#Also feel hard to take serious these sort of anonymous proposals. I mean... get in touch with reality if we are total strangers

[lunasilvis]

You are so pretty, I wish you were my gf

You sure of that, my love language is preposterous crust memes and baby cows. I mean, one baby cow pic alright, cool. ...But 7 or 8 a day? Check yoself before you wreck yoself as a wise man once said, only the hardy can handle me

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home — Chapter One: Flightless Bird, American Mouth

a/n: I've been working on this story for mooonths now and I'm so excited to finally share it with the world! It's heavily inspired by Harry's Behind the Album mini doc, except I changed the setting to Hawai'i because I've personally spent some time there and as they say, write what you know! YBMH takes place in the period between One Direction's hiatus and Harry's first album/tour, but with that being said, this is entirely a work of fiction and some events don't follow the true timeline. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little story, I hope you love it as much as I do! It will be updated every Friday at 5 PM PST. My inbox is open, so feel free to talk to me once you've finished reading! I'd love to hear from you :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 5.5k

May, 2016

Harry watches LAX get smaller through the airplane window and visualizes all of his worries stuck at the terminal gate, their magnitude also diminishing as he takes flight. He sinks lower in his seat and skims through playlists on his phone when a nagging feeling at the back of his mind pulls his attention away from the screen. Looking up from the song choices, he spots a cell phone quickly lowered from his line of vision and a girl with flushed cheeks who quickly averts her gaze. Harry shoots a tight-lipped smile in her direction and goes back to his phone with a sigh. The days when he could roam the streets freely without fear of recognition—or worse, harassment—feel like an entirely different lifetime. He sometimes imagines that he’ll wake up back in his childhood bed as if the past five years had all been a dream, but he never does. In fact, his privacy and anonymity seem to dwindle with each minute of radio play that One Direction receives. It’s a bittersweet pill to swallow, but one he hopes will go down easier with some time in the Hawaiian sun.

His close friend and new manager, Jeff Azoff, had suggested the vacation as soon as the band privately agreed to take a hiatus.

“You’ll go home for a few weeks,” his voice had crackled through the speakers of Harry’s phone. “Visit your mom and Gem, lay low for a while until the smoke blows over,”

Harry mulled it over in his mind, eyes flickering over the rolling landscape outside of the tour bus window.

“Then what?”

“Then you go for a little vacation. The label offered to cover a house in Hawaii so you can start working on the album,”

“Alone?”

Jeff chuckled lightly on the other end before responding. “I mean, if that’s what you want,”

“No,” Harry corrected. “You and Tom should come. Mitch and Bhasker, too,”

“The dream team,”

“And there’ll be a studio there?”

“Yes,” Jeff started, almost hesitant. “But I don’t want you to think about that too much,”

“But you said the label—"

“I also said vacation. Look, Rob said ‘it will all happen in due time,' did he not?”

Harry twisted the rose ring around his finger, tracing over the silver petals and thinking back to his conversation with the CEO of Sony Music, Rob Stringer. Upon the proposal of his debut solo album, Rob had told him that the most important ingredient for a successful debut would be patience. The singer had agreed in the moment, but every day not spent in the studio felt like a test he hadn’t studied hard enough for.

“Yeah.”

“So you take the free vacation,” Jeff suggested. “You go out, live, get some writing material. Maybe mess around with some tunes. And then we come back to L.A. and get to work. But until then, I just want you to focus on taking it easy.”

So take it easy he had. Or at least he had tried to when he was back home in England. Harry quickly grew restless after what felt like the millionth awkward conversation with past friends and acquaintances, all of which eventually led to the topic of One Direction and it’s unexpected hiatus. After one month at home, his mind and journal were full of ideas for songs, things that he wanted to say before he lost his nerve. One night as he tossed and turned in bed, he shot Jeff a text, just two words that would kick off a three month getaway to the Big Island of Hawai'i:

I’m ready.

********

“Sounds great, I'll go put in your order.” Alani offers sweetly, trying not to overdo it with the customer service voice. After waiting on the family at her designated table, she heads back to the kitchen and finds her younger sister, Pua, crouched in the corner taking what appears to be a serious phone call.

“I don’t know, I just saw it!” Her sister cries in a hushed tone. “Where do you think he’s going?”

“Is everything okay?” Alani cuts in with concern.

Pua whispers into the speaker before bringing the phone to her shoulder.

“Harry Styles was just spotted on a plane this morning,”

“Who?”

“The guy from One Direction,” her sister explains with a hint of irritation in her voice. “The band who sings that song you secretly like, ‘Fireproof,'”

Alani vaguely recalls the melody, but she waits expectantly for Pua to elaborate. “And this is news because…”

“Because the band just broke up, so where could he possibly be going?”

"The unemployment office?”

Pua rolls her eyes and returns to her phone call while Alani envelops her in a tight hug.

“I’m just kidding!” Alani apologizes, squeezing tighter despite her sister’s attempts to break free. “I’m sure he’ll be living off of royalty checks until he’s, like, eighty,”

“Get off me, freak!” Pua cries out, finally breaking the embrace.

Alani clutches her chest and pulls out an invisible knife. “Ouch. I’m telling Harry you said that,”

“This is exactly why I don’t tell you things.” the younger sister huffs, storming out of the kitchen through the employee entrance where Alani’s best friend, Maleah, has just arrived.

“Looks like someone forgot to eat their Cheerios today,” she remarks, tying her curls into a high ponytail.

Alani shrugs and leans against the counter. “She’s going through something. Just discovered that boys in pop bands are, in fact, just regular boys.”

“Poor thing,” Maleah frowns. “We all have to learn eventually.”

********

The sky is a blend of cotton candy pink and burnt orange when Alani returns home from the café with a strawberry smoothie in tow. She empties the mailbox and sorts through the various bills and advertisements, but her stomach drops when she sees a familiar return address label. After a quick greeting to her excited dog who waits at the door, Alani bolts up the stairs and quietly shuts the bedroom door behind her. Breathe, she reminds herself before tearing into the envelope and discarding it onto the wooden floor.

Dear Ms. Hale,

We are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine. However, we regret to inform you—

She doesn’t read the rest, slumping to the floor in defeat. The sixth rejection letter from Rolling Stone lies crumpled at Alani’s feet and she kicks it across the room with a frustrated grunt. She had worked for over two months perfecting her analysis of Joni Mitchell’s Big Yellow Taxi and its allusions to the environmental impact of urban development in Hawaii. As part of her initial research, Alani had even traveled to both the Royal Hawaiian hotel in Honolulu, which is the famous Pink Hotel mentioned in the song, and Foster Botanical Garden that Mitchell referred to as “the tree museum.” She was certain that her effort and persistence would result in at least a consideration. The second third time's the charm! Maleah had joked watching Alani submit the piece. Six articles in the span of two years, each one facing the same rejection despite the increased effort Alani had put in over time. The fact that the rejection letter hadn’t changed over the course of the two years brings an incredulous smile to her face, and her stomach turns when she considers that the editors probably hadn’t even read her work, anyway. All that effort, she thinks to herself, all that time, for nothing.

“It will take time,” her favorite professor, Dr. Hudson, had reassured her three months after the Joni Mitchell article was submitted. “Every great writer faced countless rejection until that one piece. Yours will come. Keep your eyes open and your pen ready.”

Alani sighs and lifts herself off the floor, choosing to crawl into her unmade bed instead of slumping onto the hardwood. She hears a soft scratching at the door before her King Charles Spaniel, Freddie, pads into the room.

“Come here, bubs,” Alani whispers. He obeys and burrows into the duvet, giving her temple a gentle lick before nuzzling into the nape of her neck.

“You still love me, right?” she asks, voice cracking. “Even if I’m a failure?”

Freddie sniffs her ear in response.

********

“Right,” Harry says, his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he reads the map. “No, left, sorry,”

“Do you actually know how to read a map?” Jeff teases, correcting the turn.

Harry pouts in response, his brows furrowing. “In my defense, we’re literally in the middle of fucking nowhere,”

“There are worse places to be,” Mitch pipes up from the back seat. “England, for example, where they say things like ‘litchrally’,”

“Very well said, Mitchell,” Jeff Bhasker adds with a fake British accent of his own.

Harry turns to his friends in the back seat with a finger pointed like an agitated mother. “If you lot don’t shut up, I’m gonna lead us to a volcano and push you in,”

“Where are we even going? I forgot,” Tom complains.

“To get food,” his manager responds from the driver’s seat. “I think,”

“Why can’t we just stop there?” Mitch asks pointing to a café pulling up on their right.

Jeff merges into the turning lane quickly without a second thought. “Good enough for me, I’m starving.”

“Sorry, H.” Mitch pats his friend on the shoulder.

Harry scoffs. “You’re the one who wanted poke.”

The Aloha Nui Loa Café is much more spacious than the exterior suggests, yet it still feels cozy. The walls are painted sage green and adorned with various local art pieces, as described by the plaques that accompany them. A skylight fills the center of the room with plenty of warm lighting, leaving the space along the walls in a bit more shade for an intimate feel. In one corner, a hanging disco ball leaves freckles of sparkling light along the walls where the sunlight hits, making the whole image very idyllic in Harry’s mind. As if he couldn’t enjoy the setting more, he hears the beginning of an Otis Redding song that he’s had stuck in his head drift through the restaurant speakers.

“Welcome in!” a voice calls, which pulls him from his survey of the room. His head whips to the source—a girl around his age with wavy, dark hair and honey skin. “For here or to go?”

Harry takes a hesitant step up to the counter. “For here,”

She smiles warmly and pulls some menus from under the counter. “How many in your party?”

“Five.”

“Great, follow me.”

Harry and his friends follow the waitress to the corner of the room under the disco ball and take their seats at the round table.

“My name is Alani,” she introduces herself, setting the menus down. “I’ll be serving you today. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

Harry continues scanning the restaurant while his group orders. His eyes land on the shirt that Alani is wearing, a white tee with the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey” in blue lettering that surrounds a picture of a cartoon bee.

“Harry,” Jeff says gently, catching his drifting attention.

The singer turns to his manager, who nods to Alani waiting with a pen pressed to her notepad. Harry feels a rush of embarrassment creep across his cheeks and he clears his throat to cover it.

“Just water,” he says, eyes glued to the menu. “Thanks.”

“You got it.” Alani nods, flashing a toothy grin at the rest of the group before turning back to the kitchen. Harry. Her mind repeats, finding a hint of familiarity, though she doesn’t know why.

When Alani arrives at the drink station, she finds her sister staring at her, mouth agape, while Maleah unsuccessfully conceals her laughter.

“What?” she questions, checking herself for any embarrassing stains or smells.

“You were—and he—” Pua stammers. “He was—and then he—”

“That’s Harry Styles,” Maleah translates, her voice hushed as she peers over her friend's shoulder.

Alani turns to steal a glance at the table she just seated, but Pua and Maleah latch onto her and shake their heads frantically.

“Don’t look!” her sister hisses.

Alani smirks, amused at their reactions. “No shit. That’s One Direction?”

Maleah snorts, clasping a hand over her mouth as Pua huffs. “No, dumbass! It’s just Harry. I don’t know who the other guys are,”

“But the blonde guy? That’s not—?”

“No!” Pua and Maleah giggle in unison.

“Okay, geez,” Alani relents. She manages to steal a quick glance at the table over her shoulder, immediately searching for Harry. Her eyes scan over the long, curly hair kept out of his face by a pair of white sunglasses that she had seen on Kurt Cobain once. All of his features are sharp and striking, from his pointed nose and defined jawline to the bright blue eyes. Or maybe they were grey? Alani wonders, trying to remember the exact shade. He doesn’t look anything like the fresh-faced teeny bopper she’d had in mind, the one from a music video her sister had shown her a long time ago. She would have never guessed that the What Makes You Beautiful singer had so much dark ink trailing down his bicep and forearm, though her knowledge of One Direction was very limited.

“What did he order?” Pua questions, her eyes wide.

Alani quickly snaps back to reality and resumes filling the drinks. “A water,”

“Oh my god,” Maleah swoons. “I’m never drinking anything else ever again,”

“I didn’t even know you liked him,” Alani teases with an eyebrow raised.

Maleah sneaks another peek at the table and catches her lower lip between her teeth. “I mean, I didn’t really think so either but look at him. What a fucking dream,”

Harry was objectively handsome, this Alani could admit, but she personally didn’t see the appeal and had a strong feeling that he was just like every other male celebrity. The fact that he hadn’t even bothered to make eye contact with her only served as further proof of what she knew to be true.

“Okay, well, your dreamboat is waiting for his water. So excuse me,” Alani winks, making her way back to the table.

The singer spots Alani returning out of the corner of his eye and the sight of her causes a strange flutter in the pit of his stomach that makes him want to duck for cover. Instead, he pulls his phone from his back pocket and pretends to be occupied with something on the screen.

“Okay,” she greets, setting the drink tray down. “I have a Blue Hawaii, a Mango Mama, two Loco Cocos, and a water,”

The group graciously accepts their drinks with a chorus of “thank you," but the only one under Alani’s scrutiny is Harry. He still doesn’t meet her almond eyes, and though she figured he wouldn’t, she can’t help the inkling of disappointment that washes over her. After taking their meal orders, Alani heads back to the kitchen, checking on her other customers along the way. Harry’s eyes follow her and he observes the way customers light up at her presence, indulging her conversation with laughter. He watches as she lingers by the jukebox in one corner of the room, a detail he had missed in his initial scan, and waits anxiously to see what song she chooses. Baby I’m-a Want You begins softly and Harry feels the corner of his lip curl ever so slightly. Good choice, he thinks.

********

“He’s still here,” Pua muses, peering through the tiny window in the kitchen door. It had been nearly two hours and the five men were still seated around their table cracking jokes and doing a lot of talking with their hands.

Alani doesn’t look up from her bowl of sliced kiwis, offering a hum in response. “And what do you want me to do about that?”

“Nothing,” Pua shoots back. “Don’t bother him,”

“What kind of girls do you think he’s into?” Maleah asks, attempting to peek through the window.

Alani shrugs, bored of the conversation and of thinking about Harry. “I don’t know, but I’ll bet he’s a real sucker for the ones who stalk him while he’s eating,”

“How does he make eating a salad look hot?”

“Can we talk about something else now?” Alani whines, poking holes in a lone kiwi with her fork.

Pua tosses a wet dish rag in her sister’s direction and cheers when it lands in her face. “Go see if he wants more water, he looks thirsty.”

“I already refilled it,” Alani defends. “Twenty minutes ago. I’ve refilled it a hundred times, I’m surprised he hasn’t peed his pants.”

I’m gonna piss myself. Harry thinks, his right leg bouncing to distract himself. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. Like clockwork, she would return to fill his glass almost as soon as the last drop had been drained, and so what began as a little experiment slowly turned into a bladder hazard. But if the trend was to be trusted, she would be back any minute and he wasn’t going to miss it; afterall, there were only so many ways to casually linger in a small café without making it weird. Unable to bear it any longer, he heads to the restroom and hopes that Alani doesn’t clear their table before he has a chance to see her again.

Harry pads down the back hallway with his eyes cast down at the floor, which proves to be a mistake when he walks directly into another person.

“Sorry!” they both apologize quickly, Harry’s palm taking purchase on the other person’s upper arm.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” he offers, finally meeting the dark, mocha eyes already looking back at him.

Alani presses her lips into a tight smile. “Me either,”

Harry’s heartbeat picks up when he realizes it’s her, and he isn’t aware of how close they’re standing until he detects the faint scent of kiwi on her breath. He takes a step back and rakes a hand through his hair.

“So I guess I’ll just—”

“Yeah, sure.”

Green. Alani notes to herself. His eyes are green.

********

Shortly after Harry returned from the restroom, him and his friends settled their bill and headed out. Alani cleared their table and her eyes nearly fell out of her head when she saw the hefty tip left behind. The word mahalo was also left behind on the receipt, underlined twice, and she wondered if it was his handwriting.

Later that night, she settled into bed with her laptop and hesitantly typed his name into Google. As she expected, countless articles about the split of One Direction emerged, most of them speculating what was next for each member. To her surprise, however, Harry’s name seemed to be mentioned more than his fellow bandmates as various sources labeled him “the next Justin Timberlake” and rising star of the group. Upon further investigation, she learned that the demand for information about the elusive Harry Styles was high, especially concerning any possible solo music. No news had yet been confirmed by Styles himself, nor anyone claiming to represent him, but she still wondered if his presence in Hawaii had anything to do with a possible solo project. Almost as soon as she thought it, Alani dismissed the theory in favor of the idea that he was most likely just taking a vacation. And from the buzz that she saw surrounding the news about One Direction, she couldn’t blame him.

The more Alani read, the more she wanted to know, and something deep down told her that his was a story worth telling. Of course, the only problem was that she had hardly talked to him, and there were only so many things she could say about the fifteen glasses of water he downed. There was no way of knowing if she would ever see him again, either, or if he was merely stopping in Hilo on his way to another island or somewhere else entirely. Alani sighed, thinking back to her most recent rejection from Rolling Stone. She knew that there was no possible way she would ever see or talk to Harry ever again, and even if she did, why would he bare his entire soul to a stranger? Still, she let her mind wander through the possibility.

Dear Ms. Hale, the letter would read, we are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine and are pleased to inform you that your piece on Harry Styles will be featured in next month’s issue. Additionally, we would be honored to have you on staff, effective immediately.

It was far-fetched, Alani knew this, but she dozed off that night with endless ideas swimming in her head.

********

By the third day after his visit, the only trace of Harry is in Alani’s search history. She would have completely forgotten about him if it weren’t for her sister’s constant reminiscing and multiple attempts to rename the house salad to the “Harry Special.” As a result, a part of Alani’s thoughts periodically linger back to that day and the subsequent hours spent on Google that she’d rationalized as research instead of stalking. Somehow the knowledge that she’ll never see him again only adds fuel to the questions still burning in her mind, but a customer clearing their throat while she sorts menus below the hostess podium interrupts her thoughts.

“Welcome in!” She calls, standing. “What can I—”

She stops in her tracks, unable to believe her eyes. Harry blinks and waits for her to continue.

“What can I get started for you?” Alani tries again, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her shock. Luckily for her, Harry had been too focused on choosing his next words to register her mistake.

“What’s in the Honu smoothie?” he asks, mentally kicking himself for asking such a stupid question when the menu just inches above her head clearly spells it out.

Alani hums, thinking back to the times she had made the smoothie herself. “Kiwis, spinach, mango, avocado, and a hint of lime,”

“I’ll take one of those,” Harry says, reaching for his wallet.

Alani punches in the order with trembling fingers and nods. “For here or to go?”

“To go,”

Disappointment fills her chest. Sure, she hadn’t planned on seeing him ever again, but the fact that she did felt like a sign. If she wanted to take the chance, she’d have to do it fast.

“Anything else?” she asks, weighing her options while he skims the menu.

“No thanks.”

Alani makes the smoothie quickly, head spinning. She had spent most of the night after their initial meeting planning out exactly the type of questions she hoped to ask him and what kind of article she would write. She was used to writing about what she knew—artists and music she’d admired for years— but she figured that starting fresh with someone she hardly knew would be a good challenge. Not to mention that it seemed like just the thing Rolling Stone would jump for. Alani finally works up the courage as she finishes his smoothie, but when she returns to hand it to him and hopefully strike up a conversation, his ear is pressed to his cell phone. She holds out the drink and he graciously accepts, giving her a small nod as a “thank you” and rushing out of the restaurant.

Two days later he returns and is seated at the counter, typing away on his phone. Alani feels both a rush of optimism and annoyance at the universe for dangling his presence so unexpectedly. She starts heading over to him, but Maleah cuts in.

“Trade me?” she proposes, eyes wide.

Alani blinks. “Oh, I would but I—”

“Please,” her best friend pouts. “I’m leaving to see my grandparents in stupid California for two months. Who knows when I’ll get the chance to see him again?”

Alani sighs, but gives in, reluctantly exchanging Harry for the family of four seated by the window. A strange feeling settles into the pit of his stomach when he sees that she heads in the opposite direction after a hushed conversation with another waitress. He doesn’t know why she traded him for a different customer, but he takes the hint.

A week goes by without another sighting of Harry and Alani has permanently taken on the role of greeting hostess in hopes of seeing him again. Her heartbeat temporarily speeds up when she sees a long haired customer approach the door, but her spirits quickly fall when the face doesn’t match his.

Another week brings another disappointing realization that Harry might be gone for good. One rainy morning when the restaurant is quiet and only two customers huddle together in a booth near the back, Alani hunches over the hostess podium and doodles on a stray receipt— a sunflower, a crescent moon, and two hearts. The bell above the door jingles but she doesn’t look up, too absorbed in her scribbles.

“Do you serve coffee?”

The familiar accented voice stops Alani’s pen dead in its tracks. She lifts her eyes first to confirm, and then straightens up when she sees that her ears haven’t deceived her.

“Yes,” she swallows.

“Great. I’ll take it to go,”

She slightly deflates, but Harry thinks he’s reading too much into it.

“Actually,” he corrects anyway, just in case he isn’t. “I think I’ll stay for a while,”

Alani flashes a warm smile and nods in the direction of the counter. “Right this way,”

Harry sheds his windbreaker onto the back of the seat, revealing a black and white Rolling Stones t-shirt that makes Alani’s blood pressure rise. A sign, she thinks.

“What do you want in your coffee?” she questions carefully.

“Nothing,” he responds, shaking out his damp hair gently. “Or actually, uh, butter...if you have some,”

Alani blinks, not sure if she’d heard correctly or if there had been some transatlantic miscommunication.

“Butter?”

“Yeah,”

“Like the—”

“Spread, yeah,” Harry confirms. “It’s weird, I know,”

She lets out a light-hearted laugh and nods. “It’s a...unique request,”

“I thought the same thing at first,” Harry confides. “It’s not bad, actually. But maybe I’ve just been in L.A. for too long.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She offers a polite smile and heads to the kitchen where the cook and two other waiters talk amongst each other. Alani is grateful that the restaurant is slow this morning because she knows that it means minimal interruptions to her time with Harry. To ensure this, though, she asks one of the other waiters to cover the podium and returns to Harry with his coffee.

“One butter coffee, free of judgement,” the waitress announces, setting it down.

Harry grins softly, stirring the drink with the spoon Alani provided. “You can judge, it’s alright,”

“I just wanna know why,”

The coffee had been part of a fad diet while on tour in order to boost Harry’s energy on stage and stay trim for the hundreds of photo-ops he would be a part of. He doesn’t know how to communicate all of this to Alani, however, not sure how much she knows about that part of him, so he shrugs and tells a simplified version of the truth.

“I read about this trend a while back, it's called bulletproof coffee. Supposed to get your energy up and I needed it for my job,”

“Which is…” Alani trails off, downplaying the knowledge that she had acquired from Google.

“I make music,” is all Harry says and he takes a sip of the drink to avoid elaborating.

“Anything I would have heard?”

He swallows hard and listens to the faint rumbling of thunder outside before replying. “Possibly,”

“Try me,” Alani challenges.

He narrows his eyes and takes another sip of coffee. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself first?”

“What do you wanna know?”

Everything, Harry responds internally, though he reigns it in. “How you got into waitressing,”

Alani sighs, resting her elbows on the counter across from him. “There’s not much to tell, it’s a family business. What I really wanna do is write,”

“Music?”

“Articles. I’m studying Journalism at UH,”

Harry hums in response, filing the detail away in the back of his mind. “Sounds interesting. You ever publish anything?”

“Not yet,” Alani shakes her head gently, toying with the sleeves of her green University of Hawaii crewneck. “Hopefully soon, though,”

Harry racks his brain for something else to say, but before he can, Alani speaks up again.

“Is it my turn to ask something now?”

He offers a curt nod and stirs his coffee.

“What kind of music do you write?”

Harry chooses to be vague again. “Different stuff. Pop, usually. Been messing with some classic rock, though,”

“Explains the shirt,”

He peers down at the design on his tee and agrees. “Yeah, I guess so,”

“Do you like it?” Alani asks, her eyes begging to make contact with his again. “Writing music, I mean,”

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, tapping his spoon against the rim of the mug. “I really do,”

Alani’s heart pounds. This is her chance, a moment to finally secure her breakthrough piece. She doesn’t know how to approach it, so she opts to dive right in without looking back. The worst he can say is no.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“That’s cheating,” Harry teases lightly. “It's my turn,”

She pouts playfully, but obliges. “Fire away,”

Harry doesn’t know which question to ask first, but when he glances down at the crescent moon inked on her wrist, he decides to start there.

“What’s with the moon tattoo?”

Alani isn’t sure what she expected him to ask and wonders what purpose such a detail could possibly serve him, but she answers anyway.

“Oh, well,” she begins, tracing her index finger over the outline. “It’s kinda the meaning of my full name. It’s Mahealani, Hawaiian for ‘heavenly moon,'”

Fitting, Harry comments to himself. Every detail he learns about her makes him want to learn that much more, from her favorite foods to the last thing she thinks about before falling asleep. Studying her expectant eyes, he suddenly remembers that it’s his turn to respond.

“That’s cool,” is all he says.

Alani doesn’t know what to make of the faraway look in his eye, but she decides to pose her most burning question while he appears to be in good spirits.

“I know this is gonna sound totally out of the blue,” she starts, working past the lump in her throat. “But when you mentioned how you write music, I was just reminded of this assignment I’m working on in my class,”

Harry waits for her to continue, nursing his now lukewarm coffee.

“I’m supposed to write a piece about someone who I don’t know that well,” she continues. “You know, to practice our interviewing skills. And, well, I was just kind of wondering if you might be interested in helping me out—being the subject, I mean,”

Alani had every intention of telling Harry the truth, about how she really planned to submit the article to Rolling Stone in hopes of securing an internship before her college graduation next Spring. But as she started speaking, she quickly realized how it would come off: a complete stranger asking for personal information to submit to a well-known publication. She knew that there was a chance he would shut down and never return, so she lowered the stakes and hoped that this route would be less risky. Was it ethical? Alani hadn’t decided yet, but she would work out the details later. After six failed articles and two years of rejection, she saw a ray of hope and wasn’t going to let it slip away.

Harry ponders her offer for a moment, which confirms that she had recognized him. Normally he would be off-put by such a request, and to a certain extent he is, but there is something sincere in her voice that he trusts deep down. Before he agrees, however, he decides to fish around a bit to test her reaction.

“You know who I am,” he says gently. “Don’t you?”

Alani’s heart drops into the pit of her stomach, not sure what to say next. She hopes with every fiber of her being that she hasn’t upset him, or worse, ruined her chances, so she decides to offer some truth to throw him off her scent.

“My sister recognized you,” she explains. “That day you came in with your friends. I thought they were your bandmates at first,”

This lets Harry know that she isn’t a total stalker, which is comforting, but he wouldn’t have been minded if she were a fan simply engaging in conversation.

“Oh,” he laughs weakly.

“I totally understand if you say no,” Alani offers quickly, trying to smooth things over. “I just thought it was worth a shot. And that it might be more interesting than interviewing our produce guy,”

Harry decides to give her one last scan for any sign of insincerity. He’d always felt that his gut instinct was strong and it hadn’t led him astray thus far.

“An interview?” he clarifies.

“Just one,” Alani promises. “An hour, tops. And you can proofread all of it once I’ve finished, too.”

Harry waits a beat, already knowing his reply, but he wants to see how she will react to his silence. She doesn’t budge, almond eyes set and determined.

“Okay.”

next chapter

[adapted-batteries]

Not All Who Wonder are Lost, but Maybe Flynn is

Fandom: The Librarians

Rating: General/sfw

Relationship: Flyzekiel, mentioned Evlynn

Word Count: 6223

Ezekiel overhears Jenkins and Eve talking about Flynn, and decides to keep tabs on him. When Flynn doesn’t move from some small town in northern New York, Ezekiel decides to go see what’s up.

Set right at the end of “And the Graves of Time.”

Also posted on my Ao3.

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Ezekiel heard Eve yelling for Flynn in the main room from the kitchen...where he may or may not have been baking. He waited for Flynn to answer her, or to hear the ever present footfalls of him running at his name being called, but there was silence. Well that’s weird, Ezekiel thought. Some flicker of anxiety sparked in the back of his neck, but he ignored it, mostly.

He still found himself making his way to the main room, curious of why it went quiet. That was what he heard Jenkins talking in his low, serious voice. Ezekiel stopped before he rounded the corner, close enough he could hear, but hidden enough they wouldn’t know he was listening.

“...took all of his things, left this. I have a feeling that he’s gone to look for something he couldn’t find here,” Jenkins said.

There was a pause, and he heard Eve sigh like she was unsettled. “What does this mean?”

Jenkins was quicker to respond. “I believe it means Mr. Carsen has resigned from the Library...and that he will not be coming back.”

Ezekiel sucked in a breath, forgetting to be quiet as the flicker of anxiety flared in his chest. He got himself back to the kitchen were he could hide his noisy breaths. Flynn was gone. Eve was no doubt upset, Jenkins seemed somber, and Ezekiel was freaking out. His knuckles were white as he gripped the counter edge to keep himself standing, eyes focused on the lemon muffin batter sitting in the bowl in front of him, waiting for poppy seeds to be added.

Why would he run? No, he knew why. He was witness to the building breakdown since they first saw Nicole in the creepy secret dungeon. Ezekiel barely knew her, only what he read about her to know about Flynn (he knew a fair amount about everyone, if there were records he could access anyway). It still freaked him out to know she’d been locked up for a hundred years, he could only imagine how much it screwed up Flynn. And then everyone was taking sides and yelling, no one considering any facts other than what they wanted to believe. If it wasn’t such a dire situation, he would have made a joke about him being the logical one for once.

Then there was that letter Darrington left Flynn (of course he read it; he who leaves stuff laying around gets their things read by Ezekiel Jones). He adamantly disagreed with Dare’s opinion, and when he got to the end of the letter, he felt a pang in his chest. Ezekiel was glad he had no heroes (besides Baird, but he wasn’t ever gonna tell her that), because that meant there wasn’t anyone who earned his respect and then could use that to guilt him into doing what Dare attempted to do to Flynn. Maybe Dare succeeded...though in a way he didn’t realize.

Ezekiel forced himself to finish baking, promising himself he could consult his many resources to see where Flynn went. He kept telling himself it was just going to be like before. Flynn would be back, eventually. He just needed to do what Jenkins said, find whatever he was looking for. The Librarian certainly deserved a break from all the emotional turmoil he just went through.

For his own assurance, Ezekiel kept an eye on him while he ran. It wasn’t hard considering Flynn kept his phone on and didn’t disable the GPS. Either he was too messed up to remember to do it, or he wanted to be found. Ezekiel leaned towards the latter, but unfortunately for Flynn, he was the only one looking.

Like the paranoid person he was, Ezekiel was also occasionally checking Baird’s laptop...he set up a remote connection after her England stunt with Noone (he knew he could trust Baird, but it reminded him too much of her cohorting with D.O.S.A. when they were dealing with Apep). She wasn’t using any D.O.S.A. connections to find Flynn anyway, and nothing in her history suggested she was even thinking about going to look.

He was sure Baird had her reasons for giving him space, but he didn’t think she realized what it was like to not have anything else to go to. Stone and Cassandra had some magical normal lives they wanted to fall back on, both of which they realized they couldn’t quite settle for compared to the Library anyway, but he didn’t have that. The Library gave him propose, a job, something...and someones...to settle him. Flynn was the same, an aimless academic until the Library found him. The Library enabled Flynn to reach past what the academic world could give him, and it did the same for Ezekiel, even if anonymous philanthropist thief was a pretty noble profession, he thought.

So he watched as Flynn flitted from location to location, all over Europe, South America, Asia, only staying a few days at a time before moving to the next. That is, until the tracker stopped on a little town in northern New York, and didn’t move for a week. Ezekiel thought maybe Flynn finally ditched his phone, or lost it, but after the second week, he decided to check his other resources. He didn’t even have to dig. Flynn’s name popped up from the local library’s website as a librarian, and again from the local university website as a guest lecturer.

“No way,” Ezekiel said aloud, which was fine because he was at home. After some still not very hard digging through locals’ social medias, Flynn was...settling? Making a life for himself in this town, at least that’s how it looked. It would’ve stung less if Cassandra hadn’t just attempted to do that in Havenport.

He glanced to his phone, wondering if he should tell the others, or at least Eve, but decided against it. Flynn wasn’t ready to face her at least, probably not the others either. But he sure as hell wasn’t expecting Ezekiel to confront him. Before he even thought about how he was going to make up an excuse to leave, he was up out of his bed.

The sun was just peeking over the mountains east of Portland when Ezekiel stepped foot out of his apartment. No one would be at the Annex, not even Jenkins probably, with his now unfortunate need for sleep. He spent his commute thinking up what he was going to leave as a note; he was not about to just up and disappear like Flynn. He settled on concise and hopefully not concerning, not that he could really predict how they would react anymore when it came to things like this. If anything, they’d probably think he was having his turn at the whole “what if I wasn’t a Librarian anymore” thing that Stone and Cassandra needed to do. Not that he actually needed that. The Library would have to physically kick him out if it didn’t want him there.

As predicted, the Library was wonderfully empty, of people anyway. He found Jenkins’s notepad on his desk and scribbled out his message. “Had to run an errand, will be back soon,” it said, then he signed his name at the bottom. To make sure they got he was coming back, he decided to underline the “will be back soon” bit twice. If they had doubts after that, it was on them.

It took him a minute to connect the back door, and no time at all to travel across the country. It was seven something in the morning in Portland, but a busy 10 in the morning in New England, or as busy as small towns get anyway. He figured his best bet was to find Flynn at the library, or find someone who could point him in the right direction. He stumbled out the rear door of some building, depositing him in a sort of back alley right next to the library.

The short fifty foot walk to the entrance gave him little time to think. Ezekiel made his way inside, completely without a plan of what he was going to say when he saw Flynn. At least Flynn was just as thoroughly unprepared. The Librarian was looking down at something on the desk, writing on a notepad next to it.

“Good morning! What can I-” Flynn cut off when he looked up to see who walked in. “Ezekiel?”

Ezekiel was prepared to be snappy, rile up Flynn for the sake of all the pain he caused them, but that all drained out when he saw how content Flynn looked. “You’re...really doing this?”

Flynn’s cheerful demeanor started to dim rapidly. “For now, yes. Why are you here?” He started stacking books onto a cart when Ezekiel didn’t respond, ready to shelve them. “Did Colonel Baird send you?” He started pushing the cart out into the main area, heading down a line of bookcases. Ezekiel followed him. “Well you can tell her I’m not ready to come back. I don’t know when, I just need time.”

Finally Ezekiel’s voice returned to him. “I came on my own...Colonel Baird, none of them know I’ve gone.”

That got Flynn to stop in his tracks, but he didn’t look at Ezekiel. “So I ask again, why are you here?”

Ezekiel leaned against the edge of the bookcase next to Flynn, letting his head fall back against the metal. “I don’t even know. I just...everyone else figured out their existential crisis about being a Librarian, so it was time you wrapped up yours.”

That got Flynn to look at him. “That’s what you do when I’m gone?”

“That’s what we do when Darrington Dare says some stupid shit and then you go ahead and effectively resign,” Ezekiel retorted. Now that anger was back. “I don’t care if he was your idol. He was wrong. We’ve all realized that. When will you?”

“If you’re just going to bark at me, you can leave. I won’t have you disturbing the patrons,” Flynn said, scanning the cart before selecting a book and shelving it.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” Ezekiel responded, straining to keep the anger and desperation out of his voice.

Flynn scooted the cart down a little ways and shelved another book, then looked down at the cart again. Eventually he sighed and looked up at Ezekiel. “I get off at six. We can talk then. For now, I have a job to do.”

Relief washed through Ezekiel, enough to make him feel confident enough to make a joke. He leaned against the shelf with one arm, facing Flynn in a somewhat suggestive manner. “Don’t go skipping town before our date now,” he smirked. He didn’t expect Flynn to get so flustered, but was pleasantly surprised.

“I uh, I won’t, um, promise, I mean I won’t leave, I promise,” Flynn stammered, awkwardly shelving a book that Ezekiel noticed didn’t belong in this section.

Ezekiel grabbed the wrongly shelved book, getting a bit in Flynn’s space due to the placement of the cart in front of the shelf, and put it back on the cart, handing Flynn the book he meant to grab. “I better give you some space, no sense on you disappointing your boss with books in the wrong places.”

“I am completely capable of shelving books, Jones,” Flynn replied, shelving the right book.

“Uh-huh.” Ezekiel smiled at him, even if Flynn was clearly not looking at him, then left him to shelving the books.

Ezekiel had two choices: go back to the Annex, then somehow slip out at 3pm, or just stay in Canton. He wasn't too keen to be confronted, so he occupied himself the best he could in the little college town.

He found his way to the campus since it was less than a quarter mile away from the library. Classes had just let out; the walkways and paths were busy with students. He thought about pick-pocketing (and returning) for practice, but it couldn’t bring himself to do much more than wander around and think about how he was going to bring Flynn back. There was no failing. He had to bring Flynn back. That would, he hoped, fix everything.

Several long hours later, the bell on campus rung for 6pm. He wasn’t on campus anymore; he’d spent the past hour loitering in the park across from the library, unable to really appreciate the nice sunset in the sky. A few minutes after the hour, Flynn stepped out the main entrance, almost right into Ezekiel who’d been eagerly waiting next to the door since he heard the bell.

“Oh, hi. So uh, there’s a pub a little down the road. Good food, good beer,” Flynn said, pulling his coat around himself even though it wasn’t that cold.

“Lead the way,” Ezekiel replied, motioning with his hand for Flynn to start walking.

The pub was quaint. Homey, old, not exactly Ezekiel’s cup of tea, but if it made Flynn comfortable, he was all for it. The beer was alright, some pretty strong local stuff, and the food better than the sandwich he ate for lunch at least.

Ezekiel decided they could make some small talk while they ate, before he jumped in to the heavy stuff. “So why’d you stop here, this town?”

“My grandmother lived here when I was a kid. She was a secretary in the English department. It was the first college campus I visited, and I ended up coming here for one of my Ph.D.’s,” Flynn explained.

“It’s...quaint,” Ezekiel said, not really sure how to respond.

“It’s no big city, but it brings back fond memories,” Flynn said.

They couldn’t beat around the bush forever; Ezekiel decided it was time to get to it. “So,” Ezekiel started, leaning forward on the table, “why precisely did you run?” Flynn sunk back into the booth like he could be absorbed into it. “And I want the truth. Don’t make up some story.”

Flynn narrowed his eyes at Ezekiel. “You...want me to tell the truth? Since when have you ever done that?”

“I don’t lie,” Ezekiel retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You do,” Flynn snapped. Ezekiel flinched at the sudden anger. Flynn took a breath, but wasn’t done. “I’m talking about the lying by omission you’ve been doing.”

Ezekiel glanced out the window. “I came here to get you sorted.”

“I’m not baring my soul for free,” Flynn replied, downing the rest of his current beer. Ezekiel still wasn’t looking at him, but Flynn must have waved down someone to bring them more because a server came by with two fresh glasses a few moments later.

“Fine. If you tell me why you ran this time, I'll...what do you want to know?” Ezekiel asked.

Flynn looked into the pub, thinking, then looked back to Ezekiel. “Tell me why you never told us you remembered the video game loop.”

Of course. Ezekiel let his head fall back against the booth. “Fine.” After a moment, his gaze returned to Flynn, waiting on him to start talking.

Flynn sipped his drink, and then took a larger gulp seconds later. “I figured it would be fairly obvious why I left,” he said, running his fingers up and down the condensation on the glass.

“You really think there should only be one Librarian?” Ezekiel asked, hoping he wasn't sold out on Dare’s demand.

Flynn looked at him like he was slow. “What? No. I'll admit it gave a good excuse to take a break, but no. The Library gave all of you letters, even after it made the mistake with the brothers centuries ago. I think the Library is smarter than repeating its mistakes.”

Ezekiel raised his eyebrows. “Okay...so what was it then?”

After a few moments of opening and closing his mouth, Flynn spoke. “I spent thirteen years thinking I killed my first guardian accidentally. And then I learn she’s was immortal, was doing some artifact gathering of some sort, did something that was bad enough to get locked up by the Librarian at the time, and for Jenkins to think it was the right thing to do.” Flynn paused, letting his head fall back like Ezekiel’s earlier, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips as he stared at the ceiling. “And then she left again, doing who knows what, and suddenly she was back, and I…” Flynn paused again, this time like he was about to break down, “I saw her die again, or well, get stabbed by something that could kill immortals anyway. I’m sure you understand I wasn’t exactly having the best month or so.”

“You...killed her?” Ezekiel asked, quite confused look on his face. “I know there was the malfunction with the time machine, but how did you...oh.”

Flynn nodded. “She wasn't meant to be near it, nor was it meant to explode. I was...inexperienced. In theory it was a good idea.”

Ezekiel let out a low whistle. “Yeah, okay. I can see why you needed a break. But why settle down?”

“Because I hadn't done that yet. It seemed like the right thing to do,” Flynn said with a shrug. “I wasn't settled before the Library, and, well, you know being with the Library, the only settling is tethering. I just...I didn't know if I wanted to do that anymore. Why not retire? Darrington did, why couldn't I?”

“Do you want to retire?” Ezekiel waited a moment before continuing. “You know doing this means you'd be straining Colonel Baird. She's committed, well that I know of anyway.”

Flynn looked at Ezekiel like he either knew that and refused to keep thinking about it, or had been pleasantly ignoring it to begin with. “I know. And that's part of why I took an indefinite leave of absence.”

Ezekiel raised an eyebrow. “You don't want to be with Colonel Baird?”

Flynn startled a bit. “What? No...what concerned me was that she was committed, even after all that happened, like she hadn’t wondered what life could be like outside the Library.”

“So her wanting to make the Library a good place concerns you?”

“I don't know how much control we have of the Library!” Flynn spat, more aggressive than the conversation warranted. He caught himself, taking a deep breath before explaining. “What if...just because we become immortal doesn't mean we make it through fine. The Library...ergo Judson and Charlene, thought it fine to leave the pages ripped out from the book of Librarians and keep a Guardian locked up. What if that happens to us? We lose our humanity?”

“So they did some sketchy things. What makes you think you'll do that, knowing about it?” Ezekiel retorted.

“There's always a risk…” Flynn tapered off.

“Look. If there's anything I've learned since I first met you, it's that you always try to do the right thing,” Ezekiel started. Then, in a sudden need to really hammer the point home, he leaned over the table and tapped Flynn’s sternum with his hand, saying, “and that's in here. It's not going to go away. It's you.” Something about having Flynn look up at him with a face that was equal parts hopeful and flattered made Ezekiel’s chest flutter. Maybe it was the beer messing with his head (that’s what he told himself anyway), but Ezekiel sat back down before he let himself do anything stupid.

Like the awkward person he was, Flynn fiddled with a leftover fry on his plate, avoiding looking at Ezekiel. “Enough about me. You need to hold up your end of the bargain now,” Flynn said.

Ezekiel chuckled at Flynn being a dork. “Alright, though I wasn’t done with you,” Ezekiel replied, earning a curious look from Flynn. “I actually didn’t remember for a while. If Prospero hadn’t spelled us to Sicily, I don’t think I would’ve ever remembered actually.”

Flynn looked like he was starting to try to figure out how that worked. “I suppose breaking that magic would’ve removed the magical memories, which could have very well removed any other blocks left over from the magic-induced loops…”

“Who knows how it actually happened, the important bit is that it did,” Ezekiel interjected, getting Flynn back on track. “Sometime soon after that I started having the nightmares. Not a lot, but when they happened it was like I was back there. I guess being in similar combat situations triggers it, but that’s it really.”

“So the super-collider facility…” Flynn started, but didn’t seem to know what he wanted to say next.

Ezekiel sighed. “Yeah...that wasn’t great.”

“That was when I started forming my suspicions,” Flynn admitted. “You were...suddenly very self-sacrificing, like we mattered more than you, and you were...okay with dying if that’s what it took.” He paused for a moment, making streaks in the condensation again on a new glass. “I talked about it with Eve, she said that was how you acted when you completed the level. Reminded her of soldiers in combat.”

Having Flynn recount his view made Ezekiel feel exposed, and he didn’t really like that feeling. “I did what I thought needed to be done, what’s wrong with that?”

Flynn gave him a sad look. “You didn’t have to be so suicidal about it. My theory...I didn’t know for sure you’d make it through, but you went anyway. The Ezekiel I knew before would've at least hesitated.”

Ezekiel folded his arms. “So when were you going to tell me about this? If you were so concerned…”

Flynn shifted around in his seat a bit. “I was...when I decided it was a good time. Besides the super-collider facility, I only heard how you were acting from the others. Tracking the magical storm Stone and Cassandra were caught in, but not being upfront about it, and the vampire hunter overkill, well I wasn’t there to witness those. I didn’t feel like I had enough data to make a case.”

“Okay, I’m more protective. Isn’t that a good thing?” Ezekiel asked.

“You’re more aggressive, impulsive. That’s what I’ve seen. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it causes issues. We’re...I’m concerned,” Flynn answered, going back to avoiding Ezekiel’s gaze.

“Says the one who decided he didn’t need to do his job anymore and left,” Ezekiel spat, making Flynn flinch. He didn’t want to be so mean, but he couldn’t help it.

“I did what I thought I needed to do to help me be at my best. I wasn’t going to be much help to you all or the Library if I had no clue what was going on in my head,” Flynn said, a lot calmer than Ezekiel felt. Flynn was clearly trying not to argue with him, but Ezekiel’s brain was trying its best to ignore that. “Maybe I didn’t go about it in the best way. I made a mistake. But I did try.”

Ezekiel folded his arms even tighter to keep himself constrained. “So am I supposed to try to will my nightmares away? Is that how it works?”

Flynn sighed and shook his head like a teacher trying to get through to a troubling student. “No. I’m saying that I messed up by not talking to anyone about what I was thinking, in regards to my stance on the Library.” He waited for Ezekiel to respond, but the ex-thief sat silently, so he continued, “in your case, not telling anyone was your mistake. With something like PTSD, you can’t get better alone.”

“What, are you going to be my shrink now?” Ezekiel scoffed. He visibly winced as soon as he said it. “Sorry, I’m just...not good with talking in complete truth. I, uh, I need something stronger than this,” he said with a vague gesture to his half empty glass. Without another word, Ezekiel slipped out of the booth and made his way to the bar.

After a rum-based shooter, Ezekiel got some alright whiskey, a better quality than he would’ve got if he was trying to get drunk, and returned to the booth with two glasses in hand. Flynn raised an eyebrow but took the glass, taking a sip.  

“Why did you feel the need to hide?” Flynn asked after he sat his glass down on the table.

Ezekiel shrugged and took a drink, grounding himself with the burn down his throat. “Why didn’t you talk to anyone?” he countered.

Flynn looked mildly disappointed with him, but persevered by being a good example. “I tried to not think about it in the first place, focus on the task at hand. I let it all build up, and then the only option to me seemed to be to run. In hindsight, I know it wasn’t, but I can’t change what I did.”

Once he downed the rest of his whiskey, Ezekiel finally responded. “I just...I didn’t want to be seen as messed up. I didn’t want to give anyone a reason to want me gone, especially if everyone thought I wasn’t fit to be a Librarian.”

That sad look made its way back onto Flynn’s face. “We wouldn’t kick you out for being affected by a mission. We would want you to be back at your best.”

Ezekiel opened his mouth and closed it, not unlike Flynn did earlier when they first started talking about everything. “Well I know that now. But I didn’t then, and the longer I didn’t talk about it, the easier it was to just never bring it up,” Ezekiel said. He ran his finger around the rim of his empty glass, internally debating how to get Flynn back to considering returning to the Library. After a few moments, the alcohol in his system told him to be blunt. “So what are you going to do?”

It took Flynn a moment to realize Ezekiel switched subjects on him. “I...well, I’m not going to make a decision right now. I don’t want to be hasty like I was before.”

Though he wanted to argue with him on it, Ezekiel let it drop. “Fair enough.”

Flynn glanced out the window, which revealed night had completely arrived. “I need to get heading out, I do have work tomorrow,” Flynn said, but didn’t make any move to actually leave. “I will think about it, tomorrow, when I’ve got a clearer head.” He waited to see if Ezekiel had anything to say, but Ezekiel was busy trying to figure out if he actually wanted to go back, and if there was more he could do to convince Flynn to come back. At Ezekiel’s silence, Flynn slid out of the booth, laying some bills down on the table on top of the receipt that the server had left a while ago.

“Wait,” Ezekiel found himself saying as he slid out of the booth as well. “Uh, can I, I don’t want to go back to them yet,” he stammered, embarrassed that he was being so awkward.

It took a moment, but Flynn gathered what Ezekiel was asking. “I have a couch. It’s not great, but it’s yours for the night.”

Ezekiel physically relaxed. “Thanks.” Belatedly he glanced at the money on the table. “I can pay for my half,” he started, fishing out his wallet from his pants.

Flynn shook his head. “I got it. Plus, this was a date…”

Ezekiel’s mouth opened in shock that Flynn actually said that, then he remembered he technically was the one who made it a date. “That means I should be the one covering the bill, since I’m the one who made it a date.”

“I didn’t take Ezekiel Jones for one who stuck to social norms,” Flynn said with a smirk, but he didn’t make a move to take his money off the table; he instead went to put his coat on.

“Hey, some things still work just fine, but if you wanna pay, go for it. I would’ve gotten more to drink if I knew that,” Ezekiel said, putting his wallet back in his pocket.

“Well I wouldn’t want you to be thirsty now. One for the road?” Flynn asked as he finished putting on his coat.

Ezekiel found himself smiling. “Sure.” He let Flynn lead him to the bar, more surprised that Flynn was going with whatever this flirting was than anything.

“What was that thing you got before you came back with the whiskeys?” Flynn asked as they arrived at the bar.

“Oh, that was what the bartender called a ‘pirate’s booty,’” Ezekiel replied.  

The bartender came up to them. “What can I get you, gentlemen?”

“Two, uh, pirate’s booties, please,” Flynn asked, handing over some cash.

“Coming right up,” the bartender replied, taking the cash over to the register. The process of making the shots and drinking them took all of two minutes, then they were out of the pub.

With the sun down, the cold flowed through the streets. Ezekiel wished he’d brought a warmer jacket, but shoving his hands as far into his pockets as they’d go would have to do.

Flynn glanced over at him. “It’s not far,” Flynn said, motioning in the direction of his home.

“Easy for you to say in that warm coat of yours,” Ezekiel mumbled, walking off in the direction Flynn had pointed.

It really wasn’t that far from the pub. Only after a few minutes walking, Flynn stopped him from walking past by grabbing his arm. “This is it.” It looked to be an apartment above someone’s garage. Flynn unlocked the door, which opened to stairs. Ezekiel made his way up, only tripping once at the top because when he looked down, he saw the top landing was a tad taller than the rest of the stair heights. Flynn was right behind him. “Yeah, that caught me a few times.”

The apartment was a studio, filled with a bunch of mismatched furniture that looked like someone had fun raiding all the garage sales. “Your place is...something,” Ezekiel said, letting himself take a seat on the floral print couch he presumed was going to be his bed tonight.

“It works for what I need,” Flynn replied, plopping himself down next to Ezekiel. “I didn’t think...I hoped it wouldn’t be a permanent situation.”

Ezekiel wondered if Flynn’s aim was off from the drinks, because the couch was not small enough that he had to sit right next to him. Of course he got some semblance of an answer when Flynn leaned on his shoulder and started crying. Ezekiel had no clue what to do, but at least his body had the idea of getting his arm unpinned from between them so he could pull Flynn into a somewhat more comfortable position.

“I just...I, wish things could go back, to the way they were before,” Flynn whispered, pausing to get some sort of control over his breathing. “I wish the cornerstones weren’t found, and everything went fine, and in a few weeks I’d be made immortal with the, the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

“Don’t we all,” Ezekiel said with a sigh. He found himself stroking the side of Flynn’s head, but didn’t stop as Flynn seemed to calm down a bit. “But out of all of us, you should know that being a Librarian isn’t easy. There’s some tough choices, and we don’t know which one is right sometimes. But that doesn’t mean we quit.”

Flynn sat up to look Ezekiel in the eye. “But what if one of the results of my choice means I’m made immortal and I regret it?”

“Just because you can’t predict the outcome doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do what you think is right,” Ezekiel countered. He had to look off into the room; he couldn’t handle seeing Flynn with that much emotion on his face. “I can’t tell you what choice to make, but I can tell you that running away is not the one you really want to make. Besides,” he looked back to Flynn with a smirk, “if you don’t come back, that means one of us has to tether with Colonel Baird...do you really want me to be immortal?”

The tension in Ezekiel’s chest eased a bit when Flynn laughed. “You assume that Stone wouldn’t beat you to it?”

Ezekiel shook his head, chuckling. “Actually, we’d let Colonel Baird pick, and she’d definitely choose Cassandra.”

Flynn laughed again. “She would.”

A prickle of concern went down Ezekiel’s neck when the happy expression faded from Flynn’s face. Immediately he started thinking of what he could say to bring it back, but Flynn didn’t give him a chance to try anything when he leaned forward and kissed him.

It took a minute for Ezekiel’s brain to catch up. Sure, he wanted this, but he didn’t think it’d actually happen. Plus, Flynn had to be at least very tipsy, if not drunk, and Ezekiel knew he himself was at least a bit drunk. As soon as Flynn started getting a little bit more aggressive, he pushed him away little bit, but not enough to make him start freaking out.

“Are you sure you want this?” Ezekiel asked.

Flynn looked at him very seriously. “Yes.” Then his expression faltered as a bit of doubt creeped in. “Maybe...I don’t know.” He stood up, a little off balance. “I think I need sleep.”

Though he thought he’d be disappointed, Ezekiel just felt relieved that Flynn wasn’t about to do something he may not have actually wanted. “Alright. Before you do that, can I have a blanket and stuff?” Ezekiel asked.

“Actually, uh,” Flynn swallowed awkwardly, “would you uh, sleep with me? I mean in the same bed, I just, there’s a lot going on in my head and, uh, I don’t want to be alone.”

“Can’t promise that cuddling will make your problems go away, mate.”  Ezekiel couldn’t help smiling when Flynn started blushing.

“No, I know, I mean you don’t have to-” Flynn stammered, but Ezekiel cut him off.

“I’m just teasing. Course I will.”

Ezekiel didn’t think Flynn would immediately get into the bed ten feet from the couch, nor did he think that he was that tired, but as soon as they got comfortable, both of them were out like a light.

It wasn’t the first time Ezekiel woke up in his clothes from yesterday. It was the first time he woke up in bed with his sort of coworker (did it count if he technically resigned?). An alarm clock was going off on the little bedside table next to him, so he turned over, away from where Flynn had snuggled into his chest, to make it stop. The motion woke Flynn, who then immediately sat up, and looked like he regretted the fast motion.

“Morning, Sunshine,” Ezekiel said around a yawn.

Flynn glanced at him, confused. “What are you...oh yeah.” He sat for a moment longer, then got up and started coffee in the little kitchen in the corner of the room opposite the bed. Neither of them spoke until there was coffee in mugs ready to drink.

“You aren’t even a little hungover?” Flynn asked, looking a bit worse for wear, though the coffee was helping a little.

“Nah,” Ezekiel said with a shrug. “Takes more than a few drinks to get me that wasted.” Flynn nodded in acknowledgement, then took a sip like he needed to occupy his mouth instead of say what he was thinking. Ezekiel decided he could do the talking. “So about last night, I don’t regret it, but I’m fine with keeping it between us if that’s what you want.”

“I was drunk…” Flynn tapered off. “Not that I, uh, regret it, but, well, I have a lot to think about, and I don’t think that would help.”

That disappointment Ezekiel thought he would feel last night finally arrived, but he knew that it wasn’t going to actually work. “That’s fine. Are you...going to come back?”

Flynn sighed, looking out the window. “I...I don’t know, yet. Like I said, I have a lot to think about.” He looked back to Ezekiel. “But what you said last night, all of it, don’t think it hasn’t made a difference.”

“Good.” Ezekiel downed the rest of his coffee, even if it was a bit too hot to be doing that, then stood up. “Would you like me to pass along any messages?”

After a few moments thinking, Flynn said, “Tell Eve that I love her, and uh, that I know she’ll do the right thing.”

Ezekiel really didn’t like the crypticness of that last bit. “Okay.” He started walking towards the stairs, but stopped and turned back to Flynn. “I hope you’ll do the right thing too, Flynn.”

Flynn didn’t say anything back, but he did nod. Ezekiel figured that was a good of place as any to leave that conversation, so he went down the stairs and let himself out. He called up the backdoor (which thankfully he had an app for so he didn’t have to call Jenkins at 5am pacific time), and decided he had time to head home for a shower and some breakfast before he was met with the barrage of questions in a few hours.

-----

Post Notes:I started writing this before I watched “And a Town Called Feud” so I didn’t know everyone was gonna end up still divided. This fic is happening in a magical place where that didn’t happen. I figure it wouldn’t be out of place for Flynn to attempt at settling with Cassandra and Stone trying it out to different degrees, and he definitely would be a professor or something.

Recognize Ezekiel’s reason for not telling anyone about remembering the video game loop? That’s cuz I totally took it from my other fic, “Whatever you Need,” because I couldn’t think of another reason Ezekiel wouldn’t tell them.

Also I’ve never been to a bar for drinks (I’m not 21 yet) so I have no clue how paying for drinks works, and only what little experience I’ve had with drunk people on how many drinks it takes. I figured they had enough to be reasonably tipsy, and Flynn probably has less of a tolerance than Ezekiel.

[thereal-tsuki-llama-blog]

Fui and Lan

No Sacrifices chapter this week - I’m trying out a new writing process, so my brain has been stuck in ‘organize’ mode rather than ‘write’ mode.

For that story, at least.

In the meantime, a wild plot bunny has set up camp in what should have been Sacrifices’ creative space, and has sort of...taken over. The full story will probably be 3-4 chapters long, so in apology for no real chapter this week, here is a 2000-word teaser for the hijacking bunny, Fui and Lan:

Misaki sipped her coffee without really tasting it; then she set the paper cup down on the park bench beside her and picked up her book. Opening to a page at random, she pretended to read. It was some sort of murder mystery, but fiction had never really interested her. This was simply the book that she'd been told to bring.

She tried to look relaxed - one leg crossed over the other, leaning back against the bench - but her nerves were stretched tight and she was sure that it was obvious to anyone who might be watching. The coffee probably wasn’t helping.

Her gaze flicked over the top of the book to scan the park; so far she hadn't seen anyone who looked out of place. A couple of joggers were on the footpath, but no one was meandering suspiciously. There was a playground behind her, faced by a bench that was back-to-back with hers. There hadn't been any children playing on the equipment when she'd arrived - fifteen minutes early, hoping and failing to get a glimpse of her mysterious contact without him or her realizing it - and there didn't sound like there were any there now. Well, it was right before lunch; children were probably all in school.

In any case, it was a hot day; most people were probably sheltering indoors, or else headed to the cooler mountains for the weekend. Misaki would have been inside herself, working on her massive backlog of cases, except that her orders were to be here.

The Director had called her into his office that morning to tell her that he had an unconventional assignment for her.

“How are things coming on the Fujiwara case?” he’d said by way of a preface.

Misaki suppressed a frown. “Still stalled, sir,” she said. “The man we arrested has no idea how the shipments are scheduled and tracked, just that it’s a very complex network.”

“I see. Last night I received some intelligence concerning that case.”

This time she did frown. “You did, sir?” She knew that Hourai had his own sources, cultivated over the decade of his service with police; but it always bothered her when information didn’t flow through the official channels.

“It seems that an external organization, who shall remain anonymous, is also having trouble with the Fujiwara family; they came to me with a proposal that will be both in their interest as well as the police’s. I agreed.”

“What sort of proposal?”

Hourai regarded her steadily. “A cooperative effort, between their group and Section Four. Because of the delicate nature of this collaboration, it will remain strictly unofficial. I am assigning you, and only you. The operation will be designated top secret, and you are not to involve anyone else on your team. Do you understand, Chief Kirihara?”

Misaki hesitated before answering. She hated the idea of keeping anything from her team, but at the same time she would leap at the chance - any chance - to take down Fujiwara and his black market doll trade. But why run an unofficial operation? And… “By external organization, do you mean that this is a criminal group, sir?” she asked. “There has to be a way of using their information without cooperating -”

“You’ll understand when you hear the details,” Hourai interrupted. He gave her the address of the park, the location of a specific bench on which she was to sit at a predetermined time, and a copy of a thin paperback book that was to be the signal by which a member of this group would recognize her. “Fujiwara’s trade is a serious threat to public security,” Hourai finished. “I know I can trust you to take care of this.”

“Yes, sir,” Misaki said, wondering just what in the hell she was agreeing to.

So now here she was, two hours later, sweating through her suit jacket and waiting for some criminal with whom she was supposed to work. Unofficially. Without backup from her own team, people who she could trust.

This was a bad idea.

Misaki was just about to look down at her book again to fake-read a little longer when movement off to the left caught her eye: a man was walking in her general direction - tall, dark-haired, white shirt and jeans. Hands in pockets - she tensed at that, and turning her head as subtly as possible, she glanced over to get a better look. With a start, she recognized Li.

Damn it, she always ran into him at the weirdest times and places. Hoping that he hadn't seen her, Misaki raised her book a little higher to hide her face. But to her dismay, not only did he continue in his path towards her, but he paused directly in front of her bench.

“Chief Kirihara?”

Misaki lowered the book and offered a smile. “Li, hi.” Please go away. Normally she wouldn’t have minded chatting with Li for a bit - would have enjoyed it, even - but right now was the worst possible time.

He smiled back, though it seemed to be slightly strained, as if he wasn’t exactly happy to run into her either. Yet he’d been the one to approach her in the first place, so that didn’t make much sense to Misaki. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in this park before,” he said.

“I’m on my lunch break; it’s hard to find a quiet place in the office to read.” She gestured with the book.

Li didn’t take the hint, however. “It’s kind of a warm day to be outside.”

“Yes, it is. Kind of warm to be out for a stroll, as well.”

He shrugged and seated himself on the bench beside her, his hands still in his pockets. “Yeah.”

Damn it. Misaki sighed. “I’m sorry, Li, I don’t mean to be rude - but this really isn’t a good time. I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. Police business.”

“Ah,” Li said, his tone curiously flat. “Me too.”

“Li, I have to insist. You can meet your friend somewhere else; I’m expecting a confidential contact who -”

“Good, you’re both here.”

Misaki started at the new voice, which came from the bench directly behind her. She began to turn and see who the newcomer was, but he - it was definitely a man - said, “Keep facing straight ahead. You’re talking to each other, not to me. And I’m just some crazy old man, talking to himself.”

She straightened, heart pounding, and glanced at Li. His pleasant expression had vanished and he was staring at the patch of grass between his feet. Shit, how was she supposed to explain to the contact that Li wasn’t involved in whatever this was - that he was just here by mistake? She had no idea who she was dealing with - how forceful could she be without pissing the man off and getting them both into trouble?

“Excuse me, but -” she began, but the contact cut her off gruffly.

“You’re here to listen, sweetheart, and listenin’ don’t involve talkin’.”

Misaki bridled at his tone, and opened her mouth to reply, but he didn’t give her the chance.

“We’re here ‘cause we got a common pain in the ass - Fujiwara. This guy’s got ears in the police, and he’s got ears with my outfit; so from here on out, whenever you’re discussing this operation, you use code names. I’m Huang. Miss Police, you’re Lan. Li, you’ll be Fui. Fujiwara is Lu.”

Misaki’s jaw tightened. So Li wasn’t here by accident? How in the world had he gotten himself mixed up with this? She glanced over at him again; his eyes were narrowed slightly, as if he disapproved of the code names. She didn’t blame him for that; she hated using codes herself. It was too easy to get confused, especially if you were already accustomed to calling someone by their real name.

“The job’s simple,” the man continued. “Lu’s got a whole network of black market distributors and dealers that he keeps in a secure database at the family’s headquarters in Yokohama. You break in, copy the files that we need, and get out - without them getting wind of it.”

“Break in?” Misaki couldn’t help but interrupt. “I’m not here to -”

“You’re here to get us into that database,” Huang said. “From what we’re told, the system is the same one that your department uses. Too complicated and unwieldy for anyone who isn’t already familiar with it to be able to access the information within our time frame.”

“Which is what,” Li said in a low voice; the first time that he’d spoken since the arrival of the stranger.

“No idea. Could be a couple hours, could be ten minutes. That’s up to you to figure out.”

Li nodded slightly, as if to himself. “Support?”

“Negative; they’ll be watching for it. You’re on your own.”

“Wait,” Misaki said, feeling like she was caught up in a current. She could see the shore, but couldn’t escape the flow of events. “Assuming we can even get to whatever computer this database is on - I’m not a hacker. I’d have to have a password to access it.”

Something went plunk onto the wooden bench beside her; she caught a glimpse of what looked like a small black thumb drive wrapped in a piece of paper before it slipped between the slats and fell onto the grass below, next to her foot. Misaki didn’t dare try and touch it.

“Password’s on that paper,” Huang told them. “Along with the location of the computer and the address for a hotel nearby. You’ll spend the weekend in Yokohama, posing as a couple. That’ll get you close enough to stake out the place and plan your move. Details are all there.”

Misaki felt the blush rising in her cheeks at just the thought. Posing as a couple? She was terrible at acting; and she didn’t have high hopes for Li’s ability either. Judging from the thin line of his mouth, he wasn’t any more enthusiastic than her.

Huang continued, “You’ll use that drive to copy the files. Meet me back here, Sunday at noon, to deliver the goods. Got it?”

“What about the police’s information?” Misaki asked. “According to my superior, we’re supposed to get the details of Fuji - I mean, Lu’s doll operation.” She was hating everything about this assignment more and more, but she was going to make damn sure that that Section Four at least got something significant out of it.

“You’ll get it after we’ve pulled what we need.”

“That’s -”

“That’s the deal your boss made - we get first cut, then you get your dolls.”

The idea of this unknown organization (criminal for sure, and probably Chinese, what with those code names) getting access to all of Fujiwara’s operations and then deciding what to share with the police grated on her conscience. But if that was indeed the agreement that Hourai had made, then there wasn’t much she could do about it. Then again, there might be a way around it; she’d have to think.

“Alright,” she said grudgingly.

Li spoke up suddenly. “Huang, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“First of all, you’re not paid to think, so shut up. Two, I don’t think it’s a good idea, but I’m not paid to think either. You going to have a problem, Fui?”

Li glanced over at Misaki, his expression unreadable. “No,” he said at last.

“Good. So shut up and do your damn job. I’ll leave you two to work out the logistics; you have forty-eight hours.” The bench slats creaked as the man stood. Misaki had to resist a strong temptation to turn and watch him leave, just to get a glimpse for future reference, but she couldn’t be sure that no one else was observing her and Li.

She turned to Li. He was still sitting with his hands stuffed into his pockets, staring fixedly at the ground in front of him with a stony expression.

“Think we can look yet?” she said in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood.

He glanced up at her, as if he’d forgotten that she was even there. “What?”

“Never mind.” Leaning down, she scooped up the thumb drive and removed the piece of paper that had been rubber-banded around it. Just as Huang had said, there was a string of characters that looked like it could be a computer password and two addresses. The first address had some additional text. “Second floor southwest corner office,” Misaki read. “That must be the location of the computer.”

She sighed, and passed the paper to Li. He studied it for a long moment. “Did you memorize it?” he asked her after a full minute’s silence.

Misaki blinked. “Memorize? I -”

He passed the paper back. “Memorize everything on here, then tear it up.”

That seemed a little excessive to Misaki - who would even know what anything on the paper meant if they happened to find it? - but Li seemed to think it was important. It was the type of thing you saw in spy movies; maybe referencing something familiar like that was helping with his nerves. She’d never seen him looking so distant and disengaged before - it must be frightening, being thrown into such a situation. Again, she wondered how on earth he’d ended up here, and what these people expected him to be able to do.

Whatever happened in the next forty-eight hours, Misaki resolved, she would do her best to make sure that Li stayed safe.

“Alright. I’ll work on it,” she said, stuffing it into her pocket along with the thumb drive. “Well, I guess we have some planning to do. But first, how does lunch sound?”

[casuallyyounginfluencer-blog]

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