplace, though she has liked one or two of his Instagram posts. His pierced ears are shown by his hairstyle, moved back slightly by a bit of gel, though not too much. His usual red and bright uniform is changed for something simpler, a white graphic t-shirt tucked into his jeans, something that was complimented by his friend earlier on the night. His fingers hook on the strap of his backpack, dangling off one shoulder when she gives him a nod.

“So, you saw my group of friends the other day. Ash? She’s like the worst cook ever, and when we were roommates she would always bring me something from what she had for dinner. Sweet, really.” Though, Ten remembers hearing that Ash is also the same person that she said was the worst roommate she ever had. Too much of a mess and too clingy with her boyfriend, for someone who loves romance so much, she couldn’t stand the tiniest bit of public displays of affection. “She showed me this place once and it’s a pastry food truck. It’s so delicious. The old lady that owns it knows me and all.”

Ten raises his eyebrows at that, smirking at her words. “Wow, impressive. The lady from the food truck knows you.” The sarcasm in his voice, mixed with sassiness, has her groaning before pushing his side slightly, making him tumble a bit before regaining his balance. “Hey, I was joking!”

“Once you taste her cinnamon rolls you’re going to regret ever talking like that.” She tells him, already looking in the depths of her purse to find some money, leading the way in their little trip through the seas of people in such street. “It’s either eating that or we go buy some fruits to eat.”

Scrunching up his nose momentarily, he shrugs his shoulders as if it is nothing. “I never said anything against the old lady. I’m just saying you get so excited over the tiniest of stuff.” Contrary to what his words may sound like, the smile on his face is full of adoration, because she feels so wildly that she may be the culprit of innocence.

She looks at him with a bit of a frown over her face, her bottom lip jutting out when she speaks: “And that’s wrong?”

Her steps begin haltering, slower until they reach a pink and white food truck with donuts and pastries all painted on the walls. Indeed, there is an old lady inside the truck, peeking her head outside to look at the customers who arrive. However, Ten has a conversation at hand and his heart palpitates softly at the mere sight of her face, like she has been told that before. Excitement is always overlooked as overreaction and to see someone’s imminent smile at life is…something that is not expected to be found in the world. Why take that happiness away when it already lives beneath her? “That’s not wrong at all,” He tells her, the background filled with music coming from one of the food trucks a few miles away. “It’s admirable. I wish I could look at life the way you do.”

She chuckles at his words, something inside her eyes gleaming with happiness. “You’re okay as you are. People like me get hurt in the long run…but you…Ten, I don’t think you’re even able to get your heart broken. Now, that is admirable.”

Wrong she is, for one of the few times in her life, mainly because Ten tries to convince himself that through joking manners, the everlasting sassiness within him and this permanent fight against love, he is going to protect himself from a lot of things. Heartbreak, for once, coming from a broken goal or a time-lapse that wasn’t met. He thinks not feeling too much is the cure of weakness, but at the same time, there is a bit of curiousness within him. What happens to those people who simply feel? Who worry so much and love so much, who give their whole lives out for people and not for a goal. The closest thing he has ever felt for that is the romance he has with his own art, but he knows his own dream is controlled by his actions, for the dancefloor is not going to suddenly step on his heart for no apparent reason.

People do that a lot, even absentmindedly.

He has done it, too. The amount of people he has had to pull away from because he doesn’t feel as strongly for them as they do is there, a reminder that he has his devilish side, as well.

“Thank you?” Ten comments, laughing at her words and earning a nod from her before their conversation is rudely—or nicely, maybe—interrupted by the lady in the food truck. Her eyes are adorned by the wrinkles at the edges, rounded glasses resting on the bridge of her nose and dyed blonde hair covering her otherwise gray locks. An apron is tied around her waist, sweet like the paintings in the food-truck, but the smile she gives to her known client is almost diabetes inducing.

“Oh, you’re back with another boy! This one is prettier than that one you brought last time.”

She is a gorgeous woman…and in desperate need to experience whatever love is, so it is not surprising that she has gone in a few dates. In her words, she never goes past the first date and it has been like that for the past two or three years. She either gets tired of her date or they are absolutely bat-shit crazy. Nonetheless, the black haired young man takes that as an opportunity to lean over where she is, speaking loud enough for the lady and his friend to listen to him. “You already brought another guy here?”

A guilty smile appears on her face when she licks the inside of her cheek, looking over her shoulder to stare at Ten. “Yes. Why? Jealous?”

“Curious. You have to show me a picture of that guy so I can know what I’m being compared to.”

“Who you’re being compared to. You used the wrong word.”

“No, I meant what. All you date is trash, after all.”

Laughing at his words or perhaps at his antics, the two friends lift their gazes to look at the old lady who has a look of adoration over her face, practically spilling the dulcet taste of her pastries on her grin. “Hello! Yes, I brought my friend with me today. Can we have two cinnamon rolls and…two glazed donuts, please?”

The woman gets to work, picking up a paper bag with the food truck’s logo imprinted on it and picking out the pastries her client had ordered. “Just a friend?” Ten exchanges a glance with her, earning a shrug before they both confirm that they are just friends. “It’s none of my business…but you’re missing out. This young man is very pretty.”

When he wraps his fingers around the bag given to them, paying the entirety of it even when she tries to give her half of the money to the woman in front of her, he laughs at the compliment. “Thank you. That’s very nice of you.”

“Do you have some diet coke, too?” She asks before nudging Ten’s side. “Let me invite the drinks, at least.”

“I do!” The old woman indicates, reaching over for the drinks and receiving the money according to the prizes displayed behind her. The coldness of the bottle clings to his fingertips, his bones and joints aching slightly at how cold it is, watching when his friend pays for them before standing by his side. The walk starts soon after—not without forgetting to thank the old woman by the food truck—, step after step being followed by the sound of lids being twisted and the paper bag opening once they reach a nearby small table for them to sit at.  

“Nice old lady.” Ten comments, taking a napkin to place the cinnamon roll over it and give it a bite, only to hear the sound of her chuckle.

“She’s not that nosy most of the time, but you must have reminded her of her young love affair or something.” Her eyes are fixated on him when he gives the first bite, her lips pressing down together out of nervousness. “Do you like it? They are my absolute favorites. I have them more than I pride myself on.”

The taste is flavorful, the almonds in the mix making the crunch a lot more pleasurable. The pastry is not too dry, leaving the lemon cream on top to coat it with a hint of bitterness, though necessary. The pastry hits the back of his tongue like a sonata, too much but at the same time everything he needed. “These are so good.”

“I have the best tastes.”

“Speaking of,” Ten says, pressing the corner of the napkin to his lips before leaning forward on his seat. The look on his face is of interest and she is halfway through chewing on her cinnamon roll, eyes looking at him with all the innocence in the world when he continues. “Who was that guy you brought here, as well? I should feel bad…but knowing you, you just did that because you were being too nice, as per usual, so I’ll let it slide.” Once again, he is mocking her and a gush of air leaves his lips when she kicks his calf under the table, softly, of course.

Her fingers push her phone out of her pocket, unlocking it as she speaks. “I went out on a date with a guy like five months ago. He was the nicest guy I’ve gone out on a date with, which is why I decided to bring him here for dessert.”

From his spot, Ten hums at her words. “And you weren’t the dessert?”

“No, Ten, I wasn’t.” Her eyes stop looking down at her phone to glare at him before breaking into laughter. “We didn’t even kiss or anything. His name is Cho and he’s a nurse, so he barely has time to…you know, go out on dates or whatever. We are friends right now.” The screen of her phone is showcased in front of his eyes, an Instagram account being shown to him. There, he sees a somewhat short and technically buff guy, with the most serious expression he has ever seen in his life—in reality, it would surprise Ten if this man has ever laughed in his life—. He wears glasses and scrubs, typical and taken out of a Grey’s Anatomy episode, though he is the exact type of person he would never imagine with the epitome of brightness. “That’s Cho. I mean…yes, you’re technically better looking, but he is opting for a masters and he is very serious. I think he is the type of man to settle down…and if he was not so busy, I’d go out on another date with him. See how it goes.”

“Does he ever smile?” Ten questions, earning a laugh from her part before she puts her phone down. The straw of her drink slips in between her lips, fruit too forbidden for him to look at even for the smallest of seconds, but the beauty of her is always in the back of his head.

“Not really, no.” The confirmation is all she needs.

“And you wanted to go out on a second date with him, just because…he is the type to settle down?”

“Isn’t that the whole point of me looking for someone?” Though, the way her smile suddenly shifts to face downwards is an indicator of her unhappiness. As far as he knows, and from what he can realize, there is more to her than simply looking for a man—she knows her worth as an individual, spending quality time with the people that make her feel the most at ease and bettering herself with knowledge the more she grows, but there is always that prick of curiousness in the form of a voice. “To settle down and look for the closest thing to a…I don’t know, real love?”

In most occasions, Ten jokes around with the people he enjoys talking to—he thinks life is more enjoyable if he just smiles at everything and shares his happiness with people, even if it’s remotely small or big. This is not one of those moments because the least Ten wants to do is laugh at her, contrary to what anyone would believe. He may not believe in love, but what may be an invisible ghost for him may be salvation for someone else. “Listen, love is a great thing for some people…if it even exists, to start with.” For the first time, she doesn’t give her opinion on the matter, simply munching on her food. “But that’s not a reason for you to settle for anyone, much less someone whose only personality trait is being…able to settle down. The point of looking for someone is that you enjoy yourself, too.” Her eyes stare up to look at him, her eyebrows magically drawn together in what seems to be surprise to hear him speak so seriously. “If you really liked this Cho guy, the least you would think about is that he wants to settle down. You would be talking about how funny he is or something, or like…how caring he is. Maybe, how he likes certain stuff you don’t or how he’s a nurse because he wants to save lives, like…is being serious all you can seem to notice?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she bites down on her bottom lip. “What’s the point, though?” Before Ten could answer, she gives a piece of her mind. “I’m looking for the perfect guy everywhere, but I never find him. I just— He’s the best I could find, that has to mean something.”

Taking a long sip of his drink, he responds soon after. “Yes. It means you are like any human being and make mistakes when dating. That’s normal.”

“I thought you said I had bad tastes.”

“That, too.” Soon after, the atmosphere switches to something more lightweight and Ten locks her phone before giving it back, placing it atop her hand delicately. “You don’t have to date without wanting to just to get the romance experience. You’re worth of loving and someone will arrive that will love you as much as you want to be loved.”

Looking up at the stars in the sky, drenching holes in the pure black sky, she smiles at his words before shaking her head. “Don’t tell me those things if you don’t want me to cry,” The words get choked up by her chuckle and Ten reaches over to open the bag of treats, holding his glazed donuts in between sugar and cinnamon coated fingertips while he listens to her voice, the beauty of naivety shining from within her soul. “You’re one sweet guy even though you try to make yourself look like a jerk, you know that?”

“I am.” He tells her, taking a big bite of his donut. “But we’re not getting full with only these two things. We should go grab some real food. Is there any food-truck with, like, something very good?”

“And then you try to drift the attention away from you being sweet.” She points out and the apples of Ten’s cheeks burn in embarrassment as he laughs at her words, nodding his head because he can only accept it. For someone who prides himself in his lack of feelings, he does get attached to people—not necessarily showing how much he appreciates them at any given time, but telling their reality straight to their face in order to protect them is more of his way of showing his admiration. Using the paper bag to hold the donut, she looks around the street as she thinks of the possibilities. “Huh, get ready, because I’m making you have the best food you’ve tried in your life.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Oh, I’m confident.”

The way she speaks after that…with such excitement and joy to live and breathe and love is simply what has Ten so intrigued to get to know her even more. Something about her was different, though not wronged, as if she made her purpose to give and give, expecting nothing in return. Those type of people didn’t exist that much anymore, or at least, he hasn’t met plenty of them…but it is a joy to watch someone like that exist at the same time as him, uniting them in threads of interest, of friendship, maybe attraction from his part, but once again, his conscience murders the thought before it can really settle. Someone like her wants true love, and Ten is just not the material for it.

🍕

A thousand odes of hatred he had written to the day his heart beat so loudly that he felt like he couldn’t even breathe and May welcomes him with such a feeling, laughter getting confused with the roaring of small engines going from one corner to the other, the mini version of a road welcoming him with the faux white lights on the ceiling, adrenaline in its minimal form. The feeling overcomes him when he is behind the steering wheel, speeding through the lapses and smiling at the world from under his helmet, thinking of himself as a racer until someone does the absolute most to make him laugh, someone’s car bumping right in the back of his own go-kart, repeatedly as that certain person mocks him:

“Whoa, is the talented Ten scared of racing with a go-kart?”

The lively tone in her voice shouldn’t have brought a flutter to his chest but it is to be expected; most of the time, he only gets to talk to her through the phone, mainly in texts that go back and forth between the two, with big hours of differences thanks to their busy schedules, but when he does get to hear her voice, it feels like he is living the best day of his life. A bump on his car makes his chest press against the steering wheel, looking over his shoulder to catch a sight of her expression and the giggle she gives him is not visible through the helmet. When she had told him that she loved to go-kart (“One of my friends works at a go-kart place. If we go after eight, we’ll get the whole experience by ourselves and we can do whatever we want.”), he had expected her to be respectful and sweet, like she normally is, but that was proven wrong quite rapidly.

“Stop bumping my car.” Ten adds in between laughter, only to feel another small nudge to the back of his car. It is not forceful, rather a little touch that has him frowning. “Hey, I said stop!” Stepping on the pedal to move back, now it is his go-kart that collides with hers, earning a small hiss from the woman.

“Did you just hit my car?”

“Uh, yeah. Get out my way.” Though he is laughing, enjoying himself so profoundly that he feels like it may be sinful. This is not how he feels when he hangs around with the annoying guy from the jewelry store in front of his workplace, Wong Yukhei, neither is it what he feels when he speaks to his closest of friends. It is not the tingly feeling of attraction…entirely, there is something more in there, something that he doesn’t want to name in fear of knowing what it is. Nicely felt it is, though he tries to ignore it. He continues to go forward, parking in front of her friend just in time to hear the roaring of her engine beside him, getting out of her go-kart and taking off her helmet, the strands of her hair made a mess and falling over her face when she hears him speak. “Did you even learn how to drive?!”

“I did,” Her helmet rests against her hips, the skin leaning to one side of her body before nearing him and tugging the helmet away from his face. “You look so cool with this thing on.”

His fingers run through his hair, taking the time to rub at his scalp before giving her a shameful smile. “So do you.” Her hands reach for his, bringing him up until he is standing away from the go-kart and right in front of her. “But I don’t think I want to race you again. Like, do you drive like that in real life? I’m scared of even riding with you!”

He feels the gaze of her friend trailing back behind them as they start to walk away from the go-karts. The second of May shouldn’t feel this good, a Saturday shouldn’t have such meaning…but with how tired she has been lately and how draining one of her classes has been, taking all the happiness she has and turning it into anger, he can’t help but want to make her feel better. She does so, too, claiming that they would have fun if they went out to race. She wasn’t wrong, sincerely. “You’re the one that was going so slow. You reminded me of a grandpa.”

Nudging her side, Ten watches as she chuckles before he grips her arm, bringing him back to where he is standing. “You’re learning all the bad things from me.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t have said that in February, for example, but no, you take all my asshole traits and make them your own.”

“I’m a good actress.” She comments, now taking a seat on the floor near the entrance, opening her backpack to get her water bottle out, taking a sip of it before giving the source of liquid to the man by her side. Ten takes the time to look at her, more disheveled that he has ever seen her, sweat clinging to her forehead, her lips so tightly holding on to its happiness that he could dance to the sound of her laughter. This is how he likes to see her, enjoying her life. “By the way, you’re going to be proud of me.” Her hand gets lost inside his bag once again but before she could show him whatever it was that would make him proud, Ten intervened.

“I’m already proud of you.” He utters, voice a little bit rough after taking such a big gulp of water. “But sure, tell me. What would make me proud?”

Clearing her throat, she unlocks her phone. “Well, you see, I posted a picture like two days ago. That one picture you took of me when we went out to the art museum?” He nods his head, recalling the image of her in front of a painting, a muse for the lens in his hands. “Well, Cho liked it and he sent me a direct message soon after.” He doesn’t know why his jaw tightens or why his smile disappears, why he feels like he is hearing news that leave a bitter taste on his tongue, but that is exactly how it feels. Jealous, that’s what takes over him, what turns his body in nothing more than a possessed soul. “And he was asking to meet up with me again in a date, but I told him I couldn’t because I don’t feel that way for him.”

His heart may have shattered; out of happiness, in a mocking manner or simply because he hates whatever is that keeps him tangled to her, but his eyes widen at her words…because the biggest romanticist in the world had given up romance thanks to an advice he had given her. “Yes?” He asks, earning a hum from her part as she shows him the messages. “And what did he say? Was he cool?”

“You’re right,” In any other occasion, she may have pouted at those words, but instead, she is welcoming the mistakes that come in the name of love. “I do like jerks. He blocked me after that.”

“…Asshole.” Ten spits, noticing how their shoulders are touching, eyes lifting to lock gazes with her before he realizes just how there is nothing left unclear in her gaze. The communication in between the two, of peacefulness and gratitude, shows through the brightness of her eyes and her lips part slightly to give him one of those tight lipped half-smiles.

“I’m glad I got out of that mess.”

“So am I.” He claims, feeling her fingers patting his thigh before her figure stands up in front of him.

“Let’s go for another round.” Her voice opts to say, Ten’s palms digging into the floor to lift his weight up. His fingers dust his jeans just in case he got any dirt on them, just in time to hear her speak something that he had repeated a thousand times. “You’re right. Love doesn’t even exist.”

His mind melts at the sound of those words, trying to come up with an answer that is valid, but instead he continues with something that sounds like the type of person he is. “You need something to believe in. Just because I don’t believe in it doesn’t mean you can’t.”

I don’t believe in it.

I don’t believe in love.

Love doesn’t exist.

Ten tries to repeat that inside his head by the time their meeting is over, left with the tingling sensation of her arms wrapped around him and he cusses himself for ever getting attached. He doesn’t even believe what his mind is trying to tell him, hormones mixing with matters of the heart and the mind. She is the one that believes in this, not him.

Love doesn’t exist.

🍕

White. Purple. Blue. All these colors splay across the masses of people in the dance floor, the sound of the bass thumping against every corner of his body, ribs and heart becoming one with the music. Not only is the fabric of her dress capturing all these lights, coating the satin dress in endless colors even though its plain shade remains black, but his eyes are constantly checking the beauty of her. Normally, the dance club is often visited by him whenever his friends from the dance studio invite him, and if he’s not too tired, he’ll pop by to have a drink or two and enjoy the music that makes people coexist in peace, but this time around, he decides to bring his friend with him. Unlike him, who is cladded in a white t-shirt with a nice jacket over it, his most expensive shoes indicating his invite to the dance floor, she looks pristine, white cropped sweater resting on top of her satin dress that is not falling in the middle of her thighs.

A couple of people give a few steps back and that is enough to shorten the space in between the two, her back colliding against his front as they look for a place in which they can finally dance the night away. He had promised that much, at least, always having to read her texts about how she really wants to see him dance in person—not through a video on Instagram, not through those self-made videos he sends her of a new routine he came up with for a future presentation, but body to body, eyes to eyes, skin to sin. Ten is eager, too, wanting to show the most passionate side of himself to her, the one who always speak about her favorite pieces of art, her love for adrenaline, the burst of dopamine becoming thrilling for him.

“You didn’t tell me it was this crowded.” She spoke, looking over her shoulder for her words to reach him. Ten looks into her eyes, their faces nearing thanks to the action, though his hand goes up to rest on her waist, wrapping the entirety of his arm around it and caging them to the nearest wall so the group of dancing individuals could pass by without stepping on their feet.

“It’s Friday night and I guess…people may feel like dancing.” Bringing his bottle of soda up his lips, he takes a brief sip before humming softly. His touch is still lingering within her, noticing how her breathing matches his when his chest presses to her back. “Which we should do about now. I brought you here to show you how to dance properly, didn’t I?”

This time, she turns around, her hands clasped in front of her with such excitement and glee that she might burst the skin there. “I’m so excited. I’ve never been in a place like this.”

“It’s nothing different from a club, just that better dancers frequent it.” The atmosphere is enough to bring confidence to him, smiling as he tugs at her arm and brings her closer. Music is a part of him, the part that speaks the loudest and bleeds the strongest, the one that shows the reality of Ten—the sentimentalism, the spark, the bite, everything about him that makes him both rugged but also extremely soft. The eyes of people are used to settle on him thanks to his enchanting nature, his charismatic way of fixing every occasion and making it memorable, but the way she looks at him is soft, like she sees something that he never knew existed within him. “I, for one, am one of those dancers.”

She nods her head, once again being pushed by someone until her chest is pressed directly to Ten’s, her hands carefully resting on his waist to keep her from falling. Once the person goes away, she lets out a huff. “You are one of those dancers but way more polite. You didn’t tell me they were like this.”

“It happens. People are buzzed around here.” He comments, shrugging his shoulders before crooking his elbow for her to wrap her arm around it. She does without him having to tell her anything about it, too. “We have to make ourselves be respected, so we have to find a nice spot and just dance, that’s all.” His hands are a shelter, keeping her away from the people around them, roaming through the depths of drunken messes that are in the dance floor until they find a somewhat secluded spot, nearer to the center.

“I’m so glad you brought me here.” She tells him, feeling him tug at the edge of her sweater to pull her closer, her hands sneaking around his neck at that time. It’s the first time they are so close and in reality, Ten doesn’t mind the proximity, but what he does mind is the matter in which his heart seems to be freaking out about such a simplistic gesture. “I’m sorry I look a bit out of place. I didn’t know if the place was going to be cold or hot!”

“You look cute.” Ten tells her, looking at someone from the corner of his eyes when he feels like there is a person watching them and indeed, life smacks him in the face when he sees a guy looking at them, dancing slightly as he keeps his eyes on Ten’s friend. His gaze returns to the woman in front of him, clearing his throat. “There is a guy looking at you and he’s not bad looking.”

Most of the time, she is flattered by the subtlest of things, but this time around…when Ten really does think that she is going to turn back to look at the man that he is talking about, she doesn’t do anything impressive. It takes two steps forward for them to be even more together, her smile permanent on her features. “And? I came here with Ten, not with that guy.”

Now, the one who is flattered is himself and he is thankful of the dark room for hiding the blushing tips of his ears and the glistening cheeks that accompany her statement after it has been released to the world. Their world, in which only the two of them exist. “Oh, okay. I like that.” His bottom lip is stuck in between his teeth until he places his hands on the edge of her hands that are resting behind his head. “Do you want to slow dance? This is not how you normally dance in a place like this.”

Embarrassment takes over her features and she pulls away just the slightest, though her arms are placed on each side of his jaw. “It was your idea to teach me, so teach me.” For one second, he sees the mischief gleaming in her eyes and it is at that moment that he sees the power she holds over him, so capable of destroying his own world with her own sweetness. Sure, he is certain that she would never do such thing to him—not even absentmindedly—but she has invented this new part of himself that he can’t even recognize anymore. “Teach me a dance for girls.” The way she drags the world brings him a flashback of the time he sent her videos and pictures of him as a child, even though his awkwardness was eating him alive at the time, making him cringe at the reputation he was painting for himself. His fingers move her long earrings away from her face slightly before shaking his head.

“You said you would never mention it again!”

“But I’m a girl and I need to be taught a dance for girls.” Her lips pucker up slightly and Ten rolls his eyes, groaning when she laughs harder.

“It’s not funny.” He complains, though the smile on his face is his accessory whenever he is with her. This sweet, dulcet, overbearing taste in his mouth is obsessive and he hates it with his every being, knowing that if he gets too close he is going to become one of those people he used to groan at. What is more important, his pride…or whatever he feels for her, just not to say the name?

“To me, it is.”

His finger ghost over her waist, tickling her slightly before resting his hands there. “So mean.”

The worst part of it all is that he can’t get mad at her, not when she follows after his steps and does her best to become one with the thing he loves the most. At the end of the night, even when the electronic music is asking for loud stomping on the floor and loud cheering, he is simply slow dancing in the middle of a bunch of strangers, holding someone who holds the rawest, less known part of him and it’s so scary that he can simply smile through it, hoping that the devil of love never reaches him.

🍕

The beige curtains of his room move with the breeze coming from the air conditioner, to one side and the other, basically dozing Ten with an ounce of sleepiness, his eyes closing momentarily before he jolts awake once again, his fingers digging into the skin of the muscles on his legs, pained thanks to the huge amounts of practicing and the new motorcycle the boss at the pizza place had bought for the new delivery guy. Big surprise, the delivery guy got stomach sick at the end of the night and he had to run the last few errands at the shop while trying his hardest not to get into a crash.

Messily tied is his hair over his head and his phone hasn’t even vibrated with the hope of getting a ray of sunshine in his day. She said that she was busy earlier in the day, talking about a few projects from work that have only been piling up and she needs to get a signature from god-knows-who, meaning that she won’t even be a nice distraction from the night. Not even a distraction, Ten is genuinely worried about her…sometimes, she simply forgets to give herself breaks or she blames herself for a bad day, saying that anything that the world does wrongly is her fault. Some days, he wants her to stop giving so much and instead, asking something in return. Some days, Ten considers leaving his selfish ways behind simply to give her everything she deserves, which is exactly what she needs and desires. She is not perfect, perhaps too bright, too naïve, ready to take the lightning strike of the world only for the sake of settling well in people’s list of most loved people, but that is who she is…and Ten can’t say he doesn’t like it.

He really does like it, more than he prides himself on believing.

When he feels himself giving up on his stupid and useless self-massage, his ears make out the sound of his phone vibrating on his bedside table, but the call is cut short before he can even reach it. His fingers hook on the edge of the phone, unlocking it and trying to call the contact that had just called him, her name bringing worry immediately…that or the biggest feeling of longing. If they haven’t talked in a while, it has been even longer since the last time he saw her.

A text welcomes him after she hangs up the call, bright and straight in its delivery.

Sorry, I dialed the wrong number. Didn’t mean to bother you.

And of course, he replies:

You’re never a bother.

What he doesn’t expect, though, is for her to lie to him. Lie to him so innocently that it seems like the type of white lies a child would tell, something that she is not even good at doing. His alarm goes off obnoxiously, a tired breath going through his nose as he ponders when a day of relaxation is going to come by. All he has done for the past few years is dance and work, dance and work, in hopes of someday being able to do more than serving pizzas and concentrate on his dream, but as it turns out, he has not met that goal yet. His naked arms trail up until they rest over his eyes, right after snoozing the terrible sound that had filled the room, silky skin of his fingertips rubbing up and down his face, soon after patting on the surface of his bedside table, turning on his phone and being welcomed by the notification of a new voice message…and from the person who had said that had dialed the wrong number.

But he doesn’t have much time to listen to the long voicemail, so his phone rests peacefully over his bed as he starts to get ready for the day, the sound of her voice becoming background noise as he looks for a new pair of underwear, a fresh set of practice clothes for him to feel comfortable and in a minute, he must check if he packed his uniform inside his backpack—

“Uh, Ten, hi…I know you’re asleep by now…I actually didn’t want you to pick up.” The voicemail recalls, the sound of her laughter coming in nervous spurts. “Ah, I’m not brave enough to do this, but I’m doing it because I can’t actually lie and just—let me explain a few things first.” His weight leans against his closet, the fabric of the clothes he is going to wear for the day pressed to his chest. “You have taught me so much in the past few months. You taught me how to love myself past finding romance, you taught me that…guys aren’t shit.” He chuckles at her words, blinking softly at the device on his bed. “Okay, not really, I learned that myself. You taught me love isn’t real…and then, you…” A soft breath leaves her lips, shaky in its execution. “You told me one day I was worth loving, right, and from then on…I loved myself more. Sure, I wouldn’t say I’m all the way there…but…I realize my worth now and I was thinking one of these days that the only person I feel like is worth of all this mess I am, uh, it’s someone I know. That person is you, Ten.” His body moves forward when he hears those words, hands shaking as he grasps his phone in between his hands, frowning down at the name she is giving to what he thought was unwarranted. “It’s taking all in me to say this and you can ignore this, you can pretend I never said this and we can keep being friends after this, but I really wanted to ask you out on a date. Not when we first met, and I’m not doing it because I want a boyfriend. I’m doing it because I really, really, really, really like you as a person.” The sound of something shuffling in the background can only match the sound of jumping. Perhaps, she did that because she was nervous. “So yeah, that’s that. I’m here, I was going to tell it to you through the phone but I chickened out. I like you and I want to take you out on a date. Uh…you can call me, or not, that’s okay. Bye.”

That is so like anything he would have thought she would do when she likes someone. Cheesy, nervous, giggly and everything he used to hate. He can’t say he doesn’t despise love…because he does, and it will always be that way. He hates romantic comedies and love songs, but he also loves watching TV shows with her and singing to those songs as they walk around the city. In other people, it seems so utterly scary, so terrifyingly compromised that it makes him want to run away…but denying her a date is like denying her the heaven she deserves. The worst part is that his gift for ‘break-up season’, the season he enjoys the most because he can get a boost of his ego by proving he is right in his love theories, gave him a taste of his own medicine.

…The season of heartbreak proved him wrong. Or at least, everything seems far too peachy to ever end badly.

With a smile on his face and his body plopping down on the bed, he rings her phone, hoping that she picks up even if it’s too early to even be giving this call. The phone rings slightly until he hears her mumbling his name uncertainly, definitely sleepy as she does so, until he can’t even hide it anymore.

He’s not in love, but he likes her a lot…and that’s just enough for now. He is not going to spare himself the pleasure of trying it out.

“Where are you taking me, baby?”

February is break-up season, but June is the season of a new start for Ten.

[trillian-anders]

boeuf bourguignon

pairing: chef!bucky x plus!reader

warnings: fluff, domesticity, like two minutes of angst

word count: 2470

description: chef!au; you and bucky move in together

just a taste masterlist

“What’s the first thing we should make?” You asked, curled around Bucky on the mattress on the floor. The decision to move in together was easy after spending so much time together and missing each other in passing because one was too tired to go to the other’s apartment. And it’s economical, you both figure. He hummed, the vibrations coming through his chest, fingers tracing patterns on your bare back. 

“What’s something you’ve always wanted to eat?” He asked, dozy and almost asleep. Your memory flits back to last week when you’d watched Julie & Julia while packing. And with half closed lids you mumble back,

“Boeuf Bourguignon.” He lets out a sound that almost seemed like a laugh, too tired to recognize, 

“Okay baby.”

It was a cute little brownstone smack in the middle of his restaurant and Stark Tower, a compromise that had to be reached over many small arguments, too old, too new. Too far. Have you seen the neighborhood? Sam even input on a couple apartment complexes that would be good for the food truck. But it was settled that Bucky didn’t want the restaurant that close to him. 

You ate pizza in between fixing small cosmetic cracks in the wall and painting. Chinese while you arranged the furniture the way you wanted. And you enjoyed curry from the Indian place you loved that just so happened to be down the street from where you’d moved while unpacking the dishes and putting clothes away. 

“What do you think?” He asks, you’d left the kitchen up to him, the layout and how he wanted it organized. The copper pans were a brilliant contrast for your very white kitchen that had been partially the selling point for you. The gas stove top and double oven was the selling point for him. A knife rack on the wall, hanging pots and pans, and a double door refrigerator. It was the compromise for the cracked walls and the floors you’ll need to get redone soon, with some new varnish and spackle you figure you could get a couple more years out of them. 

You smile at him, he looked proud, and leaned against the door frame, “It looks really good.” He met you in the doorway, and placed his hands on the door jam, leaning in to kiss you. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

Steve was finally free and coming back to New York so they were moving the opening date for the restaurant to the week that he would be there. Which means it was time to put some vacation days in. 

A knock on your office door, Tony Stark himself. A smile on his face, “What is this I hear about you needing a week off?” 

“Tony I literally just sent the email five minutes ago.” He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him with his foot. 

“I was already on my way down.” He examines the picture on your desk, a photo taken of you and Bucky. The food truck artfully posed in front of the restaurant, the sign had just been put up, your face was buried in his neck and he was laughing at some dirty joke Sam had just said. “Just wondering when you’re going to be inviting me over for dinner now that you’ve settled into your new place.” You sigh and lean back in your chair, he was giving you a knowing smirk. Natasha. 

“Well we are having a little dinner party to celebrate the opening of the restaurant,” You cross your arms as his smirk widens, “Would you like to join us?” 

“Oh, I never thought you’d ask, I’ll be there at 7? I’ll bring drinks.” And just like that he’d left, seconds later an email in reply approving your time off request. 

Bucky wasn’t happy.

“You invited Tony Stark?” Shoulders rolling, kneading dough on the bar top. 

“Nat mentioned it to him,” You defended, “How could I tell my boss that he’s not allowed to come?” He gave you a look,

“This guy runs you all hours of the day,” dough slammed and rolled, dusted with flour and kneaded again, “He calls you all hours of the day.” Dough cutter, cutting the bread dough that would soon be dinner rolls, into eighths. “And the one time you actually ask to have time off, he wants to be involved in some way?” 

“You love Howard Stark.” You roll your eyes and steal a strawberry out of the small container that he was marinating them in. Soaking in Grand Mariner. “He’s basically the same person.” 

“He’s not,” Bucky shakes his head, “Howard Stark was a revolutionary inventor, Tony Stark buys properties and gentrified neighborhoods.” 

“He’s putting in rent controlled housing for low income households.” Bucky sighs and leans back. 

“Partially,” He says, “I know that Pepper Potts is the one who organizes his charitable giving and covers for him.”

“You’re literally grasping for straws here,” You scoff, “We’re working on a way to get rid of fossil fuels all together and you’re upset that he’s only signing the checks, it’s still his money.” Bucky glares at you, sighing heavily. “He pays me a lot of money to do the job that I do, and just because you think I should be doing something else doesn’t mean what I’m doing right now is bad.” 

It was no secret to you that Bucky wanted you to take the leap on trying to get your book published. But this job was what paid your bills currently. You’ve read articles about people getting on the best seller lists having only made 12k on their book, and while you’d hope you would have a best seller, 12k isn’t going to support you. 

“I just want you to do something you love.” Which was easy for him to say because he was doing something he loved. He loved cooking, for you and for others. He loved making people happy, those cherish-able moments of making something for someone you love, that tradition. He loved it.

“Okay,” You step behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your head on his back, “This week I’ll print a bunch of copies and I’ll mail them off to publishers.” 

“I don’t want you to do it because it’s something I want you to do.” He sighs, “I want you to do it because it’s something you want to do.” 

“I do want to.” Mumbled into his back, he smelled so good, having just taken a shower before working on the proved dough. “I’ll do it this week.” A flower dusted hand brought one of yours up to his lips. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

Steve was charming, but shy. Very serious. An american flag pinned to the lapel of his suit jacket that had been quickly discarded when Sam and Bucky gave him shit for wearing a full suit to dinner. The pair of them in a button down and slacks. Wanda and Natasha were also in attendance, with Tony showing up at 7:30 with four bottles of wine and a full bottle of Macallan. 

You’d watched Bucky make it. Boeuf Bourguignon. You felt guilt in the fact that it takes five hours to make, but he said, “That’s what you want,” A kiss to your forehead, “That’s what I’m gonna make.”

Thick bacon cut into cubes and browned in a pan, a couple pieces plucked and tasted, just to make sure they were good with only a minor scolding from your boyfriend. Patted dry beef browned in a pan with olive oil and left over bacon grease. Onion and carrot softened in the same pan, fat poured off and the whole thing was thrown into the dutch oven, sprinkled with salt and pepper, and oddly enough a little flour. 

It cooked for four minutes, was mixed and cooked for another four minutes. Then it was covered in beef stock and Bordeaux. 

“You’re so handsome.” You sigh, watching him place the dish back in the oven after simmering it on the stove. He leans over the kitchen island, dish towel over his shoulder, a kiss to your cheek and then lips. 

“You’re very beautiful,” A softer kiss, “But I need you to get out of the kitchen.”

You were in the way, you knew that. But faked upset as you left the room to finally get ready, ass being met with a whip from the dish towel on your way out. 

Wine was poured as Bucky served the first course, salad, bruschetta, roasted artichokes, and bacon wrapped dates you’d have to convince him to make you again, very soon. 

“I hope you’re treating my girl right, Barnes.” Tony joked, the conversation having steered from Steve’s job, something he couldn’t really talk about, to the new house. You could see Bucky’s jaw clench from across the table, but he sipped the gifted wine and replied, 

“My girl gets treated very well at home,” placing the glass on the table, “Can’t say the same about work.” 

“Who’s ready for our mains?” You interrupt. 

“I think that’s a good idea.” Natasha smiled next to you, placing her fork down. You shot her a small glare, and she sipped her wine with a smug grin. She was never satisfied with things going smooth, always craving a little chaos. 

The boeuf bourguignon was incredible. The meat tender and juicy, the mushrooms and sauce robust. With the first bite you were whining and looking across the table at Bucky who was smiling. “This is incredible.” 

“It really is.” Sam agrees. A silent table is a sign of good food, conversation not starting until plates almost cleared, Wanda starting with,

“So the restaurant opens Friday night, which gives us all Friday morning to make sure we are fully prepped.” They’d set the hours to only open for dinner, if the restaurant does well they figure they can change the hours to be open for lunch as well, but they were working on the conservative side. “Y/N and I will be helping out at the host stand.” 

“I can help in the back if you want.” Steve offered. Sam laughed, 

“Doing what? Dishes.” A glare as a laugh sounded at the table. 

“I could stir a pot or something.” He laughed. 

“How has advertising been?” Tony asked. Bucky and Sam shrug, 

“We’ve been handing out flyers at the truck for weeks,” Bucky said, “We have a good following so we are hoping that might gain us some ground.”

“The sign has been up for a while too,” Sam agreed, “We’ve had people stop by to ask us when we are opening.” Tony nods, but you know the look on his face, obviously up to something. He winks at you. An exchange that doesn’t go unnoticed by Bucky who then clears his throat, standing from the table you help him clear the dishes, ready for dessert. 

“Does anyone want coffee?” 

…

“We need to get one of those big, industrial dishwashers.” You moan, heels kicked off as you unload the dishwasher after the first load. Bucky scrubbing at the pots and pans in the sink. 

“What was the wink about?” Bucky had been quiet since dinner ended, a tight smile as Tony wished a friendly goodbye. You sipped on Macallan, loading the dishwasher back up with plates while you answered. 

“He’s planning something most likely,” You cringe at food smeared onto your hand by a dirty spoon. 

“Are you sure?” His shoulders tense, pan dropping into the sink with a clang. 

“What is wrong with you?” You ask, shutting the dishwasher and pressing start. He looks over at you, exasperated. 

“He just seemed a little too friendly.” Bucky tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, you sigh, rubbing your forehead.

“You’re joking.” It was a sore subject. Months ago, before you’d moved in together, Bucky told you about Vivian. Pretty Vivian. A scar from a past relationship where Vivian cheated on him, constantly, and he was dumb enough to go back to her every time. 

“She used me for stability,” He shrugged, “Then slept around with everyone else.” He was insecure about it. Which was stunning to you because you couldn’t believe Bucky was insecure about anything. It broke your heart. 

“I’m not joking.” Anger laced his voice. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the sink, “It would make sense, him calling you all the time, late into the night.” Dish towel thrown down next to him, “You staying late at work.” 

“I would never cheat on you Bucky.” A little snip, “I can’t believe you would even think that I would do something like that.” His jaw is tight. 

“I didn’t think Vivian--”

“I’m not Vivian! I would never hurt you Bucky, and if you think I would maybe there’s something wrong here.” It seemed baffling to you, like maybe you were the one who was supposed to be afraid of Bucky cheating but it was the other way around. He sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. 

“I’m sorry,” He groans, “I know.” He looks at you, upset and emotional, “I know you wouldn’t, I’m sorry, I was just--” You stepped over to him, placing your hands on his crossed arms. 

“You have to trust me.” You said, “If you don’t trust me--” He leans forward to press his forehead against yours. 

“I know,” He sighs, “I’m sorry.” You lean up and meet his lips. 

“I love you.” His hands come to meet your hips, bunching up your skirt. Your tongue pokes out, tracing his bottom lip, his mouth parting for yours, breathing heavily. 

“I love you too.” Your ass meets the kitchen bench, his hands palming your bare thighs to lift you onto the counter, pans forgotten. “I’m sorry.” He whispers against your lips, moaning as you palm him through his slacks. 

“I forgive you.” 

Tony’s planning, his little sneaky wink, was him sending out a mass email to the entire staff that if they show up at Bucky’s restaurant opening weekend that he’d personally reimburse them for their money spent. Something Bucky half resented, but half appreciated. The restaurant opened busy and stayed busy. ‘An overnight success’ one critic said. 

Wanda helped you man the host stand, directing the girls where to take people, seasoned servers, people who Sam and Bucky had known from their days working in other restaurants helped them open. And as far as chaotic restaurant openings are, it wasn’t half bad. Especially when, sitting in the office after hours going over the numbers for the day there were six beautiful digits staring back at you. 

“So I guess we are opening for lunch.” Bucky mused, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“I guess so.”

.

.

.

taglist //  @93generation​ @technicallykawaiisoul​  @bookish-shristi​ @saturnki​ @jennmurawski13​ @geeksareunique​ @the-soulofdevil​ @tinmunky​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious​

[artificialqueens]

Down with the Recipe, Bake from the Heart, 4/10 - Juno

Chapter summary: It’s chocolate week, and temperatures rise in the tent as the bakers are confronted with a deceptively simple signature, a technical with a twist, and a showstopper that may send the bakers into meltdown. Meanwhile, Aurora is determined to get her first Star Baker badge, Ellie has a drunk confession, and Tia comes clean. But Tayce’s plan may prove to be the most interesting thing Aurora has heard this week.

A/N: I am still blown away by the support for this so far! Thank you so much!! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

WEEK 4: CHOCOLATE WEEK

Aurora was back in line with Cherry in the tent this week, as Ginny’s departure last week had shuffled Ellie and Lawrence and herself one row further up. There were just the four of them now on this side of the room, and five on the other.

Twelve had become nine really fast. That was a quarter of them already gone, meaning her chances of winning had gone from one in twelve to one in nine. Maths wasn’t her strongest subject, but she knew that was better odds.

She looked behind Cherry to Tayce, who was looking dead ahead.

Bread week, last week, was the first time she’d seen a sliver of Tayce’s softer side, and it was a side she wanted to know more about. It was fine to be calm and collected in the tent, but on Saturday night in her room, Aurora had finally seen the mask slip a little, seen a person under it.

And if anything, she’d found she was caring for Tayce a little more.

——

Signature: 24 Chocolate brownies

Chocolate week started with chocolate brownies, which seemed simple enough, right? But as Prue and Paul stood proudly at the front as usual, Aurora could almost hear Paul’s voice echoing from a previous season, saying he’d made thirty thousand brownies in his time. Her gut started to quiver a little.

“Your brownies should have an additional flavour to give the judges an extra kick,” Matt Lucas added.

“Not a real kick. We don’t want the brownies to be trained in kickboxing.”

“No, it has to be a kick at the taste buds only.”

“They’d have to reach a long way up to kick there, Matt.”

Aurora couldn’t tell if the rest of the tent were finding Matt and Noel funny, or if the nerves were really setting in for all of them, but she found herself giggling with a mixture of the two, drumming on the table again. She took her hands away hurriedly.

“On your marks -“

“Get set -“

They all waited, while Matt Lucas stood tight-lipped.

Noel put his hands on his hips. “You don’t need to pause this long between ‘get set’ and ‘bake’, Matt, the idea is to -“

“BAKE!”

Aurora shook her head with a laugh. They’re great TV at least.

“What flavour are you putting in yours?”

Ellie had already turned around, Monster in hand as always, seeming to need as many electrolytes that would fit in her body before midday. Aurora smiled, and turned back to weighing her butter.

“Ellie, not trying to be funny, but I really want to try to focus on getting my brownies right, so if I tell you, can that be the only question for now? Please?” She added the sweetest smile she could muster and batted her eyelashes.

“Sure. Cross my heart.” Ellie crossed her chest with her pinkie finger.

“Okay, well I’m making some pistachio and mint chocolate brownies. Hopefully with some pistachio shavings on the top.”

“Pistachio shavings?” Ellie tilted her head. “Where did you get pistachio shavings from, did you go to fucking Holland and Barrett or some health food shop or something for -“

“That was one question!” Aurora put her head in her hands, chuckling.

“Ah. Right. Sorry!” Ellie grimaced and turned back to face her own workbench. Aurora, still surprised Ellie had taken this as seriously as she did, smiled to herself as she placed one of her spare alarms on the very edge of her workbench, setting the timer, to see how long Ellie would last without turning to chat again.

“Brownies in the oven already, are they?”

Tayce’s familiar accent was surprisingly close, and Aurora turned to see her right there, her presence sending the familiar tingle down her spine, making her chest fill with hot air. But the last thing Aurora wanted was distraction at this point. Even when distraction felt this good.

She waved a hand in Tayce’s direction. “I’m trying to bake! Go to your own bench!”

Tayce’s brows furrowed in mirth, turning her head to the ceiling and then back to Aurora, her smile wide but confused. “McSqueeze me?”

“I want to concentrate! I need a bloody badge, Tayce!”

Tayce raised her eyebrows, the grin slowly fading. “Okie dokie pokie, I’ll let you bake in peace then!” And she flounced away in what Aurora hoped was mock-offence, back to her own workbench, turning to her own mixture.

I just want a badge!

The chocolate-themed badge wasn’t even a cute one, not like the cupcake badge Ellie wore proudly on her chest, or the bread one that Bimini was sporting, new this week. Initially, they’d worn it over one nipple before they’d been told to remove it by a producer, claiming something about the watershed, and Bimini had cried “Free the nipple!” in response, while they and Asttina giggled to themselves.

But it didn’t even matter what shape the badge was.

I just need a badge.

“Hi, Aurora!”

Goddamnit. More interruptions. She looked up - into the pale blue eyes of Paul Hollywood.

“How’s your brownies coming on so far?”

“I - yeah, alright,” Aurora garbled. Paul had been judging them for four weeks now, but still something about his gaze on her was debilitating, although Aurora knew she wasn’t the only one in the tent with this problem.

“Tell us about your flavouring.” Aurora chose to look at Prue instead, her face kindly, gentle eyes behind the bright purple rims of her glasses. Her voice was always as warm and sweet as honey, a welcome contrast to Paul.

“I thought I’d go for something a bit different, so I’ve got mint in here, but also pistachio, and I’ll be decorating with pistachio shavings.”

“Pistachio?” That was Paul and his infamous one-word takedowns. One word from Paul could make any baker doubt themselves, especially if he hit you with an icy blue stare; but Aurora straightened up, tossing her hair back over her shoulder.

“Yeah, pistachio. My nan loves them.”

“I think that sounds very intriguing,” Prue said, but Aurora knew that was the Prue Leith kindness takedown. Intriguing wasn’t much of a better word than pistachio at this point.

“You’ll be surprised!” Aurora smiled, tilting her head.

“Well, best of luck!” Paul said, as they all left her to it.

“Jesus,” Ellie hissed, turning around to face her. “They weren’t really into that, were they!”

“They’ll get into it,” Aurora replied, “I’m counting on it. I’ll convert them!”

“Yeah!” Ellie laughed to herself and turned back round, while Aurora looked at the Ellie Timer, as she was calling it. Seven minutes and forty three seconds.

By the time all the brownies were done and coming out of the oven, Ellie must have been regretting talking so much. When five minutes were called, she was still crouching in front of the oven door, and Aurora came to sit with her, her own brownies cooling in the baking tray.

“Nothing on telly tonight, is there Els?”

But Ellie huffed, her nails in her mouth. “I don’t know if they’re gonna be ready.”

“You’re gonna have to take them out soon to cool before you can cut them! What temperature have you had your oven at?”

“One sixty.”

“One sixty?” Aurora reached for the temperature control. “Please, yank it up for the last few minutes, Ellie, please -“

It probably wouldn’t be enough still, but it may just work to keep her around. Ellie turned the dial to two hundred, then sat back, finding Aurora’s hand and intertwining their fingers.

“What’s up, you two?” Lawrence had come over, her own brownies cut and cooling on the workbench. “What are you watching here that’s so riveting? Ellie’s brownies? Are they dancing?”

“They need a bit longer -“

“They need to be cut up, Aurora,” Lawrence interrupted, looking through the panel. “They should be alright - Els, you can’t leave them any longer now hen, they need to come out so they can cool enough to cut up -“

By the time Ellie’s were out and cut - Ellie cutting and Lawrence moving them to the tray - Noel called for one minute, and Aurora’s stomach filled with lead.

Shit. I haven’t cut mine yet!

Her legs shook for a moment and her head span as she rounded her own workbench, but someone was already there.

“Chillax! It’s in hand!”

Tayce was cutting along the lines Aurora had measured, measuring out the rows in four by six; and Aurora’s stomach tingled, spreading to her chest, as her breath came in weak shudders.

She’s never done this for anyone else before. I haven’t seen her do that for anyone before. But she’s doing it for me.

“Well don’t just stand there! Grab the pistachio filings you keep going on about and sprinkle like your life depends on it, girl!”

Aurora nodded at Tayce’s words, and as Tayce loaded onto the tray, Aurora went as fast as she could, pinch and sprinkle, pinch and sprinkle, and even Tia came over to help, followed by a tentative Veronica, pinching and sprinkling … Noel looking worriedly at the group of them … Matt looking down at his watch -

As the final brownie was sprinkled, Noel finally called for time.

Aurora sighed the biggest sigh she had probably ever felt. Tia looped an arm into hers to squeeze, while Veronica patted her back, as they both went back to their benches.

Tayce’s hand lingered on her shoulder, and just that contact left a ripple effect of goosebumps down her arm, the gentle tingle in Aurora’s chest overwhelming now, as Aurora leaned against Tayce’s shoulder, surprised at how much her heartbeat sped against her ribs.

She … cares. She cares if I stay or if I go.

——

The mood at Carr Hall was sombre after the Signature challenge.

“We all went into that thinking we were gonna be amazing. I mean, it’s brownies, right? We’ve all made brownies before. I suppose … we just can never be sure what the judges want?”

Tia grimaced as she spoke; but Veronica, clutching her hand in both of hers, bumped her on the hip.

“You did great, love. You got really good feedback, and you probably needed it after last week.”

“Yeah. I feel a bit crappy though,” Tia continued, turning her eyes to the rest of the room. “Normally everyone’s so happy when we all come back from a signature, but this time everyone’s upset, because you all got negative critiques. I don’t know whether to be happy or not.”

“I’m gonna go and see if Cherry’s alright,” Veronica muttered, standing, walking over to Tayce, currently talking energetically at a slightly grey-looking Cherry by the brownies.

“She doesn’t look good,” Tia muttered; and Cherry didn’t, nodding along with Tayce with pinched lips and folded arms, but not saying a word. “What was it the judges said about her brownies? Oh yeah. Too much mint extract, tasted like toothpaste.”

“Who’s gonna give us all the gossip if Cherry goes, though? She seems to know everything about everyone.” Aurora said, and Tia shuffled in her seat, lips twitching at the corners.

“What?”

“Well,” Tia said, the smile no longer contained. “She got us right, we might as well admit it.”

“Oh, did she now?” Aurora grinned. “Was it a case of neuken in de keuken or whatever it was, that Dutch phrase you taught me last week?”

“Not quite,” Tia said, eyes widening a fraction and her cheeks flushing. But before Aurora could tease Tia further, she felt arms from behind her creeping down her chest to loop round her neck, and a soft Welsh accent at her ear.

“Is now the right time to tell you all that I don’t even like chocolate?”

Aurora gasped, slapping Tayce on the arm, draped in front of her. “And you still got a Hollywood handshake! You jammy bitch!”

Tayce responded by pulling Aurora up from the sofa by her wrist, the butterflies already present in her chest fluttering at the contact.

“I wasn’t the only one though! You being modest again, Rory! I think you know what that means, don’t you? No middle grounds, no versy Percys! Which of us will be Star Baker this week?”

Tayce was millimetres away from her, or so it seemed. Aurora could see the exact detail of the colour of her eyes, could count the lines at her cheeks as she smiled. She smelt like mint gum and chocolate and the scented shampoo that hung in an intoxicating concoction in the air.

For a moment, Aurora forgot to speak.

“Me, of course!” Tayce spoke in her place, letting her go and throwing her head back into a cackle. “Who else! Leave it to the woman who doesn’t even like chocolate to be taking this round!”

“I don’t think so,” Aurora finally found her tongue.

“Oh, no?” Tayce said silkily, her face drawing closer, and Aurora didn’t really care if she challenged her at this moment, her skin tingling and something feather-light blooming in her chest as Tayce locked eyes with her.

“Game on, Rory,” Tayce purred.

——

Technical: Six molten chocolate puddings filled with peanut butter.

“The technical will be judged on a staggered basis this week, so you’ll all be timed individually, and live, with a five minute gap between each person.”

Noel’s announcement at Technical as they stood there, waiting for it to start, was completely unexpected. Prue and Paul had already left the tent as the Technicals were always blind, so they were expecting a normal Technical challenge.

Trust them to throw a curveball.

“The first person will start their bake, then the next will have five minutes to get ready to enter the tent and set themselves up,” Matt continued.

As long as I’m not first or last, please don’t let me be first or last -

“So everyone leave the tent, apart from …”

Please don’t say Aurora, please don’t say Aurora -

“… Ellie.”

Ellie made a noise at the back of her throat, but then took a deep breath, straightening to her full height. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

“Everyone else please leave the tent, and follow the path back out -“

Before long the rest of them were in the tea tent, the small tent with the hot drinks machines, all cramped inside on stools while the producer explained a little further.

“Everyone’s name has gone into a hat, alright, and we’ve drawn them all to put you in order, so just get yourselves ready to go back in, alright?”

Aurora nodded along with everyone else, but her leg was jogging against the stool, her nails finding her mouth. Tayce, next to her still, rested a hand on her knee and curled her fingertips, in a motion that sent a ripple of goosebumps up her leg and drew her attention away from the room.

She blinked, trying to focus on the producer as she read the names down the list on the clipboard.

“Lawrence, you’re going next. Followed by … Tayce.”

Aurora glanced at Tayce, whose smile gave nothing away as usual.

The other names came in order. Veronica was fourth, then Asttina, Cherry, and finally Aurora let the air go from her lungs when her name was read seventh. Tia looked relieved at being called next, while Bimini smiled lazily at their last position.

“Save the best ‘til last,” they said with a grin.

But as the tea tent started emptying, as people started heading to start the Technical, the mood dropped, gradually at first, but by the time only Tia and Bimini were left in there with Aurora, all of them were silent, Tia pacing up and down with a hand on her hip.

“Don’t worry, babes,” Bimini reached a hand to her, and Tia let them take it and rub her knuckles. “It’s the same as any other Technical, you’ll be fine.”

When Aurora finally got in, walking through the tent, she saw lots of baking going on in various stages, but Ellie, at thirty minutes in, was furthest along and Aurora still wasn’t sure what they were.

“Hi, baker number seven,” Matt waved to Aurora. “The judges would like you to make six molten chocolate puddings, filled with peanut butter. The instructions are in the top drawer for you, and the ingredients are under the tablecloth as usual.”

Aurora tried to hold back her sigh of relief. Finally, something she was familiar with. She’d made molten chocolate puddings before, not with peanut butter, but she was sure the idea would be the same.

Molten chocolate puddings. This makes a bit more sense as to why they want us all to go on a rolling basis now. They’d need to be judged straight from the oven to be fair.

“You have one hour thirty to make your puddings, starting now.”

Aurora whipped out the instructions, running her pencil down them. There were so many obstacles this week - overworking the dough, adding too much or too little chocolate, over- or under-baking, not to mention the amount and consistency of the peanut butter. She tapped the pencil against her chin, pushing wisps of blonde hair back from her face.

Looking over, she caught Tayce’s eye, and Tayce winked, mouthing you got this. Aurora’s insides were melting like the peanut butter she’d have to perfect today.

With everyone around her at various stages, she tried not to be too distracted as Ellie and Lawrence, just in front of her, were much further along - constantly silently reminding herself that she wasn’t behind, it was just part of the challenge to keep your nerve in this psychological minefield.

God, this is so daunting! You’re made to feel like you’re doing something wrong, like you’re behind!

Finally, time was called for Ellie. Aurora still had thirty minutes remaining on her own puddings, but Ellie had the daunting task of giving the first bake to the judges.

“You’re gonna be good,” Aurora muttered to her, but Ellie just smiled, looking a little more confident than she had last week, as she straightened up to her full height, Matt approaching her to bring her puddings before the judges.

“You can go back to now, and take a break,” the producer said to her. “Nice one, love.”

Ellie had left the tent in the blink of an eye, and now that the seal had been broken on the judging, the rest of the bakes seemed to be over faster and faster. Lawrence left next in what seemed like no time at all, followed by Tayce, who gave Aurora a little kissy face as she passed, a cheeky wink, and a whispered “see you soon, bitch!”

By the time Aurora had given hers to Matt, and left the tent herself, she felt like she was floating. Her puddings had come out much better than any other time she’d made them before. And all she needed was this one batch to be good and maybe she’d be taking home a Star Baker badge.

She didn’t even take two steps into the common room when Tayce had seized her hand and pulled her back outside.

“What?”

Tayce’s eyes were as wide as her toothy grin. “You’re not gonna believe what I saw when I got back from the Technical.”

“What was it? A squirrel with huge nuts?” Aurora tilted her head to the side.

Tayce threw her head back and cackled to the sky. “Alright! Jesus! If you’re gonna be sarcastic, then maybe I’ll just keep it to myself then! Maybe you’ll have to find out on your own!”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief, her smile was full and luscious. Her hand in Aurora’s was warm, and Aurora was struggling to resist the temptation to keep pushing her to keep talking.

Eventually, she swallowed down the lump of pride in her throat. “Go on then, tell me!”

“Oh, you want to know now, do you?” Tayce raised one eyebrow, showing all her teeth with her smile.

“Tayce!”

Tayce threw back her head in a moment of laughter. “Let’s just say that Tia and Veronica aren’t the only ones here swapping lipstick shades!”

“That was it?” Aurora rolled her eyes. “I saw Asttina kissing Bimini too, I was there as well you know!”

“Not them either,” Tayce purred. “Come on, Rory, it’s staring you in the face!”

… staring me in the face?

For one heart-stopping moment, Aurora thought Tayce was about to confess something about the two of them, here and now. Her gaze was steady and her face was so close to Aurora’s, with her thumb on the pressure point in the palm of her hand, her mind barely able to focus on any other sensation in her body …

“Who?” She breathed, blinking herself back to the present.

But Tayce’s smile widened. “Just think about who finished before me in the Technical, who I might have walked in on, and then you’ll get it!”

And Aurora’s stomach flipped when she realised.

Ellie and Lawrence had both finished before Tayce.

Jesus. Them too?

——

“In ninth place we have this one -“

Tayce’s hand gripped her right one so tightly that Aurora knew it would be ages until she got the circulation back. On her left, Tia raised her hand to claim ninth place.

“Tia,” Paul said with a small smile. “You took it out of the oven a bit fast, and the one I tried felt under baked. It had caved in on itself, looked a bit of a disaster I’m afraid. It tasted alright, though.”

Tia nodded, her eyes downcast, a sad smile on her face. “Accurate. Harsh, but accurate. Next time.“

That was what Tia always said when given bad critiques. Veronica had her hand in both of hers, rubbing her wrist. Aurora glanced at them both, but neither of them noticed anyone around them, their own little world encasing them from the rest of the bakers.

She did a bit crap last week too. Maybe it’s Tia’s week.

But her attention was on Paul as he made his way down the rest of the line of puddings, calling out names in reverse order - Veronica, then Cherry, then Ellie, Asttina, Lawrence, and finally Bimini.

“In second place - whose is this one?”

Tayce and Aurora were the only two left.

Aurora squinted at the picture that Paul was standing behind, and … no way.

Tayce squeezed Aurora’s hand, as Tayce herself raised her free one to claim second place.

“Tayce - really good, very little to pick apart here, well done, you were just beaten by a whisker in the bake. Which means that first place goes to - “

Aurora let go of Tia’s knee to raise her hand, while the rest of them broke into polite applause.

Fuck. First place in Technical! My second top placement in Technical in four episodes! God. Why couldn’t I have done that on bread week and I’d have been basically guaranteed a final three place!

But as the applause died down, and the bakers filed out of the tent back to Carr Hall, Aurora’s head buzzed with thoughts that threatened to drag her upwards to the clouds, only Tayce’s fingers intertwined with hers keeping her on the ground.

I’ve had two Technical wins, good critiques, and a Hollywood handshake. I’ve never had a disaster and I never seem to be in line for elimination.

Maybe … maybe I am a competitor. Maybe I can do this!

——

As soon as they got into Carr Hall, Ellie poured out nine shots, one for each of them because apparently if Ellie was drinking, so was everyone.

This was the first long day - the critiques for the Signature had brought everyone’s moods down, and the stress of the staged Technicals had simply fuelled the tension, but after a couple of shots of sambuca that Ellie had poured out, Aurora started to warm up and relax a little.

I need to remember I’m not a student any more, though. I can’t just down sambuca shots and get up for a 9am lecture.

Ellie was a bit more tipsy, and tipsy Ellie fell into the oversharer category. In the last twenty minutes, as the two of them chatted away from the others, Aurora had learned her dream of putting makeup on Blu Hydrangea, how she’d come out to her family, and the story of what Ellie and her friends referred to as ‘The Edinburgh Incident’ which had made Aurora shriek with laughter but definitely wouldn’t air before the 9pm watershed.

But when Aurora mentioned Lawrence’s name, Ellie clammed up, giggling.

“No, no no no, don’t go there -“

“Tayce said she saw you two together after the Technical!”

“Tayce,” Ellie sniggered, raising her eyebrows. “What’s happening with you two as well? You’re always together now, giving each other puppy eyes, holding hands -”

“What?” Aurora put a hand to her chest. “There’s nothing there! And don’t try to change the subject, Els! Tell me what was going on with you and Lawrence earlier!”

“Nothing was happening!” Ellie protested, but her chest was bright red and she hid her face behind her can of Red Bull. “I mean … we were getting, like, close …”

Aurora gently moved her hand out of the way of her face. “Do you want something to happen?”

“I - I don’t know!” Ellie spluttered with sudden nervous giggles. “I mean, yeah - but like, I don’t know!”

Aurora cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Come on, Els, give me some gossip for once, I’m sick of hearing everything from Cherry!”

Ellie shifted her shoulders. “I mean, yeah, evidently we both want something to happen if this afternoon was anything to go by …”

“Ellie!” Aurora’s jaw dropped open. “Did you two -“

“Wait, Cherry’s going out to smoke - wait -“

Ellie turned, drew her arm away from Aurora’s grasp, and left to go outside - following Cherry, still grey after her Technical critiques, who was going to smoke.

“Rory!” Tayce greeted her as she went to the sofa, running a hand through her hair. “I’m glad you’re getting to celebrate your win in Technical today, because I’m the one who’s gonna get Star Baker tomorrow. And the person who won the whole thing last year got Star Baker in chocolate week too.”

“Lightning won’t strike twice then,” Aurora muttered.

Tayce’s eyes widened a fraction. “The cheek! The nerve! The gall the audacity and the gumption! Lightning definitely strikes twice. Didn’t you hear about that bloke who got hit twice by lightning and survived?”

“That only happens in Saturday morning cartoons. Oh, and in Fleetwood Mac songs.” They were interrupted by Lawrence, coming over to them from the other sofa.

“Hey, Lozza,” Tayce clapped her hand on Lawrence’s knee. “I thought you were over with - oh.” Her eyes drifted to the other sofa, where Lawrence had come from, where Bimini had come to join Asttina, and they had both turned to face each other, their own little bubble looking like popping it would be unwelcome.

Aurora’s stomach twisted unexpectedly, suddenly hot and uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure why this was happening, but it wasn’t pleasant.

She disentangled herself, hand on her stomach; and made her way out the common room, out to the grounds, past Cherry and Ellie passing a cigarette between them, and out to the trees, shadowy in the creeping twilight.

She wasn’t sure what had prompted her to come all the way down here, spurred by the need for fresh air and enticed by the trees, but she was stopped by the voices ahead of her.

“… not that bad.”

“You don’t get it, Tia -“

“I mean, okay, I’m not you, but they’ve loved you all the previous weeks, this is just one slip up -“

A strangled sigh. She could see Tia and Veronica through the trees, realising they’d been missing most of the last hour. Aurora wanted to turn and leave them in private, but her feet wouldn’t move, leaving her cast in shadow by a tree.

“… you can do this, alright?” That was Tia’s voice, a tenderness that was unfamiliar to Aurora’s ears running along the edges of every word. “What are you making for the signature? What kind of cake?”

Tia was leaning with a shoulder against a tree, nodding along as Veronica muttered to her what she was baking; but Aurora couldn’t hear a word of it very clearly. Veronica had her back to Aurora, but she could see her put her hand to her forehead and shake as she sighed, her voice floating louder again.

“… all go wrong and I’ll be sent home!”

“Vee, look - things go wrong! Just let it go! Have fun with it! It’s not the end of the world. At the end of the day, it’s a baking competition, and you’re here, so you’re the best!”

“I just -“ Veronica sighed again, this time a strangled sob following it.

Aurora watched as Tia gathered Veronica into her arms, planted a long kiss on her forehead, holding her tightly to herself, running a hand in slow circles at her shoulder blades.

If she hadn’t felt like she was interrupting an intimate moment before, Aurora knew she was now, even through the veil of alcohol. She stole away as quietly as she could, hoping to just give them a bit more privacy.

Why is everyone acting so loved up? They’re all at it!

Tayce met her at the doorway to Carr Hall, leaning a hand against the doorframe and nodding as she approached. They were alone now, as Cherry and Ellie had gone back inside, and the chill in the air was starting to bite.

“You left quite quickly!”

“Yeah - I was just -“ Aurora motioned, but Tayce grabbed her wrist.

“Come on, down here -“ Tayce tugged her along in the other direction, towards the woods, this time in a different direction, out the way of Tia and Veronica as they started back towards the building.

“What’s going on?”

Tayce raked her fingers through her hair, her eyes to the sky, searching for the right words, as Aurora felt Tayce’s thumb start to stroke her forearm, not letting go of her wrist.

“There’s just -“ Tayce huffed, her voice dropping lower so as not to be heard. “Just so much … lovey dovey stuff going on, I don’t get why it’s all being done in the dark! I bet the viewers would love to see it.”

Aurora opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Tayce’s eyes were bright, boring holes into her, and she momentarily lost the power of speech.

“I - yeah, sure.”

“Everyone in the country was cheering on Blu and Cheryl last year, weren’t they? Whole country loved it. And with the amount of love in the room so far this season, it could happen again, couldn’t it? It’s not crazy to think that two people on this show could fall for each other, is it?”

There it was again - that shiver down Aurora’s spine that had started to happen whenever Tayce was near her, and a bubbling in her chest as the tingling spread down her whole body.

“What if it was us? What if the whole country was cheering on us, Rory?”

For a second, the world stopped turning.

Aurora breathed in a modicum of hope. “Do you mean -“

“A little flirting, on the screen, and the audience will be convinced we’re dating, or getting together!” Tayce said, her voice low but her eyes alight. “Doesn’t have to be anything over the top, it can be subtle - what d’you think?”

Aurora’s throat had a painful lump lodged in it, one that repeated swallows would not dislodge.

I think it just confirms that Tayce doesn’t see me like that.

On the other hand, maybe it would show Tayce how she really felt. Maybe it was a chance to get close to Tayce, and to … test out dating her, to let Tayce fall for her as hard as she’d fallen for Tayce.

“I think it could work,” she murmured finally.

Tayce’s eyes flickered, but then she grinned.

“Great! Let’s talk about it some more, set some boundaries.” Tayce led the way back to Carr Hall, while Aurora forced the smile to stay in place.

——

Showstopper: A melting chocolate ball with a dessert inside, with hot accompaniment of your choice.

“How’re you doing, Rory?”

Aurora squeezed her eyes shut tightly at Tayce’s voice.

“I’m trying to focus on my Showstopper.”

“I bet you are.”

On the bench in front of her, Ellie didn’t even attempt to contain the splutter of laughter as she choked on the mouthful of Monster.

“Tayce, I mean it - I need to focus.” She allowed Tayce to come a step nearer, for Tayce to lean leisurely against the workbench and survey her. “You don’t want me going home this week, do you?”

“No chance of that happening.” Tayce lazily kicked the bottom of the workbench with one foot. “How’s it going? What are you making?”

“A mess - at least, I am right now,” Aurora replied, leaning past Tayce to get to the bowl of sugar she’d already mentioned, the scent of Tayce’s perfume causing her mind to freeze and momentarily forget about baking at all.

“Well, have a nice time making a mess, and just make sure you make it a tasty mess, bitch!”

“Is that my new term of endearment?” Aurora teased.

Tayce cocked an eyebrow, with a slow blink that melted Aurora’s insides.

“You wish.”

She strolled away, back to her own desk, leaving Aurora to float.

Sure, what they’d discussed last night was more of an on-screen arrangement. A little flirting, some gentle touches, maybe a peck or two, to keep viewers hooked. But that didn’t mean Aurora didn’t still have to quell the butterflies as they fluttered in her chest every time Tayce was near her

God. I feel like I’m in The Hunger Games.

Tia and Veronica were being secretive, and Asttina and Bimini too, but having their romance more public could give them both an edge to go to the finale.

As long as she could still focus on baking.

And trying to think about chocolate and her Showstopper was distorted by Tayce’s face close to hers. Her mind, currently filled with thoughts of Tayce, was threatening to derail her. She couldn’t let this happen.

When Aurora looked round to the front again, she saw Ellie making no effort to conceal her stare, a smug smile on her lips.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been getting up to either, Els!”

In front of them both, Lawrence dropped her baking tray with a resounding crash, while Ellie whipped back round to her own Showstopper and didn’t disturb Aurora any more that afternoon.

“Hi, Aurora!”

Aurora arranged her face into what she hoped was a confident smile as she heard Paul’s voice. “Tell us about your bake this week.”

“I’m making a dark chocolate ball, with some additional white chocolate that I’m colouring with the pink and blue here,” Aurora said, pointing to the bowls over the bain marie she’d set up. “Hopefully it will give you a galaxy effect. And the dessert it will have inside is a sticky toffee tart with like, an orange sauce to melt it.”

“Sounds intriguing,” Prue said, and Aurora hoped she didn’t notice her wince. “Is there any inspiration behind the dessert at all?”

“Mostly I just love sticky toffee!” Aurora found herself giggling. “But like … I guess, I like galaxy themed things. It’s a reminder to myself, to … I don’t know, to reach for the stars, I guess.”

She didn’t take her eyes off the judges, but she could have sworn she saw Tayce’s head turn towards her out of the corner of her eye.

“That sounds wonderful. Good luck!” Prue replied, and the judges left her to it.

Having the judges over seemed to click something into place in her mind. She couldn’t think about Tayce right now. Tayce would have to wait.

——

“Tell us about your bake, Tia.”

“I have made an adequate chocolate ball, made of chocolate that is in a spherical shape around a dessert. What’s the dessert? Well, once you melt the chocolate globe you will find out!”

None of them could contain their laughter at Tia’s commentary on her Showstopper, even the judges, as they poured the warm cream over the top and watched it melt away into nothing, the dessert inside it being revealed.

“That’s right - it’s an adequate dessert made of ingredients that I found in my cupboard at home,” Tia continued just as flatly.

Almost everyone was spluttering. Ellie reached a hand to clutch at Aurora’s, tears in her eyes; while Veronica, the only person who wasn’t laughing, looked a little tense, clicking her tongue.

Tia was the last one to be judged this week. Most of them had had reasonably good critiques, with only Cherry leaning forward anxiously to see if Tia had worse feedback than she’d had; her chocolate ball collapsing before she’d even taken it for judging.

“I love that flavour,” Prue said finally, “and the filling is just the right consistency.”

“Chocolate is good too,” Paul nodded. “You’ve really nailed the mint flavour, it doesn’t come across as toothpaste-y at all. Nice one this week, Tia.”

Everyone applauded politely but Cherry’s smile was forced, her gaze defeated.

“You’ve got a good chance this week!” Ellie whispered to Aurora once they got outside, and Aurora had to admit she was feeling it too. As much as she didn’t like the badge, a badge was still a badge!

But Ellie fell silent, looking over her head, before smiling wryly; Aurora turned to see Tayce at her side.

“Good feedback, Rory,” she murmured, her lips perking into a smile. “Think it’s between us this week. Good luck, bitch!”

——

“I have the great job this week of announcing who the Star Baker is.” Matt Lucas held the chocolate bar badge, turning it over and over as he spoke. “This person made a set of fantastic chocolate puddings, a great Signature, and their Showstopper was explosive. Star baker is …”

All around the tent, breath was being held, and Aurora felt Ellie’s elbow in her ribs -

“Tayce! Congratulations, Tayce!”

Everyone was clapping, but Aurora couldn’t; she wanted to, but Tayce’s hand gripped hers so tightly she couldn’t let go, so she clapped her free hand against her knee, waiting for Tayce to catch her eye so she could tell her well done …

Tayce waited, mouthing thank yous at everyone, waiting until the end to lock eyes with Aurora, and Aurora saw the delight in them, elation she hadn’t seen before. As Tayce leaned closer to her, to peck her on the lips, Aurora felt hope blooming in her chest, as much as she tried to reason with it.

In fact, she didn’t hear a single word more from the tent as she floated, only realising as Cherry hugged her, tears in her eyes, that Cherry was set to leave, her chocolate ball disaster sealing her fate.

Her feet were still felt two inches off the ground as Aurora waited for Tayce after her winner’s interview, after Cherry had to give her exit interview. Cherry had been tearful, sighing deeply, but her words had been lined with defeat, as if she’d known it was her time.

“You won Star Baker! Congrats!”

“Thanks, babe. This badge is just weighing me down now.” Tayce’s new shiny chocolate bar badge glinted in the lights of the tent as they dimmed, but Tayce wasn’t paying it any attention. She caught both Aurora’s hands, pressing her thumbs into the palms, a motion that never failed to draw all her thoughts away, good and bad.

Aurora’s chest filled with butterflies once again, batting their wings in elation against her ribcage, and suddenly she was looking forward to dessert week, when she could see Tayce again.

——

EIGHT BAKERS REMAIN

[great-jenna-bake-off]

Season 3 Episode 6: Queen of Puddings

I started watching GBBO at least four years ago, and yet I still do not know what a pudding technically is. Sometimes it seems to just be a catchall term for “dessert”. This VOX article claims that “A British pudding is a dish, savory or sweet, that's cooked by being boiled or steamed in something: a dish, a piece of cloth, or even animal intestine,” which is confusing, because I don’t think I did any of that for this week’s bake. (There were certainly no animal intestines involved.) But whatever a pudding is, this week I made the Queen of Puddings, at least as defined by Mary Berry.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/queen_of_puddings_79904 

Step one was to grease a ¼ liter shallow ovenproof dish, which I do not have. Off to a great start! In my defense, there is only so much room for baking equipment in my apartment’s kitchen. I dug this dish up from my parents’ house and went with it because it was oval-shaped, like Mary’s example photo, but it definitely doesn’t qualify as “shallow”. 

Good enough.

Next up was to make a custard. First, I heated up milk, butter, lemon zest, and sugar in a sauce pan.

Does this count as “boiling or steaming” something?

Then, I carefully poured my warm egg mixture into a bowl with my egg yolks, which I had already separated from the whites. I whisked it together, and a custard was born.

Custard!

To make this custard more substantial, it is poured over a base of bread crumbs. Mary’s recipe specifies “fresh” bread crumbs, but I did not have a bunch of semi-stale bread lying around, so pre-packaged bread crumbs it is.

I told myself after my last bake that I’d stick to the recipe moving forward. Clearly that lesson did not sink in.

Crumbs + custard

I put my dish into a roasting tin, filled the tin with water, and stuck the whole thing in the oven.

At least my dish fits in the tin.

While my custard baked, I turned my attention to the next element of my bake: jam. Mary’s recipe suggests that you can use store-bought jam if you don’t want to make your own, but I have never made jam before and figured it was one of those things that was bound to come up sooner or later. Plus, I knew the bakers would have to do it, and I wanted to stay in the spirit of the competition. So I gave it a shot.

I used a mixture of raspberries, strawberries, and blackberries, since that’s what I had on hand in my freezer, but it seems any “summer fruit” will do.

I had some trouble getting my frozen berries to fully reduce into a cohesive sauce, and after what felt like ages of cooking time, my jam still seemed a bit watery with big chunks of fruit.

I guess this also counts as “boiling something”…

I decided to run my jam through a strainer, which didn’t help my watery-ness issue one bit, but I managed to mash the bigger pieces of fruit against the strainer to make them more sauce-like, and reincorporated it into the strained juice to produce something that could pass for jam, albeit a very runny one.

It’s a pretty color, at least.

Meanwhile, it was time to pull my custard out of the oven. I think I overcooked it slightly, but I had trouble getting the custard to set as much as I felt it should.

I baked the custard for about 35 minutes, instead of the 20-30 specified by the recipe.

While my custard cooled, it was time to make meringue. Luckily, I had some egg whites just sitting around that I had to separate from their yolks for the custard earlier. It’s always nice when a recipe doesn’t waste ingredients. Those egg whites and a bit of sugar quickly became meringue.

Thanks, KitchenAid stand mixer!

Finally, it was time to assemble. First, I put my jam on top of my custard. I vastly overestimated how solid the custard was and dumped a whole bunch of jam right on top, which caused it to mix in a bit with the custard. I quickly realized that it was better to gently spoon the jam on top of the custard.

Hopefully didn’t mess up the layers TOO much.

Next, it was time for meringue. I piped little poofs all over the top of the dish.

I’m actually very proud of my piping on this one.

And with that, the whole thing was ready to go back in the oven to brown the meringue. Not too difficult, all said and done. But would the bakers agree?

Sarah-Jane isn’t feeling too confident heading into the technical, as per usual. “You just have to kind of draw on everything you know about… everything… ever… in the space of five minutes,” she says.

I think Sarah-Jane might be my spirit animal.

Ryan has somehow never made custard or jam before, which leads me to question his GBBO preparation techniques.

Even I’ve made custard before!

Mary explains that the Queen of Puddings is many families’ favorite pudding, which I guess presumes that said families eat a variety of puddings on a regular enough basis to choose a favorite.

I’m really hung up on this whole “pudding” thing, I know.

As the bakers prepare their custards, Mel explains that they shouldn’t bake their custards too long or the surface will crack. I’m now thinking back to my own custard, which definitely had some cracks in the top. Whoops!

I mean it will be covered in jam and meringue… no one will know. 

Next, it’s time to move on to the jam, and Brendan seems to be some kind of jam savant, explaining that he’s looking for a soft-set jam. After all, he says, “There are some advantages to being older… you learn the setting point of jam.”

Showoff. 

Like me, John has some problems with the jam running into his custard, although his are much worse.

“Mary’s going to slap me in the face,” he moans.

The bakers seem intimidated by the meringue layer, which I find confusing. Meringue just… isn’t that hard?

Here, Danny whips up a second meringue, worried that her first one was too runny.

Finally, all the puddings are in the oven. 

Classic GBBO on-the-floor oven-watching pose.

Brendan seems to have gotten a nice golden brown color on the top of his meringue. Will this be the key to a technical challenge win?

Like a perfectly roasted marshmallow.

During the judging, Mary announces that the glass dishes they gave the bakers were part of her evil plan, so she and Paul can see how even the layers are on the puddings.

Feeling grateful for my ceramic dish right about now…

Unfortunately, James has overcooked his custard, which means it came out watery. 

Would I fall victim to the same pitfall?

In the end, Brendan’s lifetime of jam knowledge proves useful, and he takes home the win.

It does look like a rather royal pudding. 

My pudding was ready to come out of the oven, but would it be fit for a queen? First, here’s Mary’s example pudding… 

That’s a very elegant shallow dish.

And here’s mine.

Look at that piping!

The slice admittedly didn’t look too delicious, but there’s a reason Mary’s photo only includes the dish – I just don’t think this one is meant to look pretty on the plate. The show also didn’t really showcase what the bakers’ slices/scoops of pudding looked like. So I’m pretty sure mine is about right. Also, Mary’s recipe said to serve with “pouring cream”, so that’s what the puddle is around the pudding, not melted custard. (The bakers did not seem to do that in the show).

I thought my Queen of Puddings was pretty regal, actually. The meringue had good volume and was nicely crispy, and the jam and custard layers actually held up on the plate. But now it was time to see if my esteemed panel of judges would agree.

***

Matt’s Review: I was actually full from dinner when I dug into this pudding, and I was worried it was going to be too heavy. But as soon as I took my first bite and felt how soft and airy it was, I quickly ate the whole thing. Turned out, that’s a purely mouth-feel thing and I got a horrible stomach ache. But it was worth it. It’s a bread mush with surprisingly complicated flavors—sweetness was potentially the least pronounced one there. The fluffy texture (which I have to assume Jenna nailed) really let you focus on those flavors. It’s a balancing act, and the pudding landed it gracefully. I have no way to fairly judge presentation, but I will add that there’s nothing better than having a Tupperware full of pudding arrive at your door.

Wilson’s Review: Beautiful presentation, clearly defined merengue structure. Some nice peaks, clearly have a steady hand with the piping. But, the color’s a bit light isn’t it? In the future maybe keep it in the oven for a touch longer, or up the heat. Cutting it open you’ve got some nice defined layers, well done. Flavor is good, you can really taste the summer in the jam. The lemon isn’t really coming through, and that’s a key element to balance the sweetness of the jam and the crisp of the meringue – need that acidity. Overall a very good bake, worthy of being served on anyone’s summer table. 

***

Final Thoughts: As Matt mentioned, the pudding was delivered to him in the least royal of ways, dumped unceremoniously in a Tupperware and left on his doorstep. So sadly he didn’t get to witness the beauty of my pudding in its original form, and personally, I thought it looked great. I also enjoyed eating it – the meringue was crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, and the custard was smooth and creamy. The jam was definitely a little runnier than a store-bought variety, but I did like it enough to use the leftovers on toast for several breakfasts, so it worked out well enough. And to Wilson’s point, it needed a little more browning on the top of the meringue – perhaps I should have used the broiler at the very end to get that nice golden color. Overall, this was not a particularly tough bake, which was a nice change of pace after trying to get pie dough to defy gravity for the last bake. I still don’t know what a pudding is, but I did enjoy eating it.

[bi-the-way-i-love-bunnies]

(In which Draco can’t cook to save his life au along with a dash of Christmas spirit)

Drarry drabble ~ 10/19 ~ about 3.5k

“Pansy.” Smoke was starting to crowd the room. Said girl remained oblivious as she scrolled through her phone. 

“Pansy.” The flame on the stove got bigger than Draco would have liked. He debated on using an Aguamenti, but wait, didn’t that weird muggle cookbook warn something about  using water with an open flame? Regardless he wasn’t taking any chances. Pansy, the cow, only gave a small hmm and continued on with whatever she was doing. 

“PANSY!” Ok that was it, he put a protective bubble around the stove just in a nick of time. He looked at the pot that started to burn inside the blazing inferno. And it has been a housewarming gift from Mrs. Weasley too. Regardless, he allowed himself a small moment of relief for dealing with one of the many problems that happened in the kitchen today. Small mercies he supposed. And that’s when the fire alarm started beeping persistently. 

In a frenzy, he tried putting up a silencio charm, but it kept wavering and wearing off. His spells never did work well when he was worked up in a mood. The smoke was fogging up the kitchen more than ever now too, much to Draco’s dismay. Harry was not going to be happy about the lingering smell later. 

The timer on the counter started going off signaling that the roast in the oven was done. At the same time the small pot next to the bubble charm of heat started to over boil due to his neglect when dealing with everything else. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake Draco,” Pansy finally looked up from her phone. She quickly casted her own silencing spell and vanished the smoke in the air. Right...now that his main problems were dealt with he quickly got to attending the roast. He put on those ridiculous Chudley Cannon mitts gifted by Ron from last Christmas (why they never got to replacing these hideously bright orange mitts he’ll never know) and got to work. He was pleasantly surprised to see that the roast looked exactly like it was supposed to in the muggle cookbook, a large victory in his disastrous attempts at cooking. 

He lifted it out of the oven planning to get it onto the counter quickly when the large pan collided with the edge of the oven door. It all happened too quickly, but one moment everything was perfectly fine and the next the pan shifted way too far right and his perfectly cooked roast stumbled onto the floor!

“Shit!” Draco cursed and ran to the counter to grab a napkin when he slipped onto the floor, his arse landing in the sauce used to marinate the meat. 

“You know when I asked you to help me I didn't mean for you to just sit on your arse scrolling through that muggle device of yours,” Draco glared.

Pansy rolled her eyes but took pity on him as she waved her wand to clean up the mess on the floor minus the roast. 

“Should we try Scourgifying it?” 

Like that would help save dinner, he sighed. Not to mention it was unhygienic and Harry would throw a fit if he found out. 

“Just vanish it, it’s useless anyways.” She nodded and a second later the roast was gone.

“At least you’ll have the creme brulee. And the potatoes,” she spared a glance at the pot that was overboiling a minute prior before grimacing. “Ok, maybe not the potatoes but who needs dinner when you have dessert anyways.” 

“Watch it turn out just as well as everything else,” he remarked and got up from the floor to check what was left of his cooking attempts. 

He went to the fridge to check on the little ramekins. Earlier they looked fine, but knowing his luck he’d have to test it before serving. 

Pansy handed him a spoon as he dug in and took a bite. A moment later was all it took and he quickly rushed over to the sink and spat it out. 

“Pansy, did you use salt instead of the sugar earlier?” It was one of the only times Pansy decided to help in the kitchen. She reasoned earlier that if she was going to help, at least it would be on the dish that requires the least amount of effort. 

She shrugged and took a bite of Draco’s neglected creme brulee before making a face. “Well...they did both look the same. And they’re in matching containers, Draco, what did you expect!”

“I just wanted to make a good dinner this year,” he sighed in defeat. Each year their friend group always got together and drew straws to see who’s house they were going to for Christmas dinner. Everytime he and Potter hosted, the Gryffindor prat would always suggest going to that all night buffet around Ron and Hermione’s place. 

“Hey, it’s all you can eat, saves the hassle of cooking, and they give war veterans discounts.” 

Draco couldn’t really argue against that and so they all went last year. He had to admit that the food was pretty good, but there was something about a nice home cooked meal on Christmas night that you just couldn’t replicate. 

Draco learned long ago that Harry simply did not cook. Not that Draco was judging, since he couldn’t cook as well. He’d rather leave that to the house elves, thank you very much. However, the difference between the two was that Draco was willing to try on the occasions where they had free time. Also, he was rather curious about the recipes Pansy was always going on about. Harry just usually shook his head each time and suggested they order take out. And in the three years that they have been together, two since they moved into a rather spacious flat at the heart of muggle London, he just accepted his boyfriend’s answer without ever looking into it. He just couldn’t be arsed about doing all the prep work and washing up afterwards. 

This Christmas though, they got picked again, and he’ll be damned if Potter thought they could just go to that buffet place again. So the night beforehand when he told Harry he was making dinner this year, the git just laughed and wished him good luck. 

“You had house elves your whole life, Draco. And cooking isn’t as easy as it appears on the telly.” 

So Draco set to work that morning to prove Harry wrong, starting even before the git left for work. But hours later and now he was here with a nearly burnt flat, no food to show, and a really smelly kitchen. Oh yeah, and there was Pansy being no help at all. 

He supposed if he hurried, he could use magic to make the food instead of relying on the muggle way. But apparently magic took away the flavor, according to Potter and after the day he had, he just wanted to give up. Suddenly the buffet idea was starting to sound appealing again. But screw him, he just wanted a nice dinner this year and at least he tried! The same couldn’t be said about his arse of a boyfriend, no matter how much he loved him. 

He looked at the mess he made before grabbing his wand. No need for the flat to stay in this state before Harry got home. 

“Right. Help me start cleaning Pans.” Reluctantly, she did what she was told. 

The two set to work for an hour or two before the floo flared up and Harry entered their flat. 

“Hey,” he greeted Draco with a quick kiss before turning to Pansy and giving her a small peck on the cheek. 

“How was he today?” he asked her as he started to take off the outer layer of his auror robes. 

She rolled her eyes, “As great as you’d expect a Malfoy to be in the kitchen.” 

“Hey! I’ll have to remind you two that I was brilliant at potions. My skills are not that abominable.” 

Pansy gave him a look before moving on. “Don’t mind him being such a twat, Potter. He’s just sad that everything he made didn’t turn out to be on the same scale as Mrs. Weasley’s.” She took her coat off the coat rack before making her way towards the floo. 

“Ta dears. See you in two days,” she took a handful of floo powder before giving the couple one last glance. “And Draco darling. The day hasn’t been a total bust. It was just as entertaining as I thought it’d be.” She gave him a wink and then she was gone. 

“Tosser,” he muttered, a tad too fondly if the look Harry was giving him was to go by. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to order from a deli or something,” Harry wrapped his arms around Draco. “It could even be from that expensive place on Bulbadox Avenue that you like so much. I checked and they’ll be open.” 

Draco rolled his eyes before returning Harry’s hug and relaxing in his lover’s embrace. 

“We could save that as a backup plan or something, but I’m planning to make a better meal tomorrow.” Not that he’d think he’d do any better. 

Harry snorted. “We found out you’re shit at cooking, just like the majority of us knew. Why don’t we spend the next day doing something relaxing. We could go and visit the market place near Diagon Alley. When it’s dark all the lights would be really pretty, and Hannah says they have a spectacular light display this year.” 

“Alright,” he agreed, “We could go later after I get our flat ready for our guests.” 

Harry pulled back a bit and made a face. “Are you sure? No offense Draco, but judging from what Pansy said I really don’t think you should waste your breath.” 

“I’m quite sure, Potter.” And they left it at that. 

The next day’s attempts were as disastrous as the first one’s. However, Harry definitely knew a lot more than Pansy and tried containing the damage as best as he could. 

“Wait! Draco, put that on simmer.” 

“Hold on! Don’t peel like that! You don’t want to take off a chunk of skin.”

“Draco! Oh God, where is the baking soda!” 

And so the fire department came after their neighbors called. That was a fun exchange to watch as he saw Harry stumble through explanations on what happened, his face rivaling Ron’s hair. 

By the end of the afternoon they were both exhausted. But since it was Christmas Eve they decided to go to the marketplace just like they planned. Draco was glad they decided to go, as he found out that Hannah wasn’t exaggerating. The light display was truly spectacular this year. 

He walked with Potter hand in hand as they made their way around different booths. They ended up buying an assortment of jams, cheese, and bread seeing how that one bread booth had some quite delicious samples. 

They were making the last of their rounds around the giant fountain at the center of the square when he overheard a family talking about their plans to make a special Christmas dinner the next day. He felt the tiniest sense of disappointment as he remembered his failed attempts earlier. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Harry asked as they passed by a ginormous Christmas tree lit up with streams of garland and fairy lights. If you looked closely you could see some actual fairies dancing around the branches. The sight put a smile on Draco’s face. 

“Just thinking about Christmas dinner. I really wanted to make something special this year.” 

“Oh,” he could hear the frown in Potter’s tone, “But I thought you’d rather not deal with the hassle. Not to mention all our friends are coming by and I know how much you hate it when the flat’s a mess. Specifically since we know how Ron gets when he starts with the firewhiskey.” Draco shrugged.

“I think I’m just being nostalgic about it,” he mused. “I know you don’t talk about your childhood all that much, but during Christmas time at the manor, mother and father would always gather all their Pureblood friends and all the elves would prepare the best meal to impress all the guests. There’s just something special about having a meal like that, despite some people insisting that buffet food is just fine.” 

Harry let out a small grin. “Yeah, sorry about that. Last year was the last time, promise.” 

The teasing tone was familiar between the two of them, yet it didn’t last long before Harry drifted deep in thought. 

“It’s not that I don’t like cooking, it’s just- well. I’m rather shit at talking about these things,” he untangled his hand from Draco’s and shoved it in his pockets. Draco let him, knowing his posture meant that he’s working his way to saying something important. 

“My aunt and uncle had meals like that too. They’d invite their friends and leave the children to play outside with Dudley while the adults talked. And Aunt Petunia...she always made sure I knew how to prepare for dinners like that. Sometimes I’d watch from the kitchen window and envy the kids playing in the yard.” 

It was much more than Harry told Draco beforehand that was for sure. They had their talks about the war and the effects it had on the both of them, but whenever they touched upon Harry’s childhood, he’d just explained that they were not the nice people who took them in as the public portrayed. He’d always left it at that saying that it was in the past. But now Harry was working up the courage to tell him specifics. It left a warm fuzzy feeling inside Draco’s chest and he extended an arm to touch Harry as a silent appreciation of trust. 

Slowly, Harry relaxed and intertwined their fingers again. 

“I choose not to cook mainly because I don’t have fond memories of doing it. My aunt would always have something to say, even though eventually I got pretty good at making food. She just did it out of habit, I think.” 

“Your family sounds like they were an arse.” They stopped walking and Draco turned to face Harry. “It’s alright if you’re not going to cook in the future. Just know that I love you and appreciate it that you’re choosing to share this with me.” 

He leaned in and the pair shared a nice slow kiss before parting and heading back. 

The next day, Harry was in charge of taking care of dinner, since Pansy flooed earlier asking for Draco’s help in some last minute shopping. 

“I swear Pans! Didn’t you learn anything from Christmas last year?” he huffed at the busy streets of Diagon Alley, “Melin, I’m not even sure if most of the shops are open!” 

So for the next few hours they went from shop to shop looking for Salazar knows what. Pansy was a very selective gift giver and everytime Draco made a suggestion she shot him down. 

“This is made with opals from Australia Pansy! I don’t understand how your friend would not like that!” 

“Hmm,” she browsed through the display cases in the shop, “I think she’d rather have a nice rock honestly. It doesn’t have to be Australian, but stones and crystals are rather in right now…” 

When it was time to go home he was feeling quite exacerbated with his friend. Pansy, in all their hours of shopping, only bought one object. 

“You still realize that I have a flat to set up right? And I’ll have to place a break proof charm on everything, knowing all the Gryffindors in our group.” Why couldn’t Harry be in Slytherin like the sorting hat wanted, honestly!  Pansy just gave him a small salute as they parted ways. Tosser. 

When he returned home, however, a delicious smell was coming from the kitchen. 

“Harry?” He made his way into the room and was greeted with the sight of his lover pulling out a roasting pan, fresh from the oven. His eyes widened as he looked over all the dishes on the countertop. The assortment of appetizers and side dishes made his mouth water. He honestly thought that Harry was going to order from the deli just like he planned, but this was by far a thousand times better. Suddenly he knew why Pansy dragged him out all afternoon. 

“I seriously can’t believe I didn’t see this sooner! Plotting with my best friend behind my back Potter? How Slytherin of you.” 

Harry laughed as he placed the roasting pan on the counter before taking away the aluminum foil on top revealing a nice baked ham. “Yeah, when I told her I wanted to surprise you she went for it straight away. She said she felt sorry for you the other day, and you should be glad she took pity upon you because now you have that dinner you wanted.” 

“That sounds like Pansy alright,” Draco rolled his eyes but let out a fond smile. He knew Harry revealed that he already had some culinary experience, but he hadn't anticipated this. Although now that he thought about it, if he had to go back to school and was told to recreate a calming draught potion, his muscle memory would guide him through it. It seemed like Harry hadn't lost his touch on cooking either. 

“Would you like a walk through the menu tonight?” Harry smiled as he set his oven mitts aside. 

Draco nodded as Harry pulled up the first appetizer. “So these are drunken peaches with bits of goat cheese and prosciutto tucked in phyllo pastry.”  

He presented another dish that looked like mini sandwiches with tiny toothpicks speared through. “Here’s some grilled peach caprese with mozzarella and basil topped with a basic balsamic.” 

He pulled up the salad bowl, “Fig salad with greens, goat cheese, and walnuts marinated with oil, vinegar, and honey.”

He moved on, “And here’s some roasted asparagus wrapped in prosciutto served with a hint of parmesan and drizzled with olive oil.” 

Draco couldn’t resist taking one and plopping it in his mouth. “You know that asparagus is my favorite.” 

Harry smiled fondly, “I know.”

He pulled up another plate, “That’s why I had to use it in another dish as well.” 

It was a smaller dish than the ones Harry showed him beforehand, yet it still looked amazing. “Smoked salmon with poached eggs, roasted asparagus, basil pesto, and dill topped with olive oil.” 

He pushed another plate forward. At the center was a type of bread surrounded with an assortment of crackers on the plate. “Baked brie and apricot preserves wrapped with puff pastry and a hint of honey.” 

Another dish, “Golden roasted potatoes with chopped garlic, rosemary, and other spices.” 

“Your classic mashed potatoes and gravy boat.” Harry winked, and Draco laughed. Harry really liked his potatoes, so it was no surprise that he’d prepare two types. 

“Then all we have left is the honey baked ham and dessert for later on.” He shrugged like he didn’t just make enough food to feed the whole Weasley clan. 

“Oh?” Draco prompted as he slid closer to his lover, “And what’s for dessert?” He gave him a heated look.

Harry easily accepted Draco’s embrace as he leaned in. 

“You could choose between a mini chocolate lava cake paired with a raspberry sorbet,” Harry teased the shell of his ear causing Draco to shiver before moving downwards, “or a vanilla chiffon cake with a fresh berry puree topped with a blueberry cream cheese frosting,” Harry muttered against his lips as he pulled Draco closer. Sweet Salazar, that shouldn’t have sounded better than the earlier dishes, but it did. 

Draco smirked, “And if I choose you?” 

Harry grinned, “That can be arranged.” 

Draco teasingly dragged his lips across Harry’s before connecting them sweet and slow. Things were just getting more heated when their floo flared. 

“Eww mate. I will never get used to that, ever,” Ron grimaced as Hermione came through behind him. Draco was really regretting their open floor plan right now, but accepted one last kiss from Harry before making their way over to greet their friends. 

“Honestly Ron. It’s been years,” she accepted a hug from her best friend. “Dinner smells lovely by the way.” 

“Yeah! Did Harry finally get to cooking or did you two find a new catering place or something,” the four of them moved into the kitchen. 

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You guys knew that Potter cooked?” 

“Well, there was that whole year we spent together in a tent,” Hermione replied, “Someone had to be the designated cooker, otherwise Ron would’ve gone insane.” 

“Hey!” Ron protested but didn’t disagree.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I finally got to cooking. But you should’ve seen when Draco attempted it at first!” 

“A Malfoy cooking? What, has the world finally come to an end or something,” Ron joked and earned a small nudge from Draco. 

“It really wasn’t that bad,” he protested but in truth, he knew it was. 

Harry smirked at him. “Did I tell you how the fire department came the other day? The neighbors were seriously concerned about Draco burning the apartment complex down.” 

“Shut up Potter!” 

Harry grinned and couldn’t help but challenge him. “Make me,” he moved closer. 

Ron let out a groan, “Ok Mione. Time to move back to the living room yeah?” 

Harry let out a laugh as he watched Hermione lecture Ron about letting them have their moment. 

He and Draco remained in the kitchen as they started to set up a bit more, waiting for their other guests to arrive, just enjoying each other’s company. 

“Harry,” Draco prompted after a while. 

“Yes Draco?” He looked up from the napkins he was just setting down. 

Draco smiled before placing the silverware down to join him. “Thanks for cooking for me.” He gave him a chaste kiss. 

When he pulled back Harry couldn’t help his reply, “Always.” 

[boywivlove]

| Title | Floral |

| Pairing | Jung Hoseok x Reader

| Word Count | 3k

| Genre | Florist AU, fluff, slight romantic moments

| Summary | Reader has moved back with her parents in her small hometown; after her life hasn't turned out the way she had hoped, and dealing with bouts of depressive thoughts. When she runs into an old friend from school, can he help her through her low point to see the sunlight after the storm?

| Warnings | descriptions of depression and depressive thoughts. 

| AN | So this is my second half of the `April showers bring May flowers` collaboration, and I'm really glad to get this out!! This has a mildly gloomy beginning but I promise a fluffy ending!

On a personal note I wrote this fic to kind of get some of my own thoughts out, I think there are alot of us who have gloomy days, and our thoughts are anything less than happy. And I just want to say if anyone reading this also has days like this please know your not alone and you are loved <3 Please enjoy, stay safe, and have a lovely day!

The rain kept coming, pouring down relentlessly as you were stopped at a red light, You didn't mind. If anything it relaxed you. The sound of rain always made it easy for you to fall asleep, driving in the rain drowned out the world to you, making it easier to concentrate on your thoughts, no matter how glum they were. You looked out of your window, the last hours of daylight clinging to the skyline, smudged with the storm clouds that had been gushing rain for the last couple of hours. The weather seemed to match your mood perfectly.

You didn't know exactly when your life started to feel gloomy and dull, but you know it had been a while, almost a year at most. Looking back, you had such high hopes for your life, finish college, finish university, get a good job, move out and live your life. But while you tried your best in education, that's when the thoughts of doubt and paranoia started to bury themselves in your mind. 

You were constantly thinking the friends you had grown close to had only tolerated you, and your parents were secretly disappointed in you. It was hard to concentrate on your degree while trying not to have a breakdown in the middle of class. Eventually you had to leave your studies for the sake of your mental health, and you got a new job to keep on top of your rent, and it was good, but after a while, the same nagging thoughts came back, same thoughts, different setting. 

You had made your way down the long winding road of the countryside, eventually passing the town's welcome sign. This is where you're going to be staying now, back in the town you grew up in, the town you had imagined all the great things you were going to do with your life. You had decided that you needed a do over, and after a talk with your parents, a decision was made that you would take some time out from everything, and come and stay with them until you get back on your feet. 

Leaving your job was hard, but gave you room to exhale and let out some of your anxiousness. But at the same time, you were right back where you started. It's not like you could go back to school, and try and get a degree in a different subject, the only thing you could do was try and work through your issues and try and find a job. 

You arrived at your parents house just after 10 pm, and you parked the car in the driveway, leaving the boxes of everything you owned in the garage until your could sort your old room out, your parents had turned it into a pantry, but now it was remade into a room for you, a bed, closet, desk, but the personal touches could come later, right now you wanted to sleep, not even changing out of your clothes you crawled into bed, letting the rain lull you into sleep.

It had been 3 months since you had packed up your life and moved back with your parents, and they had been nothing but supportive, the medication you were given helps only a little with the depressive moments. You had been taking care of yourself and now finally you wanted to start looking for a new job, your parents had said not to worry about rent or paying your way, but you owed it to them, and yourself. You wanted to prove that you could overcome the black dog that hung over you. 

It was easier said than done, for a small town, the job opportunities were even shorter. A lot of the businesses here were family owned, and didn't really need any new workers. It had taken you around 30 rejections before you got an offer from a little independent bakery, owned by a lovely old lady named Rose. The pay wasn't great, but hey, it was something, and Rose was lovely, remembering you from when you used to live here as a kid, and gave you a chance. 

 Now, months later, you and Rose were doing great, you had learnt her tips and tricks for making her baked goods, and found the locals to be a breath of fresh air, the bakery having plenty of regulars to get to know and talk to, a surprisingly nice reprieve from the comings and goings of random faces, a thing that made your old job kind of daunting. 

The days you spent in the bakery didn't melt into one, each day had a little something new, a new recipe, new stories from the regulars, and sometimes new faces, and one particular day had a face you had not seen in years.

The sun had finally seemed to come out from behind the clouds, the rain never seemed to stop, but it happened now only with small sprinkles. The hanging baskets of lavender outside the shop dripped onto customers who entered, and the window baskets that held an array of colourful pansies were nicely watered thanks to the rain. 

Rose had made you feel so at home in this bakery, and she has so much faith in you, leaving  you in charge of the shop for a week or so while she visited her son overseas, and it meant so much to you. Her trust in you had given you something to aspire to.

You were doing your best.

You had just taken another batch of bread rolls out of the oven, and had just set about  brewing a pot of coffee when he came in. His hair was speckled in rain droplets as he placed his umbrella in the stand. He approached the counter and peered at the choices. As he was browsing you gave him a once over, he was cute. He was dressed in a white button up shirt and black pants, a long brown corduroy jacket and a deep maroon scarf wrapped around his neck. His face was nice to look at, his hair framed his chiselled jaw nicely, and his shoulders were nice and broad. Now you didn't make a habit of ogling the customers, but you haven't seen this guy in the bakery before, so he was something new to you.

You approached the counter as he was still considering his selection.

“ Hey Rose, you don't have any of those white chocolate almond cookies ready do you?” 

He didn't even look up as he was trying to locate the cookie in the rack, it was almost a childlike movement, both his hands placed on the glass and his eyes squinted in concentration. It was oddly familiar to you.

“Hey, not Rose, but we do have some in the oven that are almost ready if you fancy waiting?” 

Your voice seemed to surprise him, as his head shot up and his eyes widened slightly

“Oh, I'm so sorry, I never see anyone else behind the counter he he, Is Rose back there?”

He rubbed his nose in a kind of embarrassed movement, looking towards the back room for a second, and then back at you, his eyes roamed your face as he smiled at you. 

“Ha ha it's alright, I only started 3 months ago, and sadly no, Rose is visiting her son for a couple of weeks, left me in charge, I`m Y/N”

Your chest puffed slightly, taking pride in the fact that Rose had trust enough in you to leave her business in your care. 

“Ahhh Rose must really trust you to leave her pride and joy in your hands,,, wait, Y/N?”

His face was wrinkled slightly, as if trying to remember something that he couldn't quite grasp for a second.

“Yeah? Have we met?”

“ Y/N, Y/L/N  from high school ? “

 You didn't recognise him at first, it had been so long since you had seen him, but you quickly realised who it was as you remembered the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and his bright toothy smile.

“.... oh my god, Hobi ?”

Now that was something that you didn't see coming. Hobi, the guy in front of you was Hobi, the high school funny guy who made everyone laugh, the guy who danced out everything he said. Honestly, you had expected him to be long gone from this town by now, he was always so gifted in the way he moved, you thought for sure he could have gone into a career in dancing. 

Still, it was nice to see him after so long, when you graduated high school you tried to keep in contact but the distance eventually fizzled the friendship out. You had always felt bad for never getting in touch with Hobi, you were good friends by the time high school ended. But here he was, sitting with you after closing time having tea and cookies. 

“I cant believe your here Y/N, it's been so long since I've seen you!” 

Hobi took a bite of his cookie, smiling as he did, his smile hasn't changed, still as bright as the sun. You sipped your tea as he spoke.

“Have you been here long? I've only just come back from a vacation so I'm sorry I didn't know you were here, I would have been one of the first to see you if I did”

“No only three months or so, and it's OK Hobi, if anything I'm sorry I never stayed in contact with you, things have been a little difficult for me you know?” 

“How so if you don't mind me asking?”

So you filled Hobi in on how you ended up back in your hometown, and how you're working through your feelings, he was sympathetic, but he didn't baby you or try to advise you on how to go about things.

“Anyway enough about myself, have you been here all this time? You never moved away or anything?”

Hobi laughed as he set his cup down, running his hand through his hair, he took out a business card out of his wallet. The gold embellished font against the crisp white background stood out beautifully.

 ` Fragrant Florals by Jung Hoseok. EST 1978 ` 

“ I went to college here, I still studied dance like I did in highschool, and my grandma gave me a part time job in the flower shop, when she passed, she left it to me. I thought long and hard about what I wanted to do, but the shop has so many memories of my grandma you know?”

You remembered Hobi`s grandmother, she had owned that flower shop for over 30 years, and it was nice to know that Hobi stayed and kept it going. You haven't felt this at ease in a long time, it was as if you finally came home and was able to breathe again, and seeing Hobi again made you feel lighter than air.

“Come with me, I want to show you something”

Hobi had met you as you locked up the bakery for the night, you two had been catching up a lot in the past month, making up for lost time he would say. He would come and visit you on his lunch breaks, grab a coffee and some baked treat and shoot the breeze with you while you had no one to serve. Other times you would stop by his flower shop and bring him a coffee when he was busy. It was nice. You can't believe you let yourself fall out of contact with him.

But as much as you had been enjoying your life lately, you had noticed the negative thoughts starting to creep back into your mind. You would catch yourself thinking of all the ways you would mess everything up, that people will start getting bored of you. That Hobi would start getting bored of you… You wouldn't lie to yourself, You like Hobi. He was always a nice boy growing up, and he was a great guy now. But you knew your feelings for him were starting to become more than friends. And you were so scared about messing things up, that Hobi wouldn't want to be anything more than friends, that stopped you from admitting your real feelings for him.

“Where are we going?”

“Ahh, I'm not saying, you have to close your eyes.”

“Hobi were in the middle of a street, iI cant-”

“Trust me, your gonna love it Y/N”

Hobi flashed you a toothy grin, and covered your eyes with his hands, guiding you toward wherever it was he was taking you. You heard the cars passing by and the occasional person greeted you both. You came to a stop a little while after, as he kept your eyes closed with one hand he rummaged around for his keys, unlocking the door as a bell chimed upon opening it.

“Your shop? Hobi, I've been here a hundred times. Why do I need to keep my eyes closed…”

“Don't open them yet! I just need to get the lights…”

Letting out an airy laugh you kept your eyes closed, the shop had a variety of different smells, but overall smelt earthy, just like Hobi. You heard the click of a light switch, and you felt his presence in front of you. You felt his hands on your arms as he gently guided you to where he wanted you to be. He was so close to you. 

Hobi smelled so good. His scent was a mix of fruity, woody hints, but also had hints of spices and earth, all his time tending to his plants and bouquets rubbing off on him in the best way. 

“Ok, annnnd, open”

You opened your eyes, letting them get used to the light, and what you saw made you take a surprised breath. 

He had taken you into the back of the shop, to his own little greenhouse, and turned it into your own little restaurant. In the centre of the greenhouse, surrounded by his many growing flora, was a small table set nicely with food cooling in dishes. Fairy lights hung above the table, shimmering like stars. Magical. You turned to Hobi with a small smile, his own smile a most bashful as he waited for your response.

“Wow, You did all this?”

“Well, this is a small town, not many places to go you know, I wanted to take us somewhere new, so I thought, why now make somewhere new”

He looked at you with such a fondness, you felt your heart flutter slightly.

“But, I also wanted to take you somewhere that's not crowded, I know you've been feeling down again lately, I can tell. You fiddle with your hands when you start over thinking, I wanted, I wanted to make something special for you.”

You felt yourself well up slightly, his gesture had really touched your heart. He was too good for this world, too good for you. You couldn't contain your tears as they fell down your cheeks. You hugged Hobi as he let you cry onto his shoulder. His arm wrapped around you as he brought his other hand to rest in your hair. It was like something straight out of a romance movie. Made even more so by the tapping of rain that started against the windows. 

“Hobi, you're amazing, you know?”

“Ah come on, I just thought you would like a surprise.”

“No, I mean it. You always know just what to do, your kind and caring, and you never make me feel bad about how I feel” 

You raised your head to look at him, his eyes held so much care in them, his lips parted slightly, as if contemplating what to say, and looking into your eyes, he must have decided. His face came a little closer to yours, and in the softest of moments, he placed a light kiss to your forehead before resting his chin on top of your head. It was like thunder to you, sending a shiver down your spine. You breathed in his scent as your face nuzzled his neck slightly. 

“I'm glad you like it Y/N, I don't want you to feel the way you do about yourself, I know it's hard for you. But I just wish you could see yourself how I see you. You're perfect to me, you always have been.”

“Since when are you this cheesy?”

“Hey cheesy is my forte, and if it makes you happy I'll keep being cheesy”

You shared a laugh, breaking apart from him ever so slightly to look at him again, his hand in your hair made its way to your cheek, his thumb wiping the remaining tears that streaked down your face. 

Your mind, ever the interrupter, was screaming at you that this wouldn't last, that this is all a dream. But the thoughts were suddenly silent as Hobi placed his lips on yours, his kiss was soft and delicate, not wanting to overstep a boundary that he might have misread. 

You had never felt more at ease. With a deep inhale, it was as if the weight of everything you felt had lifted from your heart, and it finally started to beat again. 

You had first thought coming back to your childhood town was a huge step back for your life, but there, in a small flower shop. It was the start of something new, something that you would look back on when you feel yourself slipping into your dark thoughts as a moment that could ground you.

And Hobi, who would tell you everyday that you were worth your weight in gold to him.

[melynen]

Sweet Surprises - 00Q

James Bond returns from a mission from Finland tired but cheerful and armed with a little something sweet — well, several somethings, really — to make up for the long absence from London and his boyfriend.

Q is still at Six when he opens the door and steps in, dragging his luggage after himself and bending down to receive Aziraphale’s enthusiastic greeting in the form of eager little chirps and lots of headbutting. Crowley, ever the more wily one, is sitting by the coat rack and staring at him with wide, unblinking bright yellow eyes. James picks Aziraphale up, abandoning the suitcase by the door for the time being, and takes his time with cuddling him and telling him how much he has missed him and his brother before putting him down again and getting ready to wait patiently until Crowley deigns to come get his share of the cuddles.

He saw Q briefly after his debrief with M when he was dropping off his kit at Q Branch (and simultaneously locking himself and Q behind closed doors in Q’s office for a delightful fifteen-minute long I’m-happy-that-you’re-back-again interlude), but other than that they’ve been apart, both busy with their own obligations. Q did promise to leave earlier tonight, though, so at least there’s that. In return, Bond promised to have dinner ready and waiting, and he has big plans for dessert as well as dessert.

Finally, Crowley decides that he’s waited long enough and makes his way over to Bond. He accepts the pets as his due and looks personally offended when Bond doesn’t immediately dig out the cat treats that he knows Bond has hidden in his suitcase. Bond chuckles and shakes his head.

“All in good time, darling, all in good time,” he tells Crowley and gets an annoyed-sounding mrrrouw for his troubles.

“Cheeky Crowley,” he says affectionately, and watches as Crowley shows him his behind in retaliation.

Laughing to himself, Bond begins hauling his suitcase towards the bedroom. Both cats follow him there, naturally, because if anything, Q’s darlings are persistently curious. They sniff at each and every item Bond removes from his suitcase, from dirty laundry to the book he’d been reading in the evenings and his souvenirs to Q. When Crowley spots the cat treats he gives Bond such a betrayed look that Bond cannot help but soften and open the bag, offering both kitties a piece to see if they like it.

When they both paw at him for more, followed by a chorus of pitiful meows, Bond gives them one more piece each and then reseals the treat bag. “That’s enough for now. You’ll get more in the evening when Q returns,” he tells them. “But perhaps you’d enjoy these while waiting?”

He unearths two cat toys of different shape and colour — one is a green turtle that Bond had picked because its colour reminded him of Q’s eyes, and the other is a purple bunny — and puts them down on the bed. They’re both filled with catnip, and there’s a rubber ball inside of them that makes them jump into random directions. The clerc at the local pet shop had shown that to him and assured him that they would offer the cats hours of fun. Bond is a bit more sceptical, but he’s willing to try. If nothing else, Q’ll be happy that he’s been thinking about the cats while being away from them.

Aziraphale is the first to snatch the purple bunny away, leaving Crowley to lightly poke at the turtle with a curious paw, just as Bond had expected. They seem to be rather taken with their new toys, and Bond watches fondly as both cats carry their prey away from him and disappear from the bedroom.

That gives him ample time to finish unpacking, deal with the laundry and arrange Q’s souvenirs neatly on top of the coffee table in the living room. He’s looking forward to seeing Q’s expression, as he’d only hinted about the surprise that would wait for his boyfriend once he’d find his way home for the evening, appealing to his curiosity to encourage him to hurry home that much sooner. Q’s a curious man, not unlike his cats, and Bond has learned to use it to his advantage.

As one part of the surprise is a recipe that he’d received from his Finnish contact, along with the sweets that go with it, Bond glances at his wristwatch and estimates that he still has at least three hours before he can reasonably expect Q to arrive. It’s more than enough to make dinner, bake the biscuits using the recipe, and take a shower afterwards.

The dinner would be relatively simple: his famous homemade lasagne he knows that Q loves, along with freshly made bread and a side salad. The biscuits would be easy to make yet delicious, his contact, a young woman in her mid-twenties called Lumi, had assured him. The latter he does know from experience, having tasted them one day while visiting Lumi; he’d asked her for the recipe before he’d left, hoping to be able to make them for Q in the future.

Lumi had been more than happy to help, and had presented him with the translated recipe the very next time they’d seen one another, written in her neat handwriting. She’d also asked to hear Q’s opinion afterwards, which Bond had easily promised. (He’d told her quite a bit about his boyfriend during downtime, and she’d even helped him look for some souvenirs for him. Privately, Bond thinks that she might even have fallen just a tiny bit in love with Q’s voice as she’d been given an earpiece of her own and had thus heard him speak several times. At least she’d gushed about his voice to Bond more times than he’d cared to count.)

Bond carries the recipe to the kitchen, and remembers to also bring along the bag of the Dumle sweets that it requires. He reads through the instructions carefully, smiling amusedly at her little personal notes sprinkled in between the text, and then gets to work. He does exactly as the recipe tells him to, and ends up with three baking trays full of lumps of batter that would, hopefully, turn into thin, crispy biscuits in the oven.

His first tray yields rather… interesting results, but luckily his second tray gives him biscuits that at least look like biscuits instead of this funny, stuck-together arch-like creation he’d managed as his first attempt. Bond snaps a photo of it with his mobile after putting his final tray into the oven, all the while wondering what he should do about it. Break it into smaller pieces by hand? Most likely, even though that would not give him the prettiest of results.

Once finished with the biscuits and with the bread dough rising under a kitchen towel he’d brought to Q from Greece, Bond sits down on the table. With the cats reappearing and curiously watching his every move, he sends the photo of the first failed attempt to Lumi, and receives a very amused reply from her within minutes. I did warn you, it says, followed by a laughing and crying emoji. At least your boyfriend should get a chuckle out of it, she then continues, sounding a tad more comforting. And the taste won’t be affected either way.

Then there’s a five minute gap, before she sends one last message: I hope you’re better at following directions while cooking than when you’re baking, tacking a winking emoji at the end of the sentence.

Bond shakes his head, amused, but he does end up sending her photos of both the bread and the lasagna once they’re finished and waiting to be eaten, just to prove to her that he definitely is.

*

Q arrives five whole minutes earlier than Bond had estimated, and he all but drops his bag and outer layers right there by the door in his haste to greet Bond with a long, passionate kiss. Bond, who has just finished setting the table, wraps his arms around Q’s waist and lets himself be walked against the closest wall by his eager boyfriend. He’s perhaps a touch amused at the sudden display of possessiveness from his generally more submissive lover, but he has nothing against being the less aggressive one for a change.

“Someone’s eager,” he purrs, grinning, when they finally pull away enough to take in some much needed air.

“I’m impatient,” Q corrects him, leaning closer to place a gentler kiss against the corner of his mouth. “And perhaps a little bit desperate. But can you blame me? You’ve been gone for five whole weeks, and I’ve barely seen you at all today.”

“I am fully aware of that,” Bond says. He brings one hand up to Q’s hair while his other hand that’s still around Q’s waist tightens just a bit, and enjoys having access to that lovely mess of curls again. He’d missed it, and everything else about Q, like he’d never missed anything ever before.

Q smiles softly at that. “I missed this,” he murmurs against Bond’s cheek.

“I know you did,” Bond says teasingly. “Though as much as I’m enjoying this now, the dinner is ready, and I’m sure that you’ve not eaten anything since breakfast.” At Q’s decidedly guilty look Bond snorts and gently pushes him away.

“Right. Come along then, darling, and let me feed you.”

Q comes willingly, allowing Bond to lead him straight to the dining room. There he proceeds to practically inhale two big portions of lasagne, a heap of salad, and several slices of bread, along with three glasses of the fine red wine Bond had bought for the occasion.

Pleased, Bond eats his share of the food and regales Q with a few selected tales from his mission, those of which he hasn’t already shared with Q on the phone. Q’s the best audience he could ever hope for, laughing at exactly the right places and saving his eye rolling only to where it’s definitely needed.

Afterwards, Bond clears the table while Q takes care of brewing them a pot of tea. (Q’s skills vastly exceed his in that department, and Bond has decided it’s best to leave the task to Q’s capable hands most of the time.)

Bond has hinted at a special dessert, and Q’s visibly brimming with curiosity, but he’s trying to keep it contained for the time being. At least until the tea is done, Bond hopes, and brings out their tea mugs.

Only, the mug he hands to Q is a new one, a Moomin one he’d brought to him from Finland, and he tells Q exactly that.

“Oh, thank you,” Q says, accepting the mug and turning it around in his hands to see it from all sides. “It’s lovely. Is it Sniff? And he has a cat, too.”

Bond nods. “You’re correct. I had a hard time choosing the right character for you, but the cat was certainly a deciding factor.”

Q smiles. “I did guess. And I do like it a lot. Thank you, James.” He leans closer again and presses a light kiss to Bond’s cheek, which makes Bond pull him closer with wrapping an arm around his waist. Careful of the mug Q’s still holding, Bond captures Q’s mouth in a deeper kiss, one that lasts until the tea pot whistles and forces Q to reluctantly pull away again.

While Q prepares their tea, Bond goes to get the plate of biscuits he’d assembled earlier (he’d stashed the broken ones away for later and used only the ones that he’d actually gotten right) and brings it with him to the living room. Q follows soon after, careful due to the hot teas and the fact that both Aziraphale and Crowley have reappeared and are trying their best to make him stumble and fall. Or perhaps they just want attention, as Q has been focusing most of his on Bond tonight, which tends to make the kitties jealous.

Bond waits until Q has placed the mugs down on the coasters on the coffee table and sat down next to him on the sofa, with the cats sleeping wrapped up with each other on the other sofa, before he wraps an arm around Q’s shoulders. “Are you ready for your dessert, darling?”

“You know I am,” Q replies, smiling, and turns to take a proper look at the plate of biscuits. Bond can tell that he’s curious about the rest of the souvenirs, too, but he’s too polite to outright ask. Well, right away, anyway.

“I baked the biscuits for you,” Bond explains, “using a recipe I got from Lumi. She made sure that I had the right sweets for it, and that I’d have extras for you to try on as well.”

“That’s very nice of her.”

“Go on, then, try one,” Bond ushers him.

Q has a biscuit and then another one, and he ends up feeding Bond bites from the second one when he notices that Bond hasn’t yet eaten any. (Bond did have a few of the broken pieces earlier, and he’ll eventually confess all of that to Q, too. But later. Tomorrow, perhaps.) When he’s done and is playfully complaining about his sticky fingers, Bond solves it by licking them clean himself and making Q flush and poke him on the side with his free hand while he’s at it. Bond still considers it a fair trade-off.

Afterwards, once they’ve both finished their teas and Q has washed his hands because “That was hardly hygienic, James!” although Bond digresses, Bond finally gives Q his souvenirs.

There are several bags of different kinds of Finnish sweets (including a box of salmiakki, the salty licorice that most of the Finns seemed to love — although Lumi had assured him that it was an acquired taste she herself couldn't stand) as well as a high pile of Fazer chocolate bars in all the flavours they had available, all of which Bond had chosen with Q’s famous sweet tooth in mind. There’s also a selection of homemade berry preserves and powdered berries Bond has bought straight from the people who’d made them, three packages of flavoured Nordqvist loose leaf tea, and two bottles of alcohol: a bottle of cloudberry liqueur and another of Koskenkorva vodka, both of which are typical Finnish alcoholic beverages. At least according to Lumi, who should know these things.

The final souvenir is a pair of knit woolen socks that were actually made by Lumi herself. She’d made another pair for Bond, too; Q’s pair is green like the colour of his eyes and adorned with cats, while Bond’s is bright blue and decorated with miniature replicas of his trusted Walther. Bond had laughed when he’s seen them, but he appreciates them greatly, and he’s looking forward to seeing Q wear his.

“Well,” Q says, sounding amused at the amount of sweet things that Bond has brought back, “at least we don’t have to buy any jam for a while. Or chocolate. Please tell me that you left something for others too?”

Bond huffs. “So perhaps I got a little overboard.”

“A little!”

“Hush, you. The selection there is rather extensive, and I didn’t want you to feel left out.”

“And I appreciate it,” Q says. “I really do. But having you back home with us is more than enough.”

“I hope that you’ll like the socks at least,” Bond says. “Lumi knit them herself.”

“They’re adorable and I love them. Do remember to tell her that when you give her my thanks.”

“Of course. And I will expect to see you wear them, too. But not right now. There’s something else I’d rather see you wear.”

“Which is?” Q asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely nothing at all.”

“Really now? Well, I suppose it can be arranged,” Q says, his eyes sparkling. “If you’ll follow me…”

Bond smiles as he gets up and follows Q to the bedroom. He’ll send Lumi the promised text later. Much later, if everything goes according to plan.

[bcbdrums]

Mistake

I am depressed, so you get angst fic.  Credit for an outstanding line near the end goes to Gothicthundra.

FFn    AO3

-----------------------------

Mistake

Six year old Drew Lipsky sat in the school cafeteria squished between two children he didn't know. He knew their names of course, as his first grade classmates. But he didn't know them. His classmates had all gone to kindergarten together. But he was the new kid.

He nibbled on his sandwich as he watched his classmates and listened to their avid conversations, not really catching any of it but simply studying their mannerisms and how they interacted. That is, until one of the other kids addressed him.

"What's that?" a girl said, her face twisted in disgust. He thought her name was Sarah.

Drew followed her gaze to his peanut butter sandwich and then back to her confused face.

"My lunch," he replied softly.

Drew had barely been spoken to by any of his classmates in the few days he had officially been in the school. And as he had never been to kindergarten, or preschool, or daycare...he didn't really know how to talk to them either. He was an only child, after all.

"Why does it look so funny?" Sarah asked, wrinkling her nose further. Drew noticed her friend next to her, Amanda, doing the same. And some of the boys around them, who had been talking about some TV show Drew had never heard of but was apparently the favorite show of his entire class, stopped their conversation to stare at his sandwich and at him and the girls.

Drew processed all of this while looking between them and his sandwich. A feeling he couldn't quite describe started to come over him; a feeling of being confined, and like ants were crawling over his skin.

"It's peanut butter and jam."

One of the boys—Matthew—leaned in closer. "What's jam? Why does the peanut butter look funny?"

The feeling of being closed in got worse. And a new feeling—one that he'd somehow made a mistake—began to take over. He wanted to undo the mistake, but...he wasn't even sure what he'd done wrong. And now all of his classmates at the table were looking at him and making faces at his sandwich. He struggled to think of something to say, but before he could...

"This is a sandwich," Sarah said, holding out a food item young Drew had ever seen.

It was...a peanut butter sandwich. At least, as far as he understood the concept. But the 'bread' was white and didn't look like bread. And between the two slices that squished very appealingly under Sarah's fingers, were a brown substance and dark purple substance that must have been peanut butter and jam. But they didn't look like the peanut butter and jam on his sandwich.

"This is peanut butter and jelly," Sarah continued with an air of superiority. Drew suddenly noticed that almost all of his classmates had sandwiches like Sarah's. He had missed it due to staring at James's prepackaged Lunchable—another food item he had never seen before.

Of course, he had also spent some of the time staring at James himself. His classmate with the rich brown hair and the name that was just...cool, was sitting directly across from him, eating the colorful and fascinating prepackaged lunch and drinking...chocolate milk. It was in a little paper box with a tiny plastic straw—yet another thing Drew had never seen.

What was chocolate milk?

He wanted to think about this. And he also wanted to keep turning over James's cool name in his head, and the way the letter E didn't make a sound and yet was crucial to the name being what it was. But he couldn't, for the way everyone was staring at him and his lunch.

"What's wrong with your bread?"

It was Amanda who had spoken this time, and Drew looked down at the bread his mother had baked. It had smelled so wonderful coming out of the oven the night before and was still soft when he bit into it.

"Nothing," Drew finally said, wishing all of the eyes would leave him.

"Where did you buy it?" Sarah asked.

"My mommy made it," Drew explained. The feeling of somehow having made a mistake grew stronger.

Matthew started laughing. "It looks like poop. Poop bread!"

Drew looked down and quickly took another bite of his sandwich. It was delicious.

"He's eating the poop sandwich!" Matthew shouted, pointing as he began cackling. This brought the attention of others, even at the surrounding tables. And across from him, drinking his chocolate milk, the cool-looking James with the cool name smirked and began laughing. Drew hunched down as he chewed the delicious food his mother had made him, ignoring the laughter of his peers.

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"Did you get those glasses on purpose?"

Eleven year old Drew looked up from cleaning his glasses in the school bathroom to where Matthew, Zach, and Shaun were standing several feet behind him. Always distant, in case they might catch whatever made him...him. But always nearby, ready to taunt and mock.

"Yes," he answered plainly, confused. Why wouldn't he have gotten the glasses on purpose? He couldn't see the teacher's handwriting on the chalkboard from his seat in the back of the classroom, and he and his mom had only recently realized that he'd actually been in need of vision assistance for years.

After putting the blessed new glasses back on, he looked through the mirror to where James stood a few feet to the left, closer to the bathroom stalls, creating a triangle between him and the group of bullies. His sometimes-friend looked equally perplexed at the question, but forgot it instantly as the group beckoned the popular boy to join them. He did so with his usual cool and confident smirk, and the gang headed out of the smelly bathroom.

Drew was prepared to ignore the familiar 'mistake' feeling as they all left, but when James tossed Drew one last look before leaving, the dim light from above glinted off of James's own glasses and understanding suddenly hit Drew. His new glasses were almost identical to James's. It was coincidence... But his classmates spent a lot of time trying to destroy the thready friendship he had with the one and only person who didn't mock him. And the similarity of the glasses would just be used against him.

He wondered, as he had for as long as he could remember, why his classmates seemed determined that he not have any friends. And the feeling of somehow having made a mistake was starting to take root in his mind.

--------------------------------

Toward the end of sixth grade, when James had fully immersed himself in the clique of the other boys, he had taken it in silence as Matthew told him to his face that he wasn't wanted, and to go annoy someone else. He had tried following them on the playground for days to get James's attention back, but gave up after that declaration. He spent the rest of his recesses of sixth grade alone.

In eighth grade on a class trip to a museum, the boys had acted suspiciously friendly, drawing his attention to a display on the history of robots. As he had gazed at the display and begun talking excitedly of what he already knew, he realized he was surrounded by silence. He looked around to discover the boys had ditched him, their drawing him to the display a purposeful distraction tactic.

By his junior year of high school he had given up, relishing instead in talking to his chemistry professor after school. The older man would always smile, nod, and hum his acquiescences to young Drew's ramblings. Drew knew in his heart the teacher wasn't a 'friend' and didn't really 'care.' But he tolerated him... It was the most Drew had ever gotten from anyone, so he indulged every day after class for the entire semester.

He forgot about trying to be friends with James for years, burying himself instead in his studies and reading Captain Constellation fanfiction instead as he tried to fill the void. He let the fictional characters and his joy of learning put a temporary bandage on the wound that had been in his heart for as long as he could remember. From the prank calls in elementary school, to the way other kids would flat-out ignore him in middle school and high school... And in college, as always, it seemed everyone already had friends and he was still the outsider.

But after the two quick years of powering through all of his general education requirements, he could finally devote his attention to science. And that was when he remembered James.

James had a new posse now, as he called them. Bobby Chen and Anand Ramesh weren't just cool kids he tagged along with in the social chaos that was childhood, but genuine friends. And Drew wondered if finally, with their shared love of science, he could truly and finally be James's friend. And maybe even have more than one.

---------------------------------

Time slowly crushed Drew's hopes. Whether he was lab partners with James or Anand or Bobby, the three genius men always laughed with one another, and Drew was simply...there. When the group went to get lunch or dinner together, Drew was never invited. He tagged along anyway, and none of them told him no, so...it was okay, right? It was implied that all were invited when someone said, "Let's get some lunch," and they all migrated together toward the University Union. And during the meals he laughed at the jokes, tried to insert commentary and new topics...but he was always ignored.

He saw a glimmer of hope one day in the lab when Anand and James teased Bobby about his glasses, both of whom had ditched their frames for contacts years before. But Bobby simply responded that he didn't need contact lenses to get the ladies. Drew had never had a witty comeback in his life. And it didn't matter anyway, as the posse weren't teasing him about his glasses... For once, he was grateful. But he started to wonder if it was his conversation that was the problem.

After that he tried to be more assertive, having studied the endless back and forth banter of the group he called friends, though he didn't know if they applied the appellation to him. He determined that clever and quick commentary were necessary in friendship, and so boldly practiced at every chance he got.

It proved to be a mistake, as the other three did in fact start to notice him more, and the teasing and mocking he remembered from all of his formative years returned. He couldn't tell which remarks about his nerdy looks, his lack of intelligence—that one always cut deep—and obvious virginity were part of the posse's cultural banter, and which were actual insults. He played all of them off as humor, however, laughing along with the other men no matter how deeply the words hurt.

But still he stuck with them, walking behind the trio on the sidewalk when it grew too narrow for four, left sitting on the metal folding chair at video game nights and Captain Constellation marathon parties because James's apartment's sofa wasn't large enough for three.

They were, after all, his only friends.

But like every other attempt at social interaction in his life, it wasn't to be. The robot dates he built as the ultimate attempt to win them over proved to be his greatest mistake of all.

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Drakken watched Shego pass through the door of the lab, not even giving him a glance or a hello before she flopped into her chair far from his workstation, grimacing as she tried to find a comfortable position, and then flipped her magazine open to the dog-eared page.

She was so beautiful... But those were thoughts that could never be entertained. He locked them away again, until such time he knew they would unwittingly break out. No, that wasn't in his cards. But perhaps...

He swallowed hard on the word that froze in his mind and brought a lump to his throat.

...Friendship?

She mocked him and insulted him more harshly than the school boys or his college posse ever had. The only real attention she ever gave him was to understand the plan before heading out on a caper. But...she was still there.

After three years of nothing but failed plans, jail stints, and injury to body and ego, she was still there. Yes, he paid her well. But plenty of other villains paid well too.

"So what's the plan today, dingus?" was her eventual greeting that day. He blushed and whirled around to face his desk, worried she'd caught him staring. But then he realized she'd never looked up from her magazine. She was just...talking.

She was talking to him. And she didn't have to. She didn't technically need to be in the lab, either.

"Robots of destruction," he answered after a moment, despite his desperate desire to keep the new plan secret.

"Ugh, not again..." she groaned.

Drakken smirked and left it at that. He couldn't tell her everything... Because if this one worked, he would be ruling the world when it was over. And he would get a small revenge on James in the course of it, using his technology to make his robots function. But that wasn't the real reason for his secrecy. He was sure this one would work, and maybe...if he took over the world... Maybe Shego would be nicer to him. Maybe...she would come to bowling night without complaining, and come to karaoke without it being written into her contract. Maybe...if he was successful...

He turned to look at her again, still staring down at her magazine. She didn't have to come to the lab. She didn't have to sit on the edge of his desk and make cracks at him while he worked. She didn't have to have dinner with him, or join him for movie nights on the sofa he'd brought to the lair to make it feel more homey...

Despite every warning in his head, he stood up and took a few steps toward her chair. She didn't look up.

"Um...Shego?" he asked.

His heart was pounding. It was a mistake, it was a mistake, it was a mistake... 'Don't do it!'

"Hn?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in annoyance as she looked up from the magazine. Even twenty feet apart, he backed away from her immediate ire.

"Are...are we friends?"

Shego's brow rose. She blinked in surprise, and then without fully meeting his eyes she rolled her own and looked back at the magazine.

"I'm not watching movies with you anymore, if this is what that's going to lead to."

Drakken swallowed again as he hung his head and turned back to his desk. The familiar feeling of ants crawling over his body got worse as did the feeling of having made a mistake as he replayed her rejection. It all coalesced to a clenching pain in his chest, and hot tears in his eyes that he struggled to hold back.

He doodled with his pencil in the corner of a blueprint he'd been working on for the new lair complex his latest plan would need. Why couldn't he have left it alone? Pretending to have a friend was better than the truth. And the result was he had lost his movie night companion.

His bitter thoughts continued deeper, back over his past desperate attempts at friendship that had always ended in disaster, no matter what he did.

He nearly let the pencil fall as reality suddenly slapped him cold. It...didn't matter what he did. From the very beginning, from the first time he had met other children...he was destined to be a laughing-stock. He had always been different, even when by all rights he should have fit in seamlessly. But he never had, and he never would. He was the wrong puzzle piece thrown into the box. And so it didn't matter how much he tried to fit... He wasn't made to.

He glanced at Shego reading her magazine, part of him clinging to hope despite the truth he knew he needed to simply accept. Wouldn't he be happier if he just accepted it? He looked down at his notes about the Hephaestus project. He glanced at Shego again. Despite the endless failures that were the hallmark of his life...she kept coming back. He closed his eyes tightly, angry with himself for the hope that wouldn't die.

He had tried for years to change himself to fit in, to adapt to everyone and everything around him. But it simply wasn't possible. It wasn't that he was making mistakes... Drew Lipsky was the mistake.

Dr. Drakken...was his last chance.