#BACK ONE YEAR LATE WITH BRAIN FOG AND AN ICED COFFEE

[flowerflamestars]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Nesta Archeron/Eris Vanserra, Lucien Vanserra/Jurian/Vassa, Helion/The Lady of the Autumn Court (ACoTaR), Elain Archeron/Emerie Characters: Nesta Archeron, Gwyneth Berdara, Emerie (ACoTaR), Eris Vanserra, Lucien Vanserra, Jurian (ACoTaR), Merrill (ACoTaR), Clotho, Elain Archeron, Vanserra Brothers (ACoTaR), Beron, Keir (ACoTaR), Helion (ACoTaR), Rhysand (ACoTaR), Cassian (ACoTaR), Azriel (ACoTaR), Morrigan (ACoTaR) Additional Tags: Canon fucked around, time to find out, BAMF Women, Fake Marriage, Real Marriage, The Autumn Court (ACoTaR), Politics and Magic, Not canon's Eris, Not that Eris, Not Redemption Eris, Just a whole new Eris shaped man, Rituals, Valkyries, Political Alliances, Nesta really gets her own family, and life, Vanserra family feels Summary:

There were a hundred words, burning inside her, a thousand little brittle, pathetic, impassioned truths that Eris could have tasted had he tried.

Nesta had always, her entire life, known she would marry and wished for an equal.

Wished to never, ever, be trapped again and chose instead the walls she’d allow contain her. Nesta had absorbed, in the time of a single dance, just an echo of the rage and purpose that lived in Eris.

And wanted it.

Known it, as the same brutal thing that had kept her alive.

[starlightrows]

Exactly The Way You Are

Pairing: Modern!Boba Fett x fem!reader 

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: EXPLICIT self body shaming, potential body dysmorphia, hurt/comfort, body worship, oral (f receiving), soft!Boba 

Summary: You’re feeling insecure about your body and start changing how you dress in attempt to hide from your negative feelings. Boba is not having any of it. 

AN: Requested by @otp-lovers   

Every single one of you is beautiful, exactly the way you are

Early spring is not usually the optimal time for spending the day at the beach. It’s still too cold to swim, and at times too cloudy to tan. But if you’re heading to the coast to enjoy some fresh air, listen to the waves crash on the beach, and enjoy a bowl of clam chowder it’s perfect! You and two of your girl friends decided to drive out for the day to get some lunch, take a nice long walk and catch up on life. Normally you would have liked to do a day trip like this in the company of your boyfriend Boba, but he’s been exceptionally busy with work the last couple days. 

“You’re tempting me to play hooky and just go with you in that sundress baby,” he pauses by the door taking the time to rake his eyes over your form. 

“You could, I don’t think the girls would mind,” you smile sweetly batting your eyelashes for him knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to say yes. You just wanted to tease him. He groans in response, but shakes his head, also knowing he is not at liberty to accept your offer. So instead he tells you to go enjoy yourself, say hello to your friends for him. 

The drive down to the coast is pleasant with good music, your friends singing and talking and laughing, and the weather is actually even nicer than you expected. And there isn’t even a line to get into your favorite restaurant in the area. After a lovely lunch you and your friends take off your shoes and walk down the beach to dip your toes in the water. 

There are a couple groups of people sunbathing, children splashing in the water, playing volleyball. It’s like summer has come early, you almost wish you’d worn your swimsuit. You and your friends decide to kick off your shoes and wade in the water a bit and take some pictures together. Another group of girls a little ways down the beach also taking pictures and laughing approach your group asking if one of you would be willing to take some group pictures on them, and that they would be happy to return the favor. 

As your friend took one of the girls phones to take some nice group pictures, you stand off to the side and can’t help but stare. These girls all have gorgeous hair, long sleek legs, flat tummies with belly rings, and perky full breasts. Not a blemish on their perfectly tanned skin, though you suspected their tans may be less than authentic given the current time of year. Still you couldn’t help comparing yourself, you felt a bit pudgy in your sundress wishing you had ordered something lighter for lunch, and mentally cursing the wind for blowing your dress around you and making you look bigger and more awkward as opposed to windswept and attractive like these girls. You think about the upcoming summer, and your collection of swimsuits at home… true they’re pretty and comfortable but you wish you could wear and feel confident in the kind of swimsuits these girls are wearing. 

The other group of girls finished up their pictures and you tried your best to appear confident and unbothered when they turned the camera on you and your friends. You didn’t want to bring down the mood, so you plastered on a smile and tried to laugh along with your friends for the remainder of the trip. 

After dropping off your friends you head home, anxious to take a shower and get the sand off of your body. Unfortunately you knew Boba would not be home until very late, so it would just be you for a bit. Oh well, that just means watching whatever you want on tv with no complaint. You shower and wash your hair, taking your time to fully feel clean. Stepping out of the shower and ringing out your hair, you feel a lot better now that there wasn’t sad in places it should not be. 

You cross into the bedroom and slip one of your favorite nighties on to relax for the evening, but when you turn around and catch sight of yourself in the full length mirror you stop and stare at your reflection. You frowned at yourself, turning to your side to catch a glimpse of your profile and finding it no better in your opinion. You turn away from yourself and remove the nighty tossing it unceremoniously onto the chair at your vanity table. Instead you dig out an oversized t-shirt and a pair of Boba’s sweatpants. You look back at yourself in the mirror and shrug your shoulders… good enough… before heading back out into the living room to put on some mindless tv and waste time on instagram and tik tok. 

That was a horrible idea. You spent hours down the social media spiral, looking at pictures and videos of seemingly perfect people with perfect lives and perfect bodies that always seemed to know the perfect thing to say. It made you sick to your stomach. Eventually you fall asleep laying on the couch with the tv still playing. By the time Boba gets home you’re lightly snoring and your arm is hanging off the side of the couch. He chuckles at finding you in such a disheveled state, but takes care to carefully lift you up off the couch and carry you to bed. 

In the morning you wake up to the sounds of him moving around in the bedroom, though he is trying very hard to be quiet and not wake you up. He notices you stirring and returns to the bed to sit next to you. He’s fully dressed, ready to head out again. 

“Hey,” he whispers, stroking your hair. You smile sleepily at him, and mumble some kind of greeting. “I’m just about to head out. I’ll be home late again tonight, try to go to bed before you pass out on the couch,” he teases. You scrunch up your nose and nuzzle your cheek into his hand. 

He leans down and gives you a kiss on the forehead, “Only a couple more days of these long shifts baby. You’ll have me all to yourself again come this weekend,” 

“Good,” you murmur “I don’t like going to bed by myself,” 

He chuckles again, and gives your three more little kisses before saying goodbye and leaving the bedroom. It’s still pretty early and you went to bed very late last night, so you rolled over and went back to sleep for another hour or two. When you do get up to start your day, you find that your closet full of dresses, skirts, and generally fun cute outfits does not bring you the usual joy of picking out one to wear. The thought of showing off your figure makes you feel anxious and unwell, so instead you opt for a pair of comfortable joggers and another baggy t-shirt.

The day passes by slowly going about your errands and daily chores getting less work done than you would have liked. You feel a little blah, and just can’t seem to shake off the brain fog that’s plaguing you. You eat dinner by yourself, and turn in early for the night once again wearing Boba’s clothes that are far too big for you. He likes it when you wear them anyway. At some point in the night, Boba comes home and happily slides into bed next to you to catch what little sleep he can before getting up for an early start once more. This time he’s already gone when you wake up, but you can tell he’s been around. His clothes are in the laundry basket, and there’s a coffee cup in the sink. 

To your delight, there is another cup of coffee poured sitting in the refrigerator chilling. You happily mix in ice and creamer, thinking about how lucky you are to have a boyfriend that takes that extra step for you. One of his many little ways to let you know he loves you. It lifts your spirits a bit, but not enough to shake you from standing naked in front of your closet glaring at your clothes. They offend your eyes, and make you long for things you shouldn’t. So you settle for another haphazard outfit that hides your figure, and dampens your mood. 

The day passes you by though you are able to be a least a little more productive than yesterday. You start the laundry, and wash the dishes. Call to reschedule your dentist appointment, and even get in a couple hours of actual work for your job. But this looming cloud of distraction and general sadness prevails, and you don’t get to many of the other things on your list for the day. As you get ready for bed, wearing Boba’s clothes for the third night in a row you took comfort in the knowledge that tomorrow when you woke up, Boba would be there and he would not have to go to work. Surely that would make you feel better. 

In the morning you happily roll over and cuddle into Boba’s warm chest. You had made a reservation for the two of you to go to brunch, but that isn’t until 10:30am so that leaves plenty of time to snuggle. Lazy kisses and whispered good mornings shared across the pillows and under the sheets. Eventually though you do both get up and get ready to go out for the day. You choose a pair of jeans and a nice-ish t-shirt that you tuck in, you feel a little better than you have the last few days and take the time to do your hair and makeup. 

Boba turns when he hears you coming towards the living room, and he has to put in real effort not to let his face show his concern when he observes your somewhat drab outfit you’ve chosen. You never give up an opportunity to get dressed up cute, especially when he’s taking you out on a date. 

“Is that my shirt?” he asks, extending a hand out for you to take, you accept his hand but feel your anxiety rising in your throat and burning your cheeks. 

“Yeah… I’m sorry, I can put on one of mine if it bothers you,” you drop your gaze and shift uncomfortably. Boba is unsure of what to make of this, so he proceeds cautiously.

“Hm… how about that blue dress? The navy one you like so much,” he suggests running his thumbs over your knuckles and swinging your arm just a little to get your attention. But you keep your gaze fixed on his shoes, and give your head a little shake.

“I… don’t want to wear that one today,” you say, pulling your hand away. Now he’s really concerned, you were fine when you woke up this morning, what changed. 

“Sweetheart you love that dress, what’s wrong?” he asks 

“It’s nothing I just… I just don’t feel particularly dressy at the moment” you admit, rubbing your arm and still making every effort not to look at him. 

“And why’s that?” he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him “Come on kitten, there are no secrets between us,” 

Your lip quivers a bit, you don’t want to verbalize what’s been bothering you. But his eyes are so tender and concerned, and his grip on your chin is insistent and firm. So you relent. 

“I spent too long on instagram looking at influencers and celebrities, and me and the girls took some pictures for another group of girls at the beach the other day. They were all so beautiful with their flat stomachs, perfect tans, and full breasts. I’m sure they work hard to look that way, and I’m sure they have their own insecurities, but I look at them and I think… why can’t I look like that?”

“I don’t want you to look like them” he says 

“What?” you jerk your head back just a little and look up at him. 

“I don’t want you to look like anyone else in the world, I want you to look like you. Exactly the way you are” he slides his hands under your shirt, pulling it out from where its been tucked into your jeans, settling on your hips. He takes a step closer and dips his head down to kiss each of your cheeks. 

“I want you to wear whatever clothes you like, especially the sweet little dresses I know you love so much,” be begins pressing kisses down your neck, and sliding his hands down over your ass. “I want you to know that you’re my girl. My absolutely gorgeous, perfect girl” 

He’s leading you back into the bedroom, walking you backwards slowly and carefully, whispering praises into the skin of your neck between hot kisses. The backs of your knees hit the edge of bed, and you lower yourself down onto it. 

Your hands rest on his sides smoothing over his soft tummy through his shirt, you think about his body. It doesn’t fit society's view of an ideal man, not overly muscled, spray tanned and polished. In the same way you’re not like the models and celebrities you’d been comparing yourself to. 

He pushes you down by the shoulder, coaxing you to lay down as he runs his big hands up and down your sides, dipping down under your shirt and reaching up to palm your breasts. His rough thumbs brush over the quickly stiffening peaks of your nipples. His lips drag over your jaw and you moan at his ministrations. 

“Babe,” you manage to get out, “we’re gonna miss our reservations,” 

He releases his hold on your nipples, and strips off your shirt. He hikes you up higher on the bed, and captures your lips in an insistent kiss. 

“Don’t care,” he growls, “this is more important,” he licks a stripe from your chin all the way down your neck and sucks a mark between your breasts. His fingers work to rid you of your bra. When it’s been discarded somewhere into the room, he turns his attention back to your nipples and takes one into his mouth and suckles on it, rolling the other between his fingers. Your soft moans and wandering hands encourage him, and he switches to your other nipple. 

After a minute or two he releases your nipple from his mouth, and comes back up to recapture your lips. His hands trail down, fingers dipping into the waistline of your jeans. He breaks the kiss, as he undoes the button and zipper of your jeans pulling them down slowly over your ass. You kick them the rest of the way off and spread your legs a bit so he can settle comfortably between them.  

“Your cute little dresses usually make this a lot faster, princess. But I don’t mind taking my time,” he rasps. Your breath hitches as he slides your panties down, and drops his head down in between your thighs. His breath ghosts over your core, already beginning to get a bit wet in anticipation. His hands rub up and down the outsides of your thighs as he begins peppering gentle kisses over the soft skin of your inner thighs. Climbing higher and higher until he reaches your lower lips. 

Without warning his tongue darts out and splits your lips, licking a broad stripe up from the bottom and stopping at your clit to latch on and begin sucking. His tongue continues prodding in and out as he devours your wet cunt. His hands cup your ass and squeeze, pulling you apart further. Your chest is heaving and your mind feels like it’s narrowing in on the building feeling of your impending orgasm. 

“Boba,” you gasp out “I-- I’m gonna cum… I-” 

He doesn't answer in words, he growls into your aching cunt and moves his tongue faster to get you over the edge. Your orgasm is blinding in its intensity, sending your mind reeling as your choke out strangled cries of pleasure. As you’re coming down from your high, Boba releases your swollen clit from his lips and kisses his way back up to you, dragging his hands up with him. He whispers the sweetest words into your skin.   

“Mmm you’re my girl. My sweet, perfect girl. I’ll spend the rest of my days showing you how perfect you truly are,”

[carmenlire]

Plum

read on ao3

He thinks he scared himself. Just a little. Just enough for it to have an impact.

Maybe. The jury’s still out on that, he supposes.

Falling asleep last night had taken longer than he’d thought. He thinks they’d been hunger pains and he knows it’s ridiculous but a part of him still hadn’t understood.

At that point, he hadn’t eaten in forty eight hours, give or take a few minutes. He’d gotten home from work and he’d been exhausted. He’s always tired these days and even if it had been a couple of days since his last meal, the last time he’d chewed and swallowed, he’d been fine.

Until he’d gone to bed at least. It wasn’t even a struggle to collapse in bed after work. He’s a little tired of his job, of the way he feels like his superiors are always breathing down his neck, at the way the people he’s trying to help just seem to get a little meaner and a little ruder with every passing day.

He’s a little tired in general but that can’t really be helped, either. He’s usually tired. He hasn’t worked out in longer than he cares to admit-- he’s been brushing Jace off every time his brother tries to get him to go on an early morning run or join a boxing class at their gym. There are some absolutes that Alec follows and one of them is that to work out in the morning, he needs to have eaten the day before.

Perhaps it should be a warning that he hasn’t been working out lately-- the past few weeks, really the past several months-- because he just can’t make himself eat with any consistency. He usually eats once a day but it never feels quite right. So he wakes up the next morning and tells himself tomorrow as he hits snooze on his alarm for another hour of sleep that doesn’t leave him any more well rested than before.

Yesterday, all he’d been able to think about during his shift was coming home and taking off his damn tie. Dinner was a far off thing, easily avoided. He’d just wanted to slide between his sheets where nothing matters and where he doesn’t have to be a person.

Where he’s not Alec Lightwood, aiming to make senior associate within the year. He’s just a guy who’s a little sad and maybe a little hungry and so, so empty that he feels like his insides are cracking most minutes of most days.

Well, that’s not entirely true, Alec thinks and it’s not even with a wry little smile because even so small an action feels beyond him right now. He hadn’t just felt exhausted during his late evening shift-- there was a noticeable part of him that had been a little smug, a lot relieved, not inconsiderably proud. Because at that point, it’d been almost two entire days since he’d last eaten and he was happy about that-- felt the stirring of pride at his wherewithal to not give in to what his body demanded, felt good because he felt light.

Usually he feels like he carries the weight of an army behind him and so that feeling-- of being a little smaller, a little less in the way that matters, in the way he wishes for-- it’s.

Well, it’s intoxicating. A little addicting, if he’s being honest.

It’s been a rough year, Alec thinks now. So much is going on and he hasn’t felt this way in years, the way the fog rolls in, the way he sometimes thinks he doesn’t have a body. Still, some of it’s been good. There’s that weekend last month that he spent with Izzy and Jace, the three of them on the camping trip from hell. He hadn’t laughed so hard in ages as he had watching Jace try to put together a tent, as he did watching Iz take her turn during a particularly drunken round of charades.

Then there’s Magnus. Things are so good with him. Too good, a voice whispers in the back of his mind but he tries so hard to knock it back to where it came from, to make it disappear. He has a boyfriend now and just seeing Magnus makes him happy. Or if not happy, then content. Alec can be himself with Magnus and it means more than he can say to have a boyfriend and find such easy comfort within him. He takes great pride in being that person for Magnus, as well.

There’s guilt too, though. Because the longer Alec’s like this, the more he thinks that he might have an actual problem. And it terrifies him because he doesn’t see a way out. He doesn’t think there is one.

Because here Alec sits and he’s staring at nothing in a bookstore a few blocks from his apartment and he wants to die, just a little bit. Because that would be easier for anyone involved in his shit take at taking care of himself.

He feels Magnus staring at him from where he sits within arms reach in his own chair. He feels his boyfriend rubbing a hand over his back in soothing circles but it does nothing to stop Alec from feeling like he shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be anywhere.

This morning, Alec ate a plum.

This morning was day three of Alec’s little challenge to himself. He had idle plans to make it a full seventy two hours without eating. Don’t get him wrong, he’s had a few iced coffees every day and it worries him, a little maybe, because he was starting to fixate on how the coffees felt like cheating, too.

There’s oat milk in the lattes, you know.

But he’d had this date day planned with Magnus for days now. His boyfriend, his wonderful boyfriend, has planned a whole day of things for Alec, for them to enjoy together. Alec was excited for today and he’d been feeling good when he woke up.

A day off from work, a day spent with a man who he’s increasingly sure that he loves. It sounded like a recipe for a lovely day.

Plus, he’d woken feeling lighter. In the past two days, he’d lost seven pounds. He knows most, if not all of it, is water weight. But seeing the number drop so severely on the scale felt so good. It gave him confidence. It made him happy.

It filled him in a way that a meal hasn’t been able to in months.

It sounds so dire now but Alec’s never been underweight. From the outside, he looks exceedingly healthy. It does nothing but make him feel worse a lot of the time.

So, Alec knew that the plan for the day was a bookstore in the morning, followed by lunch at this place Magnus had been dying to try for weeks now, with the afternoon spent wandering the halls of an art museum further uptown.

Alec’s not stupid and he never wants Magnus to worry. So, he’d decided to break his fast and eat some fruit. That way he’d have energy for the day and when Magnus asked him what he’d had for breakfast-- his boyfriend is definitely in the camp that believes it’s the most important meal of the day-- Alec wouldn’t have to lie. It's a bonus that fruit falls squarely into a safe category of food in his brain.

Alone in his kitchen, it’d been equal parts shameful and irritating that taking that first bite of stone fruit had taken several attempts. He washed the fruit and patted it dry with a paper towel and stared at it for a long minute, most of him loathing the thought of biting into it. He felt like a failure not being able to last another minute, another hour.

But Magnus would be here within the hour and he needed to get ready.

Four tries later, and his teeth pierced the plum. Immediately, he’d thought that this had to be the best plum that he’d ever eaten. Perfectly ripe, juicy, the flavor positively bursting from the flesh.

Idly, he’d thought that maybe he’d make these lengthy fasts a more regular thing, if he could truly appreciate food like this at the end.

The plum was small and he’d finished it in a handful of bites. Almost immediately after throwing away the seed, he’d started to feel a tiny bit of shame and a whole lot of regret for eating.

He was so weak that he couldn’t wait until he had a true reason to eat-- lunch at the Korean restaurant Magnus had been raving about. If he’d waited until then, then maybe he wouldn’t have made the full three days but Magnus is worth eating for. It would have been okay, then.

Nothing for it now, he’d finally decided and had been ready when his boyfriend picked him up.

The bookstore was a little busy. Not crowded, but a fair few more people than he’d anticipated. Truthfully, though, Alec hadn’t really noticed because he’d been enjoying his time with Magnus so much.

Magnus, who has such an array of knowledge. He’s interested in so many subjects and strolling through the shelves of books and floating between genres, idly picking up paperbacks with interesting covers and hardbacks by beloved authors he wants to share with Magnus had been fun. He hadn’t noticed the time that slipped by.

They’re climbing the stairs to the second floor of the store and Alec feels a little winded. More than he’d usually ever feel walking up a single flight. His head feels a little weird, too. Light but not in a good way.

It doesn’t make sense. He ate a plum this morning.

Magnus looks over with a smile. “What do you say to a coffee while we look up here? My treat,” he adds with a wink that has Alec laughing.

Alec easily accepts and they get in the short line.

“What’d you have for breakfast, darling?”

It’s an idle question as Magnus looks over the selection of bakery treats on display. Alec looks, too, and thinks that if it was another time, if he was a different person, he might like to try a piece of the oreo cheesecake.

“A plum,” he answers simply as he turns his head to people watch the few occupied tables.

“And?”

Alec shakes his head, bemused. “And that’s it,” he replies. “I ate a plum for breakfast.”

It’s now that Magnus looks over, askance. "I told you to eat something that would give you energy until lunch, darling. A plum is nothing,” he chastises and the tone is light and teasing. “You should eat more.”

Alec keeps the easy smile on his face, though he can’t help a small part of himself from growing a little worried, a little guilty-- but there’s a kernel of anger there too that he can’t really define.

He shouldn’t be upset over his boyfriend’s light teasing. It’s not that deep. Magnus doesn’t know the sharks circling just under the edge of this conversation and Alec’s grateful for that, even more now.

“I guess you’re just the breakfast person, babe. You know I don’t really like to eat before noon.”

Magnus just harrumphs and turns toward the cashier. They’re next in line.

But Alec doesn’t feel so well. His head feels even lighter. He thinks his vision starts to waver but he thinks he’s also being dramatic. He has a tendency to do that, he knows. Sometimes he even thinks he might have some type of-- some type of disorder but he’s usually quick to tell himself that everyone feels this way about food and eating and weight and calories and he shouldn’t add more to his plate of stress.

Magnus takes the final step up to the barista but Alec stands stock still. The edges of his vision are gray and that’s weird because he thought that only happened in books. He thought it was just a clever description but oh God the tables by the window are in grayscale and now he can’t really see them at all and the volume of the bustling cafe area is muted, did everyone stop talking and--

He doesn’t think he’s breathing. He can’t feel his chest. He can’t feel his legs. He needs to sit down.

He thinks Magnus is turning back to ask him what he wants to drink but he can’t answer. His sight is set on an unoccupied table a few meters away and it’s with single minded focus that he puts one foot in front of the other and very roughly sits down as soon as he’s within reach.

More like collapses, Magnus would say.

He stares down at the ground. He counts his breaths. Everything is still quiet and Alec’s still preoccupied enough making sure that he stays conscious that he can’t immediately rationalize everything away to himself. Magnus comes over and brings the other chair around the table until they’re side by side.

“Alexander? You okay?”

Alec can’t answer. He just needs a moment. He hopes Magnus doesn’t get mad that he can’t bring his head up, that he just can’t quite manage to string together a response right now.

Magnus doesn’t seem mad, at least. He isn’t irritated. He also isn’t hovering, thank God, because Alec doesn’t think he could take that right now. His presence is quiet and calms Alec down a little and maybe it’s mixed with relief, too, that there’s someone with him right now-- that it’s Magnus who he knows he can trust.

It’s quiet for a few moments before Alec looks up and makes eye contact with Magnus. His boyfriend smiles a little but his eyes are deadly serious. “What can I do?”

Alec takes a deep breath in and slowly lets it out. He looks down and watches his hands flex, feels his fingers curl. “Can I have a lemonade?”

Normally, Alec doesn’t drink anything with sugar in it. He has a sweet tooth but prefers to stick strictly to water and his iced lattes. He knows he needs something more now.

Magnus merely nods and stands without another word. He’s back a moment later and hands over a bottle of lemonade he’d bought from the cooler. “Here you go, darling,” he says softly.

Alec drinks and Magnus goes back to sweeping a hand over his back in an aimless pattern. “It was rather warm in here, wasn’t it?”

Alec makes some noise of agreement and Magnus adds on quietly, much more subdued, “Maybe you should’ve eaten something more for breakfast.”

There’s that little flick of annoyance that Alec can’t quite squash down but he’s not stupid. And Magnus doesn’t even know the half of it. And so Alec nods a little more weakly than he’d like and says, “Yeah, maybe, babe,” unable to control the tendril of indifference in the words.

Magnus is quiet for a minute and Alec works on the lemonade and thinks through what just happened.

He’s never fainted before. He’s never come so close to blacking out. He thought he was stronger than that and he’s a little mad at his body for showing that it can have a mind of its own, too. It happened so fast that it leaves him with whiplash.

Over it all, though, is confusion because he did eat. He thought the fruit would be enough to last until lunch and it doesn’t make sense to him that he ate an hour ago and almost passed out just now.

Magnus’s voice breaks through the self recrimination. “Why don’t we take a little break, get a treat, and find a table by the windows,” he suggests. Alec knows him well enough by now to know that while it was phrased as a question, it’s anything but.

Seeing as he doesn’t really have a choice, Alec nods and they stand and make their way back over to the counter. Alec takes a look around but no one's staring at them. Everyone’s focused on their own computers and books and Alec doesn’t feel like a bug under a microscope in the way that he thought he might. He doesn’t really want any more witnesses to this.

Magnus orders a cranberry almond croissant and turns to him. Alec decides on a slice of that cheesecake, after all.

They sit down and Alec stares at the dessert. The truth is, he enjoys food. More than he should, he thinks. He likes trying new things and he has a sweet tooth and he enjoys a truly good, filling meal. The problem is that it’s been so long since it’s been worth it. He has a lot of food rules and this cheesecake breaks at least three that he can think of off the bat. It’s a little terrifying actually and he’s mad at himself that a piece of cake can make him feel genuine fear.

When did it get to this point, is all he can wonder. How do I go back.

Magnus doesn’t make him feel like a child. He doesn’t make a scene of things, doesn’t make Alec feel like he embarrassed him. In his quiet, competent way, Magnus simply takes care of him.

The day isn’t ruined, which Alec feared as he took the first bite of food. They spend awhile at that table and they both eat their treats and enjoy their coffee and talk about anything and everything that pops into their minds. Magnus doesn’t rush them from the table, seems content enough to enjoy Alec’s company at a table in the bookstore cafe rather than walking around the store like originally planned.

Eventually, they do throw their trash away and Magnus takes Alec’s hand as they start wandering the second floor. Magnus doesn’t mention what happened for the rest of the day but it lingers in the back of Alec’s mind.

The day ends up being a smash success of a date. Alec buys a few books for Magnus. They enjoy the Korean restaurant-- Magnus was right, it’s phenomenal-- and the art museum is eye catching.

It’s later that night and Magnus is spending the night at Alec’s. They’re in bed and Magnus is fast asleep.

Sleep eludes Alec for awhile, though. He can’t stop thinking about this morning at the bookstore cafe. He thinks that things might be escalating. He thinks that he doesn’t want a repeat of what happened.

He can’t help but think that maybe that episode was a sign that he was doing things right, after all.

He’s so tired and he doesn’t have any answers. He feels rather helpless, really. Maybe he knows that this isn’t normal but he can’t help the way he feels. He doesn’t know who he can tell these things to-- things like how he feels an almost compulsion to weigh himself every day even if he knows the results will devastate him, the way he has a very narrow list of safe foods and feels totally removed from what normal people eat, the way he sometimes asks himself what he’d like for his next meal but the voice in his head immediately retorts but you don’t deserve to eat.

Alec’s an adult. He knows what the signs point to. But he can’t quite make himself believe that he has a problem because it seems only logical that he hold these misgivings, given his body. It’s just the way things are for him. It feels increasingly like it's always been this way.

But maybe today scared him a little. Maybe, Alec thinks as he looks down at his boyfriend sleeping peacefully on his chest, maybe he does have someone he can talk to.

And maybe Magnus will tell him he has nothing to worry about, that these overwhelming thoughts and feelings are normal. Or, Alec thinks with a sliver of dread but an even greater sense of hope, Magnus will look him in the eye and take his hand and say that it’s okay to have a problem and that they can find a solution.

Together.

[somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds]

Savage Siblings + Scandal meeting the Legends or Gary meeting the Six

When Gary wakes up and smells toast, he instantly thinks he's having a stroke. He knows this because of late night frantic google searches when he's feeling like a hypochondriac. Turns out his neighbor had fried their hair in a curler. Life can be funny like that.

What is not funny is coming to, smelling toast, and realizing his legs are cuffed to the chair he's sitting in.

Memories start to creep back of how he got in this predicament. The memories aren't complete, as he can't remember how he got in this big dining room. He woke up in a weird hospital room, and managed to escape it into the hallway, where an arm wrapped around his neck and yanked him into a room. It was then he saw Scandal for the first time in easily ten years. She didn't have any answers for him as to where they were. In fact, the last memory he has before waking up here is seeing a man with a missing hand in the hallway before a sharp pain suddenly struck him in the neck.

And now he was here, strapped to a chair, smelling toast and noticing his sister in a chair just opposite him. She wrapped her fingers around a fork and held it in her lap. Gary shook his head to clear any brain fog, and was interrupted by a cheery voice behind him. "Finally, I'm starving!"

A plate was sat in front of him, a pancake with a whipped cream smile beaming back up at him. The same dish was put in front of Scandal, and the chair between them was pulled back and Bishop sat down. He was all smiles with the pancake in front of him, and Scandal didn't break her glare.

"There's chocolate sauce, and blueberries, and strawberry preserves. Feel free to add what you want," Bishop told them, adding butter to his pancake.

Scandal didn't reach for her food or speak. Gary couldn't eat around the lump in his throat, but spoke up in a croak: "What - is this?"

Bishop popped a bite into his mouth, laughing. "Gare, it's a family breakfast. We haven't had one in what, twenty years? Hard to tell, time being what it is."

Ava (but not Ava, but also Ava, because clone, Gary's brain scrambled to focus on anything other than this moment) poured Scandal a cup of hot coffee. Scandal didn't touch it. Scandal still didn't move.

Gary tried again, his big mouth forever unable to stay shut. "Bishop, why - why are we - where are we?"

"Gary, you're home, that's all that matters."

"Answer the question," Scandal bit back, her glare hot enough to melt whipped cream.

Bishop sighed. "But why can't we just have a family breakfast, Scandy? You never were any fun."

"Take the anklets off and let's have some real fun."

Bishop chuckled, poked her nose. He left a dollop of whipped cream on the end of it. "Is that a smile I see?"

Scandal's face didn't move. It was frozen in the same smile a lion gives a gazelle.

"Aw, it is! See, Gare, I always could get her to smile. You would try too hard."

Gary was squeezing his hands together under the table, holding back vomit. The smell of maple syrup was overwhelming and he wanted to run away from them, from this, again. He's done it so many times before, one more time wouldn't hurt, right?

"You guys haven't eaten your pancakes! Chef Ava's worked so hard on them, it would be rude to leave them uneaten!"

Neither sibling moved.

"Guys, seriously, it's a normal family breakfast, we're just-"

"We aren't a family," Scandal cut in, voice like ice. "We share the same blood. But we aren't a family."

Bishop's carefree smile settled into a familiar smirk. He leaned back in his chair, back on two legs, before leaning forward again. He picked up his fork and knife. "Well, if you guys don't want pancakes, I won't waste them. You like strawberry, right Gare?"

Gare closed his eyes as strawberry preserves covered the smiley pancake. He flinched when Bishop elbowed him lightly in the side, a laugh on his lips. "Lighten up."

He cut a third of Gary's pancake and put it on his own plate. He did the same to Scandal, joking as he offered her a bite.

Gary was pretty sure she could bite through the fork if it reached her lips. The whipped cream on her nose dripped into her coffee.

Bishop shook his can of whipped cream, put some in his mouth. He enjoyed his bite, had a sip of coffee.

Gary felt the words come out of his mouth like the remnants of a bad night. "Who was that in the hallway?"

Scandal shushed him, but Bishop smiled, squeezing Gary's shoulder. "Glad you asked, but you don't recognize your brother?"

"What?"

"That was Louis, he was one of our brothers, guys. I think from the 12th century, not sure. It's been a while since I've gone through the records."

"Why isn't he - here? At the table?" Gary asked carefully.

"Well, because he's not special like you guys! Us three, we were important! We meant something to Dad."

Scandal let out a barely audible hiss. "Is he - here?"

Bishop shook his head with a frown, brushing one of her bangs back. The frown changed to a grin when she moved her head back. "Not yet."

Maybe if Gary focused enough, he could melt down into his chair like whipped cream, slip through his cuffs and into the floor so he could disappear forever.

"What are you talking about?"

Bishop put up a finger as a 'hold on', chewing his bite of pancake. He began moving the pancake pieces around, humming a theme song Gary was familiar with. "I don't want to sound like one of those cheap Marvel hacks, but you know the Ship of Theseus idea, right?"

The pancake pieces were put into one complete circle, and Bishop added another smile on top of the creation.

"No? I guess I really did get all the smarts in the family."

"It's a foolish concept," Scandal said through her teeth. "There's no spirit for a body left."

Bishop grinned, all attempts at niceness fading away as he pulled a coin from his pocked and flipped it onto the table.

Gary has seen this soul coin before, so he doesn't give out an audible gasp the way Scandal does. Instead, he goes back to daydreaming about melting away.

"Why are we - why are we HERE?"

"Because we're special, Scandy. You were Dad's favorite, we all knew it. I was thinking your heart, but that's gone all soft. I think he'd want the eyes, what do you think? Gary's good for a spleen or a kidney."

Gary felt like he was going to pass out.

"Oh, don't worry! I'll grow you all new ones. Dad needs the old parts, you know, like when you need to fix an old watch. Gotta use the same parts, have the know-how. But Gary, I have a job for you especially. You always liked the little jobs more, yeah?"

"What do you want?" Gary croaked again. He didn't know what else to do except listen. Once again.

"Well, Gare. You're going to call your little friends. Gotta make homecoming a real party right?"

"I don't know what you're - talking about."

Bishop suddenly reached out and turned his head to face him. His smile held nothing but malice. "I'd say you never did learn how to lie, but they still don't know, do they? I can't believe you'd lie about that, Gare. That doesn't make you a good friend, does it? I mean, even Scandal told her lunch table about Dad."

"I'm not calling the Legends," Gary told him, raising his voice and instantly regretting it.

"Gary, Gary," Bishop tsked, squeezing his chin harder. "Don't you want to do the right thing?"

"Stop."

"The Legends aren't your friends, not if you can't tell them the truth. But we're your family. We don't lie to you, we aren't turning you out into the cold for a silly mistake or two."

Gary didn't look away but he couldn't stop shaking. Bishop poked his nose, making him flinch and then he laughed. "See, Gare? We're all going to be one big happy family again. All you have to do is your part."

He leaned away from Gary, turned to Scandal, and got a face full of hot coffee. He howled, clawing at his face as Scandal shoved his face into his pancake creation.

"Don't forget," she told him as she shoved him one more time for good measure before letting him up. Her smile was pure hatred. "At the end of the day, you're still a box of spare parts for Dad, same as us."

Bishop glared at her through strawberry preserves, wiping his face. "Then let's play double or nothing, Scandy. Gary brings Dad's friends, you get to walk home.

"He doesn't?" He slid a photo across the table and Gary watched Scandal's face dissolve into anguish.

"The first person Dad visits is his grandson."

[me-and-your-husband]

the winter soldier 2.0|| b. barnes

Summary: You’re being brainwashed by HYDRA like Bucky was. What the Avengers don’t know, was that you have a past with Steve and Bucky.

Warnings: Some swearing, angst, kidnapping, brainwashing, knifes, guns, fighting, all of that fun stuff, fluff to make up for the angst.

Pairing: Bucky x HYDRA!reader

Words: 1.2k

Characters: Bucky, Steve, Sam, Nat, Tony, Bruce

A/N: italics mean flashback to the 40′s

          I put the black Dodge RAM in park, and stepped out, slamming the door. I huffed out a breath, seeing it accumulate in fog in front of my face. I scanned the bar in front of me, looking for escape routes, incase this whole thing goes awry. Three exits, the front door, the employee entrance/exit in the back, and the emergency exit door. I gave myself one reassuring nod, and walked around the truck to the back. I pulled the hatch down, and grabbed my duffel bag. Taking a quick look around me to make sure nobody was watching me, I unzipped my jacket and took off my sweatpants. My burgundy leather suit was revealed, and so were my black combat boots. I swept my messily-curled hair into a ponytail, and unzipped my duffel bag.  

      I grabbed a few hand grenades, just in case, and attached them to my utility belt. I put my knives where they should be; my thigh holster, utility belt, and one in my boot, by my ankle. I grabbed my pistol, and slid it into my other thigh holster. Lastly, I pulled my mask up, which covered the bottom half of my face, mouth and nose, and was the same color of my suit. I grabbed my High-Tech Assault Rifle that HYDRA supplied me with, like all of my weapons, my suit, and my training. I held it with one hand, and walked down the alley between the bar, and a cute rustic café. If I wasn't being ordered to kill people everyday, I might’ve gone there sometime.

     I brushed the thought aside, and climbed the cafe’s fire escape ladder. I lined up my aim with the huge window of the bar, where you could see a few of the Avengers laughing and drinking together, and took the pin of a grenade off with my mouth and threw it at the window. It was just a low-impact, so it wouldn’t cause too much damage to civilians. A loud explosion went off, and then screams. I took this as my chance, and jumped off of the two-story café. I aimed my gun around, looking for the man they call “The Winter Soldier”. 

“Dark hair, blue eyes, metal arm,” the commander had described him to me. 

I hid in the corner, with a few pieces of flaming debris, and recognized him. He was with the rest of the Avengers, calmly trying to get the civilians out of the flaming bar.

He was close enough to me that I could take a shot at him without equipping my scope onto my AR. I lined it up right with his head, and pulled the trigger. At the last second, he moved his metal arm up to deflect the bullet. I gave a frustrated huff, when I heard movement beside me. 

     Tony Stark, or rather, Iron Man in his suit, stood next to me, holding his hand up. Before he could charge his stabilizers fully, I threw my gun as I dove down, sliding through his legs strategically. I stood behind him, and reached over his shoulder to the arc reactor that powered his suit. Without that, he could only rely on his backup energy. I ripped the reactor out of his chest, and heard his suit power down. 

“Shit,” he yelled.

“Language!” said somebody from behind me. The enhanced hearing that I had, thanks to the Super-Soldier serum they gave me all those years ago, let me hear the vibrations in the air of a metal...disc?

   No, it was Captain America’s shield, which I ducked from just in time, so it ended up hitting Tony’s suit and ricocheting off. Cap caught it again, as Tony stepped out of his suit, and joined the rest of the team. I looked around for my gun, which I had left on the floor to the left of me. I lifted my hand to dive for it, but instead I was caught off-guard by a female voice.

“Don't even think about it,” said Black Widow, aiming a pistol at me. Even in casual clothes, they all looked heroic, carrying their weapons with them everywhere they went. I put my hands up slowly, wanting to show them I wasn’t going to try anything, even though that was very much not my plan. 

“You’re HYDRA,” Cap said, nodding toward the logo on my chest. My lips twisted into a smirk, and I nodded my head.

“What do you want,” said Bucky Barnes coldly. “Who are you?”

“They call me The Winter Soldier,” I said, staring him dead in the eyes. His face contorted from cold, to confused real quick, along with Cap, Tony, and Black Widow, the only Avengers that tagged along to their little get-together. “I was given that name after the Winter Soldier before me escaped HYDRA,” I said.

“That’s why you’re here, to take me back?” Bucky said, becoming enraged.

“No, I have no intentions of taking you back. Once I kill you, I’ll leave your body with your precious Avengers, and you can have a state funeral,” I said, distracting them enough for me to dive to my left and grab my gun. I hid behind the bar, and to my luck, the wall behind the bar was a mirror, so I could see them, but from where they were standing, they couldn't see me. I poked my head out a little bit, and started firing relentlessly at Bucky. He blocked each shot with his metal arm, as I dodged Natasha’s bullets and Steve’s shield. Tony worked on getting his suit back up and running, and I finally ran out of bullets. As I put another round in, I didn’t hear someone come up from behind me. 

    Bucky grabbed me by the collar, and pushed me against the wall. My mask muffled my yelp. He stared me dead in the eyes, and mine wandered to my gun. He grabbed my jaw and turned me head to face him. 

“Who are you really?” He asked, coming out in a sort of growl noise. When I didn’t answer, Steve came up beside him and asked me again. I let out a small chuckle at their confusion. Bucky’s metal arm came up and I thought he was going to punch the shit out of me, so I braced for impact. Surprisingly, it crashed down onto the wall beside my face. He lifted it to the bridge of my nose, and pulled down my mask in one swift motion. He took in a sharp breath, and let go of my collar. Steve’s eyes went wide with disbelief, and Bucky’s flesh hand covered his mouth. He pulled me in and embraced me, which resulted in me pushing him off of me. 

“Look, I don’t know who you think I am, but I was sent here to kill you. Let me get back to doing that,” I said, as I gained my strength back and grabbed my pistol from my thigh holster. 

     Bucky and I walked hand-in-hand down the pier in Brooklyn. He carried a picnic basket in his other hand, while I carried a green blanket in mine. 

“I can’t believe you’re going off to the war, Buck,” I said. “How will I sleep at night knowing you might not come back?” I asked him, my brows scrunched together. He stopped walking, and gave me that god-forsaken half smile. 

“I’ll write to you everyday, Doll. And I know I’ll come home, you know why?” he asked, and I shook my head. “Because I have something, someone, to come home to. My beautiful fiancée, who worries too much. Doll, I’ll be fine. Besides, it’ll just make the time we do have sweeter,” he said, which made me grin. He leaned down, so his lips were on mine. 

     Bucky, Steve and I had always been best friends since we were old enough to walk. Bucky was always getting Steve out of fights, and they were their own two, an iconic duo of two opposites. I didn’t have any friends myself, always too focused on my school work, and my nose deep in books. I wanted to prove the world wrong; that a girl could be just as smart as a man. Bucky and Steve seen that. They believed in me. I was top of all my classes, and ended up tutoring Steve and Bucky one summer. After that, we all just stuck together and stayed friends.

    Bucky first admitted his feelings for me four years ago, and I admitted that I reciprocated them. We have just recently become engaged, but then he found out he was being promoted to Sergeant, and we spent all the time in the world together. We included Steve of course, who was still trying to get into the army. We always tried to make sure he never felt like a third-wheel.

    The next day, Bucky went off to the war. I bid him farewell, through tears and sniffles. Even Bucky shed a couple tears. After, Steve and I went out for coffee. When he told me he had been accepted into the army, I expressed genuine concern for him, which caused an argument between us. I didn't get to apologize before he left, and I never saw Bucky or Steve again, as Bucky was dead and Steve was in the ice, but we didn't know that.

   I was visiting my late fiancé's grave on a late afternoon in May, when a black Volkswagen Beetle pulled up to the cemetery. They snatched me right from the graveyard, and nobody was ever to see me again either. 

Well, they did, but they never lived long enough to tell anyone that.

Now, I’m fighting off the Avengers with my fists, and it’s safe to say they’re losing.

   They all have blood all over, gashes, wounds, cuts, but Bucky still isn’t dead. I had no marks at all on me, as the soldiers wouldn’t let Tony and Nat cause harm to me. 

“We need to find away to sedate her, so we can bring her back to the tower, where Bruce and Tony can reverse the mind games,” Steve told the others, Bucky immediately agreeing. He still looked like a lost puppy every time I lunged at him, a knife clutched in my fist. 

I couldn’t help it. There was a feeling, deep down, stored somewhere in my brain, that told me to stop, that you felt for this man, but I didn’t listen. The only thing I could hear running through my head; Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.

It was the programming. It wasn’t my fault. I promise.

Eventually, I was kicking Avenger ass. I had them all on the floor. Nat I had knocked out, Tony was slouched against a wall, and Steve was pretty damaged, so was Bucky. I was so caught up with trying to kill my predecessor, that I didn’t hear Tony calling Sam. 

“Just send Redwing. Bruce will load ‘er up with a standard anesthetic that will knock her out for a few hours,” Tony said through grunts into his phone. I ignored it.

I had a knife in front of Bucky’s chest, him using his metal arm to try and pull mine away, Steve trying to pull me off of Bucky by the hips, and failing. Bucky and I battled for strength, but it was hard with Steve pulling me. I hesitated for a second. One damn second, I second guessed my programming, and Bucky managed to wrestle me to the ground, the knife sliding across the floor out of my reach. He landed on top of me, using his arms to hold himself up. When I kicked and squirmed to get out, he pinned my arms down on the sides of my head, his heavy breath landing on my lips. 

    Out of the blue, there was a zooming noise, and a high-tech looking drone shot a vile of some liquid into my neck, and soon, I passed out under my target.

   When I came to, I was in a padded room, with one wall being a mirror. I knew immediately that it was a one-way mirror, and they were watching me right now. I’ve been a lab rat before, but this was different. I looked at myself in the mirror. My ponytail had fallen out during the fight, so my locks hung over my shoulders and down my back. They had confiscated all of my weapons, including my hidden ankle knife. I groaned, but was silently grateful that I wasn’t in a straight jacket. Again. Those things aren’t fun.

   I sat, with my head against the wall, thinking about how I got here. I cringed when I remembered what they’d do to me when I get back, or they send someone to come get me. I failed. I failed myself, my commander, HYDRA, everyone. They gave me the super soldier serum in the forties. They gifted me that, four times. Meaning I was Bucky and Steve twice. I should have been able to overpower them. It just took that one damn second of hesitation, and I could already see myself tied to a chair with a gag in my mouth, being burned, slashed, shot, so much more. This was the first mission I had ever failed.

   Soon, a short man with dark hair and a lab coat walked in to the room. I looked up, embarrassed from the tears that stained my cheeks. I wiped them away, and he came and crouched down beside me. 

“My name is Dr. Banner. I’m going to help you, y/n,” I said. I shook my head, and gave him a sympathetic smile. 

“Nobody can help me. I’m in too deep now. They’ll probably kill me anyways,” I mumbled.

“At least let us try,” said Dr. Banner. I looked up at him, and then noticed that Bucky, Steve, Nat, Tony, and Sam all stood behind him. I nodded, and Bucky slowly walked toward me. I looked up at him, and I think he sensed how tense and afraid I was. 

“It’s okay, Doll. I’m not gonna hurt you. Come, let's go to the lab so Bruce can help you remember me,” he said, holding out his hand with a small reassuring smile. I reluctantly took his hand and stood. He led me through the building, the rest of them following. Once we got to the lab, Bruce sat me down on the exam bed and asked me a few questions.

“Full Name?”

“Y/n y/m/n y/l/n,”

“Date of birth?” 

“D/O/B, 1918,”

A few more simple questions followed, which I answered.

“Okay. I’m gonna ask you to take your gloves off, I just need to put an IV in your hand. It’s routine,”

I nodded and obliged. I layed my gloves down on the table next to me, and gave Dr. Banner my left hand to put the IV in. He stopped when he took my hand, as Bucky’s jaw dropped. A look of confusion spread across my face. 

“She’s still wearing it!” Bucky exclaimed to Steve, who gathered around to look at your hand. Steve immediately broke out in a smile, and hugged his best friend.

“Oh, the ring?” I asked and the smile on Bucky’s face confirmed my answer. “Yeah, I don’t know why, but it felt wrong to take off,” I explained, the smile never leaving Bucky’s face. He rubbed a hand over his stubble. “I’m pretty sure, before HYRDA took me I had a husband, or a fiancé, but HYDRA wiped all memories of him from me.” I said, and Bucky’s smile faded, only a little.

“Well, let’s get to that remembering, then, hmm?” Dr. Banner said.

It’s been three months. Three months. Everyday, a new test. Nothing. Dr. Banner and Tony gave me some type of memory therapy the other day, and now they’re waiting a few days to see if it kicks in. I don’t have much faith in it anymore.

     I woke up this morning, and something felt, different. I was still in the bedroom that Tony gave me, but I just felt...different, I don't know. I assumed it was just my period, so I went to the bathroom to check, but no, it wasn't my period. I brushed it off and took a shower, got ready for my day, etcetera, all of the things normal people do in the mornings. I decided I needed to eat something, based off of the rumble coming from my stomach.

    I walked into the kitchen, wishing everyone a good morning. I grabbed a banana off of the counter, and ate it whilst leaning against the counter. When I was done, I walked over to the garbage to throw it out, but I didn’t see Bucky coming from the other way. I walked right into him and almost slipped, this new drug that Bruce has me on making me drowsy all the time, but he caught me, his metal arm on the small of my back. I looked into his eyes, and after a few seconds he pulled me back up, his hand still on my back. 

“You okay Doll?” He asked with a grin.

“Oh my God,” I whispered under my breath. My hand squeezed his flesh arm. That was it! 

“Huh?” He said with a bemused look on his face.

“Bucky! I remember! I remember you and me, we were on the pier the day before you left for the war. We were getting married!” I said, a huge smile on my lips, and my eyes brimming with tears. His eyes filled with water too, and he picked me up and held me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and nudged my nose into his neck. We stood like that for awhile, but then I pulled my head away from his neck. 

“I thought you were dead!” I said, and playfully hit his chest. He chuckled.

“I’m right here, baby,” he said, bringing his lips closer to mine. The kiss was long and passionate, sweet and longing. When we both pulled away for air, he took my left hand and kissed my palm. I moved it to cup his cheek, and he moved his hand on top of mine. “So, do you still want to marry me?” He said.

“Of course, Buck,”

[thecassadilla]

The Perfect Moment

Word Count: 1,866/AO3

Pairing: New Dream/Rapunzel x Eugene

Summary: Eugene tries to find the perfect moment to propose to Rapunzel. 

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is my contribution for Day 5 of New Dream Appreciation Week - Proposal! I’d just like to reiterate that I, idiotically, have not watched seasons 2 and 3 of Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure (well, I watched one random episode at 3 in the morning, but that’s a different story for a different day). While I know there were multiple proposals and rings from both Eugene and Rapunzel, I actually haven’t seen any of them, unfortunately. So, in true “me” fashion, this is a Modern!AU that I pulled out of thin air. Seriously, I don’t know how I managed to come up with this - I’ve never been proposed to, and all of my friends have gotten engaged in Disney World. Definitely not my area of expertise lol. I hope you enjoy it!

If you asked him directly, Eugene would’ve denied being a planner. He lived his life on the edge, doing things on a whim. Spontaneity. Until he met Rapunzel - then he subconsciously became a planner. Although outwardly, he tried to play it cool and pretend like he was too focused on living in the moment to care about the future, that couldn’t be further from the truth. It only became evident to him when he purchased an engagement ring for Rapunzel and carried it around for months, unsure of when and how to propose to her. 

Like the night they went to dinner and she looked so beautiful. He wanted to pull the ring out of his pocket and propose right there, but then there was a fire in the kitchen and they all evacuated, so they ended up getting fast food and calling it a night. So, he scrapped his plans and decided it would be best to wait for a better opportunity.

There was the weekend they went to New York City where he thought about proposing a thousand times. Like inside the Museum of Modern Art; the vibes weren’t right, though, and that plan quickly went out the window. He thought about doing it at the ice skating rink at Bryant Park, but then someone injured themselves while skating and he knew he would’ve felt guilty for taking away the attention from someone who’d just been hurt. He very seriously thought about doing it in front of the Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Center, and just as he was about to pull out the ring and get down on one knee, a couple less than ten feet away from them got engaged. Forget Times Square, that place was filled with couples getting engaged. And then just like that, the weekend was gone and so was the opportunity to propose in New York.

He thought about doing it on New Years Eve, surrounded by their friends and family at a party, and instead, he found himself in a fog.

“Hey,” Rapunzel said, shaking his arm slightly.

He shook his head in an attempt to come out of his trance. “Huh?”

“Are you alright?” She asked, a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I was deep in thought.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “Just checking.”

And thus, another opportunity fizzled before his eyes. He was immensely grateful that Rapunzel appeared to be none the wiser to his plans, failed or otherwise. The thought was on his mind constantly, but he had a long list of everything that it had to be: perfect, for starters. Unique. Unforgettable. Extraordinary. And daily life just wasn’t like that; it was ordinary and mundane. They went to work and ran their errands, and that was that. 

He was certain that he was going to do it on Valentine’s Day. He had the entire evening planned out; they were going to go to see a show at the theatre, and then to a fancy restaurant and he was going to do it - no more inhibitions. Until he got stuck late at work.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sunshine,” he said into the phone, trying his best to keep his voice from cracking. 

“Hi, baby!” She exclaimed. “Sorry, I’ve got my hands full and I couldn’t see who was calling. But I’m so excited for tonight.”

“Yeah, about that…” he started, but trailed off.

“Oh no, what’s wrong?”

“I’m stuck working late,” he sighed. “I’m really sorry, I know you were looking forward to tonight.”

“Oh,” she said, the slightest hint of disappointment in her voice for a split second. “Well we can always reschedule! It’s just a day, after all.”

She was ever the optimist, wasn’t she? If only he felt the same way. He wasn’t bitter, but it was yet another wrench in his plans. And this one wasn’t for lack of trying, or because someone else stole the moment, either. It was just sheer bad luck. 

So he sat on it for a long, long time. There were no more special days, no more special trips. Time was passing quickly, and it was starting to bother him more and more, and eventually it became noticeable. 

“Is everything okay, Eugene?” She asked while they were sitting at the dinner table one night.

He looked up. “Of course.”

“You’re lying.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“Something isn’t right,” she said, placing her hand on top of his. “You haven’t been yourself lately. Is something bothering you?”

“No, everything’s fine,” he lied. “Things have just been rough at work. You know how it is.”

“Okay,” she nodded, her eyes sympathetic. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

He didn’t answer. And he hated himself for that. He hated himself for lying to her, and he hated himself for not doing it right then and there. But the most perfect woman in the world was sitting right in front of him, and she deserved nothing less than perfection. 

He decided that he’d have to work harder to disguise his feelings. And more time passed. He thought about doing it when they went to the park at sunset, but they were being eaten alive by mosquitoes and had to leave before he could even think about doing anything. He thought about doing it the night they sat outside and stargazed, until their neighbors came outside and ruined the moment. He contemplated doing it on her birthday, but that plan fell to pieces when he realized that she should have her birthday to herself; getting engaged should be a separate day to celebrate. He thought about doing it when they were laying in bed one night; she was reading a book and just as he was about to clear his throat, she leaned in to kiss him goodnight and turned off her lamp. And the moment had escaped yet again.

And that brought them to mid-July. He’d been carrying around the ring for eight months, letting it sit in its box instead of on her finger, where it belonged. The beach, the pier, the mountain they hiked, and the drive down the coast became other missed opportunities along the way.

When he woke up that morning, he wasn’t surprised to see that she was already gone. It wasn’t unusual for her to get up early on a Saturday to run her errands. He laid in bed for a while, brooding and muttering to himself before he got up and decided to go on a long drive to clear his head. It didn’t help, of course. He wasn’t only wasting time, but also gas. He felt totally incompetent; the ring was burning a hole in his pocket and he felt like he wasn’t being honest with Rapunzel. 

He returned home in the early afternoon, feeling no better than he did before he left. He took a deep breath as he pushed his key into the lock, unsure what he would do if Rapunzel noticed his sullen expression - it was more a matter of when than if, at this point, though.

The living room was covered in a large tarp, an easel and blank canvas in the center of the room. The coffee table was pushed into the kitchen and a bouquet of sunflowers wrapped in brown paper were resting on the counter. Every blind and curtain was open, so the entire room was illuminated with natural light.

“Hey!” Rapunzel called, emerging from the hallway with a stool in her hands. “I wasn’t sure when you were coming back, so I turned the living room into a studio. I hope you don’t mind.”

He was immediately taken aback by her appearance. She was wearing denim overall shorts, with a white floral off-the-shoulder top underneath. She had a light blue headband in her hair, a small knot sitting perfectly in the center. She placed the stool next to the easel and put her hands on her hips. She looked so happy, and completely at ease with the world.

“No,” he shook his head, dumbfounded. “I don’t mind at all.”

“I figured you wouldn’t,” she giggled. “Oh, and guess what!”

“What?”

“I went to the market today and they said the sunflowers bloomed two weeks early! Isn’t that just incredible?” She gushed. 

“Yeah, that is something,” he said, his voice low.

“The only thing is, I can’t remember where I put the vase. I’d like to get them in some water, but I don’t know where it is,” she said, bringing her fingers up to her face. 

He tried to think but his brain wasn’t working.

“Ooh!” She exclaimed suddenly, clapping her hands together. “I remember what I did with it!”

She raced down the hallway, and he heard the closet door open. A minute later she was back with the vase in his hand, and he realized that he never moved from the entryway to their apartment. He was standing there, shoes on and keys in hand, frozen. 

“I found it! I was keeping all of my sewing stuff in it temporarily,” she explained, bringing the empty vase into the kitchen. She navigated around the coffee table that was taking up most of the room, and he heard the tap turn on, followed by the sound of paper being torn away. A few seconds passed and she came out, holding the vase full of sunflowers in her hands. She was smiling brightly when she said “See! Look at how nice that looks.”

She went back into the living room and placed the vase on the stool. And then he decided it was now or never.

“Marry me,” he said, his voice practically a whisper. 

“What was that?” She asked, her back facing him.

He dropped his keys on the floor, startling her, and then charged in her direction. She turned to face him and he repeated himself.

“Marry me,” he said, breathlessly.

Several looks crossed her face - confusion, shock, delight. “I-uh, w-what?” She stuttered.

And so he pulled the ring box out of his pocket, got down on one knee, and opened it. Both of her hands flew up to cover her mouth and her eyes widened as she watched his every move.

“Rapunzel, you’re my best friend. I love everything about you - your kindness, your ability to see the world in a positive light, your creativity and your sassiness. You inspire me to be a better man each and every day. I love going on adventures with you and I want all of our adventures to be together. I know you're the only one I want to share the rest of my life with. Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” She nodded, tears pooling in her eyes and offered him her shaky left hand.

He slid the ring onto her finger and stood up, and immediately she was in his arms. 

“I can’t believe this,” she blubbered, when she finally pulled away. “How long have you been planning this?” 

“A long time,” he admitted, sheepishly. “I’ve had the ring for about eight months, and I kept trying to find the perfect moment, but it wasn’t easy.”

“Nothing could be more perfect than this,” she promised, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Coffee and a Wedding (Chapter 12- The End)

Here we are Loves, we've reached the end. I'd like to just take a moment to say Thank You to everyone. Thank You to the long time readers who have jumped with be between characters. Thank You to the new readers who I've watched discover my older works while waiting on updates. Thank You to the new readers whom I may never see again.

This series has been a adventure and I want to thank everyone for going on it with me. It was a adventure in playing with a new writing style, playing with a new type of story. And to think, it all started with the idea of a trope filled on shot for two friends’ birthdays.

There is always something bitter sweet to me about a series ending and with the end of the year near, I find myself looking back at how far I've come. I've finished Silent Song this year. I started and finished Clover and Lace. I finished The Things You Find (In The Rain). And now, I've finished Coffee and a Wedding as well.

I want to thank everyone who donated to the Kofi or cheered me on while I raised funds to go to NYC for my birthday. I want to thank @winterisakiller and @tnystrk-exe who supplied so very many tropes to this tropefest.

Here it is- a special Monday night treat. Chapter 12, about nine hours early. 

Masterlist

Chapter 12:

Morning came with a pounding headache and too bright sun. I couldn’t think and I wanted to drink the whole of the ocean, salt be damned. But that would mean moving and moving was something I didn’t want to do. Moving was going to hurt in so many different ways. I swear to God, I am never going to drink again. Not a drop. But that’s what everyone says when confronted with a hangover, right?

Speaking of hurting, everything ached. I fought to right my brain through the fog of the hangover and sleep. I was beyond comfortable, at least I had that much going for me. I was naked, I realized, and pressed against Clint. He was also naked.  

His arms were draped around me. My head rested on his chest and shifted slightly with every deep breath he took. The room smelled of stale air and sex. I could feel the dried evidence of the night before on my thighs but my mind couldn’t wrap around what that meant at the moment. Though I knew it was something.

My leg was hooked over his, bent and riding up his thigh. I could feel him resting against it. My hand rested on his chest and even though I was still foggy at best, I couldn’t resist the urge to run my hand over the muscles. One of Clint’s hands rested low on my hip and the other wrapped around my rib cage. His thumb rested under the swell of my breast.  

I didn’t want to move. I wanted to stay here forever and never face reality again. But that wasn’t an option. The game was coming to a close. Once we got on the plane today, it was all over. He would go back to only being my boss. I would go back to only being an employee. And I’d be okay with that, somehow. I had to be okay with that, somehow.  

This shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let this happen. It was a mistake. I untangled myself from the sheets and Clint’s arms. He groaned and shifted, throwing his arm over his eyes.  

“It’s not morning yet.” He whined. “Come back.”  

“Need to shower.” I grumbled, “Go back to sleep.”

I looked passively around the room after slipping on Clint’s shirt. Something to cover myself was better than nothing. The bottle of wine was never even opened. The dress Clint had spent so much money on was in a crumpled heap on the floor along with his suit. His blazer was wet, having soaked up the ice from the bucket as it melted overnight.

After grabbing a change of clothes, I slipped into the bathroom. I’d not seen anything in the trashcan in the lobby and the trashcan in here was empty too. It dawned on me how stupid we were. That’s what I felt dried on my thighs.  

Did we talk about it? I couldn’t remember but that didn’t mean we didn’t. It also didn’t mean that we did. Would it be rude to ask now? Was it too late? I mean, let’s be real- Clint’s too responsible to have anything?

I cranked the shower on and used the hot water to wash away as much of my worries as I could. I wasn’t worried about a pregnancy- I had gotten a IUD a few years prior but still. By the time I was out of the shower, I had decided not to worry about things. I felt pretty sure that Clint wouldn’t have given me anything, he was generally responsible, right? I mean, sure this was his mistake as much as mine but still.  

By the time I finished washing and dried, Clint had pulled himself out of the bed. He was making coffee in nothing but a pair of shorts when I came out. I had all my things from the bathroom balanced on a towel.  

“Coffee’s hot.”  

“Thanks. Shower’s free.” I said as if it wasn’t obvious.  

“Thanks, Babe.” I ignored him and shoved my few toiletries into the clear travel bag. Of course, Clint noticed and asked, “You okay?”

“Fine. Just tired. Not looking forward to the flight.” I lied.  

“Yeah- I could sleep for a year.” Clint nodded only to groan and rub his head. “Here.” He handed me a cup of coffee, doctored to my liking and smiled at me with warmth in his eyes. “I’ll jump in the shower. Check out is in almost two hours.”

“Right. I’ll get packing.”  

~~~~~<3

With a hangover between us, there was a blessed silence while we rode in the taxi. He listened as I talked, worked my way through idea after idea as to how I would tell my family that our fake relationship ended.  

“I could just tell them that everyone put too much pressure on us.” I decided. “Too much judgment. Too many snide comments. Questions.” I decided. Sometimes simple was better and honestly, if we had a real relationship during this trip it would be a fair reason for it to end. It was hard to ignore all the wonderful things Clint had said when he defended me.

“Okay.” He said.  

After a few minutes of silently chewing at my lip, I gave up. “Thank you.” I said. “For putting up with it. For all the drama, trouble. For Matt. You’re almost off the hook and I promise I won’t put you in this position again.”

“I could,” He softly spoke. “put up with it. I mean, for longer.”

“But you don’t have to.” I laughed though I wanted to cry. “Lucky you.”

“And if I wanted too?” I wasn’t sure if I heard him right. I mean, what did that even mean?

“We need to go.” I said instead when the taxi came to a stop. I could see mom getting out of the taxi a few cars in front of us. I didn’t want to talk to her. I didn’t want to see her. I didn’t want to pretend anymore. I wanted to get home and cry.  

There was a crack of thunder as Clint opened the taxi door. As I put my foot on the asphalt, the sky opened up. Torrential rains fell from the sky. Yep, that was how my day was going to go.

Clint wrestled the bags out of the trunk and made quick work of checking them in at the curbside baggage drop. I hardly made it out of the cab before he was offering me his hand with a bright smile. In the distance behind him, I could see more and Kurt making their way inside the airport. They looked as tired as I felt. I didn’t think they were paying us any attention.  

Still, Clint wasn’t one to take a chance. He pulled me to him and we danced, spinning in the rain. My clothes and hair were quickly soaking up the water, as was his but he didn’t seem to care.  

It took a bit for me to give in. But after a few dips, twists and turns he had be smiling at him. I couldn’t help laughing as people watched him pull me into a kiss.  

“Get a room.” Someone shouted and I realized it was Kurt.  

I had no idea when he and Mom made their way back outside the airport but at some point they did. I rolled my eyes and stepped away from Clint. He didn’t let go of my hand though. I guess the act was back on.  

“I’ll call when we get back to the city.” I promised though I knew already that I was more likely going to text them and call it good enough.

“You better.” Mom demanded.

~~~~~<3

I was beyond glad to get off the airplane. The moment we took off, I focused on trying to sleep. Clint seemed to do the same and both of us dozed most of the long flight. Now that we had our bags and my legs were moving, I felt much better. My head was clearer and my heart heavier.

“About last night.” Clint blurted out as we walked by a Starbucks in the airport. I didn’t want to talk about this. I didn’t want to acknowledge this. I didn’t want to give voice to the demon for fear I’d make it real. But he had to go and bring it up.  

“It’s fine.” I said, putting on the bravest face I had. “I’m going to go grab a taxi and get home. I’ll see you Monday?”  

“Wait a second?” Clint looked between the cafe and me. I smiled and shook my head. “We should talk about it- I mean we-”

“No, it’s fine. We were drunk. It’s whatever. And… I think I want to be alone for a little bit. I haven’t been since we left for the trip, you know?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. “I’ll see you Monday.” I smiled as bright as I could and walked away with a wave.  

When Clint didn’t follow me, I breathed a heavy breath. It took everything I had to hold myself together. I could close my eyes and still see the weight of everything as it settled on his shoulders. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to carry with him knowing that he got drunk and had sex with his college age employee. He deserved better than that. He was a good man and a good boss.  

“Wait!” Clint’s voice had the amazing ability to carry over distances.  

I hadn’t thought anything of the sound of running feet- people run in airports. His voice was what made me turn and look. He skidded to a stop in front of me, no coffee in his hands.  

“What, Clint?”

“I like you.” He blurted out. “Maybe could even love you.”  

“Stop.” It was hard to keep from yelling. His mouth snapped shut. “I am tired. You’re tired. We just spent a whole trip pretending to be in love. We got drunk and had sex. It’s fine. Yeah, I’m young but I’m a big girl. I can handle it. Don’t worry. Just- go home and rest before you feel pressured into making promises or say things you don’t mean.”

“What?” He looked deflated. I told myself it was just that he was tired. He was wound up, thinking he had to do something- to be something for me because the night before.  

I said, “I’ll see you Monday.” and turned.  

The heels of my boots echoed against the tiles. It felt like the airport was empty and that I was alone yet people moved all around us as I walked away. I didn’t dare to look back, not directly. Instead I used a window as I walked by. It was just reflective enough to see Clint standing where I left him, rooted in place and my heart broke. That was the instant I decided that I wouldn’t see him on Monday. I couldn’t do this. I thought I could but I cant.  

~~~~~<3

Somehow, I managed to make it home before breaking down. Even as tears dripped from my chin, I texted mom that we made it home just fine. I told her we had a blast on the trip. She told me of how Sarah had made a scene at the wedding not long after we left. She was wine drunk and screamed at the groomsmen. Matt had to take her back to the hotel room early.  

It turned out, Sarah had changed her flight and left not long after we were in the air. She was on a single ticket, leaving Matt behind on the island. What that meant for them or their future was anyone’s guess. While Mom held onto hope that they would work things out. She had hope that Sarah could still accomplish her dreams of going back to school with financial security, I had other ideas. I hoped that it meant that Sarah would file for an annulment and move far away from Matt.  

I spent the weekend unpacking. The dress Clint purchased was hung with care in my closet, still needing a trip to the dry cleaners. I hardly left the apartment except for running to the corner store for more wine, more chips and most importantly- ice cream. By the time classes resumed, I planned to not even fit into the cursed dress from the wedding. It wasn’t exactly a healthy coping method but it tasted good at least.

Monday morning came with much dread. I hadn’t heard from Clint all weekend but I hadn’t expected to… But I wanted to. I wanted him to blow up my phone. I wanted him to prove to me he cared. I wanted him to show me I was wrong. I wanted my fairy tale.  

But I’m not a child anymore. I don’t get fairy tales. I don’t get fairy tale endings. I get to get wine drunk before four in the afternoon. I get to ignore my phone all morning. I get to block the cafe’s number. I get to block the other supervisors.

By Wednesday morning and my third missed shift, Mr. Barton started calling. Then he texts, wanting to know if everything was alright. Did he do anything wrong? Was I sick? Did I need anything? Finally, he asked for me to just talk to him. I had to answer, somehow. I had to tell him something.  

“Mr. Barton, I quit.”  

I sent the text with my breath held. I watched with baited breath as the read receipt changed from ‘unread’ to ‘read’. The screen changed to reflect an incoming call from the last person I wanted to talk to. After rejecting the call, I made quick work of blocking the last connecting to Arrowhead cafe.

~~~~~<3

Somehow, I managed to survive until Saturday. I busied myself during my last free week before classes with looking for a new job. Nothing seemed right but I applied with as many positions as I could. I needed something.  

Outside, rain poured down in sheets and thunder cracked. Wind whistled down the street and between the buildings. Part of me wondered if power would hold out for the rest of the night. It wouldn’t be the first time this shitty apartment lost power due to a storm and it wouldn’t be the last.  

When the pounding started at my door, I almost jumped out of my skin. At first, I wasn’t going to answer. I was riding a nice buzz from the wine and had worked myself a nice sized crater into the tub of Chocolate ice cream I had been nibbling. When the pounding didn’t stop, I had no choice but to slip off the windowsill I had curled up in.  

I didn’t think about it what I was wearing as I walked to the door but god, I wish I did. All I knew was the pounding wasn’t stopping and it was almost one in the morning. I didn’t want to open the door without looking through the peep hole but then the last voice I ever wanted to hear came bellowing through the door.  

“Alexis!” No. No, not home. Go away. Maybe if I pretended to be asleep? “I just want to talk. To make sure you’re alright.”  

“I’m fine, Mr. Barton.” I tried so hard to sound fine too.  

“So I’m ‘Mr. Barton’ now?” He sounded tired and I wondered if it was my fault. Maybe he was having to work extra to pick up my slack. Maybe no one could pick up my shifts. It didn’t matter, though. “Let me in. Let’s talk.”

“Go home. There’s nothing to talk about.” I yelled through the door.

“I’ll stay out here all damn night then! Yelling. You’re neighbors are sure to notice. Maybe someone will call the cops. Want to see what happens?” Oh man, that was a low move. I scrunched my eyes closed and swallowed the urge to scream.  

Instead I yanked open the door and reached out, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him inside. The door slammed shut behind him. “That’s not fucking fair.”

“Do you ever wear pants at home?” Clint asked, looking at me than running his hand through his hair and looking away. Right. Boyshorts and a large tee. Why can’t I just be allowed to die. “Doesn’t matter.” He decided as I crossed my arms over my chest.  

“What do you want?” I snapped.  

“To know why you just up and quit!” He snapped back. “Everything was great and then we got back and you’re just-” He flung his hands out when he couldn’t find the word he wanted.  

“Fuck you.” I snarled.

“You did. Or rather. I fucked you and you just-”

“Yes. You fucked me! How could I go back to the cafe after that? Pretending like none of this happened?!”

“I asked if you were sure!” He snapped back before taking a calming breath and running his hands down his too pale face. “Look. We were drunk. I was drunk. But if you didn’t want to- you could have said ‘no’ and I would have stopped in a heartbeat. I’m not- I don’t want to be that kind of man. I never wanted to take advantage of you.”

“You didn’t. I wanted it.” I grumbled the words. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have but dammit I couldn’t let him think even for a moment that I hadn’t been on board with what was happening that night.  

“Then what’s the problem?!” Clint’s voice was climbing again.

“I didn’t plan on you going to the wedding. I didn’t plan on spending so much time with you. I didn’t plan to fall in love with you. I didn’t plan any of this, so leave. Just go so I can get over you in peace. Alright? I don’t need-”

“Look- I know you’re pissed off at me right now. I know I showed up unannounced and made a scene. But I think you just said ‘I didn’t plan to fall in love with you’ and I really need you to rewind.”

“I… wait- what?” I didn’t say that. I couldn’t have. Did I? Fucking wine and ice cream.

“Alexis- are you in love with me?” Clint stepped closer.  

“What? No. Why would I-?” I couldn’t find the words to properly dig myself out of this. “Look- I just didn’t want to make things hard for you, to put your reputation at risk or anything. It’s bad enough what you had to go through last week.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” At least he wasn’t yelling anymore.

“Because I didn’t- You don’t feel the same way, you couldn’t- I’m me and you’re you. So why get hurt?”

“I don’t feel the same way?” Clint’s face was blank and I nodded. “Jesus Christ- I told you, I tried to tell you- what do I have to do to make you see?!” He snapped. So much for the yelling being done.  

“See what?!” I stomped my foot. How very adult of me.  

Clint reached out and snagged a hand around my waist. There was nothing I could do to stop myself from crashing into him. A hand tangled in my hair as he pushed his lips against mine. I was tense at first, unsure of what was happening.  

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the fact that this is what I’ve been wanting from the moment I got home but I eventually relaxed. The kiss turned soft and sweet as I ran my hands along his arms, up his chest and rested a hand against the side of his neck. Stubble scratched at my face and his breath fanned over me.  

“I love you too.” He whispered.

~~~~~<3

It’s been a few years now, and I still work at Arrowhead Coffee for a few hours on the weekends. The mornings where we opened the cafe together were some of my favorite times, even if he still occasionally flirted with the espresso machine. A girl can’t win every fight.  

The sun wasn’t even up yet but in an hour, it would start coloring the sky a little at a time. I still wasn’t really a morning person but this- this was worth it. I was surprised to see the cafe windows still dark. Clint normally at least had some lights on by now.  

As I got closer, I realized it wasn’t as dark as I thought. Inside the windows I could see little candles perched on each table. Firelight flickered and danced. Flowers were everywhere.  

When I slipped inside, I called for Clint. Soft music played over the speakers. I couldn’t help but laugh when he stepped out of the back. He was far overdressed with his smart suit for working in a cafe.  

“May I have this dance?” He asked as he drew closer.  

I realized, as I let myself be pulled along the flower petal covered floor that he was wearing the same suit he had worn that night, so long ago. I also realized that the flower petals were getting crushed, squished into the wood floor and that it wasn’t going to be fun to clean this up. Romantic gestures tended to be messy- they don’t show you that in the Lifetime Romcoms.  

The song came to an end and for a moment, Clint held me. There wasn’t anywhere else I’d rather be. I couldn’t imagine being in the arms of anyone else. This was paradise. This was heaven.  

Clint stepped back and smiled, it was that soft smile that hinted at his lips but danced in his eyes- that smile he so rarely used for anyone or anything but me. I could imagine someday, Clint giving a baby that same smile as he rocked a tiny bundle in his arms.  

He sank down to one knee, completely ignoring how flower petals would be worked into his slacks. Reaching into his blazer pocket, he pulled out a box. It wasn’t black but it was velvet- a deep royal purple that matched the colors of the cafe. My breath stuck in my throat as I covered my mouth with my hand. It was a gesture I had made fun of countless times in movies and yet here I was, standing in the candle light doing that exact thing.  

“Alexis.” His voice was thick and heavy. It reminded me of how he sounded when he woke in the morning. “I can’t begin to say how much you mean to me. I thought it fitting, since everything started here that this should hopefully start here too. I first saw you here and I was captivated by your smile. This is where our fake relationship started. This is where I fell in love with you- far before you knew it. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. I could only nod, before he even got the box open. I was nodding so much that I probably looked like a bobble head. It didn’t matter because I launched myself in his arms, knocking us both to the ground and the box sliding along the floor.  

I didn’t care about rings. He could marry me with a string. “Yes.” I finally choked out, “I’ll marry you.”

~~~~~<3

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[cryptidqueerr]

hey what’s up I’m writing fanfiction now I guess

y’all said “I used to be team jacob in 2006 but now I’m a giant lesbian” and I said “what about.....lesbian jacob black? and what about no imprinting? and also pepper in some more involved parents and more queer folks?” and you said “sure sounds good”

(x-posted to ao3 which is also where more chapters will be posted)

This story begins with an ending.

For six months, I followed the deepest drive of my human heart and loved Edward Cullen. For six months, he bent his nature to love me in return. But that which bends will inevitably break, and the stories warning young girls to stay away from the glittering eyes of vampires exist for a reason.

He abandoned me in the woods. He had thrown open the gates of heaven and then declared me too sinful to stand in its light. He told me that he loved me for my humanity and then told me that in my humanity, I was a liability.  He left me to crash onto the ground alone. I couldn't think without him. I couldn't breathe without him. He had so fully inhabited my soul that my body did not remember how it moved before him. For hours, I curled up, the dark outside pressing against my skin to meet the darkness inside. Sam Uley carried me out of the woods, my father carried me into the house, and I carried me through the unending agony that came after.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Weeks pass. My thin body, growing thinner by the day, feels as though it will crack under the weight of my sorrow. I don't sleep at all - then I do nothing but sleep. I barely eat. Offering smiles to soothe my father's worry feels like carving gashes into my face. I fumble for the right answers to give to the therapist my parents insist I see. She prescribes me a handful of pills that I flush down the drain.

I send texts that return undeliverable. I don't dare try his number - just the thought of the confirmation that his number is dead, that my last connection to him could be severed, drives me into an hours-long breakdown. Instead I text Alice: losing her friendship is an added pain, but a bearable one. Dozens a day, then less. Then more again. Then just one, every night.

I'm waiting. I'll always be waiting. I love him.

I think this must be what praying feels like.

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I am ruins

covered in vines

my temple long lost to age.

the darkness here is deep

shadowed corners whispering ancient

sadness

but still

but still

the air here is holy.

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"Julie Black's coming by later."

I lift my head from my bowl of cereal. Charlie stands at the sink, in front of the coffee pot from 1997. Frost covers the kitchen window, the late November chill pressing its face against the glass. "What?" I say, seconds before my brain processes the words.

"Julie Black. She's swinging by to pick up some of her dad's stuff that he left here a while ago," Charlie says, his hands methodically adding nine sugars to his coffee. He doesn't look up.

He doesn't look directly at me very often anymore. I catch him watching me when he thinks I don't notice, his worried eyes following me from the couch to the fridge to the kitchen table and back again. He likes that I stay downstairs, I think. I don't bother to tell him that my bedroom is filled with Edward, that sleeping on my bed is like sleeping on his grave. My promise to stop saying things like that was my ticket out of weekly therapy appointments and back into my sophomore year of classes at Peninsula College, the community college in Forks. When I'd moved in with Charlie last August, I'd hoped to be moved to Seattle for a four-year college by the fall. Now, I barely manage to pass the few classes I had remembered to sign up for.

I search the blankness in my head for a response. I come up with nothing, save a vague sense of a tall, smiling girl. What does this have to do with me?

"I thought..." Charlie hesitates, then tries again. "I thought maybe you girls could catch up. Billy says she gets pretty lonely down there on the rez, with her sisters gone. She'd wanted to start taking classes over at Peninsula this semester, but it didn't work out. I bet she'd appreciate a friend."

Ah. I nod, returning my attention to the mush of Frosted Flakes. "Okay."

I sense Charlie's stillness: he hadn't expected me to agree. He doesn't answer, just mutters a wordless affirmation. But he finally shuffles into the living room, carrying his coffee and a little less tension.

I bump a cluster of soggy cornflakes, watching as it sets on a spinning path through the off-white milk. I push through the gray fog that fills my skull to idly thumb through my memories, carefully avoiding the ones I don't want to see, like navigating a dark room without barking your shins on furniture. The memory from before (before what? before Ed...no, before, before just before) comes to mind: Julie Black, Billy Black's youngest daughter, had come with him to drop off the truck Charlie had gotten from his old friend for me, right after I'd moved to Forks. I hadn't even started classes when I met her. She had shown me the trick to the clutch. I remember her height - towering over my 5' 4", probably even with Charlie's 5' 10" - and her broad shoulders, built more for soccer than basketball. I remember a bright smile, crinkling her dark eyes, so much like Emmett-

My brain throws the emergency brake before the thought reaches my heart. My head clears out completely: I think of nothing but Frosted Flakes.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I join Charlie on the couch after breakfast. There's a game on TV. I stare at it for a full half-hour before I realize that it's football and not baseball, though that doesn't really help me understand it any better. Charlie alternatively groans in annoyance and punches the arm of his recliner in celebration. I give him another half hour of pretending to join in before I give up and grab the battered paperback I left on the coffee table the night before. It's one of the 80's-era high fantasy novels that I loved when I was thirteen, filled with knights and princesses and sexism. It's engaging enough, even though I've read it before.

My stomach has just started to rumble into hunger when there's a knock on the door. Charlie glances at me, then makes to get out of his chair.

"I'll get it," I offer. I try not to be offended by the look of surprise and excitement on Charlie's face. I'm depressed, not an invalid, I want to snap. But sniping at Charlie doesn't make me feel any better: I already tried.

When I open the door, my brain immediately scrambles to update my memories. The Julie I remember as tall-for-a-girl is now whoa-did-you-see-how-tall-that-girl-is, grinning down at me from at least six feet. Her long black hair hangs damp over her shoulders, trailing down her bare arms. There's ice pelting down with the fine rain, but she's only wearing a black tank top and jeans stuffed into muddy motorcycle boots, a dark red flannel shirt tied around her hips. Her eyes, dark as sweet coffee, are the same. They crinkle at the corners with her wide smile.

"Hey!" she says brightly. "Long time no see."

"Hi," I say.

"Hey there, Julie. Come on in, you must be freezing." Charlie appears at my shoulder, just in time for us to move out of the way for Julie and shut the door against the cold.

"It's not so bad." She stomps the mud from her feet onto the doormat, carefully shaking the rain from her hair. She's telling the truth: she doesn't even have goosebumps on her leanly muscled arms. I, on the other hand, have to cross my arms over my chest to block out the rush of chill, burrowing myself deeper into my sweater. "How've you been, Charlie?" she asks politely, sliding her hands into her pockets.

"Can't complain," he answers, but he's glancing at me. Julie, seemingly unaware of the simmering awkwardness, looks down at me again.

"Did you shrink, Swan? Weren't you at least five foot the last time I saw you?" she teases.

I feel Charlie tense slightly behind me, but for a moment my old instincts return and I roll my eyes. "I haven't changed. You're the one who looks like she's been putting Miracle-Gro on her Wheaties."

Julie grins again, running one hand through her damp hair. "I blend it into protein shakes, actually," she retorts.

Something that feels like a smile tugs at my mouth. I'm surprised by how little it hurts.

"Let me, uh, go grab that stuff for you." The words have barely left Charlie's mouth before he vanishes upstairs.

For a moment, I panic - I can't sustain small talk with my mom on the phone anymore, much less a girl I barely know. I shift from one foot to the other. The fog in my head won't clear. I can't think of anything to ask her.

If Julie notices my empty nervousness, she doesn't seem affected by it. She leans her shoulder against the doorframe, looking down at me with a crooked smile.

"So what do you pale-faces do for fun up here?" she says, a teasing roughness to her voice.

I lift one shoulder in a shrug. I hadn't done anything fun since -

My brain slammed the door shut before I could count the days.

"That's fair," she says, as though I answered. "There's not much to do around here, if you don't go in for some variety on going out in the woods to bring a bunch of dead animals back with you."

"I heard that!" Charlie yells from upstairs. Something bangs on the floor: I spare a small prayer that he doesn't break anything in his charade.

Julie's smile widens easily to a full grin. I've never seen anyone like her: when she smiles, her entire body lifts, like she's seconds from bursting into light. She runs one hand through her long hair. "Can't get mad if it's true," she calls back at him. "Not that the rez is much better. Oh, you don't want to hear the tribe's histories again? You don't want to go to the same stretch of beach and stare at the ocean? How about drinking a bunch of cheap beer in the woods? No? Guess you're out of luck."

My old instincts take over again and I snort out a laugh. "I thought the Forks kids invented standing around drinking Natty Light in silence."

"Nah. That's an old Quileute tradition." Julie rolls her shoulders, wincing slightly as she flexes her muscles. The rain is starting to evaporate off her skin already. The only moisture left clings to the hollow at the base of her neck, the dip in her collarbones, the curve of her elbow. I wonder briefly how she manages to dry off so quickly. My hands are still damp with melting flecks of ice.

"We really do steal everything." The words come out of my mouth automatically; I'm not really paying attention. The part of my brain that keeps me alive is nearly smoking at the effort of keeping the thought of cold hands and icy lips from crashing to the forefront of my mind.

"Which is why they send me up here to steal away the hearts of your women," Julie says with a wink. She isn't acknowledging the monumental effort it's taking me to stay functional. But the quick sweep of her eyes across my face, the practiced ease of her smile, are all a little too careful - she's noticed, but she isn't commenting. From anyone else it would seem like discomfort: from her, it's a kindness.

"From what I hear, you don't have any problems with that on the rez, either." Charlie reappears with a few fishing poles and a jacket that I'm sure is his. I was there when Mom bought it for him one Christmas.

Julie lifts one shoulder in an acquiescing shrug. "It's in the Black genes. We're a long, proud line of very attractive people."

"Just what every father wants to hear." Charlie grins and hands over the poles and jacket. "You, uh, heading back to the rez?"

"Yeah, I've got some work to do on the Rabbit. I'm not saying I heard Dad on the phone trying to talk Hawkins into finding me a new transmission, but I am saying Christmas is coming up and she is nowhere near close to transmission transplant ready." That broad, easy smile softens Julie's face again.

"Don't suppose you'd feel like trying to teach Bella here a thing or two about engines, would you? Every time she has to call me to change a tire I feel like I've failed as a dad." Charlie's casual almost-joke doesn't fool either of us, by the look on Julie's face. I feel Charlie's eyes dart over to me, but I stare out the window past Julie's arm. I feel myself sliding - out of the conversation, out of the kitchen, out of the entire morning. I don't make plans anymore. I don't go places anymore. What the hell is Charlie doing?

"Thinking about taking shop as an elective next semester?" Julie tosses the question back to me. I don't look at her, but I shake my head. Like before, she takes my silence as a response, letting it slip into the flow of conversation as easily as if I'd spoken. "I didn't really take you for a mechanic type."

"I don't really know what type I am," I say. I see Charlie's face fall slightly, and my stomach with it. He thought he was doing good. He thought I was getting better. He tried so hard. "But I could give mechanic-type a shot."  An uncharacteristically broad smile lifts Charlie's face before I even register the words that came out of my mouth.

What the fuck, Swan.

Julie laughs and stretches her arms over her head. It feels like she takes up the entire kitchen, though I can't decide if it's her physical size or just her energy, if she'd fill up a room the same way if she was the same size as Al-

"I can probably teach her how to at least change a tire," Julie interrupts the dangerous thought before my self-preservation can get to it, like she saw the pain coming.

"Great!" Charlie's almost beaming now. My face flushes slightly: I didn't think I had the capacity to be embarrassed anymore, but when your dad is practically wriggling like a puppy over the thought of you leaving the house, embarrassment manages to find its way back in. "You girls have fun. Just bring her home before midnight, huh?"

"I always do," Julie says and tosses her hair over her shoulder. I feel the flush on my face warm a little more. I don't bother trying to understand why.

[mortaljin]

Wonder Emporium

Word Count: 6.9k Warnings: Cursing, accusation of infidelity, struggling relationships. Genre: Angst. Some fluff. Mainly angst Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Female Reader 

Summary: You and Kim Taehyung reminisce on where your love began, where it thrived, and where it went wrong. All over some great fucking cookies.

Masterlist 

There comes a moment in everyone’s life where it seems fitting to reminisce on the decisions they have made. For some people, it is the opportunities that life presented them with that they either accepted or refused, choosing one destiny over another. Others look back on the people they used to be, used to know, and used to love.

You are no exception.

Kim Taehyung is no exception.

“Do you remember when Annie opened her first store?”

You hummed in reply to his question—asked as a form of small talk—while a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. His eyes fell outside the fogged window and landed on the vacant street in front of the store. Yours landed on the perfectly polished, perfectly styled furniture of the café that you and Taehyung had come to love over the years.

A distant memory came to the forefront of your mind and just like the man sitting in front of you—you were sure—you couldn’t help but think of that evening.

“So, the professor has the audacity to send out a summer reading assignment a month before the semester starts! This book has fourteen-hundred pages for fucks sake!”

You were seething, and Kim Taehyung just walked by your side in silence. He was unsure whether to laugh or take pity on you. So, he decided to just be an ass.

“Welllll,” he drew out. “You are the one who decided to go to this school.”

You lifted your hand to flick his bare shoulder, “fuck off,” you grumbled into the warm night air.

He laughed at you then, grabbing your hand and pulling you close to his side. You giggled too, letting him trap you against his sticky body. The streets were empty—you knew it would be; the only people out on Monday night in the summer were the kids who didn’t have to go to school or didn’t have to work.

It was peaceful though, roaming the streets for the hell of it. Kim Taehyung was like that, always doing things for no particular reason at all.

A moment of comfortable silence fell between the two of you and there was comfort to be found in the repetitive echo of your footsteps bouncing off the brick walls. You were half a breath and a heartbeat away from saying something else to him, but the involuntary tug on your hand made you pause.

He had stopped in his tracks and his face was turned up to gaze at the neon lights shining down to him. A normal first reaction would be to follow his line of sight and see what he’s looking at, but you got caught up in him.

You always basked in every opportunity you could to examine his features; the softness of his cheek and the curvature of his nose were features that were already embedded into your brain.

You always basked in every opportunity you could to continue your unrequited pining over your best friend.

His eyes flicked downwards, and you were afraid he would soon glance your way. So, you finally turned your head to see what he was staring at.

ANNIE’S WONDER EMPORIUM

The sign was lit up in an obnoxious yellow color, one that reminded you all too well of the summer sun.

“How long has this been here?” You asked when Taehyung took a step towards the front door. You heard the tap of his finger against glass and caught a glimpse of him pointing towards the NOW OPEN sign. “Oh.”

You barely caught the door before it swung shut, and the little bell attached to the top of it signaled your entrance behind your oh so caring boyfriend.

“Welcome to Annie’s Wonder Emporium!” There was a woman who looked to be in her mid-forties standing behind the counter wearing an apron that was equally as summery as the sign outside.

“Uhhh—” You stammered, overwhelmed by her bold, outgoing presence.

“Hi! How are you?” But thankfully, Taehyung was enough of a social butterfly for you.

The woman sighed in defeat, and her shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly in response to the question. She opened her mouth to speak, but Taehyung beat her to it.

“Rough day huh?”

She nodded, wiping her hands on the apron before she got a word out. “Opening your own café is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

You and Taehyung let out a soft ‘ah’ when you realized that it was supposed to a little bakery or coffee shop of the sorts.

“Well, have people not been liking your treats?”

Annie, you assumed her name was Annie given that she owned the store, shook her head towards him and pursed her lips.

“No, everyone who comes in seems to be enjoying everything, from the cookies to the coffees but…” she sighed again, “no one is coming in! They peer in like they’re interested, but they just walk away.”

“Well, to be honest it’s hard to tell what you’re selling. I like the name, but the real question is how does it apply to the café?”

Taehyung turned and glanced your way at your bluntness before turning towards the owner. “What would be your staple item?”

Her eyes widened for a moment and you could see the excitement fill her face when asked about something that is so intrinsically her. She pardoned herself for a moment, scurrying to the back. Meanwhile you gave Taehyung a curious look, but he merely shrugged.

While she was gone, you took a second to inspect the place. Your average black and white tiles covered the floor, and mix-matched colored chairs were placed near their respective bleak tables.

The place was clean no doubt, but it was a cookie cutter template of a café. Clearly it had been recently renovated from another business to this one.

Annie came back with a tray in her hand with two cookies on it. One in the shape of a crescent moon, the other in the shape of a star. There was a slight bit of warmth still radiating from them.

The icing on top is what pulled you in; swirls of blue, purple, and pink with flecks of white on top reminded you of the galaxy trend that had stormed the internet in recent years.

Cute, you murmured to yourself.

“Go on, try it.”

The two of you reached for a separate cookie—him the star and you the moon—and you were quick to take a bite of it.

Two moans of satisfaction sounded through the empty café, and Annie was no doubt pleased.

“This is so fucking good,” Taehyung finally got out when he was done chewing. “You need a picture of this cookie covering your front window because this is to die for!”

You, still in ecstasy, could only nod in agreement.

“Oh, I know,” she said solemnly, “right now marketing is a little out of the budget. But as you can see, I just have—” she lifted her arm up to gesture around the quiet and still empty café “—no budget.”

Taehyung understood what she was getting at and, once she was done talking, he pulled his wallet out from his back pocket. After fishing around for a moment, he pulled out what he was looking for.

“I do photography, and I’d be more than willing to help you out,” he smiled his boxy grin and held the card between his two forefingers, outstretched in her direction.

“I couldn’t—It won’t—”

He waved her off, still smiling. “It’s alright, a cookie this great has the right to be known by the entire world.”

She smiled, cheeks flushing in humility.

It was moments like this, when his charitable personality became applicable to the real world, that the ever-present flutter in your heart grew twice its size. Annie murmured a thank you, and you continued to look on in silence as he chatted with her for a moment longer. You listened on with fondness, because it was honestly so damn endearing that he could make friends wherever he went.

“Oh! By the way, how much are the cookies?” He pulled his wallet out again when he realized the two of you were beginning to walk away without paying.

Annie smiled, waving her hand in the air to say that it wasn’t important. “Don’t even worry about it, I counted my register early, anyway.”

It was your turn to panic, and you apologized profusely for keeping her so late. But, she disregarded it saying that it had been no problem.

“It’s the least I can do for you two lovebirds. Thank you for giving my wonder emporium a chance.”

Your eyes widened in horror when you realize she misunderstood you and Taehyung. “Oh no, we’re not—!”

Taehyung elbowed your side, turning your protest into muffled yep. “Thank you so much, we’ll be sure to tell all our friends about this place!”

You didn’t have a chance to fight him before you were whisked away into the summer night air.

“Taehyung, why didn’t you let me correct her! That’s so embarrassing!”

“Actually,” he started to say, turning to walk away from the store front. “I want to talk to you about that.”

He walked a couple paces ahead and sound down on the street bench, reaching out towards you. You followed him skeptically, unsure of what was on his mind.

“I-I’m just gonna get straight to the point.”

He paused; you were about to voice some concern about how odd he was being, but he continued talking instead.

“I really like you, Y/N. I always have and I think I always will. Do you think I have a shot at being your boyfriend?”

“The cookies are still just as good as they were when we walked in here a week after it opened,” you replied after the lapse of silent reminiscing.

He nodded his head in reply, picking up the last bit of his own cookie. Pulling a dramatically sad face, he shoved the last bite in his mouth; pitiful, fake sounds of crying could be heard from his full mouth as he “wept” about the loss of the cookie.

Your hand came up to stifle your laugh, not that it needed to; the solemn cloud hanging over you was enough to curb all happiness right now.

You kept your lips slightly parted as words stuck to the tipoff your tongue in preparation to continue talking. But when Taehyung finished chewing and raised his eyes back to you, you lost all sense of communication.

His brown eyes were halfway hidden behind damp, unkempt fringe—the remnants of a fashionable hairstyle lost to the shower he must have taken this morning. You knew he must have taken a shower this morning because in all the time you’ve known him, Kim Taehyung has been loyal to the same damned body wash scent.

The scent made you yearn for chilly mornings when he would crawl back into bed—your bed—still wet, but smelling oh so clean.

Instead, you had to stick your nose into your hot chocolate to erase the smell and the memories.

Taehyung tilted his head, no doubt curious about your thoughts. Instead of confessing that you indulged on that memory, you diverted the conversation to a different one.

“Remember when we graduated from Uni and our friends bought us that massive cake?”

You threw your hands out a little bit to emphasize just how unnecessarily gigantic that thing was. As if he needed the reminder.

He laughed after that, head tilting back a little as he remembered. “Yeah, and how it somehow showed up with blue, green, pink, and purple frosting on it?”

Biting back a snicker, you glanced over at Annie working endlessly behind the counter. A piping bag of the aforementioned colors was in one hand, and the other hand held the sheet of cookies steady.

“I wonder if Annie knew that she was making that cake for us,” you mused as you got lost in watching the rhythmic movement of her hand. “Or if she makes everything with such love.”

He shrugged, “who knows. But the star and moon cookies on top looked oddly familiar.”

You agreed. Annie caught your stare from across the room and you waved to her when even she gave you a look of concern.

An unsettling feeling came to your stomach when you realized it had been so long since the two of you had seen her. There was so much to say.

To her. To your friends. To Taehyung.

Shifting in your seat, you brought the lukewarm and mostly empty cup of cocoa to your lips as a means to avoid the conversation.

“Taehyung baby, look!” Your face was smushed up against the cold glass next to your booth, and your eyes were wide and child-like as you gazed outside.

It was about four in the afternoon, but you wouldn’t be able to tell if you didn’t have a watch. The weather outside was cold, cloudy, but oh so wintery.

“It’s the first snow of the season. Taehyung! Look!”

He only chuckled, glancing briefly towards the empty street. “I wonder if its gonna stick. The first one rarely does.”

He tapped his fingers against Annie’s brand new table; sleek black with a gray marbled effect. Annie’s oven was in dire need of an upgrade, given how long it was taking for your simple order. However, the two of you would wait a lifetime for them.

You sighed dreamily. It was almost movie-like how cliché the scenery was. “I feel like I’m in a hallmark movie.”

An ugly snort came from his nose and he raised a brow, “oh?”

You blushed and awkwardly laughed. “Well yeah, you know how they go…” You paused. “The cute café, the winter wonderland outside, the girl is falling in love over some to die for cookies.”

You took a bite out of your cookie, still slightly warm and gooey despite the delay to eating it. The cookie had barely made it to your mouth, and your teeth hadn’t gone all the way in when you noticed a very perplexed look on Taehyung’s face.

“Wha?” You said with your mouth full of that first bite of the moon shaped cookie.

“You’re falling in love with me?”

The way he said it so calmly and bluntly caused you to choke on your mouthful a little. You reached for your hot chocolate, or thankfully, not-so-hot chocolate. Hurriedly, you gulped the drink down and wiped your mouth on your napkin.

“I—” You paused. “Well, yeah.”

In all the time you knew Kim Taehyung you had never seen him smile so beautifully. Especially not in the months since you began dating. He leaned over the small café table and placed an enthusiastic kiss on your mouth.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

You could feel the heat surfacing on your cheeks, and the fact that that was happening at all was a problem.

“I can’t believe she’s been married for two years now,” you murmured, trying to change the conversation. Again.

“Who—” he noticed your gaze, “oh. Right? I still can’t believe you spilled cake icing on my suit. Do you know how hard her icing is to get out?”

Taehyung scoffed after he finished speaking, and if you didn’t know any better you would think he was holding in some resentment.

“Do you think she’ll like her gift?” Your fingers toyed with the edge of your dress, the soft material giving comfort to your anxiety.

Taehyung sighed. He let his hand fall from the steering wheel to seek yours, lifting it up to his lips to place a chaste kiss to it.

“Yes, Y/N. We spent the last seven months since Annie’s been engaged getting this present for her. She is going to love it.”

“I know but…” You turned your head to look at him from the passenger seat, words trailing off.

The last sign of his summer tan had faded when the leaves changed color and then began to fall to the ground. But in its place was the same satin skin that shone beautifully under the setting winter sun.

You watched as his eyelashes graced the soft skin under his eyes, and the way his brows furrowed when he just barely missed a green light. You watched as he took your breath away just by existing.

At the red light you two were stuck at, you pondered what the future could hold for yourself. Would you be in your forties, finally finding your true love like Annie? Or is Taehyung it? The one?

“I love going to weddings, Taehyung. It always makes me excited for my own future…” You paused and looked at him when he pulled into the parking lot and parked the car. “…with you.”

He beamed his boxy grin and leaned far over the middle console of the car to press his lips to your forehead.

“Be patient, baby. One day.”

You blinked, and stared upwards at the bright, fluorescent lights in the café to keep wetness from pooling at the corners of your eyes. You snorted in bitter humor.

“It’s not my fault you always drank too much and caused me to spill the icing on your suit.”

The fork he was using to push around pieces of his snack fell and clanked against the plate.

“Its not my fault you gave me reasons to get that drunk.”

Your eyes fell as his widened as if he didn’t realize what he had said. You stared at the item in your hands, that was held under the table, of course.

Biting your lip in anxious waiting, you looked up at Kim Taehyung to see that he was shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”

There was nothing you could do but nod. That bitter, automatic response made you remember why you were here in the first place.

Taehyung’s POV

“It’s not my fault you gave me reasons to get that drunk.”

Taehyungcouldn’t believe he had said that to you. Not that he is surprised. He has been cold hearted and cruel to you for some time now.

He watched as your eyes remained downcast as if you were fumbling with something under the table.

Taehyung heard the almost ear-shattering slam of the door behind him and the angry echo of your keys being thrown against the granite counter of the kitchen.

He rolled his eyes, preparing himself for yet another round of bitching from you.

“How dare you, Kim Taehyung.”

Groaning, he drunkenly kicked off his dress shoes only for them to be kicked directly in his walking path. When he tripped over them a bit, he stumbled into the wall but you caught him.

Had he not been in a fighting mood as is, he would have thanked you. But currently, he wanted nothing to do with you.

“Get off of me, Y/N,” he slurred, shrugging you away.

“No, Taehyung. You don’t get to embarrass me at Annie’s wedding reception and then come home just to knock yourself out by busting your head open!”

You sighed. Taehyung hoped that you would leave him be, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

“Let’s just get you to bed, honey. We can worry about your suit later.”

Taehyung had momentarily forgotten about the galaxy patterned stain on his suit, the initial cause of their fight disregarded.

Again, he shoved you away. This time with a little more force.

“I said get off of me, I can take of myself you know!” He knew his voice was loud and that his face was angry. He turned and stumbled down the hallway losing a piece of clothing with each step. “I’m not a fucking child,” he grumbled before shutting the door to your shared bedroom.

When Taehyung woke up the next morning, he was mostly naked and under the clean sheets of your bed. He stretched sleepily as his head pounded from the amount of alcohol he consumed last night. You weren’t by his side, but he paid that no mind as his headache began to make him nauseous

Quickly, and painfully, he staggered into the bathroom to relieve the contents of his stomach.

On the sink counter next to the toilet was a bottle of advil waiting for him to take. Once he was sure he wouldn’t throw up again, Taehyung popped a couple of the pain relievers in his mouth.

Starting his day as he normally would, he went to the closet. It was a Saturday morning so there was nothing that he was obligated to do; this allowed him to pull on loungewear for the day.

When turning around in the little space the edge of a plastic bag brushed up against his arm. Curiously he pulled the item from its place in the closet, only to learn that it was his suit.

The suit that was… not… stained in pink, purple, and blue icing?

“Its been dry-cleaned,” he mused aloud.

It didn’t make sense that you would have been able to take it in and get it cleaned so early in the morning. It was his perfectly clean, perfectly tailored suit that finally had him venturing outside of the room you shared.

Only, he didn’t find you waiting in the living room for him. His stomach rumbled, signaling that it was time for some breakfast.

Taehyung figured that you had ran out for a bit this morning.

But the clock on the wall didn’t say that it was morning. No, he was apparently much closer to dinner than he was to breakfast.

“Fuck,” he groaned in disbelief of how long his drunken state forced him to sleep in.

He let his bare feet drag himself to the fridge without much of a thought; his only goal was to find leftovers. Instead of leftovers, Taehyung found a plate of food covered in Saran wrap. When he pulled out the food, he noticed there was still a slight layer of condensation on the plastic.

He smiled to himself a bit, “you always gotta baby me, don’t you Y/N?”

The moment he finished muttering to himself, it dawned on him why everything felt so off.

“I’m not a fucking child,” he had snapped at you the night before. Immediately Taehyung placed the food back in the fridge and quickly made his way to the bedroom to find his phone.

On the top of the dresser neatly laid his keys, wallet, watch, cellphone, and a note.

Taehyung, I have gone away for the weekend. Don’t bother me, plea—

He snapped out of the regretful memory when her heard you clear your throat to signal his attention. Shaking his head, he glanced at you.

You brought your hands together to rest on the table of the booth the two of you were sharing and Taehyung’s eyes became misty when he realized what you were holding.

“Taehyung, we didn’t come here to reminisce.”

Then why don’t you just get on with it, he thought to himself.

“I wanted to give you some of the more important things back to you in person. So, here is—”

Taehyung watched you stop in the middle of that sentence to rummage through your bag. The item in your hand had been discarded from your hands and into your plate. Reaching over, he plucked it from the leftover icing and began to wipe it off.

“These are yours, right?” You asked him rhetorically. You hadn’t even noticed that he wasn’t paying attention to you. “Taehyung you—”

Taehyung knew he was looking at you pitifully; his hands were preoccupied and his heart aching.

He heard the breath you took in when you realized what he was holding.

“I suppose you were going to get that back eventually,” you said, almost in a convincing manner.

Not that Taehyung really understood who you were trying to convince—himself or you.

“It’s not mine,” he disagreed, shaking his head and handing the item back to you. You froze up and pulled your hands away. “It’s still yours, Y/N.”

Taehyung watched as your nose turned up and your lip quivered.

Sighing, “it’s not mine, Taehyung, not anymore. You knew this was bound to happen eventually.”

Taehyung was already clenching his jaw, “was it though? I didn’t realize people made commitments with the expectations that they would fail.”

Your POV

“Taehyung, I think we’re lost.” You worryingly whispered as you travelled through the city. “Not that I understand how we’re lost, we’ve lived here our entire lives,” you grumbled.

“Y/N,” he shushed you. “We’re going to Annie’s, remember?”

Granted, you were blind folded and you had to trust him to lead you through the city you lived in. So you didn’t know if you were actually lost.

“Taehyung,” you whined, “I think I could get to Annie’s if I was actually blindfolded. We should have made it a while ago.”

He muttered under his breath.

“What was that? Babe, are you talking shit?”

But Taehyung just laughed, and it was so fucking beautiful. You let him lead you, because you would follow him anywhere.

“Don’t do this right now, Taehyung.” You almost wanted to beg him to let this go peacefully.

He seethed.

“Don’t do what? Don’t fight you trying to throw away years of our lives together?”

Your breath had caught in your throat like a sharp piece of barbwire had obstructed all ability to speak. Panic filled your eyes, and you almost surrendered to the hurt.

“Taehyung, that is not what I’m doing!”

Quickly you glanced around you, thankful that the two other people in the café were busy typing their hearts out on their computers. Annie was occupied with fixing a banner over the counter, too occupied to notice that her most loyal customers were at their breaking point.

“Okay, Y/N. We’re here.”

“Why am I blindfolded again?”

The air conditioner hit your face suddenly, and you shivered. It was almost too cold still to need to turn the air on, but spring was coming to a close, you supposed.

You also noticed a charming twinkle of a melody coming from above the door, signaling your arrival.

“This isn’t Annie’s, where are—"

The bright light of the place you had been dragged into momentarily blinded you. Reeling back at the sudden change from your eyes being uncovered, it took a bit for your eyes to adjust.

But when they did, the gasp that left your lips was a mere understatement as to the shock you received.

The once generic black and white checkered floor is now a breathtaking marbled galaxy. Absolutely perfect for the staple theme. The raggedy booths were now re-leathered, and most of the tables were still the same sleek black. Two corner booths fought for the focal point of the enchanting place.

On one side was a crescent moon shaped table facing outwards to the store, and on the other was a fat, many-pointed star shaped table.

And, in front of a much sturdier, much longer, front counter was your favorite cookie maker.

Tears threatened to well in your eyes because you were just so fucking happy that she finally got her dream café.

She embraced you with her own tearful smile. “Thank you for always believing in me, and my emporium.”

You pulled away and glanced around the place, still admiring how fantastical

“Oh Annie, this is so beautiful. I didn’t know that this was why you had been closed all week!”

Taehyung had left your side moments ago, and you were busy munching on the cookies left on the counter. They were made with the same magical recipe that made you fall in love with the Wonder Emporium so long ago.

However, they were very different. They were shaped into hearts, with swirling shades of pinks, reds, and white. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought they were valentines cookies with how romantic they were. And they were so gooey and warm. As if they were freshly made…

“You didn’t have the grand opening yet, right? Do you need us to help with that?”

Once the cookie was scarfed down, you wasted no time in asking Annie about all her plans.

She smiled, shaking her head. “No, and no. I’ve gotten everything taken care of.”

You were puzzled. “Annie, what’s going on then? I didn’t realize we had a special, behind the scenes privilege.”

Annie laughed so genuinely, her round cheeks illuminated with the sound of her laugh.

“No, honey. There’s another reason the two of you came here today.”

The sound of footsteps against the floor was heard behind you, and it was such a familiar pace that you knew the owner of it before you turned around.

“Taehyung, Annie said—”

You were frozen in your spot as he approached you dressed in his fitted suit. A rose boutonniere was fastened in place on the breast of his jacket, and you finally understood why he had you dress up the way you did.

Taehyung looked handsome, breathtaking, And so proud of himself.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

Tears threatened to well in your eyes and it was no soon after you tried to fight them that one slipped out.

That memory in particular made you break. He had been so proud because he had planned it for so long. After you had obviously said yes, Annie wheeled out some fresh food and even better cookies.

“Taehyung, that’s not what I’m doing and you know it.” You used the sleeve of your sweater to wipe your face before staring sternly at him, feigning calm composure. “You know that we hit a dead end long ago.”

“Did we,” he pressed, “or did you just give up?”

“I—” but you couldn’t answer that question. You scoffed in anger, “don’t act like you ever actually cared.”

“Don’t you dare,” he seethed, hands closing into fists.

He could have bent the handle of the fork he was holding if he really wanted to. It was a low blow and you knew it. But it was easier than admitting the truth to yourself.

“I’m a lot of things, but to insult my character and accuse me of never caring is a fucking lie and you know it.”

Taehyung’s POV

“Y/N can you please wait up for me? I—Ugh! Y/N!”

Taehyung was trying desperately not to break out into a run after you. Afterall, he was still in his work clothes. And, after all, he did have to quickly bring a moderately important business meeting to a close.

He caught up to you once you two had entered his workplace’s parking garage.

“You can’t just disrupt me in my place of work and then not tell me why you look so fucking pissed off!”

You turned on your heel to face him, quick enough to almost cause Taehyung to slam right into you

“Place of work?” You had thrown up air quotes as you mockingly repeated the phrase back to him. “Why was that dumb bimbo alone in your office with you, huh?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes, and tried his best to keep himself as calm as possible. “Let’s just go home and talk about this after we’ve eaten dinner, okay?”

His outstretched hand was met with an angry shove and a bitter scoff. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

Taehyung didn’t want to fight, but you regularly made that impossible.

“Why are you acting like a child?”

“Excuse me?” The words were flung from your mouth with a livid screech. “I’m not acting like a child! You’re the one who is neglecting our relationship to stay late at work every day to associate with—”

“That’s enough Y/N,” Taehyung asserted strongly before you could make another comment on his client. “That woman is a very loyal client and business partner for my company, how could you stoop so low to insult her character like that? You don’t even know her!”

Taehyung had no remorse for the probably purposeful look of shock you had on your face.

“Secondly, how can you justify accusing me of neglecting you when I am literally working for us? For our future!”

He noticed you were softening a bit at his calm dismantle of your behavior.

“Taehyung, you know I don’t care about that. We can have a small wedding; it doesn’t have to be so expensive that you need to work like this.”

Your comment made him give a small smile and shake his head in denial.

“I know you, Y/N. In five years, you’ll be bitter because we didn’t have a fairytale wedding. I just can’t please you.”

That memory wasn’t the first and it surely wasn’t the last of a long history of unnecessarily brutal fights you caused. If Taehyung wasn’t pampering you, you were accusing him. If you were upset afterwards, Taehyung was apologizing.

The amount of stupid, useless fights you caused almost made him question whether or not he wanted to let you give up.

Almost.

“There is nothing so intrinsically wrong with us that we can’t make this work,” he sighed in frustration.

You began to cry without warning, silent tears streamed down your cheeks without warning. Taehyung wanted to reach out, to hold you and kiss each one away. To say I’m sorry and take back how he hurt you. But, he wanted to keep his dignity and not crumble under the weight of your sorrow.

You needed to know that you were wrong too.

“Then w-why isn’t it working, Taehyung?”

“Because,” he grunted, “you’re fucking stubborn.”

This made you laugh amidst your crying. “I know,” you croaked out.

There was a tense pause and, to be honest, Taehyung was not sure where to go from here. The pitiful look had left your face, but it did not seem like any other change had been made in his favor.

Taehyung watched as you wiped your face one more time with your sleeve, a habit he’s always tried to get you to break. You were anxiously poking and prodding your way around your plate; but, your cake had grown stale and if there was any hot chocolate in your mug, it had grown cold.

So, he left you in the booth there without warning, without thinking, despite your teary eyes and the worried look on your face. And, he walked right up to Annie at the counter.

Annie was concerned, she had been concerned for weeks now. Of course, neither Taehyung nor you had the heart to answer her inquiries on why you two hadn’t stopped by in a while.

“Taehyung, sweetheart, you don’t know how good it is to see you two.” Her smile was empathetic lined with genuine happiness.

Annie truly was such a wonderful woman.

“I know, it’s just that things have been a little rough lately,” he kept it vague enough in the hopes that she wouldn’t realize that he was talking about the state of his relationship. “I need a favor from you, actually.”

A single brow quirked up and she smiled, “oh?”

“I need the best damn cookie you have ever made.”

Your POV

Left alone at the table as Taehyung conversed with Annie, there was not much for you to do with yourself except think. And think. And think. And think.

Your meeting with Taehyung had gone much differently than you thought it would. After two months of absolute silence after your request for a break, you made a decision and asked to meet at Annie’s.

You thought you had made a decision. This damned café and those heaven-sent treats have done nothing but assault your head with memories—good and bad.

It was getting cold again and it was just like déjà vu that you were sitting in a window booth looking out towards a gloomy sky. Except it wasn’t snowing.

Except you weren’t about to passively confess to Taehyung that you were in love with him. No, you were here to walk away from him.

You are here to walk away from him.

If you weren’t overreacting, he was making snide comments. If he wasn’t being condescending, you were being controlling. If you weren’t happy, he was. But if you were happy, he wasn’t.

Between the bickering, the jealousy, the distrust there was no reason to stay with him anymore. There was no reason why he should stay with you anymore. You really should have seen it coming.

Best friends for years, date for years, and then break up right before the wedding.

The ring you had given back to help was carefully placed in the middle of his clean tea saucer. It taunted you and reminded you of all your insecurities—all the insecurities and doubts you had brought up since the moment you fell in love with him.

It was the usual; doubts of his love for you, doubts of your place in his life, the overwhelming fear that eventually it would come to…

This.

An inconsolable breakup in your favorite place on earth; the place that started it all.

“Taehyung, I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“What?” He scoffed, “finishing the fights that you started?” He shot back.

You threw your hands up in the air, preparing to leave your shared bedroom.

“I did not start this!” You were shouting again.

But he followed you down the hallway anyway, “and I did? I suggested we go to couples counseling and you started wailing about how I was being condescending!”

Turning around, bright red in the face, you spat your words at him. “Going to counseling means theres something wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with me, Kim Taehyung!”

He rolled his eyes in utter annoyance, “that’s a shitty viewpoint to have on needing counseling altogether, but this is couple’s counseling, Y/N. We would be going. TO. GE. THER.”

His words were punctuated and precise, loud and unrelenting. Each emphasis continued to be a hit to your ego.

“Even worse!” You grabbed your shoes from the front door and hurriedly put them on. “You’re supposed to go to counseling when you’ve been married for years! Not right before you get married!”

You were hurriedly grabbing your keys, your wallet. Brushing past him, you tore down the hallway back to your room to grab a change of clothes for the evening. Or the weekend. You weren’t sure.

All you knew was that you wanted to get as far away from Taehyung as you could.

He was standing in front of the door, arms folded but eyes brimming with wetness.

“Y/N, don’t do this to me. To us. Just do the counseling with me before you make a definite answer.”

You reached for the door and he wouldn’t budge, “out of my way. What good could it do to a failed relationship?”

He moved from the door but kept one arm in front of you, pleading for you not to leave.

“Baby, please. Don’t give up on us.”

But you shook your head and kept your eyes on your feet, ready to be free from him.

“I’ll give you a better answer when I come back.”

But you told him you need a break, a long one. The wedding was postponed for “financial” reasons, and the two of you tried your best to avoid each other.

It was difficult, but you picked up a rhythm of sticky notes as a form of communication. When he wasn’t home, you were. When you weren’t home, he was.

If the two of you unfortunately had to be home at the same time, Taehyung converted his office room into a bedroom as well. Air mattress and all.

It was two months before you left him a sticky note saying to meet him at Annie’s.

You should have known better than to come to a place that would obviously cloud your judgement.

Kim Taehyung came back with a plate with a single cookie. It was warm, and the icing look deliciously gooey. It was shaped like a moon and you knew it was yours.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you reached for the treat once Taehyung set the plate down.

You should not have accepted the cookie.

When you bit into it, every possible memory surrounding the Emporium struck your heart. From the moment you stepped into Annie’s original location, to his proposal, and to every perfect (and imperfect) date in between.

You were reminded of all the love, sorrow, joy, pain, and accomplishments over the course of your relationship with Kim Taehyung.

The onslaught on nostalgia hit you like a train, and you were crying as you chewed the third bite of the cookie. You quickly swallowed and buried your head in your hands. Obviously, you didn’t care what the other patrons, or Annie, thought because you needed to make a painful decision.

Both you and Taehyung deserved an answer.

The table shook as he got up from his side of the booth and slid into yours. His arms were around you, engulfing you in the tender love he always made an effort to give.

“Please don’t cry, Y/N,” he hushed. “Please, will you just do the counseling with me?”

The mention of the counseling had your sobs eventually drawing to a close, and you pulled away from his now soaking chest.

“Taehyung, there’s nothing we could do to fix this. I’m sorry.”

[powerstrangerdacre]

Flame

Summary: His spark was gone, and then he found her.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: dunno, none? maybe a bit of angst (if you squint), mentions of Infinity War (nothing major but that movie in itself is a huge warning to me)

Word Count: 3500+

AN: Ello! Here I am again with my shitty-good writing. Can’t seem to write one story without a slither of angst in it. Sowwy ‘bout that. This is my first time writing for our beloved Captain, so criticize away! Tell me what I can do to make my stories better! Thanks for reading and I really hope you enjoy this... uhm... thing.

Steve had always been a bit of a wildcard, even in his younger days when Bucky used to call him a little runt. He would constantly get into trouble and find himself unable to get out of it. Always searching for a way to show the world that even the smallest of guys could make a big difference. No matter if it left him with scars and bruises.

Yes. Steve was a bit of a wildcard, but he was always restless and alive, much like a forest in the middle of summer.

Then, he finally got his chance to prove his worth through what they called the super soldier program, through which he also met agent Peggy Carter.

She was unlike any girl he had ever met, and much like him, wanted to prove her worth to the world. She was just as wild as him, only more calculated and precise in her actions. Peggy was like a spark. She drew him to her naturally, without having to try. Just like he did to her.

Yes. Peggy Carter was a spark. The spark that lit Steve’s world right up.

When he was pulled out of the ice, years later, the first person his eyes landed on was her. She looked gorgeous, like something out of a pin-up, with wavy Y/H/C hair and kind Y/E/C eyes. But what really drew him to her was her smile. It oozed kindness and understanding and warmth.

“Good morning, my name’s Y/N and I was appointed as your nurse. How’re we feeling today Captain Rogers?” she asked.

“I’m… fine…” he answered, the sound of the radio reaching his ears. Something was terribly wrong. Nothing seemed right.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“New York, Captain. This is the VA NY Harbor Healthcare System in Brooklyn,” Y/N answered truthfully, not wanting to lie to the confused soldier.

Steve stood up, shaking his head to get rid of the dizziness that suddenly fogged his brain. He cursed to himself, seeing that it had only made it worse, before he slowly limped his way to the door. Just as he was about to swing the door open, he turned to the girl to thank her. Her ever-present smile fell, leaving room for a concerned expression.

“I’m sorry.” He heard her whisper as he opened the door. She didn’t try to stop him.

Steve’s world came crashing down when he learned that the world had gone on for 70 years, leaving him behind to catch up with it. He found Peggy, but unfortunately that last meeting had left his once ablaze world in ashes and smoke. Peggy wasn’t there to light the fire anymore, which left Steve to try and pick up whatever pieces were left of him by himself.

That time was probably the hardest for him. Trying to accommodate to a new century – to new people – all while dealing with the grief of losing his best girl. That period of time, a hell to Steve, was the second time that Y/N had made her way into his life.

Steve was apprehensive at first, not understanding why she wanted to help him deal with all that pain. His mind was plagued by thoughts about Y/N’s ulterior motives. But he slowly and surely came around. Through small actions and kind smiles, Y/N had won him over and he let her help him. She listened to his worries and anger day after day, taking his pain in stride and not allowing him to wallow in self-pity. She brought him with her wherever she would go: grocery shopping, coffee shops, parks. Anywhere Y/N went, Steve was sure to follow. So much, that the Avengers had started calling him a love-sick puppy. But this wasn’t about that, it was about acclimating him to all of the new things that he had to face.

And Y/N loved it. She loved spending time with the kind and careful captain, only to sometimes see a bit of his mischief coming through. But, there was one place that she never wanted him to see, and that was her workplace.

She worked at the hospital, helping hurt soldiers deal with missing limbs or the pain of a ghost limb. Helping older vets calm down after the nightmares and panic attacks they would experience. She wasn’t as much of a nurse as she was a therapist, but she still sometimes worked in intensive care. Only on the days where really bad cases would arrive though, otherwise she would refuse.

Steve had wished to visit, maybe bring a bit of hope to those less fortunate than him. But Y/N was vehement on his ban in the hospital. So, Steve, being the gentleman he was, didn’t force his way into what he assumed was a more private part of her life.

They got closer as time passed, their relationship turning into something more than friendship, but it felt less than an actual relationship. Mostly because neither of them wanted to ask the other what it was, in fear of losing each-other.

Then, Bucky appeared out of nowhere. A ghost of Steve’s past that caught his attention immediately. It ripped at Steve’s thoughts like a whirlwind, destroying whatever relationship Steve and Y/N had built.

At first she supported him. She agreed with the fact that the Avengers shouldn’t be controlled by the government. She understood the need to help his friend, the one that had been with him since the beginning. That is, until she noticed how hung up on Bucky Steve actually was. He was clinging onto the last piece that connected him to his past, throwing her away without a care.

So, Y/N left him to deal with his own issues, worrying and struggling with keeping her calm during her working hours, only to have him show up at her doorstep the night after everything had gone down.

The knock on her front door grasped her attention immediately, as it was way past the time where it was socially acceptable for someone to show up unannounced at her house. She made her way, warily, to the door, grasping the doorknob and opening it a crack, to be faced with two bleeding super soldiers. She opened the door fully, helping Steve as they both carried Bucky to her dining room, laying him on the large table that would soon serve as an operating table.

“What happened?” she asked as she watched Steve, frowning slightly at the condition the captain was in.

“Bucky… Bucky was the one that killed Tony’s parents. He went berserk on him. Ripped his arm off,” Steve explained, rubbing a hand over his face. This had all escalated far too quickly, to a point he had never wanted to reach. But it was all too late.

Y/N moved around the table, inspecting the writhing soldier. She took a look at his shoulder, wincing slightly. This is why she never worked in the ER. She hated blood.

“I’ll…” she swallowed drily, trying to get rid of the unnerving feeling in her stomach, “I’ll see what I can do,” she whispered.

Judging by her face, Steve knew it was bad. “Can you… fix him up?” he asked.

“I’ll try…” she sighed, “but I need you to leave the room. I’m gonna need all the space I can get.”

Steve nodded, about to move away when Bucky’s hand reached out and grasped his arm in a way that said ‘Don’t leave.’ The captain looked at him with an inquiring gaze, watching as Bucky winced once again.

“I’m dangerous… I might… hurt her.” Bucky’s body finally fell limp, allowing Steve to move.

“Uhm… I’ll be out there if you need me for… anything,” he said, walking out of the dining room and into the living room.

He glanced around, noticing the big chair that laid in front of the lit fireplace. Warmth and light spread out throughout the room from the spot, the sight somehow reminding him of the girl that was just in the other room, treating the friend he had shoved her aside for.

“Peanut? Is that you?” Steve heard the voice of a man call from the chair next to the fireplace. He couldn’t help but feel that it sounded tired and somehow lost.

Steve walked to the side of the chair, finally able to see the white-haired man that sat in it. He seemed beaten down by the years, but his eyes were just as bright and clear as Y/N’s.

“No, Sir. I’m sorry for the intrusion. My name is Steve, I’m one of Y/N’s friends,” Steve explained, his heart lightly shrinking at the word ‘friend’.

The man’s eyes widened. He looked Steve up and down as if not actually believing what he was seeing. “This must be it. I’m a goner if the dead have come to haunt me even during the day.” The man shook his head, leaving Steve to wonder about his babblings.

Just as Steve was about to ask what he meant, the doors slid open and Y/N walked in, a relieved look on her face. Her breathing was erratic, trying to get herself to calm down, only to make it worse.

“I was able to stop the bleeding and fix the muscular tissue of his shoulder, he won’t feel any pain anymore when he wakes up,” she said, finally looking at Steve before her eyes widened as she saw who he was talking to.

“Peanut? You see him too?” her grandfather asked as she slowly moved in to sit down on the floor between the two men.

“Yes gramps, you remember Steve?” she asked, a hopeful look on her face.

“Remember him? The man saved my life! How could I forget him?”

The man’s words took Steve by surprise, but the look of shock on Y/N’s face was what really did it for him. Her eyes were welling with tears, but her warm smile was ever-present.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay gramps?” She stood up, taking the old man’s hand and helping him on his short trip to his room. Steve heard her say goodnight and in less than a second she was back in front of him.

They both sat in silence, the fire crackling and warming the tired couple. The ticking of the old grandfather clock reached Steve’s ears, seemingly deafening in the profound quiet. It finally became too much, urging Steve to speak up.

“He’s a vet?” he asked.

“Yes…” she sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. She had been expecting these kinds of questions, but she was afraid of what the super soldier would think. “World war two,” she explained.

“He knows me?” Steve seemed surprised by how willingly she was speaking of this, having never actually heard her talk much about her family except for the fact that her mother had left a long time ago. It was weird to Steve, how much he felt like he knew the girl, when in actuality he didn’t know much at all.

“He was in the 107th division. You saved him from the Nazis. He fought by your side,” she answered.

Steve couldn’t believe it. He was so sure that all of his comrades had died long ago. Suddenly, all of Y/N’s kindness started making sense. Steve was feeling more disheartened by every moment that passed, believing that she was just paying back her grandfather’s dues.

“His mind is in shambles. He couldn’t remember his own daughter…” she sighed, watching the flames dance in front of her. “It was too much for my mother, seeing her father not recognizing her. That’s when she… left.”

“She left you here? What kind of mother does that?” Steve seemed peeved, in the least, about the sudden turn this conversation had taken. He couldn’t believe someone would willingly leave such a wonderful person behind.

“Well… she was never around much. I think I reminded her of my father, that’s why she couldn’t look at me.” Her head fell on her knees, and Steve could’ve sworn he heard something along the lines of ‘Or I just scared her.’ coming from her lips in a quiet murmur.

“I’m sorry… I…” Steve couldn’t find the words to explain what he felt. There she was, questioning and doubting her worth, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

“It’s okay. I think I wouldn’t have left even if she had asked me to.” Y/N’s head snapped back up, allowing Steve to see that warmth in her eyes once again. Finally he knew what it was – determination. “I had gramps to take care of… I was okay.”

Steve couldn’t believe it. She seemed to have gone through so much, and yet she seemed so determined and strong-willed – like nothing could break her. “That’s very… nice of you,” he said.

She smiled at him, letting out a huff of air she didn’t know she was holding. “It wasn’t nice. I was just returning the favor. He took care of me when I was small, I take care of him now.” Y/N’s eyes fell to the floor, her face suddenly warm at the thought that Steve thought of her as selfless. “But because I stayed, gramps never forgot me. And he certainly never forgot you,” she laughed, “He kept on talking about you all the time. How brave and kind you were. How you didn’t give up on some measly soldiers even when the rest of the world left them for dead,” she said.

Steve looked into her eyes, slowly starting to understand that her warmth was something he most definitely needed. They both slowly leaned in. “And what do you think of me?” he asked.

She swallowed drily, her gaze drifting between his eyes and his lips. “I think he was right. Captain America is a kind and righteous man,” she whispered.

They were inches away. Steve could barely feel her erratic breath fanning down his face. “And what about Steve?” he asked.

“Steve…”

A groan from the other room interrupted the two, making Steve and Y/N jump away from each-other.

His hand found the back of his head, scratching awkwardly at the scruff. “I’m.. I’m honored to have him talk about me in such a way…” His voice was a few octaves higher, making Steve wince at his awkwardness. “Please tell him that.”

Y/N nodded, following as Steve walked out of the room to find his friend sitting on her table.

Steve’s eyes widened when he noticed Bucky’s shoulder, the tissue healed and skin covering the once bloody mess, looking like a normally amputated limb. He knew that Bucky had his own set of healing abilities, but this was too much, even for the super soldier serum.

“How?” Steve couldn’t form the sentence, astonished.

“I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve,” Y/N smirked, “I wasn’t appointed as Captain America’s nurse for nothing.” She winked.

The next morning she woke up to both super soldiers gone. She huffed, shaking her head. Not a single message. No thank you or goodbye. She should’ve known, maybe then she wouldn’t have been as disappointed.

Steve walked around the Wakandan palace, his head down and hair muddy. His mind couldn’t comprehend that they had lost. The Avengers, earth’s mightiest protectors, and they had failed to do the one thing they were supposed to.

He had lost Bucky, and he could deal with that in his own time because he knew. He had seen it with his own eyes. He knew they had to fix all of this somehow, but his mind was focused one something else, or rather someone else.

He couldn’t imagine that she would be okay. He couldn’t imagine that out of every one that got spared, she could be one of them. She wasn’t one of the strongest, even though he knew she had the strongest heart. Or maybe he just didn’t want to get his hopes up.

His vision became blurry, the doors and windows in the grand hall becoming blobs and splotches of brown and white. He should’ve stayed with her. He could’ve protected her. He knew she would’ve allowed him to. And maybe with a bit of persuasion she would’ve even allowed Bucky to stay. But no, he had to be a jackass and let the one person who cared about him when he was down alone. He could almost imagine it, the look on her face when she discovered that he failed her. The horror. The dread.

But no. Y/N wouldn’t be scared. She probably stood by her grandfather’s side with that warm smile on her face and the determination in her eyes. She probably still trusted him even in her last moment. She trusted him to fix it.

Steve shook his head, trying to rid himself of that image as his hands came up and rubbed at his eyes. He had finally reached his room, slamming the door closed behind him and hanging his head on it. Once again, much like the first time he had been taken off the ice, he felt alone. Once again he was mourning the death of his best girl.

“Steve?” he heard her call. “Steve…” Y/N whispered.

He turned around and there she stood. He couldn’t believe it, but she was there. He was almost scared to speak, thinking that if this was some kind of elaborate trick his mind was playing on him, he didn’t want to disturb it.

“God Steve, you’re a mess,” she said, her steps quickly taking her to him. She was still angry that he had left her, but now she thought that might’ve been for the best. Maybe he was needed here, and now she was needed here as well. “Let me fix you up,” she said, grasping his hand in hers.

Steve didn’t move as she tried to tug him to his bed. He simply stared at their intertwined hands, not realizing how this could be happening. “How?” he asked.

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” She smirked, finally pulling him out of his stupor and to the bed.

They were both silent as her eyes roamed his body for any kinds of injuries, her hands following and healing them almost instantly. He watched her work like he had never seen her before, like this was the first and last time he would get to watch her. Like she would disappear as soon as her job was done, just like he had a year prior. He hissed as her hand touched a particularly large gash on his abdomen, before he watched the skin start to repair itself, the blood simply disappearing.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking up to him with a frown.

Steve shook his head, biting on his lower lip to keep himself from wincing again. “I’m the one that should be sorry,” he whispered, low enough that he thought she wouldn’t have been able to hear it, but obviously that wasn’t the case as her eyes snapped up to look into his.

“Whatever for, Steve?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I just… I shouldn’t have left how I did…” he sighed, “I just… couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye, even though I knew I had to leave or else me and Bucky would both be caught.”

She smiled up at him, but he noticed it wasn’t the same warm smile he was used to. This one was broken and almost tearful. “It’s okay,” she said.

“No, it’s not. You helped me… you helped us. And I could never repay you. I just disappeared without as much as a thank you, not thinking about how it would affect you. I was just thinking of my own sorry ass and the pain I would have to go through if I said goodbye. I’m sorry.” He finished his monologue, finally taking a deep breath.

“It’s okay,” she said once again.

Steve’s eyes widened. Once again she was understanding, helpful, caring, and he was nothing but an asshole to her. He hated himself for it. “No, it’s not. When…. after I saw Bucky die… I could only think about the last time we met. About how I just went away and left you probably wondering why. I just thought about how I would never get to say goodbye if… if you…” Gasps were leaving his lips, tears slowly forming in his eyes once again.

“Why did you think about that?” she asked, moving away from him slightly as she had finished healing him. “Why would you even care about something like that?”

“Because you… because…” His gaze wandered down from her own, to her lips which were nearing his own. Their lips finally met, shortly, softly, a whisper of a promise about what was to come.

“I love you, Steve,” she said and he finally understood. Maybe this had been the plan all along. Maybe this was where he was supposed to be. “We’ll fix this. Don’t you worry.” Sure, Y/N didn’t have Peggy’s spark, but she had something so much better – her warmth.

Yes, Steve thought, we will fix this. Y/N wasn’t a spark waiting for someone to come help her light a fire. She was her very own flame, bright and warm and radiant. “I love you too, darling.”

[wheresmaldo865]

DabiXReader Coraline AuPart 4

CFiiiinnnnnallly I have found the time to finish and edit this. And not worry the next part shall come soon since we finally got into some action in this chapter. I wasn’t able to edit about the last part of this due some guest I currently have with some expressive voices. Anyway, enjoy and let me know if I need to take another look at this for editing purposes!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Word Count: 3380 (Its a long one)

Chapter 4: Alarms

So, here she was. Sitting at a beautifully put together dinner. Roasted chick, corn, peas and many of her personal favorites. The table decorated exactly to her liking and her tastes. Which was a bit unsettling in this case.

           There was also the fact, Dabi sitting tied to his chair across from (Y/n). Smiling smugly as if he had been somehow been invited generously to this ‘dinner party.’ There were many, many red flags to this bizzare situation. Yet, everything seemed fine. Yes. Everything was fine. It was just another night at the Aziawa household.

           Hizashi stood to serve her himself. He stacked the plate high of all of her favorite things. He returned her plate, dancing, lightly on top of his toes. Causing a little laugh to escape from (Y/n).

The food below her nose smelt so wonderful (Y/n) mouth began to water. Nearly escaping her lips. Hizashi chuckled. Ruffling the hair on her head… exactly as her real father.

           “Hungry, aren’t you? Well, go on, eat.”

She nodded her head. Happily heeding Hizashi’s gentle command. She took a spoon full of everything and shoved as much of it as she could into her mouth.

           Dabi starred at the plate in front of him. Even if his hands weren’t currently tied. Something about the food was unappetizing to him. He wouldn’t allow himself a single bite.

  After (Y/n) was content with the food she had eaten. Hizashi whisked away the messy plate. Replacing it with a colorful cake just the way she had had for her birthday. Aziawa had made it himself.

           Her eyes caught the colored icing on top of the cake. They spelt the words, ‘Welcome home.’. Reading them to herself rang an alarm in her chest. She remembered… this wasn’t the house she had moved into… these weren’t her parents. They were not her father’s

           (Y/n) became concerned. The peaceful sensation about her painfully vanished and a new found set of panic set itself onto her shoulders.

           “Home…?” The statement came out as more of a question then anything. She lifted her eyes to meet Aziawa’s and Hizashi’s glossy buttoned eyes again. She almost wanted to believe there was nothing wrong with them. She could reside her with them and be happy. Even still, there was something nagging at the back of her mind for her to run.

           “We’ve been waiting for you, (Y/n)” Aziawa spoke, a loving smile formed on his mouth. Hizashi came around behind him and wrapped affectionate arms around his neck, smiling, nodding. Agreeing with Aziawa’s statement.

           “Waiting? For me?”

They nodded together. The stare in their black eyes were beginning to become  creepy. “I didn’t know I had other parents.”

           “Of course you do, everyone does.” (Y/n) paused. She couldn’t think of a sentence to counter with. It didn’t make any sense for everyone to have ‘other parents. It was the first time she had heard of such a notion.

           “Oh, after your finished I was thinking maybe we could go out on patrol.”

Okay, now this was getting out of hand. Aziawa never, ever let (Y/n) go out on one of his patrols. It didn’t matter how high ranked she was in all of her studies. He deemed them too dangerous and would never forgive himself if something happened to his daughter on his watch. They’d spent long years arguing over the matter until she stopped trying to convince him all together.

           For him to offer it himself meant this had to be a dream. Or she had to admit she was in greater danger then she thought. And the real Aziawa and Hizashi were nowhere to be seen.

           The drumming of Aziawa’s fingers across the table sent cold shivers down her spine. It was then she had decided she had enough. It was time to wake up.

           ‘Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up (Y/n)!’ No matter how hard she wished in this moment for her to wake her presence remained in this world. The realization was sinking deeper into her heart. Causing it to race against her chest.

           “Kid looks kinda tired. The games can wait later, think she needs some sleep.”

Aziawa looked back at Dabi. She could have almost swear there was a glare in his big buttoned eyes. Even if there was it was quickly replaced by his signature smile. “Of course. After all, the best of hero’s must get their proper sleep.” He said while turning his attention back to (Y/n).

           “It’s all made up for you. Come along.”

Before (Y/n) could even say two words on the matter. She was sent away by Aziawa and Hizashi. Leaving behind Dabi to fend for himself while they were away.

They traveled up the stairs leading to the upper rooms where they had their separate rooms. Hers… and theirs.

They ushered her to her room. Or the dream version of her room.

           The walls were painted in her favorite color. There were toys and knickknacks lined perfectly on the book case. Ones she had treasured once as a child. The toys cheered and called out her name, excited to see her. As if this was all a normal bed time routine they had done every night.

           Reluctantly, (Y/n) carefully climbed into the neatly made bed. While Aziawa assisted in tucking her into the covers.

  Now it seemed her brain would decide to wake herself up from her strange dream. She had only been in the bed for a minute when her thoughts became lost in a thick fog. Her eyes slowly shut themselves closed. Welcoming the peaceful darkness to flood the rest of her sense. Before (Y/n) vanished completely from the dream. She heard the soft voice of Aziawa and Hizashi…

             “See you soon.”

                (Y/n) lungs took a sharp breath in. Her upper torso shot up out of her warm blankets. Her eyes wide open and frantically searching about her room.

           They were normal… The gray cracked foundation had been the structure she had originally found the day before. She hadn’t been super happy about it, but she had figured she wouldn’t have been spending much time in the room anyway.

           Right now, however, she had never been so relieved to see them. Untouched and unharmed.

           Her attention turned to the rustling going on downstairs. Her fathers were awake and preparing for the day to officially began. If she didn’t get up now, she’d imagine Aziawa would send Hizashi to come wake her up soon.

           She had gotten up and made it all the way to the stairs, still dressed in her pajama’s when her feet stopped stone cold. He memories of her dreams came rushing back. The disturbing buttoned eyes plastered to her father’s faces. The image rippled a shake to erupt throughout her body.

             Thank goodness it had only been a dream.

 She shook the cold sweat out of her hair. (Y/n) then proceeded to head down the stairs and into the kitchen. Where her fathers were pleasantly seated at the table, having their morning coffee. With their normal eyes.

           “Morning pumpkin! I was just about to go wake you. Come sit down!”

             She did as he asked. For a while she sat there silently. Listening to her father’s usual friendly morning banter.

           “(Y/n), did you sleep okay? Sounded like you were up late last night.”

Aziawa rested his head in one pale hand, sipping coffee from his other hand. (Y/n) froze in her seat. Slowly placing her spoon full of cereal back down into her bowl. Contemplating if she wanted to tell them about the dream.

           She decided she would.

It was only a dream after all.

           By the time she reached the ending of her story. (Y/n) had both the attention of her parents. Hizashi’s eyes were wide eyed, his mouth slightly opened. Silently wanting to hear more about this strange dream.

           “Buttons for eyes, huh?”

She nodded. Aziawa starred down into his coffee cup. Thinking about something. Whatever it was though, he had chosen to keep the thought to himself. He then got up from his seat and decided it was time to go back to work. His job still required, many, many papers for him to sign.

           “(Y/n), Why don’t you visit the neighbors down stairs. I’m sure they’d love to hear your story.”

           “Miss Midnight and Miss Lady? But Hizashi said they were ding-“

Hizashi shoved his hand over her mouth before she could finish. Aziawa’s head flipped back and shot daggers into Hizashi’s head. Luckily with the volume of his hair, he was able to remain alive from his powerful gaze.

           Aziawa grunted then walked away from them.

  (Y/n) stepped outside onto the porch once she had finally gotten dressed for the day. She took a whole two steps forward before ramming her foot into something unexpected. A small pile of mail left neatly stacked. Or at least it had been until a moment ago….

           She bent over. Gently picking up the packages and read off the name of who it belonged to. “Todoroki…. Todoroki… Todoroki… All for Todoroki.”  

           The name had sounded familiar to her though she wasn’t entirely sure where she had heard it from. She could almost hear the name said in her ear…

 “Whatcha got there?” Aziawa peeked over her shoulder at the small pile in her hands. (Y/n) hadn’t heard him open the door, much less walk over the creaking porch. They weren’t joking when the media had said he was one of the stealthiest pro hero’s around….

           “I think our mail got mixed up with someone.”

“Probably” came Aziawa’s short response. He ran one of his gloved thumbs over the name on the envelope. He hummed curiously. “Ah, well this is the owner of the house, she lives just up the road actually.”

           “Should we return it?”

“Hmmmm, yay, they probably have our mail. Come on, I’ll go with you.”

           (Y/n) smiled. She nodded her head and followed her father to the car. Where she promptly seated herself in the front seat with Aziawa. This may have been something minor to him, but she was excited to go along this jounrye with him. Aziawa had been so busy these last couple of weeks she hardly had spent any time with him… She loved Hizashi with all of her heart… however, she had been aching to spend some time in silence with Aziawa.

             “Oh, by the way. I can’t find my scarf in the boxes we have in our room. You haven’t seen it have you.”

           “No...” She said, heart racing inside her chest. It had been torn by the… other Aziawa. But it had only been a dream… it had to be in the house some where.

              The drive to the mysterious estate was short lived. (Y/n) was still excitement despite the mini panic attack she had. He seemed to have noticed this when he was unbuckling his seatbelt.

           “What are you smiling about?” His voice was more teasing then anything. Asmall smile of his own forming on his lips.

             “Oh nothing, I’m just happy to finally spend some time with you.” They both popped out of the vehicle and meet again on the back side of the car. Mail tucked tightly underneath (Y/n) arm.

Before she could move forward, Aziawa placed his hand gently on top of her head. His small smile still on his face.

           “Sorry, I haven’t been around. I… I didn’t realize you had been missing me.”

(Y/n) hesitated. She hadn’t expected for Aziawa to suddenly open himself up on their landlords drive way. A light heat rose up in her from slight embarrassment.

           “It’s okay dad. I know your busy.”

He chuckled at her response. Instead of saying something wise in return, he bent down and gave her a kiss on the forehead. The hairs from his beard tickling her skin. She knew this was Aziawa’s way of saying he loved her.

Finally, it came time to approach the door. Aziawa knocked firmly. They both heard the ruckus following. Some heavy footsteps trailing from above, voices overlapping each other, one angry, another pleading, several arguing. The further it dragged on, the more concerned the pair standing outside became.

           Aziawa tried knocking on the door again. Then became startled when it immediately opened.  

           “Hello Mr. Aziawa,  Oh and this must be your daughter. Hello sweety!” A woman appeared before the door way. Speaking softly, barely enough for (Y/n) to hear the words coming out of her mouth.

Aziawa cleared his throat. (Y/n) gave a pleasant smile and a small waved towered the women. She had white hair and clothes to match. Despiter her cheerful welcome. The bags under her eyes told her (Y/n) she hadn’t slept for several days.

“Hello Mrs, Todoroki, we were just stopping by. Seems like our mail must have gotten mixed up.”

           “Oh yes, I do remember picking yours’s up today. Come in, Come in. I’ll get it for you.”

           Mrs. Todoroki welcomed them inside. She kindly took her mail from (Y/n)’s hand. She then notified them she would be going upstairs to retrieve the mail they had come for.

           Once she had disappeared around the corner (Y/n) noticed three another people in the dining room across the way. One with eveningly split red and white hair, had their backs turned to them. A boy and a girl sat next to him, both also with white hair. They gave a simple wave when they had noticed (Y/n) looking at them.

           The other chose to ignore (Y/n) and Aziawa’s presence all together.

  (Y/n) took to looking around the house. Taking in the small details. Decorations, chose of antiques, pictures framed and scattered about the place. There was one in particular that had caught her attention.

           She first recognized the face of Endeavour, currently one of the top hero’s both in the media and on Aziawa’s ‘does not like’ list. On the other side of the frame was  Mrs. Todoroki… Or Misses it seemed to be . Between the two of them stood four young looking children. Who (Y/n) assumed to be the children of the house hold. Except one who was promptly missing from the household. There was something eerily off about the last, oldest looking one in the picture. A boy with dark red hair, lazy eyes and a crocked smile. She had seen a smile just like that before…

           “

Sorry about the wait. They were so quickly buried underneath everything else.”

“No trouble, thank you for keeping it for us.”

           “Of course, come by anytime if there’s anything wrong with the house.”

  With those words said. The Aziawa’s left the premises. They went back to the car and for some odd reason (Y/n) mind was drawn back to the dream she had dreamt last night. Another shiver running down her spine.

           “Want me to drive you back home?” (Y/n) looked over the other side of the car, where her father stood, waiting for her answer. “No, I think I’ll go take a walk. The house is suffocating.”

           “Okay, be safe and don’t come home too late.”

“Okay dad.”

              (Y/n) wondered back to the well. She found a large patch of grass to sit down while she sorted through the many, many thoughts spiraling through her head. The dream was still a fresh image in her mind. She often tended to forget the dreams she had. This one… This one didn’t seem to want to leave conscious. When she had awoken that morning, she was… full of the food she had eaten. Her breath had a reminiscent smell of the same things she had consumed.

           It was all too strange… She was frightened. What if there was someone trying to trick her? Were they after her or her fathers?

             “Hey there hero.”

Ah yes… Dabi had also been there… He couldn’t have actually been there… Could he? Her lengthy pause gave Dabi a curious look about him. He smirked and choose to plot himself down right next to her. She noticed his hand were shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

           “How was the dinner last night hmm?”

                       (Y/n)’s head snapped to look at him. Its as if he had known how to make her darkest horros come true with only a single sentence. It was near infuriating for him to stand their smirking so proudly to himself. Obviously completely aware of what he was doing.

           “T-That was a dream.”

“Heh, I hate to break it to you like this hero but, that wasn’t a dream. I was tied to the end of the table watching as you seemed happy to interact with those show freaks.”

           (Y/n) stomach dropped to the floor. Her heart stopped dead in her chest. This wasn’t possible… there was now way this could actually be happening.

           “How did you get back?”

“Don’t know. Fell asleep while they were tucking in their daughter dearest. By the time I woke up I was back in my own bed.”

           (Y/n) suddenly stood and back away from the man. Not only was this person one of the many reasons she had been taken to… goodness knows where. He had also been the reason Aziawa had nearly lashed out on her a few days ago, and there had to be a good reason.

           “My dad to stay away from you.”

This made Dabi chuckle. He stood up, pacing slow long strides over to where she stood. With every step he took toward, she dared to take one back. She didn’t like where this was going.

           “So, you’re daddy’s little girl after all.”

“I have two dads, of course I am!”

           (Y/n) had to lung to one side to avoid the spiraling blue flame coming after her. It was only a matter of second before the entire area was covered in sapphire. The gears in (Y/n) head were turning rapidly. She had to think of something to do so she could get out of this.

           “By the way, did you like my little family? We’re they pleasant?”

(Y/n) couldn’t think of what on earth he was talking about. Between him and the growing heat surrounding them, it became suffocating to even take a short breath. Dabi’s hands were set a blaze. Creeping closer and closer to his destination.

           “The little house out on the hill.” He said, nearly with a little too much enthusiasm. However, it was enough for the bell to finally ring off in (Y/n)’s head. The Todoroki home she had visited earlier with Aziawa… She also recalled the erire picture of the boy with nearly no scars in the family photo. Smiling… just as he was now.

           “Haven’t been there in years myself, really. But, I keep tabs on them. Make sure nobody harasses them.”  

           Dabi’s hand lunged forward. Aiming for (Y/n)’s throat. Intending to squeeze the life right out of her mouth.

           (Y/n) ducked in the last second and darted away from the deranged man. She would be forced to use the extensive limits of her quirk to get herself out of this mess. Even if Aziawa and Hizashi saw the fire right now. It would still take them several minutes to find where it was. And be even more surprised she was there herself.

           That would take some explaining.

“Come on hero, hit me back! I dare you.”

           And it was exactly what he got. By the time her drew himself close again. (Y/n) used the ability of her quirk to lay a hard blow on Dabi’s cheek. Another in his rib cage and a final kick to put some distance between them.

           She hadn’t expected him to keep smiling, even laugh at her antics.

“That’s a good girl. You’re your fathers spiting image. How exciting. I’m starting to like you, hero.”

           The flames around them began to disappear. Growing dimmer and dimmer into the hands they had originated from. This was seeming to sound like a game Dabi just enjoyed being in control of.

           “Don’t worry.”

Dabi hooked a long finger underneath (Y/n) chin. Suddenly becoming incredibly personal with her. “Will be seeing each other again.”

           (Y/n) wasn’t sure if the heat exhaustion or her feelings finally catching up to her. Regardless, the world faded to black and her vision became filled with a sky full of stars.

Taglist: @kama-la @meggy126 @chims-kookies

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[harryseyebrows]

Gryles, Harry’s just found out he’s preggo, they’re together but it’s not planned, harry is happy but nervous nick won’t be. How does he tell him?

okay. so i finally got around to doing this/finishing it. here’s 2.3k of a rough edit, lightly proofread by yours truly. i hope you like it!

Harry uses his key to Nick’s flat to let himself in.

The groceries he picked up on the way over are still in the bags, sitting on the kitchen counter. He can’t even bring himself to put the milk away.

There’s a heavy weight sitting in his chest, making his ribs feel like they’re all going to crack and spill out his guts for everyone to see.

After over a week of near-constant nausea, he finally made an appointment to see the doctor. So just a couple of hours ago, Harry was sitting on crinkly paper and asking why he’s gained almost half a stone since his last visit four months prior. A simple blood test gave him his answer.

He forced himself to hold it together in the office, politely declining the doctor’s offer of a cup of water when she told Harry he’d gone pale.

“I’m fine,” he said, and started to laugh, a nervous habit.

Dr. Clarke had put a gentle had on his shoulder. “Is this news surprising?”

“Very,” Harry blurted. He took a deep breath and clarified. “Not… bad news. Just wasn’t expecting it. At all.”

“It happens more than you think. You have a partner, correct?”

Harry’s palms went clammy at the mention of Nick. “Yes.”

Dr. Clarke’s mouth had twisted, her tone careful. “Will he be supportive of your decisions? When you tell him?” The unspoken, You are going to tell him, right? hung in the air.

Nick loves kids and babies. And he loves Harry. But Harry let himself fall into a pit of doubt, wondering whether or not Nick would love those things in tandem. A baby with Harry. Their baby. They just-- they haven’t planned for this. Haven’t discussed it, ever.

Harry can’t part with this little life they’ve created, only nine or so weeks along and the size of a cherry, according to a Google search he did in his car after leaving the office. Nick is entitled to feel however he wants, but Harry just has to tell him first, which feels like such a Herculean task and all Harry really wants to do is crawl into Nick’s bed and nap for a week.

His baseline lately has been feeling slightly nauseous, but there’s a new layer to it now, perched on the edge of Nick’s sitting room couch with his leg bouncing without his permission, picking at his cuticles even though he’s tried to break the habit. For the past year, this has felt like his home more than his own apartment, but he currently feels like a stranger, like there’s a fist around his stomach, squeezing and making him feel ready to vomit.

A baby. He’s going to have a baby.

Beside being ill -- morning sickness, he realizes now, though it seems to be more all-day-sickness -- he doesn’t feel that different. Prodding at his lower belly reveals, well, nothing. It feels exactly the same, despite his weight gain. When he was getting ready earlier, he didn’t think he looked any different either, no obvious signs in his face. His skin has been a bit trickier, though, more oily and breaking out more often. Perhaps “the glow” comes later, or Harry is destined to be a slug for this entire pregnancy.

He can’t quite wrap his mind around it yet, that he’s really pregnant. He wonders when it will start to feel real. For now it’s just a concept, something that seems so far away.

Two months in already, though, his brain helpfully supplies. That’s-- only seven months left, then. So many days of passed without him realizing what’s been at stake here. Weeks of ignorance and carelessness. 

His panic increases, thinking back to the things he might have done in the past two months that could have hurt the baby. Alcohol seems like the obvious one -- he’s not a huge drinker, but surely he’s had a glass of wine or two lately.

He starts going down the list of things that he knows are bad for pregnant people, things he’s learned from friends and family. Secondhand smoke. When is the last time he had sushi? Caffeine; he just had a large iced coffee this morning.

The next thing he knows, Nick is squatting in front of him. His mouth is moving but Harry can’t hear what he’s saying. How long has he been here? How did Harry not notice?

Harry is distantly aware that he’s hyperventilating. Time feels like it’s moving excruciatingly slow and too fast at the same time. This probably isn’t good for the baby, either.

The baby. Harry has to tell Nick about the baby. Their baby. Half Nick’s, because they fuck without condoms all the time and Harry has never been the best about taking his pill.

Nick looks really worried now, big hands on Harry’s shoulders, still talking. Harry thinks he can make out, “What’s wrong?” from the way Nick’s mouth is moving.

“I’m gonna puke,” Harry says, surprisingly coherent.

The fog lifts a bit and Harry can hear again, blood still pumping loudly in his ears. His stomach is doing flips in his abdomen, though.

“Bathroom,” Nick says, pulling Harry up and guiding him quickly down the hall.

As soon as Harry’s knees hit the tile floor, he’s retching into the bowl. Unlike his morning/all-day sickness, nothing comes up, but his body doesn’t quite get the memo, because it’s nearly five minutes of gagging and spitting -- the decidedly unsexy kind -- before he gets a moment of reprieve.

Nick has been rubbing his back the entire time, offering assurances and being characteristically kind, soft words filling up the room over the noises of a person being violently ill.

After another round of fruitless heaves, Harry feels safely in the clear when his organs stop trying to evacuate themselves.

While Harry flushes nothing but saliva and toilet water, Nick asks, “Did you eat something bad?”

Harry shakes his head, slumping back against the wall.

Nick looks weary. “It’s not a bug, is it? Because I love you dearly but I don’t fancy getting a virus.”

“Not a bug,” Harry says, voice rough and scratchy. He can’t look Nick in the eyes, afraid that he’ll know right away, know that Harry’s hiding something.

“What’s the matter, darling? I walked in and you were already upset. You scared me.”

Harry’s eyes start to sting, lower lip wobbling precariously. He’s always up for a good cry after vomiting, but this takes a new precedent.

“You’re gonna be mad at me,” Harry manages to say in between useless sniffles. His cheeks are already wet, nose on its way to being clogged and snotty.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because you are.” Harry chokes on a sob. It makes Nick wince.

Harry can tell that Nick’s caught between genuine concern and annoyance. Which is fair, Harry thinks, considering that he’s not cooperating very well.

He’s just so nervous, can feel his stomach getting upset again, because he knows he has to tell Nick, and even though it’s not a now or never type of situation, it’s the right thing to do, to tell Nick why he’s crying and almost-puking and basically a basket case right now.

“Harry…”

Once Harry starts talking, he can’t stop. “You’re gonna hate me and break up with me and I’m gonna let you, even though I don’t want you to do that, because I don’t like doing things by myself. I just understand why you’d be upset about it, because we haven’t talked about it before but now it’s happening and I don’t know what to do. I feel sick all the time and Google told me that it can get better but sometimes it doesn’t and so many other things can go wrong, and I think I’ve already fucked it up somehow because I had a martini at dinner the other night -- from that nice Italian place we went to? And none of my clothes are gonna fit and--”

“Harry. Harry. Slow down, Jesus.”

“But--”

“Shh. You just said a lot of things. At a rather brisk pace, might I add. Just tell me what all of this is about.”

Harry would rather pay to have a giant billboard put up than force the words out of his mouth. He wants to shake nick and say, Don’t you understand? Do you really want me to spell it out?

A fresh wave of tears start.

“Oh, hell. Don’t cry.”

“Sorry,” Harry hiccups. “I-- I can’t help it.”

Nick sighs. “And stop bloody apologizing. Just talk to me. I promise I won’t be angry.”

Harry eyes him skeptically, trying and failing to suppress his spasming diaphragm.. “Promise?”

“Pinky.” Nick offers his finger and Harry links it with his own, his hand shaking.

All of the adrenaline in his body seems to ease the passage of the words as he makes himself say, “I’m pregnant.” He feels comfortably numb. Perhaps his body is trying to protect itself. Protect the teeny tiny little baby it’s housing.

The world doesn’t cave in on itself. A bolt of lightning doesn’t strike either of them. Nick barely even reacts, his face giving nothing away. He just stares at Harry like he’s trying to see behind his eyes, look into his brain and figure out if it’s a joke or not.

Harry wants to crumble under the intensity of it, but he stands his ground. Well, his slump, rather. He’s still quite tired from all of the day’s stresses. And now he’s probably all blotchy and gross because he’s still crying.  

It feels like days before Nick responds.

“Pregnant, eh?”

“...Yes.”

“Like, how pregnant? On a scale from one to ten.”

A puff of air passes through Harry’s lips in an approximation of a laugh. “A ten? I think.”

“Hm. That sounds fairly pregnant to me.”

“I’d say,” Harry says tentatively.

“Reckon I know who the other father is?” Nick asks, the smirk on his face a dead giveaway that he has absolutely no doubt that it’s him.

Harry isn’t sure if he should be offended or not, that Nick is so certain but still feels the need to joke. “It’s you, arsehole.” Harry is smiling anyway, the drying tears on his face making his cheeks feel tight.

He feels sort of silly now, for freaking out as much as he did. While he’s certainly not in the clear yet, Nick isn’t acting like he’s ready to run for the hills or kick Harry out and demand that they never speak to each other again. If anything, he looks… happy.

The crinkles around his eyes that he desperately tries to cream and serum away are out in full force, a grin taking over his entire face.

“What?” Harry asks.

“Nothing. I mean, it’s exciting, innit?”

Harry has to clarify. “So you’re really not mad?”

Nick looks cross for a moment. “Of course not. Don’t know why you thought I’d be.”

“But-- we never discussed it. I thought-- like, this definitely wasn’t planned, and I don’t know about you but I’m scared out of my head right now.”

“Just because it wasn’t planned doesn’t mean it can’t be a good thing. Though I suppose I’m gonna have to make an honest man out of you yet. Do you want to wear the dress or shall I?”

Harry scoffs. “Thanks. Real romantic, Grim. Marrying me out of obligation.”

“That’s peak romance.”

“No, peak romance was me getting knocked up and not even realizing it at the time.”

“Which reminds me, how far along are we?”

Harry unconsciously brings a hand to his belly. “Nine weeks.”

Nick taps his chin thoughtfully. “Nine weeks… After Alexa’s party, you think?”

“Could’ve been. Doesn’t really matter, though. Baby’s in there now.” Hopefully to stay, Harry doesn’t add. He can’t think about that possibility right now. 

“Well, at least this explains why you’ve felt so shitty lately. Right?”

“Right.” Harry agrees. His butt has started to go numb from being on the floor so long. He moves to stand up but Nick interrupts him.

“Hey, whoa. Easy there.”

They both seem to have more limbs than they know what to do with on a good day, so there’s a lot of bumping into each other and stepping on toes while Nick tries to help Harry up.

“You don’t have to be weird about it, Nick. It’s not like I’m immobile.”

Nick holds his hands up. “Okay. Just trying to make myself useful.”

“You’re plenty useful. Too useful, I think. You’re dick is going on lockdown, by the way.”

“What?” Nick squacks.

“You heard me.”

“Why? It’s not like you can get more pregnant.”

“Not taking any chances.”

“Fine. You’ll only be punishing yourself.”

Harry rolls his eyes. He still feels a bit shaky from everything, like he needs a tall glass of water and a lie down. He says as much to Nick.

“All right. Two things on the docket, then. Get you good and hydrated and then have a cuddle. I think I can manage that. I’m knackered meself. D’ya want tea? Can you even have tea? Because I was gonna suggest some tea and biscuits, which I’m sure the biscuits are fine but I feel like caffeine might not be the best thing for a developing baby.”

Harry can’t help but laugh. “Decaf. Which we’ll have to get-- shit. Groceries. I bought groceries earlier and I never put them away.”

“Three things on the docket. For me at least. Let’s get you a drink and you can get started on Love Island. I’ll join you in a bit.”

Harry considers arguing, but knows it won’t get him anywhere. So he accepts the cup Nick offers him, peels back the duvet on Nick’s bed, changes into comfy clothes and gets settled.

It’s nice listening to Nick mess about in the kitchen, unpacking the things Harry bought for them. The occasional loud noise and the subsequent “Shit” that Harry can just barely make out.

Things are likely to get harder in the coming months, but for right now, Harry is pretty okay with how things are, all things considered. Today could have gone better, but it’s done and over. Nick is happy and so is Harry.

[god-fucking-dammit-mizutani]

Where We Were

For Oikage Big Bang 2018

Words: ~12,400

Art: @artchiboku made a darling piece to accompany this fic for the event! They’re a huge sweetie so please go look at it and leave some love!!!

Summary: It’s been a little over a year since Tōru left Tobio, presumably, for the last time. Fate has other things in store for them.   

Notes: @deadfreckledboys thank you for stepping in to help me beta this monster!! And for keeping me together when I kept thinking, “This isn’t good enough, I can’t do this!” It was a struggle of a last few months trying to navigate deadlines and work slights, but I’m so glad I did this and finished something (close... to on time). Thank you to @oikagebigbang for hosting this event!!! It was a lot of fun and everyone was very sweet!! I also put together a list of song I used to write this if you wanted to listen~. This fic was heavily inspired by this one though. 

Read it on AO3 here!

~*~

Fog overtakes the city for what feels like eons, and so when Tobio stirs awake to find the sight outside of his window particularly obscured in a dark, white haze he can think of very little else but, Again?

If he squints, Tobio can piece together the fine veins of the once majestic oak where it’s barren branches rest along his windowpane. It might still be impossible to see them, he imagines, if not for the murky halo of light from the street lamps still dutifully glowing down below, casting an ombre halo through the dark.  

Vision still logged with sleep, Tobio tosses away the comfort of his cotton sheets. The first sting of cold races along his skin like an ice bath. It sends a zing throughout his blood, but it seems to lose power before hitting his brain. His eyes droop against the burn of the waking world and it is with immeasurable strength that he hoists himself out of bed, padding across the room to begin his morning routine.

Tobio yawns around the toothbrush in mouth, reaching under his pillow to kill his alarm just as the jingle begins to play it’s first, soft note. He remembers someone telling him, already in the process of switching the settings on his phone, that gradually waking up was a benefit to his health, but Tobio’s never quite gotten used to that process.  He could change it now, Tobio supposes, when they’d never know. But he doesn’t.

(Because, maybe, he’ll have to change it back one day).

He still doesn’t feel quite awake by the time he’s pulling on his shoes in the doorway, just blearily remembering to grab a hoodie from the front closet before locking the door. Taking the long route to his starting point is a new habit. It comes to him naturally now, but it’d taken almost all year before he didn’t have to think it through. He could change the location, probably, but he likes the running path through the local park. It’s quiet in the early hours of the morning, and cleaner than most public places in the city.

And maybe, while he won’t let himself think it, he’ll run into someone there.

Tobio’s surprised when he plops his water bottle in his usual hiding place under the slide, that it is alone. Usually by now Tōru’s thermos is already there, proudly declaring, “Train like a BEAST; Look like a beauty”. It’s the only sign really that he still lives in the same city. It is always gone before he gets back. Tobio wonders if Tōru was deterred by the thickness of the fog today. Around him the park is little more than shadows under opaque clouds.

Or, perhaps, he’s just running late. Unlikely, but possible.

It’s not exactly Tobio’s business. Not anymore.

He progresses his day by taking the first few minutes to stretch, and if he takes a little more care on every movement today, if he checks over his shoulder a beat longer than he should, well, there’s no one there to take notice.

His water bottle is still the only one there after his first round. And on his second lap, there’s no sign of a second soul.

Tobio frowns.

He finishes off the rest of his water, and after a few minutes more of stretching, sets back on his way home.

By the end of the week, Tobio’s certain he’s been running the trails completely by himself.

Maybe Tōru went somewhere on holiday. Or he got sick of that routine, Tobio reasons. Perhaps he abandoned the park altogether, for a better place.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

On Sundays, Tobio’s cool down walk takes him through the city center to pick up his weekly groceries. Always on Sundays. It had been a habit he’d picked up over the last few years, because Tōru had insisted on them doing it together and only once a week.

“It’s like a weekly date,” Tōru would sing, slipping his arm through Tobio’s just until the first throng of people came into view.

Unconsciously, he looks to his empty side and is just a little blindsided when Iwaizumi Hajime blinks back at him from the entrance of the nearby coffee shop, looking just as openly mistified.

“Tobio,” he says, which could be a question—something like is that really you? He isn’t sure, but guilt washes over Tobio with a suddenness that dries his throat.

He hadn’t contacted Hajime since—since then. He never really did before, the few times he and Tōru had taken breaks in their relationship. It felt like a breach somehow—a custody contract Tobio doesn’t remember signing but keeps to anyway.  But those had been short tiffs, practically water breaks, and mostly in the late years of high school to early college. Never a year; never after they’d come to live together.

Hajime stares at him, haggard, and the gnawing sensation turns Tobio’s hands clammy. “You look good,” Hajime says after a beat.

Tobio can’t say the same back without lying. The bags under his eyes seem fresh, haunting, but the grays in his hair are old now and still growing relentlessly. Hajime used to point them out in the middle of his banters with Tōru, detailing exactly how he’d receive each one from his best friend until Tōru had had enough and bought him a tote bag full of black hair dye. Tobio doesn’t think he’s used a single box.

He looks down.

“I was—” Hajime falters for a moment. “Do you want to get coffee?” When Tobio looks up at him, Hajime’s already holding a cup of something with the logo from the store behind him, but he looks vaguely imploring in the way that even Tobio notices and so he nods.

They sit in a booth by a window, even though they can barely see much outside. A waitress comes by and Hajime tells him to order breakfast if he hasn’t eaten yet. Tobio gets a cup of tea instead and Hajime, still nursing his coffee, gets the same.

“It’s been a while,” Hajime starts. Tobio opens his mouth to say something more, but then he notices his old classmate’s eyes, averted just slightly down in something like a wince and that’s when he looks down himself, at the hoodie he’d pulled from the front closet this morning and --

Hajime recognizes it. Of course he does.

Tobio tugs the zipper up higher towards his collar bone, even though it's reached the maximum zenith of teeth to latch onto. The action brings him a moment of relief from the anxiety in his stomach, the shaking in his hands, like he's hiding from the dark eyed stare studying him across the table.

Everything on the hoodie is quintessentially Tōru, as if it were custom fit to his tastes. The little green alien busts would be decent enough of a tell that someone pulled it from Tōru's closet before even the splattering of peace sign silhouettes and little spiral globes spanning across the front and back. Tōru always found delight in pointing at the little spheres and telling him, "They look just like volleyballs!" Tobio hadn't realized they weren't.

"He's been asking about you," Hajime starts, eyes flickering down to his untouched tea cup. He doesn’t say who. Tobio knows, innately. “He wants to, uh, see you…”

Tobio deflects his own gaze out the window and swallows down, hard. Over the rooftops outside the fog has taken on a peachy tinge, the sun just beginning to ascend over the misty city. Everything is still and quiet outside the frantic beating of his heart.

“Does that—” He swallows down on his pulse “—does he want to get back together?”

Hajime looks as if he’s wincing again, eyes zipping down to his hoodie and back up again without answering. “I wouldn’t say—that’s not…” He slides his arm up the table, fingers grabbing and shaking the sugar container for a moment. He dumps a little too much into his tea and stares down at the table with an interest that concerns Tobio. “That’s not exactly the case,” Hajime admits.

Tobio fidgets with the ruined cuffs of the sweater, flexing his thumbs between the stressed holes there. He bunches the fabric into his palms before allowing it to escape just so he may collect it again. Tōru’s brother-in-law had been responsible for one of the thumb holes, had cleared through the fabric with the burning end of a cigarette bud. He’d been skunk-drunk and thought it was funny, but Tōru had never been forgiving. He’d tried sewing the hole up, but after a single wash the stitches had given way to a slightly larger one. Eventually, Tōru had crafted a matching hole for the opposite cuff.

“Look, Tobio-chan! I’m a genius!” He’d been so proud.

Hajime startles him with his stare, a pointed intensity that Tobio hasn’t felt since they been on opposite sides of the courts. His throat burns.

“I have a favor,” Hajime says.

*

Sometime just before lunch, Tobio trudges his way back home. Instead of groceries, a deep, dark tiredness weighs down his arms. He leans down to untie his shoes, but even that is too heavy a task for his body, and so he lets himself slump against the wall. The unsmooth paint peppers his face like little thorns, but it distracts Tobio from the prickling feeling in his chest.

Tobio stomps the door shut with the heel of his running shoes. The slam echoes for a moment, and then leaves him only with with the ring of tinnitus in his ears. They reach for a sound, something lighthearted or haughty, a welcome home, but there is only silence.

There is only ever silence now.

He nuzzles his way under the collar of the hoodie and breathes in.

It had felt like a betrayal the first time he'd taken it out of Tōru's closet, the insistent voice in the back of his head telling him he would notice, that Tōru would come back soon and use this as fodder against him. Months had passed by then, though, and Tobio had reached for it—for something—and it had helped, for a moment, dull the indelible ache of missing him.

The hoodie smells nothing like him now, the unique scent of Tōru obscured under a healthy layer of ocean breeze and the fresh bite of winter air, but he remembers the warm curve of Tōru’s neck, the remnants of day-long cologne clinging to his skin, hibiscus shampoo that Tōru seemed absolutely incapable of washing from his hair. The smell had lingered on his pillow after Tōru left, had lulled Tobio to sleep in his absence for long enough, so he closes his eyes and breathes in again, calling for the scent on the tip of his memory and it is close.

Close enough.

*

Oikawa Tōru exists only to make Tobio's life tumultuous. He absolutely believes this to be a rule imparted by the universe at large, as a punishment for some misdeed it believes he perpetrated.

It is the only explanation that brings Tōru to his doorstep a week from his meeting with Hajime, glaring down at Tobio through the long slope of his nose. He lifts a finger to tap against Tobio's chest, a rough little push he can feel through the fabric of his sweatshirt—he made sure of it, today, that it was his own—and it feels like a pinprick against his heart. Lilac sunlight struggles in through the smog late this evening just to brush highlights into Tōru's hair, all the way down to the wisps that curl around the shell of his ears.

“You're the worst,” Tōru says, his voice quivers and it extends down the length of his arm, a residual tremor from the accident Hajime explains to him. “What kind of person doesn't visit his boyfriend in the hospital.”

The accusation feels like a stab.

“Ok, ok,” Hajime urges. Tobio moves back instinctively as Hajime pushes the taller man inside with a bump of his shoulders. “Stop badgering him already.”

Tōru fumbles through the foyer and frowns. Tobio watches the clench of his jaw, the minute shake in his shoulders. Changes, Tobio thinks, are obscure, but he wonders what Tōru's eyes catch, if a lamp is too far to the left or a bulb burns with a different temperature than he remembers.

Tōru sheds his shoes at the lip of the foyer. Without so much as a glance back, he stomps his way down the hallway as if he lives there.  

Still lives there.

Hajime crosses into his vision, slipping the burden of a large duffel bag from his shoulders. “This should be all his stuff from the hospital,” Hajime informs him. It hits the floorboards with a loud thud, and Tobio winces impulsively. “I grabbed some necessities from his apartment; extra clothes, his glasses. I talked to the landlord and got his mail forwarded to my place, so I'll take care of ‘em when I get back. Just until he's back up on his feet.”

Tobio nods. He wonders if Tōru's condition is communicable because his hands shake where he has yet to relinquish his hold on the doorknob, the metal clattering about where the bolts don’t hold it tight enough.

Hajime scratches the back of his head. “Maybe this…was a mistake,” he relents. “I can still cancel my flight.”

Gaze forward, Tobio pushes, “It’s fine,” and his voice does not belie him this once.

Hajime doesn't seem heavily convinced, but his fingers release their hold on the duffel bag straps. Down the hall, Tōru's voice calls, the contents of his yell muffled by layers of wall.

“He's been dealing with it,“ Hajime says, a little rueful smile tugging the edges of his lips up. “The way he does everything that frustrates him.”

“Ignoring it,” Tobio supplies. Hajime nods, but Tobio knows him well enough to read his exasperated smile for the fondness underneath. It is, likely, a condition for dealing excessively with Tōru.

“It's your birthday soon,“ Hajime mentions offhand. He taps along the lining of his jeans and frowns. “Follow me to my car?” He makes a gesture towards the hallway and a halting motion to Tobio. “Just let me tell Oikawa I’m heading out.”

*

Parking is hard to find so late in the evening on their street and so it is a mild trek out to Hajime’s car. Frost clings to what little green has survived this late into winter. When Tobio strays off the sidewalk, it crunches satisfyingly under his shoes.

“His parents and sister were here until yesterday,” Hajime rubs his hands together, warming them through the friction of his gloves. “When I said you were willing to help out, I think they were pretty relieved. There’s not many people who can put up with Trashykawa for long enough.” Hajime gives him another rueful smile. “The doctors thinks it'll be good for him to be around something familiar.” He drops his hand into his pocket and one of the lights from a silver Honda Civic blinks at them a few cars down the road.

Hajime starts his car first, exhaust fumes almost indistinct among the fog still lingering. He dives around the front seat and pulls out a thin, long package. It's neatly wrapped in unassuming brown paper. Something smaller clatters around inside when Tobio pulls it to his chest.

“Thank you,” he says.

“I think you'll like it,” Hajime beams at him mildly, plopping back into the driver’s seat. He leaves the door open, both feet planted on the pavement and smiles up at him. Numbness seeps in through the thin material of Tobio’s sneakers, but there is a warmth in Hajime’s stare that keeps him rooted there. “Shittykawa helped me find it,” he shifts uncomfortably after the admission, clearing his throat. “Don't worry about mentioning it.”

“How has he been?” Tobio ventures to ask.

“We text,” he says, clicking on the heater, fans whirring to life inside the engine. Hajime's ears look bright and pink. “I make sure he's eating when I can. He's got a studio all the way across the city and it's just… It's been busy,” he admits, Hajime's gruff tone is laced with a hesitant sheepishness.

“I just—” Hajime furrows his brows, visibly contemplating his words before he continues, “I just want you to know that if I thought this wasn't good for Oikawa, I'd have him on the plane with me tonight. You know—” Hajime's stare is heavy, single hand resting on the steering wheel going white knuckled as he adds, “He loved you, Kageyama. He's just… an idiot.”

*

Tobio doesn’t remember leaving the heater on when he had left, but the apartment feels particularly warm when he shuts the door behind him, locking the cold on the other side. It is welcomed, though the sudden change in temperature agitates a small migraine in the space between his eyes. Tobio pushes his thumb up and against the skin there, attempting to relieve it with the icy sting of his fingers, and he almost misses it, the dulcet call of, “Welcome home.”

Tobio follows the voice into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe when he catches the caller standing before his refrigerator with a perplexed stare.

“How come,” Tōru starts, his cadence that high pitch he reserves when he's asking questions that do not have answers, fingers reaching out and unclipping one of the cards Tobio had set up on the fridge, “my mom sent another new year’s card to only you?” He turns the card from back to front several times. Tobio had been surprised, too, when the card came in the mail this year. Parents were always fond of him, and Tōru's mother had in no way been an exception. Tōru looks back to the fridge again, in search of something he cannot find. “Didn’t she send one already?”

Tōru holds the card up, towards his face, and keeps it there. Tobio takes to reading Tōru’s face instead, reacquainting himself with old frown lines and the healing cuts along his lips. His cheekbones look sharper, but Tobio thinks he still looks well and it feels like yet another stab.

“Stop staring, Tobio-chan,” Tōru lilts, the edges of his lips quirked up, a single dimple on display. “It’s creepy~!” He imitates a shiver, wrapping his arms around his body to protect himself from an invisible chill.

Tobio's fingers flex at his side. He is almost afraid to look away, as if Tōru's presence in his kitchen is only fixed there by his stare.

“Say something,” Tōru demands. Tōru raises a finely maintained eyebrow at Tobio, then smiles, “Or did my roguish good looks stun you into silence?”

Tobio watches the pink of Tōru's tongue lick along his lower lip where the stretch of his smile had aggregated one of the cuts.

“You should take the bed,” Tobio decides and Tōru pulls a sour face. “Please sleep well, Oikawa.”

*

Tobio had taken nothing to bed with him save for a small throw blanket already tossed messily over the couch, and the small pit of dread settled tightly in his belly, but it is the first time, since he can remember, that Tobio sleeps past the first set of alarms on his phone. Awareness creeps every so slowly through his mind, but a heaviness lays thickly over his body and—

Oh.

Tucked around him is the comforter from the bedroom. Tobio blinks, squeezes his eyes, and blinks again. Outside is still dark, hazy, and settled against the swell of his hip is a crown of oak brown hair that, when he jostles slightly, only seems to nuzzle in closer. Tobio watches, heart wavering with a mix of emotions, the way Tōru breathes in softly, murmuring incoherently in his sleep, cuddled up against Tobio’s waist on the farther side of the couch.

When his alarm goes off once more, Tobio chooses to disarm it, but he doesn't move any more than resting his head against the couch pillow, relaxing the minor strain in his neck, and lets himself sleep in.

When he next wakes up, the gloom outside his window had been mildly dispersed by the winter sun and Tōru is no longer alongside him. His heart stutters despite his efforts to calm it, and Tobio startles himself, quite gracefully, off the couch.

“Good morning,” Tōru’s voice sings across the apartment. Tobio hears the sizzle of something burning in the frying pan and the smell of bacon reaches his nose and sets off a growl in his stomach. He follows the smell, after a decent tussle with the comforter wrapped around his legs, into the kitchen where Tōru busies his attention between two hissing burners. He shoots Tobio a glance over his shoulder when the younger man shuffles up to sit at one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Sleep well?”

Tobio grunts, absentmindedly running a finger down the seam in the marble wallpaper lining the countertop. Tōru had been adamant when they decided to move in together, that they needed a breakfast bar. It was quintessential to being a modern adult, he had reasoned.  

Tōru drops a pile of bacon on a plate already lined with paper towels and then flips a single egg on to it’s own plate. He pushes that one towards Tobio. It is mildly disturbing, the way Tōru reaches for a fork without missing a beat and lets it drops it beside the plate.

“Are your parents still coming in on Wednesday?” Tōru asks. He slides up along the breakfast bar and reaches along the counter for the basket of bacon. He stays there, leaning over the counter and dipping the piece into the egg yolk. Tobio watches the yellow liquid spill out and stream down the expanse of his plate.

“Thursday,” he replies. He cuts himself a small piece with the flat side of his fork and takes a bite. It is enough to feel full, fighting against the nerves welling inside him, and Tobio swallows a second time as if there’s something tighter woking itself down his throat. Tōru watches him.

“Your birthday’s on Wednesday,“ he challenges Tobio. When he bites down on his next helping of bacon it crunches loudly.

Tobio glances over at the old calendar across the room clipped to the side of the refrigerator. At the end of the month is a clutter of black sharpie marks, but Tobio spots the one proudly declaring his birthday with tiny little, red marker hearts, sitting in the center of the week. It had been Wednesday, last year.

He clicks on his phone and swipes over to the calendar app and searches quickly for the 22nd. “It's Thursday,” Tobio relays. Then thinks, “Maybe I should have them wait until the new year instead.”

“Why?” Tōru furrows his brows.

Tobio stares. “I'd have to leave you here. Alone.“

“Nonsense,” Tōru scoffs, reaching over again for another bacon slice, “I'll go with you.” He holds a hand delicately up to his heart, “Your parents love me.”

Loved. Tobio swallows the correction down with a glass of milk when Tōru offers him a drink.

Tobio's parents had loved Tōru, had made despairing jabs at their son's expense, that it was a miracle someone like Tōru loved their son, as obsessive and insensitive as he was. And for all that he protested that Tōru wasn't very different, mildly Tobio had wondered himself how much longer Tōru would stay in his orbit.

(Longer than he expected.)

“Don't sleep on the couch tonight,” Tōru tells him, the hook of his mouth pointing downward. “I don't sleep well when,” Tōru mutters the rest inaudibly, the very tips of his ears shading in a nice pink. Alone, Tobio knows.

He wonders if Tōru had learned to sleep without him, or if he fills his bed with bodies that aren't Tobio himself. He wonders if Tōru tells them, “I love you,” just before he curls around them, if he pushes his toes up and under their pajamas bottoms until they shriek from the nipping cold on their skin. He wonders if they ask about him, and if Tōru tells them, “I loved him,” and the thought churns his stomach too much to eat.

“I'll think about it.”

Tōru huffs at his lack of a real answer, running a hand frustratedly up and through his hair.

He has cut it since they last met, Tobio realizes, and such a simple thing aches.  

Because Tōru knows.

*

Hitoka had been furious with him last November.

Her hair had been sheared into a bob that sat higher on her cheek bones and she'd sat by him, smiling expectantly for the entirety of their morning commute. All she'd gotten was a cold shoulder and while her anger had lasted merely a couple minutes, the event had simmered on Tobio's nerves all day.

"I didn't recognize her," he'd muttered to Tōru that same night, scowling at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Water clung to his face where he'd washed away remnants of toothpaste. It had been a mild winter, but a chill still lingered in the air, invited into their apartment through a crack in the bathroom window and Tobio shuddered, reaching for the face cloth hung up nearby. Tōru at his side had been warm, particularly where their elbows touched. "I don't notice things about people," he'd admitted. "Most of them look the same anyway." Tōru had met his eyes in the mirror at that, fine eyebrow raised high in question. His electric toothbrush hummed in the silence. Even indirectly Tobio could feel, still remember, how heavy his stare had felt. "They do," Tobio had insisted. In the glass he could see the pink rising in his cheeks and it made him all the more frustrated. "It's like I remember the way people look as a package, but when they change something I can't...." "They just look like a different blob?" Tōru had leaned up, brushing further along Tobio, to rinse off his toothbrush. It beeped, acknowledging when Tōru had properly aligned it with the charger. Tobio nodded. "So how do you remember people during games?" "That's different," he grumbled, knitting his eyebrow at mirror-Tōru.  “Everything's more distinct on the court." Tōru had snapped his fingers against his forehead then. "Doesn’t that mean you're just focusing better?" Tobio shrugged. "So if I get a tan next summer," Tōru had joked wryly, only a single corner of his mouth perked up, "I'll have to carry a volleyball around the house so you don't think we're getting robbed?" He leaned over towards the sink and turned on the faucet. He'd cupped his hands and splashed a moderate amount of water along his face. Tobio had handed off the cloth he'd just finished using and Tōru’s fingers brushed his as he accepted it. His reflection sneered, "Good to know." "That's not it." Tōru's eyes had narrowed at him in the mirror and Tobio had looked down to the puddles on the countertop, lingering on the slow path they took towards the ledge. He fumbled to find words, to get his point across, but nothing came to him. Tōru had left him there, after that, in a mild huff and Tobio had felt sick, glaring at his reflection. But Tōru had come back, not too long after, with a fresh cloth. As he had soaked up the remnants of water along the sink’s edge his scowl had dissolved into something tempered. "You're hopeless, Tobio-chan," Tōru had sighed. He swiped the towel along the counter one last time and lingered next to Tobio, taller still after all these years. Tobio looked at him then, unsure, and Tōru hadn't hesitated to steal a short kiss. "I guess it wouldn't be the worst thing if I had to carry a volleyball around for the rest of my life." He'd taped Tobio's cheek with his hand with a quick, “Good night," and left Tobio, red faced and heart singing, alone in the bathroom.   But Tōru needn't had fret over it. To Tobio, he'd glowed just as brightly off the court as he did on it, that Tobio was never able to forget him, even if he tried. (And he had.)

*

The futon gives Tobio little comfort, spurs an ache in the crook of his back by the second night,  but he sets it up beside the bed as a compromise. His sacrifice brings little reward.

Tōru, it seems, is perpetually tired.

He'd been a bubble of energy their last few days together, always on the verge of tipping over some imaginary edge. But the steam that had been pushing him seems spent now, and Tōru barely seems able to lift himself from the bed for more than breakfast before laying out along the chaise of the couch.

It's always where Tobio leaves him, and always where he finds him late in the evenings, huddled under a heavy duvet he'd procured from the couch’s storage space.

It's enough to make Tobio's heart twinge, and yet he always seems to find reasons to run an extra lap in the mornings, to goad Shouyou into practicing with him despite their coach expressly forbidding it over the holiday season. If Tōru sees the intent of his excessive scheduling, he is at least too tired to show it.

“It's like the fog leaked into my brain,” Tōru admits one night.

Tobio can see his laugh, breathy and short, in little puffs of condensation against the glass of the living room window. A whistle cuts in through the silence, that night’s college volleyball match still roaring in the background. Tobio glances at its bleary reflection in the window just over the tallest hairs of Tōru's head. In the dark it looks as if someone has dyed his upper tips in electric blues and yellows.

Tobio says nothing and Tōru laughs again like there's a joke only he is privy to. When he leans back the top of Tōru’s head falls easily into the crook of Tobio's arm and he rests there, as if he belongs.

“I'm going running with you next time,” Tōru tells him authoritatively.

Tobio breathes in. The scent of Hibiscus tickles his nose and he frowns. Tōru must see his expression in the glass, too, for he delivers a swift pinch to the side of his thigh.

“I'm going,” he insists, the same hand now resting on the plump of Tobio's leg, just above his knee. Tōru is still watching the window, the first soft patter of rain beginning to pepper at the pane. His jaw looks set and Tobio knows there's no reasonable argument that will keep Tōru at bay. “Besides,” he continues, lifting his chin in that way that makes him look like a petulant child, “I cleared it with my physical therapist and she thinks it’s a great idea.”

And that's hard to argue with, especially when Tōru looks back up at him directly, warm brown eyes imploring, yet firm. Shadows of his lashes stretch along the expanse of his eyelids, beautiful and dark, and Tobio isn’t sure how he’s ever said no to this man in his whole life.

*

Tobio looks like his mother.

At least it's been said enough that he has no reason to believe otherwise. Quite possibly, they have the same temperament, too. Her eyes on him are as sharp as the wind outside, howling at it cuts by and leaving a chill against Tobio’s cheek where it rests on the window. Even through valiant efforts, the sunlight filtering directly on him barely abates the cold but it is just strong enough to sting his eyes and so Tobio closes them. "How was your trip?" Tōru asks beside him, the hum of his voice as steady and high as it always has been, but the bounce of his leg jostles against Tobio's own. He shuffles it away when the friction of his jeans on his ankle makes his teeth ache. "We got in just fine," Tobio's father says without missing a beat. "I always enjoy taking the train. So scenic." Tōru hums in acknowledgement. "What have you been up to this year?" Tobio cracks an eye open just in time to watch his mother deliver a swift, barely passable smack to his father's arm. He smiles back at her lightly and murmurs a short, "Oh right." "We heard about your accident," his mother says, locking her steely gaze into Tōru. She leans forward onto one arm on the table, her frown lacking any sort of sympathy. "So sorry." "A few weeks in the hospital and some scars, but I'm fine," Tōru says, shrugging. Tobio's father hums as if he's unsure by the answer. "I thought your mother said you'd had some memory loss." Tōru swallows. The thumping at his side increases in tempo and Tobio closes his eyes again. "I'm fine," Tōru says and he sounds fine, as far as Tobio can hear in his timbre, but when Tōru grabs for his water glass it quakes in his grasp, little droplets of water scattering on both his and Tobio’s pant legs. "Lost over a year, she said," his mother adds in. It feels as if half the contents of Tōru's glass is now seeping into Tobio's pant leg. His hand finds Tōru’s bouncing knee and rests on it steadily enough that it calms the tremors, if only mildly. Tōru's hand feels cold when it clenches around his. The smile on his face when Tobio looks up is still unnaturally unperturbed. "Excuse me," Tōru says politely. He squeezes Tobio's fingers a moment tighter and then stands to leave. "I need to use the restroom. " Tobio watches him leave, rolling his head along the window until the back of it rests on the glass, hair cushioning against the still present chill there.   Tobio's mother taps the table, clicking her tongue. Tobio doesn't look back. "You should have come home this year," she insists. Tobio nods. "Not that we mind coming to see you out here, but it'd be nice if you'd come home sometimes." She reaches across the table, her cool soft hands resting on his, fingers twitching lightly. His mother used to trade beauty secrets with Tōru over dinners, discuss volleyball and television programs instead of sharp glares and he wonders if maybe, she was hurt, too. "Your mother was worried," his father puts in, almost hushed. “Is this alright?” His mother's other hand comes down and taps the table cloth with the tip of her nail apprehensively. “Are you okay, Tobio?" He feels more exhausted telling everyone, “It’s fine." Tobio tips his head to look at her, and then averts it to the outside. "What happens if he remembers," she pushes, "and then he leaves you again." Her nails just barely nip him where she holds on tightly. "You were so…. oh, I never want to see you that sad again, sweetie. You've been doing so much better since the break up, I don't —I don't want you to get hurt again like that." "We didn't." His mother blinks at him, both hands now holding his, gripping along his wrist, and this time Tobio meets her sharp stare with his own. Even when his throat burns he manages to say, "We didn't break up." "Tobio—" Tobio's father brings a hand to her arm then and her grip slackens until it finally gives way. "I love you, Tobio," she says softly.

Tobio breathes in, let's his hand skirt along the edge of his mother's knuckles, until she takes hold of his hand again, sending him a weathered smile. "I know," he says, and he does. Tobio may resemble his mother in her sharp features and curt temper, but he thinks that's about where it stops. She is always clear in what she means, how she feels, and Tobio is left wanting.

Tobio says, “I love you, too, mom."

Tōru doesn't come back.

Tobio pats his jean pockets, entertaining the idea of texting him before he remembers Tōru's cellphone is nothing more than a broken screen and exposed wires in the bottom of a mostly forgotten duffel bag.  

But he doesn't have to worry too long. His phone buzzes with a new text alert. This is Tōru, the little bubble tells him before going off again. Borrowed a phone. I'll meet you back home. Tell them I wasn't feeling well.

His mother watches him across the table, her free hand drumming on the cloth again and he can practically feel the nerves leaking in to his own body where their hands connect. Tobio smiles weakly.

He sends his parents off a little later into the evening, waving them down through the train windows as they take their seats. He exchanges weight on either side of his legs while he waits for the initial take off.

Tobio rubs his hands together, berating himself for putting his gloves in the wrong jacket. It had been just brisk enough to ignore when they’d left their apartment earlier on, but now they ache from excessive cold.

Their apartment, he thinks wryly.

He'd been standing here with Tōru last year, huddling in close for warmth and then slinking away to find a nearby cafe for warm drinks. Tōru had bought him a small cake from the glass case, profusely apologetic that he lacked any funds that year for a proper present.

The train makes a sharp, metallic clang as the gears rev to attention and his parents wave frantically, excitedly, as if they might never see him again. Tobio returns their gesture with half the vigor.

His hands fall back into his pockets to hide from the numbing cold and his parents faces slip away into the long, dark night as the train barrages down the tunnel.

Tobio licks at his bottom lip and remembers how much sweeter the chocolate cake had been when he'd tasted it from Tōru's smile under the twinkle of christmas lights and he had thought it was enough back then to have Tōru with him, forever.

*

“Oikawa,” he calls, slamming the door shut behind him and clicking on the foyer lights.

Silence greets him.

The rush of fabric as his jacket slides past his arms is almost deafening. Tobio's eyes flutter to the floor. Two house slippers sit there, untouched since the morning. No other signs of a second occupant greets him, the black duffel bag the only reminder someone had been there. Something heavy plummets from his chest to his gut and twists like angry serpents fighting for a meal.

He doesn't bother to flip on the rest of the lights as he rushes into the living room, fingers skimming the stucco walls on his way. At the mouth of the hallway his feet smack down on a stray windbreaker that seems to jump up and tangle around one of Tobio's legs. The burn of hitting the floor joins him a moment later, stinging his hands and knees, but his body knows these aches from years of diving along laminate floors and so, as he always does, Tobio picks himself back up and rushes towards the bedroom, tugging the windbreaker from his legs as he goes.

There is already a light on in there when he pushes through the doorway. Clothes and belts and shoes flood the little bits of floor space, strewn about with an emergency that tightens Tobio's windpipes. He rushes to the closet doors and stills.

Tōru blinks up at him.

“What are you doing?” They both ask.

“I just got home,” Tobio says, drinking in as much air as his lungs allow him. “And no one answered so I thought—”

“Someone was robbing us?” Tōru titters.

Tobio clenches the windbreaker in his hand and says nothing. In the light he can see now that it is Tōru's, the other having not even shed his shoes before coming to his current position, cross legged before his closet doors, stuffing his hands into a pair of old, abandoned jeans.

Tōru seems to notice his gaze and smiles, almost bashfully. “I was looking for something.”

Tobio manages to drop beside him before his knees buckle in relief. Tōru scoots a short distance away, moving the jeans out of Tobio's reach defensively. Tobio glares. “Let me help.”

Tōru sniffles. “Absolutely not.” His hand wiggles around in the jeans momentarily before he frowns and it emerges, empty. “Besides I've looked everywhere already.”

He pulls his knees up to his chest, looking petulant in every way. Tobio leans forward to grab at the forgotten pair of pants, but Tōru shoos him away. Then he narrows his eyes. “Did you go through my closet?”

“No,” Tobio says, fiddling with a nearby shoestrap.

He looks miserable and puffy eyed, Tobio notices. He swallows, an apology for his mother on the tip of his tongue, an explanation for her behavior, but what comes out instead is, “Were you crying?”

Tōru stares at him. “No,” and he sniffles again.

“Was it important?” Tobio wonders, fingers slipping along the plastic edge of the strap. There's a slight crack along one side that he unconsciously favors.

“Yes,” Tōru whispers, a sleeved hand coming up to wipe at his eyes, aggravating the already swollen flesh into an angrier red. Tobio swallows down his thudding heart when he catches the pattern of alien busts and not volleyballs and peace signs along the sleeves. He’d taken care to bury the hoodie back in Tōru’s closet, hoping that he wouldn’t notice it had ever been moved.

Tobio hopes it stays, even if Tōru doesn’t.

“If you tell me what it is, I can look for it later.”

Tōru snuffles, the tips of his ears burning a bright red and mutters, “Don't worry about it.” Tōru stares forward, rapt and resolute, into the near empty closet and lets out a disheartened huff. “I feel like someone's playing a practical joke and any minute now they'll jump out the closet and everything will pick back up where it was.”

Beside him Tōru's presence is warm and steady, and it pulls him in until their shoulders just barely bump together. Tobio trains his own gaze ahead at the closet and wonders how many times the same thought had run through his mind.

“Hey, hey, Tobio-chan~” Tōru leans the rest of the way in, knees falling along Tobio's lap and his hair tickling the curve of his neck. Tōru wrings his hands, thumbs pulled up and through the little cuff holes and he whispers, “Happy Birthday,” in a way that almost belies his tear stained face. Tōru's laughter skirts along the curve of his neck and Tobio can barely suppress a shiver.  “Sorry I didn't buy you anything this year.”

His hair is soft when Tobio rests against it, smelling sweeter than anything he could conjure in his memories, and breathes it in as deeply as his lungs allow him. Tōru giggles at the sensation and Tobio tries to commit that, too, to memory, hoping it'll nestle into his mind like pop songs on the radio.

“It’s alright.”

(It is the first time, in a long time, that Tobio enjoys the silence when it settles in between them.)

*

He remembers Hajime's gift the next morning, the little brown package still sitting by the spice rack in the kitchen where he had dropped it. In his hands, the contents rattle and shiver audibly and Tobio digs his nails under one of the folds in the wrapping job and rips it open after several tugs.

Tobio barely notices the other presence until the fridge door plops closed and Tōru asks, “What's that?” He pours juice into an older cup still on the counter.

“A present,” Tobio says and it comes out like an awed breath, “from Iwaizumi.”

Tōru's fingers are cold when they slip along the nape of his neck and slide softly up and through the back of his hair. Tobio leans into the touch without thought, enjoying the sensation of nails just barely ghosting along his scalp.

“Nekoma,” Tōru reads, resting his drink back on the counter and pulling the dvd case from Tobio. Tōru's fingers still in his hair. “The battle of the trash heap, huh?” Tōru clicks his tongue playfully and places it back into Tobio's hand, but his eyes linger on the cover.

“Maybe we'll finally get to watch it this time,” Tobio says.  

“Sure…” Tōru's eyes are dark, unreadable, when Tobio glances up at him, eyebrows narrowed as if he's trying to recall something. His fingers give another light scratch against Tobio’s scalp before Tōru retreats into the other room. He steps back a second later, fingers drumming on the doorway trimming for a second and he points one of the fingers that should be holding his glass accusingly at Tobio, “Don't forget to thank Iwa-chan for that! A recording that old isn't easy to come by.”

The images of him and his teammates, his opponents, oddly photoshopped along the cover stare up at Tobio. He and Shouyou are easy to spot, young and energetic even when frozen in time. Half of Shouyo’s face bends around the spine and Tobio almost thinks to send him a picture of it to mock him.

He's not sure if the DVD is authentic, can’t quite remember if there had even been a cover on the original copies. There had been a pre-order, he remembers vaguely, for the televised program. Kiyoko and Hitoka had reminded them for weeks, kept a manila envelope out for the team to leave money and order slips, and still Tobio had forgotten to secure one of his own. He never quite found the patience for online auctions or internet scrounging to find a proper copy after that either. He had tried burning his own from Shouyou’s that last winter. He'd been disappointed when it had turned to static right after the first round when he attempted to show Tōru, Shouyo’s version irreparably scratched.

He'd burrowed a proper copy from Kōshi when he'd seen him on Christmas last year. He'd been excited to show Tōru, had left the recording in the console player for weeks, but by then he'd known, Tōru wasn't coming back.

It's a very nice gift, much nicer than the one’s Iwaizumi usually gives him. Last year’s gift card is still in his wallet, and Tobio has no idea if the funds are even accessible anymore.

“Shittykawa helped me find it,” Iwaizumi had said.

Tobio frowns, turning the disc over in his hand, a thought itching quietly in the back of his head and slowly Tōru's steely expression clicks. Unfamiliar.

Tōru hadn't recognized it.

*

Sleep does not come easily to Tobio that night. More than the burn in his back where the futon refuses him proper support, is the dark pit of anxiety that seems to never bottom out, and never empty. It must be far past midnight. He breathes in, sharp, steady, then let's it back out in a huff.

When he opens his eyes, something flutters in front of his vision, grainy and darker than the ceiling. It is a minute before he recognises it as a hand, Tōru's arm bent slightly around the bed frame. His fingers squeeze together and seem to beckon at him and instinctively Tobio reaches out.

Tōru's face leans over the edge next, and though it is almost too dark to tell Tobio can imagine the soft, sleepy grin half buried in his pillow. Tōru squeezes again, this time the act comforting, loving, his palm turning until he securely fits his digits between each of Tobio's own. His skin burns pleasantly wherever Tōru's fingers touch.

“Come up,” Tōru whispers, tugging lightly as if he can pull Tobio up just like that. Tobio shakes his head and Tōru lets out a haughty little breath, fingers releasing their hold. “Fine. “

Tōru is beside him suddenly, flush and warm at his side. The flat of Tōru's chin rests atop his head, breath tickling his hair and Tobio breathes in, arms wrapping instinctively around the other's torso, pulling him taut, fingers sinking into the fabric of his pajama shirt. Tobio can't quite make out Tōru's soft murmurs, isn't even sure he's saying anything in particular, but it fills in the silence, eases the tight coil in Tobio's gut.

And he thinks, if time could just stop here — now — he'd be perfectly content.

*

His arms are empty when he wakes up. Which, he's used to now.

Should be.   (He isn't quite used to it.) He throws one arm far to the side, turning on his back. One of the tree branches taps gently on the window, barely a foot above him where he lays now just beneath the ledge. Tobio's always been a leaden sleeper, dropping like a stone wherever he lays, but Tōru's always been restless, and somehow even in sleep Tobio's always instinctively found ways to accommodate around his roaming habits, so he is barely surprised to find himself quite a distance from the futon. The bathroom door opens a second later. Tōru's feet tread gently on the carpet, padding his way over toward Tobio. "Good," Tōru says, "you're awake". His voice is soft, as if he's still being cautious to not wake him. Tōru's hair has already been brushed in that almost careless way he likes to pretend is natural. Tobio knows better. He kneels down beside him on the floor, already adorning his joggers and running shorts with the matching, mint jacket. Tobio recognizes the set, the one with the little galactic planet logo on the back with holo glitter, declaring Out of This World in circular print around it. Tobio'd gotten the set for Tōru for their last anniversary. Somewhere behind him, Tobio's phone goes off. "Time to get up," Tōru sings, feathering fingers along the fringe of his bangs. It is cruel, so very cruel, and then Tōru shoots him with a small, sleepy smile, fully visible now and up close, and reminds him again to get up.   Tobio bites down on his bottom lip,  pulling his eyes up and away, willing the tears at the edge of his vision to dry swiftly. "Hey —" Tōru starts, but Tobio flings his arms over his face, smacking the gentle fingers from his hair and hiding effectively from Tōru's stare. "Go away, " Tobio demands—practically croaks—at Tōru. "I'll get dressed.”

*

It is his feet that carry him left when Tōru continues forward, chasing a path he had grown used to.

“The park's this way, “ Tōru tells him. “Dummy,” he adds with a snide little smile, fingers lacing through Tobio's and he tugs him back, beckoning him to follow. Tobio does.

Until a few block down, and Tōru's feet weigh him to the cement. Tobio looks back at him, over the stretch of their arms, halfway in the street already.

Tōru's eyes look vaguely wild, lips pressed together tightly. His hold on Tobio doubles and pains him, but instead of letting go Tobio squeezes back.

“Let's go,” he says, and Tōru nods. But he stays on the sidewalk. “What?”

“Here,“ Tōru says, not looking up. His brows knit together, eyes distant as if there's a memory he cannot quite recall on the tip of his tongue. “It was here —” Tōru swallows audibly. Tobio can barely feel any circulation in his hand now. “—There was fog… I didn’t see them and then the car... it didn’t stop and I—”

His eyes finally meet Tobio’s, but he’s not sure Tōru actually sees him.  

Tobio walks the distance back between them, shoulder bumping carefully against the other. Where their hands connect, Tobio pulls Tōru back along with him, retracing their path back the few blocks over. Tōru eases his hand eventually, pulling up alongside Tobio and slipping their joined hands into his pocket where they sit, protected from the cold.

Over Tōru's head, just before they take the right to the park this time, Tobio sees the edges of his apartment building and wonders, briefly, what business Tōru had on the other side of the city from his own apartment, so early that morning.

*

Shouyo texts him sometime in the late afternoon on Christmas Eve. Several other texts flood in from Shouyo’s phone, their tone implying that at least Ryunosuke and Yuu had taken possession of it to harass Tobio to join them for an evening of drinks and catching up.

Flurries had dotted the sky since the early morning and Tobio's content to watch them flitter and fly from the comfort of his couch. Tōru smiles at him from the far end, legs huddled in what seems uncomfortably close to his chest, adorning the same gaudy alien hoodie he'd procured from the closet the other night. He is vibrant against the gray outdoors.

Tobio declines.

We said it'd be tradition, the next message reads.

You're single this year no excuses!!!, says the last. He kills his phone's power after that.

It startles him when Tōru plops himself right between the couch pillows and Tobio's back.

“Did you know the first recorded UFO sighting was in 1639?” He keeps his far elbow bent on the cushions, holding his head up to stare beyond Tobio’s hairline at the screen. Still, he is close enough that Tobio can feel his breath along the shell of his ear. On screen is an alien documentary, but Tobio doesn't have the mind for it. Tōru continues without waiting for an answer, “Though some people say they've been mentioned as early as the bible.”

Tōru prattles on, his fingers dancing unmindfully along the bend in Tobio's waist. Where Tōru touches him, his skin tenses and tingles. Tōru might as well be planets away, but his presence on earth is still warm and comfortable against Tobio’s back. He leans into it, tilting his head up to watch Tōru’s face instead. Under his chin is a small litter of scars Tobio knows wasn’t there a year ago. He wonders if they are painful and swallows down the urge to kiss each and every single one better.

Tōru blinks at him the moment he notices his stare. “What?”

“It’s boring,” Tobio says. “Aliens are stupid.”

“Oh?” Tōru sings, removing the hand on his waist to tap a single finger to Tobio’s nose. “Maybe it’s because you’re stupid, my dear Tobio-chan.”

“No.” Tobio’s glare fuels Tōru’s laughter. His finger follows up the curve of Tobio’s nose and runs through his hair.

“Well, you know,” Tōru starts, hand curving down Tobio’s cheeks, palm resting upon the full expanse of it and he smiles, wickedly, “you kind of look like an alien.”

Tobio sputters. “I do not,” he protests. But that only seems to amuse Tōru. He takes hold of Tobio’s other cheek and pushes and pulls against the flesh until Tobio’s lips pucker like a fish, then pulls his mouth into a long smile.

Tōru only laughs harder as Tobio tries to shake him, and he can’t quite stop himself from himself from joining in.

Beyond him the sun peaks in the sky, chilly beams clinging about Tōru's face as his head lulls back. Tobio's heart swells. Tōru looks soft, delighted as he is, and Tobio fears that touching him may ruin the moment—that Tōru would slip through his fingers like the falling snow.

And then, Tōru kisses him.

His fingers on Tobio are cool, a vibrant contradiction to the heat pooling in his cheeks, and welcomed. A thumb taps on the plump skin of his cheek bone and then caresses down, curling at the base of his neck. Tōru's mouth is warm, and when he breathes, “Tobio,” between them it is so sweet, tooth achingly saccharine, and Tobio purloins a second taste, a third, and then loses count.

He could lose many things—a year’s worth of things if luck grants him it—to the scent of hibiscus shampoo and a tongue so sweet it might drive out all the bitterness.

But he doesn't.

His fingers remember the measure of every curl in Tōru's hair, his palms the exact plump of Tōru's cheeks. He can feel every nuanced change, and it is enough to make his heart throb.

“Tōru,” he manages to croak. Tōru pauses, sitting back just enough to stare him down and Tobio almost chokes. Liquor had never been one of his vices, but Tōru’s eyes are as fine and dark as a spiced rum as they catch glints of the winter sun, and Tobio thinks he would be perfectly content to drown in them, to stay unendingly intoxicated.

But that he also cannot.

Unsatisfied, Tōru leans back in, the warmth of him so sorely missed that it almost burns, is almost enough to throw away pride and reason, but instead Tobio's finger clutch the pillow under his head and shoves it between them.

“Tobio-chan!” Tōru shouts, equal parts miffed and confused.

“Don't,” Tobio manages. “Don't.”

“Don't what? Kiss you?” Tōru huffs.

Tobio cannot see him, Tōru obscured completely by the cream pillow, but he can feel where the other's hands clench around the couch’s edge, can see the knuckles turning white and pink. Tōru's arms shake mildly and Tobio wonders if he's about to cry, or if it's still the effect of his accident.

“I don't get it, Tobio-chan,” his voice is only a whisper, but there’s a quiet whine under his breath. “I kept asking for you, back in the hospital, you know?”

Oh, definitely near tears Tobio decides.

“Iwa-chan… he said that you'd want nothing to do with me.” Tōru chuckles, joylessly. “But then you did. And I thought, I thought maybe you still loved me after all, and we could just go back.”

“I have to—” Tobio barely manages to breath,” I have to go—”

He pushes Tōru away with the plush of the cushion and storms his way down the hall, trying his best to ignore the prickling sensation in his half asleep legs.

He loses against them at the front hallway, dropping on his back end upon the lip’s edge there that divides the room into the foyer. Tobio slips his shoes on as quickly as he can. Tōru doesn't seem to be following him.

The black duffel bag stares up at him before Tobio can reach for the door. He doesn't know what possesses him to kick it. Perhaps it's the ever insistent reminder in his doorway that things had changed, that even if today Tōru loved him, well, perhaps tomorrow he would not.

He kicks it again.

This time it falls forward and something chimes on the tile as it slips from a carelessly closed front pouch. Tobio leans over to grab for it and his heart simultaneously freezes and breaks. He catches himself on the far wall and turns the object around between his thumb and pointer finger.

It's a ring.

A simple, little band with a single diamond embedded deeply into the gold, but Tobio knows exactly it's intent.

It’s an engagement ring.

He swallows, turning the band around several times. The entryway light catches along the inner curves, beaming back at him brightly.

It doesn't suit Tōru, he thinks, despite it's simple beauty. Tobio would have bought a bevy of diamonds, for someone like him. Something gaudy, yet beautiful. But he didn't.

Someone else had. Someone who didn't know Tōru.

(Someone who wasn't him.)

*

“We should go,” Tobio says, hand slipping into the pouch of his sweater. The duffel bag sits heavy against his waist.

Tōru blinks up at him then and Tobio cannot meet his gaze, and so he turns away. “I think someone’s waiting for you.”

Before Tōru can make any vein protest, Tobio insists, “You need to go.”

The television clicks off.

Tobio gets the address from Hajime and sets the location in his phone. They take the bus all across town. It chirps like a confused bird, grating on Tobio’s nerves until their stop finally comes up, only a short block around the corner from Tōru’s apartment. In his pocket the ring sits heavier than the duffel bag across his shoulders. Tōru’s head is tilted back the whole way over, gaze climbing up and trained on the long faces of the older architecture.

Hajime, always reliable, makes sure to send Tobio the building code with his texts, but it fails to be useful when someone on their way out smiles at Tōru and keeps the door open for them. The key is found easily enough in Tōru’s personal effects.

For one person, the shared living space is comfortable. The windows are wide, almost the length of the far wall, flowing through with natural light from the near-dawn sky. He can see just a peek of the sun, over the top of the adjacent building’s roof. Tobio looks for signs of life around them, but none greet him.

Tōru picks up a book sitting on the dresser that is pushed up against the wall by the door. He lets it plop back down, the smack of it on the glossed over wood sounding like a gunshot in the silence. Tobio glares back at him, but Tōru shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs.

“I don’t see anyone,” he says. The door shuts heavily behind him, and this time they both jump. Tōru places a hand over his heart, and looks at Tobio, wide eyed. “Is it a ghost?”

Tobio frowns in reply.

Barely an hour later, Tōru watches him under droopy eyelids from where he’s strewn himself and the rest of his belongings across the double bed. It must be a gift, Tobio thinks, to appear absurdly bored at all the possibilities the last year has brought him.

But then again, Tōru has never been a standard of normalcy. Point in case: the little poster above his head declaring, “Surround Yourself With People Who Will Lift You Up!” that depicts a tiny stick figure being abducted by an alien spaceship. The rest of the apartment, however, is decorated with a more classy taste, only a few odd trinkets popping out to the eye.

“So,�� Tōru drawls, “what makes you think there’s anyone else coming back here?”

Tobio taps one of the figurines closest to him, some anime girl from one of Tōru’s shows he could never really get into. Dust lingers on his finger when he lifts it back up. He wipes it off on his pants with a face.

It is not the only thing in the apartment that looks unloved.

“Well?”

Tobio twirls in the stool seat, eyes sweeping over the apartment again. Even he can see, it hasn’t been very well lived in as of lately.

“C’mon~” Tōru trills, pushing up into a sitting position. “Share with the class, Tobio-chan!”

Tobio dips his hand back into his sweater’s pocket. The ring burns where it slips between his fingers and into his palm, hand clenching unconsciously until the ridges bite into the fatty flesh there. As if there’s a string between them, the feeling mimics in his heart.

He doesn’t see why someone wouldn’t be waiting for Tōru.

Tōru huffs, grabbing for one of the pillows from the head of the bed and pinning it against his chest with his now raised legs. His head rests on it as he continues to glower at Tobio across the small room. Tobio stares back, silent.

After a while, Tōru sighs. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But—” he pats the place next to him with pleading eyes that are unfair “—come sit with me?”

Tobio can’t deny him that, and so he drops off the stool and joins Tōru on the bed. He scoots further back until his back hits the wall, the tip of his hair tapping along the poster’s edge.

Tōru pushes back on the bed, slumping against the wall just a hair's breadth from Tobio. His hand wraps tighter around the band. It is a reminder his heart needs, but doesn’t, necessarily, want.

“We should eat soon,” he says. Tōru, unexpectedly, laughs.  

Tobio watches him, the little lines visible along the edge of his mouth and the vision of Tōru shaking with uncontrolled laughter causes him to ache.

“Of course!” Tōru titters, “The first thing you want to talk about is dinner.”

Tobio breathes in through his nose instinctively, and the sound comes out like a little sniffle. There’s a weight on his chest he cannot ignore any longer and his hand squeezes ever so tightly, he can barely feel the jewelry in his grasp now.

Tōru will probably never laugh with him again.

Tōru will never push him off the bed in his sleep again.

Tōru will never buy his favorite buns from that one shop three bus stops out of his way, pretending he ended up there by accident because he’s actually really sorry for the last argument he started.

Tobio doesn’t recognize the first hiccup as coming from his throat, but Tōru startles. He can feel his face pinch against the sensation of crying, all thoughts on keeping the tears at bay, but it doesn’t work.

“Tobio-chan~” Tōru coos. The fabric of his hoodie feels comforting on Tobio’s skin where Tōru cups his face, the pad of his thumbs peeking through the tattered old holes in the cuffs, and softly wiping his cheeks dry. His fingers feel as if they’ve caught an ever permanent frostbite, nipping where they touch him, but Tobio doesn’t mind.

“Tobio-chan,” he says again. “Breathe for me, okay?”

Tobio breathes in deeply, but it doesn’t seem to help more than give fuel to tears. With no resistance against him, Tōru manages to pull him to his chest. The lean strains Tobio’s back, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t adjust further than latching his fingers together behind Tōru's broad back and squeezing in closer.

When he breathes in again, the scent of expensive laundry soap and too spicy cologne and curry tickle his nose and eases something inside him. Something he’s missed.

Home.  

“I’m sorry I laughed at you about dinner.” Tōru whispers and Tobio can feel the breath of his laugh fan along the fringe of his hair. Blunted nails run cautiously along the curve of his scalp, fingers catching in and untangling threads of hair.

Tobio shakes his head.

He slips the hand still holding the jewelry out from underneath it's hiding spot and holds it up for Tōru to take. Tobio feels him shift to accommodate grabbing the trinket without compromising their position. There is no relief when Tobio relinquishes the ring into Tōru’s awaiting hand.

There's a slight hitch in his breath when Tōru asks, “Where did you find this?”

“In your stuff,” Tobio mutters. “The duffel bag.”

Outside the door, feet shuffle by, and momentarily it feels like his heart has stilled just to listen. The stranger passes on without even a test of the knob.

As if sensing his thoughts, Tōru's fingers return to petting his hair.

“No one else is coming here,” he says finally, certainly. Tōru’s cheek is cold, too, when it comes to rest atop Tobio’s forehead. If the position pains his neck, Tōru gives no tell. “Don’t you think Iwa-chan would have known?”

It's a sob that follows the question, heart wrenching, and it leaves cracks in Tobio's heart, along the already jagged edges. He squeezes, fingers digging into Tōru's back unconsciously, mind chanting, I don't want to let go.

I don't want to let go again.

But despite himself, Tobio pulls back. Tōru smiles at him, the edges wobbly at best, and it should not be an earth shattering realization that for all his bravado, he is scared too, yet somehow it is.

Stars burn in his eyes, a sickly green cast against wine-dark, and Tobio notices them in the lack of sunlight now, latched to the ceiling above them. He remembers owning a set of similar decals in his childhood bedroom, a make-do nightlight against the monsters hiding under his bed, in his closet.

“Sorry,” Tōru murmurs. “I thought we’d finally gotten it right this time. I just—” he wipes at his eyes with the back of his hands “—woke up with this idea of what tomorrow was supposed to be like, but it's already gone and it feels—” he presses his lips together tightly and breathes in. “It feels like some body snatcher froze me in time and took over my life and then dropped me back off without so much as a rundown.”

The poster by his head crinkles where his hair tickles the edge and he looks, so unimaginably small, distant, though it would take barely any effort at all to touch him. Tōru breathes out for a long while, disturbing a tuft of his own bangs. “I don't know what I did Tobio-Chan—”

“You left,” Tobio answers, briskly. He busies himself watching the makeshift sky, imagining the way Tōru would choose to lay out the stars, wondering if he’d hold up a picture on his cellphone to make sure he’d gotten some cluster of galaxies just right, and then plucking them off one by one to try again. Tobio furrows his brow at them, trying to remember from nights stargazing, stretched out along the fields back home in Miyagi, recalling Tōru’s excited prattle, just which one he might have been going for. “Because of me. I think.”

He can hear Tōru when he breathes in, nose absolutely stuffy with snot.

“I'm—not good,” he presses. His voice—his hands—his heart quiver in tandem. He swallows. “I don't get things all the time, so you must have put up with a lot.”

One of the stickers above them sits on its last leg, ready to drop where the binding agent isn't sufficient, a single edge still fighting to keep hold. Tobio wonders if he could make a wish on it, if it were to fall.

I want to go back.

“It was Christmas, I think. We had plans, maybe. I think. We usually don’t so I didn't…I don't think I remembered—some of the guys were in town and I—you were texting me, but I didn't read them until—”

Oh, he's crying again.

“You said—one of the last things you wrote was that I probably didn't love you enough—but I—”

“Did you?”

Tobio nods.

Tōru stares at him a while, considering him quietly. “Did you tell me that, Tobio?”

“No,” Tobio whispers. “I was—I was waiting until—”

“Until what?”

Tobio swallows. “Until you came home.”

“What's with that?” Tōru laughs, a bitter little thing. His eyes shine like dark embers in the limited lighting, moreso from the swell of tears gathering under his eyes. It's a very unattractive face, but it looks well on Tōru regardless. “Hey Tobio-chan,” he implores him softly, “if I didn’t come back, would you have just kept waiting?”

The answer seems obvious to Tobio. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Tōru looks at him, eyes steely and wondering, and it feels like his mouth has gone dry. Tobio wants to touch him again, to feel the swell of his cheek against the palm of his hand, to kiss the square of his jaw, his forehead, his lips until they both forget.  

But he doesn't.

“I love you,” Tobio says instead. He breathes in, pushes his gaze to stare down at the mattress instead. He can't recall what the globs of color were meant to be even though there had been light not but an hour ago. “Even at your worst,” he swallows, “even if you don’t love me back— for me, it’s just always been you, Oikawa. So I’ll wait. ”

Tōru stares at him and Tobio thinks he can see a galaxy of stars behind it. “You know one of the last things I remember thinking?”

Tobio shakes his head.

“‘I want to be with Tobio-chan forever.’” Tōru snorts. He holds the ring up between the two of them, pinning the band between his thumb and forefinger. Tobio’s eyes follow the path the ring takes as Tōru rolls it along the curve of his thumb, pale lights catching and gleaming in the dark gold surface. Tōru pulls it back a second later, cupping the ring in his palm and away from Tobio's sight. “Seems like I probably never stopped.”

There is an audible thump where Tōru hits his head back against the wall. “I must have kept this the whole time,” he sniffles. “How pathetic.”

Tobio tilts his head, not quite understanding and Tōru slips the ring into his jean pocket with a haughty sniff.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I'll explain it to you later.”

Street lamps flicker to life outside. Tonight they are unobscured by any fog, yet they do little more to help lighten up the studio than Tōru's stickers. But what little does smuggle it's way in sits softly along Tōru's face, catches brightly in his eyes.

Tobio leans back against the wall with him, unsure. Tōru's hand finds his.

“Let's go back,” Tōru says, resolutely. His eyes look back at Tobio and his mouth quirks up along one side. Tobio adds Tōru's dimples to the list of things he'd like to kiss. “I think… that’s what we’ve both wanted. Make things right. Go back to where we were.” He takes a reconsidering pause, wrinkling his nose. “Maybe just a little before that.”

Tobio squints. “The couch?”

“I hate how endearing I find your stupidity,” Tōru scoffs. “I'm asking you out.” He pauses, “Again.”

Tobio stares until the request sinks in and then finds himself nodding. Tōru hikes one of his legs against Tobio's other side, straddling him. His free hand curls around the curve of his jaw, tilting Tobio’s face up to look at him, as if he hadn't been rapt enough.

“You want to know something funny, Tobio-chan~?” From this distance Tobio can read the mirth in Tōru's eyes. “I just realized you were right about something.”

Tobio frowns. “That's not funny. “

“But it is,” Tōru insists. “Because someone was waiting for me.”

The breath of his laughter ghosts over Tobio's lips when he leans forward, only to be replaced a second later by Tōru's own. There's a smile in his kiss, sweeter than chocolate or hibiscus, and Tobio makes sure to press his own smile along the underside of Tōru's jaw, his forehead, his dimples, before returning to his lips.

Above them, unable to keep hold, the little star finally gives out. Tobio barely notices it, until Tōru laughs, brushing the stray decal from his hair before kissing him again.

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

WARNING: Character death. (Sort of.)

As she rolled into the parking lot of Twin Pines Mall, video camera under one arm, the first and only thing she saw was a huge white eighteen-wheeler truck. It read "Dr Emmett L. Pabbie – Scientific Services" on its side, which really misled any potential passersby as to the eccentric old man who owned it. This late, no one else was using the lot, and she rolled lazily down the ramp and onto the concrete. The momentum took her all the way up to the truck where she could knock gently on its side.

"Doc?" she asked as she kicked the edge of the board to pop it up and catch it. "You in there? Or… what?"

Before she could call out again, a mangy white dog came loping around the corner, barking and wagging its tail. Anna bent down with a slight smile and scrubbed behind his ears. "Heya, Olaf! Where's the Doc, boy? Where'd he go?" He gave an answering yip that really was no help at all.

The hissing of hydraulics and white steam emanating from the back of the truck gave her all the information she needed. Moving around, she watched as the doors opened further; far enough to reveal piercing lights shining through the fog. A ramp slid out and down to the concrete, and out rolled…

A car. Not just any car– it was a crazy old 1980s model that almost looked more like something out of a cheesy movie on Syfy than a real automobile. It was familiar, though Anna hadn't ever seen one in person. What's more, this one was so souped up beyond recognition that it took her a moment to recall its name.

"A DeLorean…?" Stepping closer, she muttered under her breath, "Jesus, Doc. If you wanted a junker, we've got a freshly smashed one at home."

Then the gull-wing door of the ancient car hissed open, revealing a wild-eyed old man. His normally-white frizzled hair was stained green today – Anna didn't even want to ask why – and he was wearing a white radiation suit. When he got himself disentangled from the seatbelt and out of the car, she took a hesitant step toward him.

"Doc?"

He jumped, turning around to catch site of his poor assistant. "Anna!" he cried, breaking into a wider grin as he approached and gripped her shoulder, a zealous gleam in his eye. "You made it! And you brought the camera – excellent!"

Glancing past him at the car and its previous hiding place, she whispered, "Did you rig up a fog machine literally just for this reveal? Dude, that's… a little much."

"Don't be silly!" he chuckled. "Why pay for a fog machine when I have perfectly good dry ice just lying around?"

Anna could have left then and there. Instead, she rolled her eyes, yawned, and gestured pathetically with the camera. "Can we hurry up, please?" she asked. God she sounded pathetic, too. "Today hasn't been great…"

"Ah." Nodding sagely, he patted one shoulder even as the other hand moved to pick up a clipboard from the seat. "Trouble with your parents again? I understand. My own were rather… let's use the phrase 'disapproving' when it came to my own academic leanings. They wanted me to go into law – LAW!"

Then he leaned in, a gleam dancing in his beady eye. "But they were wrong, as are yours. Tonight, you and I are going to make scientific history!"

That was… honestly not what she wanted to hear. But maybe it was what she needed to hear. Something to get her mind off everything. Sucking in a breath, she nodded. "Okay, fine. Scientific history. What are we doing this time? Figuring out how to make weird cars worth something?"

"I know you're only joshing, but what if I said yes?"

Anna stared at him. "I'd say that you seem to misunderstand what 'scientific breakthrough' means, and this was a waste of time," she replied. Doc just laughed again.

"We have all the time in the world! Nothing will ever be a waste of time again because you see, my dear, dear Anna, what you're looking at isn't just a car! Oh no. It's a time machine."

She blinked. Then, she blinked again.

"Time machine," she repeated, voice terribly flat. Doc nodded. Pointing at the hunk of junk in front of her, she said, "That. Is a time machine."

"It is indeed. You're looking at the most valuable material possession in the world! See, look– come on! Turn on the camera!"

Numbly, Anna did as he said, turning on the antiquated device and pointing it at her mentor. It was way too late for this kind of bullshit. Patting down his front, Doc began speaking to the camera.

"Good evening. I'm Doctor Emmett Pabbie, and I'm standing at a parking lot of Twin Pines Mall, Dell Valley, California. It's Saturday morning, October 24, 2015—" here, he paused to check his watch, "—one thirty-eight in the morning, and this is temporal experiment number one."

What the- an actual experiment? Anna had seen enough Mythbusters to know that there should at least be safety glass and a fire extinguisher. Things always either exploded or caught on fire. Or both.

"This is not what I had in mind when I answered your Craigslist ad two years ago," she muttered under her breath as she focused the lens on him. No, she'd expected to be making a thousand pots of coffee a day and helping to type out some terrible handwriting. Not this.

She was brought back to the present by a whistling noise – Doc was flicking his fingers back and forth over the driver's seat, calling Olaf to him. The dog hopped up into seat, and Doc put a seatbelt around his furry body.

"Alright," Doc said as he held up two stopwatches, one from around his own neck and the other from Olaf's. "As you can see, both watches are synchronised, down to the millisecond." They both turned over to 1:40 at the same instant. "Great. Now, Olaf – stay."

The dog obediently cocked its head at his master, as if he might get a treat if he obeyed, but instead the door was shut above him. Then, Doc pulled out something she definitely did not expect to see next: a complex remote control setup that made her think of the ones used by drones and other UAVs. Before she even had a chance to say, "What the actual fuck," the car was zooming away, Doc controlling it with the remote.

Poor Olaf.

He was making it travel to the far end of the parking lot, lining it up so it would have a clear run of the parking lot. Whether it was supposed to do something fancy like time travel or what, Anna had no idea – she was more concerned by the fact that it was pointing directly at them. But they were supposed to move before the experiment began.

Right?

"This is it" he was saying with that same old Doc Pabbie manic gleam in his eyes. "We are standing on the precipice of the greatest scientific discovery since the wheel." He turned to look at his young protegé. "Keep that camera rolling, Anna, because if my calculations are correct, as soon as this baby hits 88 miles per hour, we're going to see some serious shit."

"Well, if we don't move, I'm going to shit myself. It's pointed right at us!" Anna's eyes widened as she stared at him. Doc noticed.

"Don't film me! Watch the car!"

Quickly correcting herself, she pointed the camera at the car, very aware of the fact that the car was pointing at them, and Doc actually seemed pretty keen on keeping it that way. He glared – actually glared! – at her when she shuffled to the side. Then, he hit some buttons and pressed some levers, and suddenly the air was filled with the smell of burning rubber as the car's tires spun in place along the pothole-riddled bitumen.

Anna's brain did some rapid calculations as the car came careening towards them. On the one hand, she was pretty upset right now with her whole life and family and all that shit; on the other hand, she didn't actually want to die.

But, then again, in all the years she had spent assisting Doc, she could truly call him a friend, even with the half-century age difference. Running them over with a rapidly moving chunk of nostalgia was wildly out of character – not to mention the fact that Doc would never, ever knowingly put Olaf in danger.

This was, after all, the man who had taught her to drive because her mother couldn't and her father wouldn't; the man who once spent a not-inconsiderable amount of time working on an immortality serum for dogs. He had a plan, Anna knew he had a plan.

Which was good. because the DeLorean was almost on top of them.

Anna was moments from deciding to shut her eyes, unwilling to be faced with her own mortality, when something odd began happening with the car. Huge crackles of electricity began to crawl over the bodywork of the car and a jet of flame erupted from the back of the vehicle.

And then it was gone. The entire car, everything inside of it, had winked out of existence, leaving behind nothing but two fire trails along the ground.

"I… wait, WHAT?!"

"It worked!" Doc cackled, hopping up and down. "What did I tell you?! Eighty-eight miles per hour!"

Anna stumbled, the camera now hanging loosely from her hand as she walked toward the only piece that had been left behind when it vanished; a smoking license plate that said "OUTATIME". She would have laughed at the humour if the rest of the situation felt as funny. Her hand strayed down to pick it up, but it was hot to the touch, and she dropped it with a hiss of surprise.

"What the actual shit?! Jeez, Doc, you disintegrated Olaf!"

"Not 'disintegrated', Miss McFly!" he said, doing a little jig of pure glee as he joined her side. "I assure you, both my trusty canine companion and his scientific chariot are both perfectly intact!"

Mouth flapping for a moment, Anna couldn't quite find her voice. She opened her arms, indicating the empty parking lot as her head swung back and forth. Almost as if she would see the DeLorean in some far off corner - which was ridiculous, but she couldn't help herself. Doc may have been a tinkerer, and true, many of his inventions did work. But they weren't marketable ones, and never on this scale! It was more likely that he'd figured out how to do literally anything else to the car other than it being a time machine. Disintegrating it was high on her list.

"Then where the hell is he?" she cried, when he didn't seem to be understanding her unspoken question,

"Wrong question, dear girl!" he giggled, like a preschooler with a secret cookie in his pocket. "You should be asking, 'when the hell are they?' I have just sent them into the FUTURE!" Anna was still blinking when he held up a pair of fingers. "Two minutes into the future, to be precise! Only enough to ensure that the experiment is a success, but not so much that we lose control of the testing site!"

Anna needed to sit down. Her legs were jelly. "Time machine," she said dazedly, eyes wide. Her stomach rolled and she wasn't even sure why. "You built a time machine. Out of a DeLorean?" Where the fuck did he even get a DeLorean, anyway?

"Well, if you're gonna build a time machine, you may as well do it in style," he said. Anna barely got through her eye roll before he continued with, "Plus, the stainless-steel construction made the flux dispersal a full 67% more effective than if I'd used a more contemporary model."

"Where did you even find one, Doc?" Anna asked in an exhale. Maybe if she focused on the small impossibilities, it would make the bigger ones less daunting.

Doc grinned. "Well, funny you should ask-" He was cut off from continuing by a sharp beep, emanating from the watch. There was a millisecond of silence before Anna was pushed roughly to the side. "Look out!"

There was a very sci-fi sounding whiz-bang-pop, and suddenly the car reappeared, skidding along the ground. It seemed to hiss as it settled, and steam was rolling off it in waves. Or perhaps not. As Anna moved slowly, a few paces behind Doc, it became apparent that the car wasn't burning – quite the opposite.

It was frozen.

Careful to keep his hand wrapped in the sleeve of his labcoat, Doc opened the door. Olaf let out a cheerful yip and Anna was not going to admit just how relieved she was that he wasn't disintegrated.

"What did I tell you?" Doc repeated over and over, scrubbing behind the dog's ears. Anna had to admit, the man really did love his dog; at first, she had been worried that he used him for experiments - after her initial concern that he wanted to use her for experiments - but it didn't take long to see that he loved Olaf, and only used him as a practical test subject once he was at least reasonably certain that he would be safe. Most of the time, he would use a potato or something similar first, then graduate to Olaf, and then run the test on himself – sometimes herself, too, if necessary. And she consented - whenever it didn't sound like she would be in mortal danger.

"It actually works," she breathed numbly, approaching. But then she saw Doc waving at the camera, so she raised it and aimed at the two of them. It had been recording the whole time; she forgot to hit 'pause' because she was so distracted by a working time machine actually existing.

"As you can see here, now Olaf's stopwatch is exactly two minutes behind mine and still ticking! For us, he ceased to exist for that period in time, but for my little devil here, it was as if he never left. Isn't that right, Laffy?"

Once more, Olaf gave a happy little yip. Well, he sounded happy, but as soon as Doc gave him enough room, he was out the car and into the Doc's trailer, staring at them through one of the grimy windows. Whatever Doc said about it being instantaneous, Anna had the impression that perhaps it wasn't quite that clear-cut. Perhaps it was one of those sixth-sense things that animals had. Either way, Olaf seemed pretty chuffed at not being in the DeLorean anymore.

She didn't have much time to wonder, though, because Doc was quickly calling her over. "Come and I'll show you how it works!"

Intrigued, Anna moved closer. It looked like a car, and it was. Well, the front half. The back started looking more like some relic from an old Star Trek series, all winking lights and buttons.

"This," he said, pointing to a few cables in a glass box nestled in the back seat. It was shaped like a Y and had the words 'flux capacitor' written above it. "Is the flux capacitor." Well, duh… "It's what makes time travel work. And here," he turned, pointing at the front console where the CD – or probably cassette – player should have been. Instead, there were three rows of clocks, looking similar to her digital alarm at home. "This is where you input the destination. The middle one is when you are, the bottom is when you were, and the top one is when you're going. "

"If you say so," Anna mumbled distantly. They were all labelled, as Doc was always completely meticulous about labelling everything. Even a saxophone hanging in his lab had a label stuck to its side that said "saxophone", as if it was at all necessary.

"Anywhere – anyTIME you want to be is at your fingertips. Let's say you want to witness the signing of the Declaration of Independence. All you need to do is type the date – in the scientific fashion. Year, month, day." In he typed 1776-7-2. "Or the Normandy landing?" 1944-6-6. "What about… seeing 'The Wizard Of Oz' when it was brand new?" 1939-8-25.

"Follow the yellow brick road," Anna couldn't help muttering, filming everything even as her head spun. "Wow… you can seriously do that? I mean, not just make a dog disappear for a few minutes?"

A twinkle shone in Emmett Pabbie's eyes. "That, and so much more. Ah – here's a red letter date in the history of science: November 5th, 1985." Wistful, he typed in the date.

"Right, yeah. I mean… wait, what date is that? You know I suck at history."

"Well, it's Guy Fawkes Night, but I wouldn't expect an average American student to know that. No… it's going to be remembered for a completely different reason: the date that time travel was invented." His eyes took on a distant look as he leaned back in the DeLorean's seat. "I remember it vividly: I was hanging a clock in my bathroom, standing on the toilet. The porcelain was wet, I slipped and hit my head on the edge of the sink; knocked myself out cold. When I came to, I had a revelation! A vision, a picture in my head! A picture… of this."

His finger drew both of their attentions to the flux capacitor, gently glowing in the technology-appropriated back seat. He had said that was the only thing that made time travel work in the first place, and it had all come to him because he was a klutz. Why not? That was one of the few things they had bonded over when she started working for him: both were slight outcasts who could be remarkably uncoordinated.

It was sort of encouraging, in a way. It meant that Anna could maybe be a complete failure and still succeed at something. Then again… her parents didn't have a great track record.

Ugh. She didn't want to think of her parents. Shaking her head, she followed him as he moved back towards the trailer. "So Doc, I don't suppose this runs on regular unleaded? You sure did add a bunch of equipment on the back there."

Doc gave a snort. "Unfortunately, no. A machine like this requires a little more… kick. Plutonium."

Wait, what? "Plutonium? What kind of- Doc, are- are you telling me this baby is nuclear?" Anna found herself taking a cautious step to the side – not that it would make much of a difference.

"Of course not. It's electrical – what is this, the Dark Ages? I just need a nuclear reaction to generate the 1.21 gigawatts of power I need."

"And where, might I ask, did you get the plutonium? Just run down to the closest nuclear power plant and ask for a sample?"

At that, the Doc came striding back, waving his hands like he was trying to get her to shut up. "I stole it," he whispered harshly. "From a group of nationalists. They wanted me to build them a bomb, so I took their plutonium and, in turn, gave them a shoddy bomb casing full of used pinball machine parts. Come on! Let's get you a radiation suit. We must prepare to reload."

"Wha-?" Honestly, Anna had not signed up to handle nuclear material. Seriously. The ad had said "part time assistant to help eccentric inventor". The pay wasn't half bad and he had zero expectations other than "show up". It was perfect!

Except for when shit like this happened.

Soon enough, they had "reloaded" the nuclear chamber in the back of the car. At least Doc was professional enough to have dressed them both in radiation suits; Anna was sweating from the thick material, but she definitely didn't feel any weird tingling that might mean she was infected by the plutonium.

"Almost forgot my luggage," Doc said, slipping a suitcase into the car. "Who knows if they have my brand of underwear in the future?"

"The future," Anna breathed, mystified by this entire series of events. Now that she had gotten over the bizarreness and thought about the possibilities, she was excited and began to grin. "Headed forward, like Olaf? How far?"

"Twenty-five years," he said with a shrug. "2040 should be interesting. I've always dreamed of seeing beyond my years, observing the progress of mankind. Find out if that Phantom cartoon was correct about anything."

Anna's eyebrows twitched together. "What cartoon?"

"Roll tape." Obediently, she raised the camera. He was the inventor and she was just along for the ride; no sense in delaying him. "I, Dr Emmett L. Pabbie, being of sound mind, am about to embark on a historic journey." Then he slapped his forehead. "IDIOT!"

"What?!"

"I almost forgot to bring extra plutonium!" Gesturing toward the yellow crate, he laughed. "Where is my head today? One rod, one trip – I'd never be able to come back here without it! I must be losing-"

They were interrupted by Olaf's excited barking. Both of them looked over at the far corner of the mall parking lot to see a beat-up white VW van barrelling toward them. It was still quite far away, but it looked very conspicuous given that the entire carpark was completely deserted.

Anna was still staring at them when Doc stumbled towards her, a hand on his head. "Oh my God. They found me. I don't know how they possibly could have, but they found me." Taking a staggering step back from the DeLorean, he shouted, "Run for it, Anna!"

"Who?" Anna swung the camera round reflexively as Doc rushed away and to the other side of his own truck. Even in that short a time, the camper had come significantly closer. The men inside appeared to be hell bent on arriving as fast as possible, with no regard to safety whatsoever. They did not, however, need safe driving, since what they appeared to have was a statistically significant quantity of AR-15s. One of the people inside, wearing a scarf and a balaclava to hide his identity poked his torso out of the sunroof of the camper and pulled the slide back on his automatic weapon.

Anna considered herself something of a wild child – and perhaps in her more fanciful moments even a child of the world – but this was completely outside of her norm. No one should find themselves staring down the barrel of a gun, let alone a teen girl whose only weapon was a video camera. She jumped behind the only object nearby that might offer her any protection, the DeLorean, as her mind went blank with terror. The distinctive sound of automatic gunfire resonated in her torso, as the sound of bullets tore through her mind.

It is an oft-noted fact by gun enthusiasts throughout the world that handling an automatic weapon is a tricky endeavour at best, and that a solid stable firing platform is required, along with good trigger discipline and time down the range to learn to deal with recoil. But clearly the half-crazed fanatic leaning out of the top of the camper had absolutely none of these qualities, and consequently managed to place bullets in a wide array of locations in the car park. None of them in Anna, Doc, or Olaf and none in the DeLorean either, she hoped.

That would really ruin her boss-slash-friend's day.

'I don't want to die. I really don't want to die.' The thought kept rolling through Anna's mind, over and over again.

"Stay down, Anna!" Doc shouted, pulling out of his toolbox… a revolver. Not a handgun, not a police-issue Glock or a private one, but an actual legit revolver like someone would use in an old gangster movie. It would have been comical if the situation weren't so serious.

The van bore down on him, and he held up both hands before he could get the gun loaded and fire off a single shot. So he tossed it toward them, palms open. From her position, Anna could see him. Hands up and sweating, despite the cool air.

"Gentlemen! Perhaps I could persuade you to reconsider such a drastic course of action? There's still plenty of plutonium left; I could have something for you by the end of-"

He never got to finish the sentence. Now that they were parked and idling in front of him, the jilted terrorist seemed to have no trouble firing a few rounds into his chest, blowing him backward and out of Anna's sight.

"NOOOOO!" she wailed, face stretched wide in horror. Gripping the camera more tightly, she ran toward them. She didn't know what made her do it, other than adrenaline and grief, but she ended up screaming the stupidest thing possible with tears running down her cheeks.

"IT'S NOT NICE TO SHOOT PEOPLE!"

By the time she realised that running towards the armed men was possibly even sillier than the words she'd just uttered, it was too late. She was directly in their sights.

Shit. Her life flashed behind her eyes. Pathetic life, obviously, but with a few bright spots. Despite the bizarre experiments, she had actually enjoyed working with Doc. And Jennifer… she would wake up tomorrow to see her face plastered across the news She could even see the headlines: "Eccentric Doctor, Stupid Assistant, Killed".

Closing her eyes, accepting her fate, Anna sucked in a breath. It was like the world had narrowed into this one moment; lights flooding down, bad guys staring at her down the barrel of a gun. Maybe her family could finally be happy this way. Always a silver lining somewhere.

Click.

Eyes opening, Anna realised with some surprise that she was actually Not Dead, and her face lit up in a grin. "HaHA, suckers!" she crowed – before they glared at her. "Oh shit!"

But they were still struggling with the jammed rifle. That gave her time to actually get out of the way. There was only one option: she leapt into the open DeLorean.

Her hands found the keys as her foot punched the accelerator. Luckily, the car seemed to have been converted to an automatic at some point in its existence, and it flung itself forward across the tarmac. The crazed gunman twisted wildly whilst yelling something at the driver, and the camper lurched forwards.

"All right, time to see if your shitmobile can keep up with a time machine," Anna muttered as she swerved the DeLorean wildly across the lot, forcing the camper to turn unexpectedly and throwing the terrorist's aim off. The staccato of bullets caused Anna flashes of sheer terror and she punched the accelerator right through the floor.

Anna had of course forgotten something significant. It actually was a time machine, and not just a getaway vehicle. Just as she saw a rocket launcher in her wing mirror – AN ACTUAL ROCKET LAUNCHER, IN DELL VALLEY, WERE THEY CRAZY – lights began to flash and flicker, both inside the car and outside. She gripped the wheel more tightly, glancing down at the speedometer: 88.

That particular number seemed familiar for some reason…

Then electricity began to crackle in front of and all around her, temporarily blinding her, and the car was shaking as if caught in a hurricane. And something felt very different, as if she were being forced through a pinhole by an unseen deity. There was else nothing for her to do but hang on for dear life.

"Help!"

                                                 To Be Continued…

[katielovestreenuts]

Confessions From a Coffee Van - Part 2

Tuesday afternoon, start of Spring

The Christmas markets have packed up for the season, and been replaced by an array of multicoloured blossoms. Yellow petals bloomed on the pathway to the charity shop corner, and luscious pale pink blew through the breeze, dragging a floral scent across the air. The coffee shop next door has switched their gingerbread lattes and Christmas tree brownies for oat milk macchiatos and fruit scones, a subtle attempt at ‘new beginnings’.

My little van is still the same shade of pastel green as it was last year, which was only one month ago. The only changes are the specials board, which had been wiped out to change prices, and the iced coffees are back on the menu. The lock seems to open a little more easily that it had done that previous winter, my hands no longer faced the threat of frostbite. I throw up the shutters and realise my new problem, late February fog, blocking my entire view of the passers-by. This created the mystery of who would be visiting my little coffee van for the next few weeks.

***

‘Wouldn’t you say the air feels dryer?’ A woman wearing a Bluetooth piece asks, but I’m not sure whether it’s directed to me or not. I decide to gamble on simply not answering, but then she begins to stare as I stand there dumbfounded.

‘Y-yes! It definitely does! Giving me a scratchy throat’ I exclaim alarmed. She gives me a cold stare before removing her cards from the machine and strutting away. Interactions like this make me question why I ever leave the house, but then I remember if I want to eat, I need money and a job. Hard life.

In all the sudden distraction, the milk steamer decides to turn on and steam my forearm. Before I have time to register the pain, I slam the lever back off before examining the burn forming just above my wrist. I’m running it under the cold tap when a queue begins to form. I instantly panic and go to serve, but my pain receptors have caught up with my brain, and I almost burst into tears in front of a customer.

Before I even have time to decide how to play this, Charlie is throwing off their company apron and running through the van entrance. They attend to the queue and wrap ice in a tea towel to place on my blistering wound. Miraculously, they serve everybody in ten minutes, I guess they teach you how to do that in a corporate business, through training and threats. They close the shutters; it was almost closing time anyway.

‘I should go before my manager spots me working for the enemy’. They smile, I thank them multiple times before they make themselves a coffee and disappear into the fog.

[meathookcinema]

I often think about my love of cinema, where it began and the influences on it, both film-based and what was going on around me.

I was born in February 1975. My arrival into the world coincides with the day on which Stephen Murphy the BBFC’s secretary first saw a new independent film called The Texas Chain Saw Massacre with a view to providing a certificate for it. It feels apt that my birth coincided with an event connected to such a sordid masterpiece which remains one of my favourite films to this day.

On hearing of a new arrival into the world most people want to hear information that I’ve always thought was a bit random and really boring. Who gives a flying fuck about a baby’s weight? I want to know what was showing at the local cinema.

Thankfully the information I was looking for regarding my own arrival onto this planet was awaiting me in the Central Library in York amongst the archived local newspapers on microfilm.

Film listings for a new future cineaste/exploitation film fan

I’m thrilled to report that when I was born the films being shown were veryyy me! And before you ask, one of them wasn’t The Omen.

There was either the Safari suited, high camp antics of eye-brow raising Roger Moore as 1970’s James Bond in The Man With The Golden Gun or a sex comedy double-bill consisting of Line Up and Lay Down (!) and Nurses on the Job (!!) Both choices I’m more than happy with.

Safari-suit Bond- the pinnacle of camp

A sex comedy double-bill. Another pinnacle of camp. Perfect cinematic choices for my birth.

The cinema these masterpieces were being shown was the Odeon Cinema in Blossom Street in York which remains my favourite cinema of all of the movie houses I’ve been to.

The Odeon was opened on 1st February, 1937. You can see how much of an exquisite building it was by it’s very architecture. A gorgeous building by any standards with it’s distinctive Art Deco form and shape, this was seen on it’s construction as an outstanding addition to the Odeon family.

The Odeon in the late 80’s

The Odeon is situated on one of the main streets in and out of the city and more importantly, it’s on the route that my father would use when driving us home after going to the city centre. I remember driving past this cinema even before I was old enough to start frequenting the place with my family. Driving by I’d see the garish, alluring and beguiling posters outside. Just the posters alone had the power to scare the fuck out of me as a child with the colourful and nightmarish artwork for horror films leaving the deepest imprints in my young and very furtile psyche. It was just one glance of the poster for the double bill of The Incredible Melting Man and U.S. TV movie The Savage Bees that prevented me from sleeping for several nights in a row.

I also distinctly remember seeing the poster for The Fog in 1980 (I must have been five years old) and that really freaking me out. Again, sleepless nights followed.

One of the other things I loved about cinemas in those days was that they didn’t just have amazing posters for the films they were showing but also lobby cards which showed key scenes of the films being shown within. Lobby cards seem to have died a death these days but I always loved them especially when they were for the horror fare of the day. If a poster could invoke fear in me then going up close and peering at some of the horrific and disturbing scenes that took place within these cinematic shockers was also an amazing experience for an over imaginative small child.

One of my earliest memories is of my 5 year old self running to where the posters and lobby cards were outside The Odeon to gaze for the longest time at the artwork for a new film that had just started to play there. That film was called Friday the 13th and it was again, 1980. The lobby cards prompted many questions. Who was the kindly old woman enveloped in the misty woodland? Was the killer a dab hand at archery? Hadn’t the girl in the canoe seen Joe Dante’s Piranha?! I’d never dip my hand so casually in a lake like that…So many thoughts ran through my fevered little brain.

Friday the 13th Lobby Cards. I pored over these for the longest time trying to figure out what they portrayed in the actual film

There was actually a Kentucky Fried Chicken opposite The Odeon and so because of this proximity a unique urban legend came into being. Even though it’s a slight variation on an already well known yarn, the people of York insist that this actually happened. Some say they even know the people involved. It goes like this-

A young couple decide to go to collect KFC and then dash into The Odeon opposite with their greasy meal. The film they are going to see has already started and so they order their food, pay and rush into the cinema to buy their tickets and find their seats. They do this and find that the house lights have already gone down and the place is packed. They somehow manage to find two seats together in the rammed auditorium and start to chow down on their KFC. Because the film has already started the couple can’t see what they are eating and just tuck in regardless. The young woman notices that what she thinks should be a piece of chicken tastes funny. It also doesn’t feel like a leg or breast. Sure, it’s coated in the Colonel’s secret coating but chicken it must definitely aint. With her eyes now started to get used to the darkness of the cinema she sees that in fact what shes been tucking into looks very strange indeed. She decides to take some of the coating off with her fingers and is horrified to see what is concealed underneath- and of which she still has a piece of in her mouth. She has been eating a deep fried rat! She screams, her male companion screams, the audience screams.

The ‘deep friend rat’ is an urban legend that is well-told the world over and can be applied to any fast-food joint but seems to be specific to KFC (much to their chigrin). There was even a case recently whereby someone posted the same story as fact, even with pictures as evidence. But when asked by KFC’s management for further evidence or closer investigation, the story’s perpetrator seemed backwards in coming forward with further details. Social media, the internet and emails are perfect for the further advancement of urban legends in the cyber age.

But I digress. Most of my trips to the cinema during my childhood and teen years were to The Odeon. I loved seeing films in such a venue that was steeped in history and gorgeous to boot. I could almost feel the history of the place as people who had been lucky enough to see some of my favourite films (and that I would have been too young to see at the time of their release) would have delighted in the magic of seeing such cinematic masterpieces as Taxi Driver, Jaws and The Exorcist (fast forward and this would change with The Exorcist as there was a one-off screening and on my 18th birthday (of all days!) It was almost like it was scheduled especially for me! And so in February 1993, even though it had snowed, my friends and I went out on the town and then went to see the film with a packed house (the film was still banned on video in the UK at that time). Whilst the print was in appalling condition and most probably one of the same prints used on the film’s original release in 1974, it had lost none of it’s power. I’ll never forget leaving the cinema, bidding my friends farewell and precariously going to find a taxi whilst wading through snow and trying not to break my neck whilst walking like Bambi over the ice underfoot. Oh, and I remember being really fucking scared because of the film!

In these innocent days of my early childhood a couple of Odeon visits really stick out in my mind for some reason. I think it’s because these films were perfect for kids- even kids who would have no chance of getting into screenings of the horror and exploitation films he’d preferred to have been watching even at a very early age.

One screening I went to when I was 5 years old was for Robert Altman’s Popeye and I absolutely loved it! The perfect casting, the set designs, the songs- the cartoon series I loved so much was effortlessly and almost eerily brought to life.

Another cinematic excursion to the Odeon that I look back on with real fondness was a double bill of a pre-Terminator Arnie and Kirk Douglas in the zany Cactus Jack and the live action kitsch fest Spiderman and the Dragon’s Challenge. This was originally a two-part television special made for American T.V. but was spliced together to make a feature film to be shown theatrically outside the U.S. Hence, how I had the good fortune to be watching it. Spidey was played by Nicholas Hammond, one of the Von Trapp brats from The Sound of Music. The film was so bright and colourful that it was akin to a Pop-Art Warhol print come to life. I seem to remember that Spidey’s webs looked like white rope. Myself and all lovers of cinematic cult fare need this film and the films that preceded it (Spiderman and Spiderman Strikes Back) to be released on Blu ray tout suite.

It was at The Odeon that not only did I fall in love with film as a medium but also the sense of occasion involved in going to see a film. There was the excitement of the snacks on offer, the stench of popcorn meaning only one thing. It was also the trailers for the upcoming films and then the Pearl and Dean advertising for products such as Fry’s Turkish Delight, Westlers hotdogs and Red Mountain coffee. Then it was the wonderfully kitsch and camp ads for local businesses in York such as Indian restaurants and local pubs/nightclubs. The glittering world of York’s nightlife! It seemed so sophisticated. Theres a great sample of similar cinema advertising here. And here is a cinema advert shown locally in the 60’s in Plymouth advertising the local nightspots. It has to be seen to be believed! It’s all about the camp bleach blonde bartender. Something tells me he might be a Friend of Dorothy.

But there was also another cinema in York in those days that I also went to. The ABC cinema was right in the city centre on a street called Piccadilly and whilst it didn’t have the history, grandeur or sense of occasion that The Odeon had, I also went there and thoroughly enjoyed myself.

One of my earliest cinema going experiences here involved my father taking me and my two older brothers to go and see the newly released Superman 2 (which I didn’t like as to my 6 year old eyes the film was too violent- how things would change when it came to my tastes in cinema!) and way too loud. But other than those reservations, I had a great time. My Dad then took us to see executed highwayman Dick Turpin’s grave which is nearby. All in all, a great day.

For more on the curious case of the burial of Dick Turpin, click here. It’s just one more story from the blood-soaked history of York.

Another major source for my burgeoning passion in film was, of course, the television. Whilst I couldn’t get in to see the X certificate films at my local cinemas, there were no restrictions to me seeing any of the films shown on TV, whether they were intended for children or not. Hooray for lax parenting!

I remember vividly the first ever screening of Jaws on UK TV. According to the internet this took place on 8th of October 1981 which means that I was 6 years old when I saw it (it was actually certificated A when it was originally released in 1975 meaning that it wasn’t suitable for children under 11. This was changed to a PG years later, but recently was controversially upgraded to 12A as it was felt that PG was too lenient. Which, I suppose, is a testament to the brilliance of the film). This was a HUGE event and garnered mammoth ratings with 23.25 million viewers tuning in, one of the biggest ratings ever for a film shown on TV.

I also remember similarly huge ratings for the first time Superman: The Movie was shown on UK TV. This was also a pivotal event for not just myself but for most of the population.

Thankfully when I was growing up my father didn’t believe the theory that children watching late night movies that might be violent or disturbing in some way could negatively affect a child and so I was allowed to stay up late and watch the likes of Carrie, The Omen and Dirty Harry when they were shown. I realised that most of my school friends didn’t have parents who were this liberal or maybe just didn’t give a shit as I’d say to them ‘Did you see (insert name of some film usually with an X certificate) last night?!’ to be met with blank stares or a slow, jealous shake of the head.

Not everything that influenced me in those days was film based but still fed into my love of cult cinema and all things fucked up. I was and still am an avid reader. Sometimes I sped through books so fast that my father used to take me to the library more than once a day (really!). It was here that I came across a book that was perfect for a young freak with a taste for the macabre.

Usborne’s Guide to the Supernatural World was a compendium made up of three earlier titles (Vampires, Werewolves and Demons, Haunted Houses, Ghosts and Spectres and Mysterious Powers and Strange Forces) and was pretty much a bible for me from that moment on. It’s one of my favourite books and I still dip into it for pleasure and for life-affirmation purposes.

My knowledge of everything supernatural was expanded immeasurably with this tome as my eyes pored over the gaudy illustrations whilst taking in every detail of the text.

Usborne have just reissued another of their titles, The World of the Unknown: Ghosts which was just as influential in the late 70’s (see- there were other young weirdos just like me!). Let’s hope they see fit to reissue Supernatural World too. Copies are selling for a fortune on the internet. We need a reprint and pronto. It would sell just as well as Ghosts.

But there was something a lot closer to home and all too real that provided a macabre backdrop to my earliest years. The county that I grew up in had it’s own serial killer that was at large with his earliest noted murder (but it’s rumoured that he killed earlier and more than has been publicly recorded) being in the year of my birth and not ending until his capture in 1981. Peter William Sutcliffe aka The Yorkshire Ripper murdered women who were out alone at night. One of my earliest memories was of watching the local news programme Calendar which was presented by Richard Whiteley (later the presenter of student and old person favourite Countdown) who was normally a jolly and happy kind of fellow. I knew something was wrong as on this occasion he wasn’t smiling or jolly but had a grave expression on his face as he stood in front of a board that had numerous women’s faces on it. He explained that yet another women had been added to the list of those poor women who found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. This victim was Jacqueline Hill, a Leeds student who was walking from where her bus had dropped her to her student lodgings (a matter of a few yards) but instead met her ghoulish fate.

Because of the Ripper life had to be changed massively. There was an unofficial curfew for women and a feeling of omnipresent dread in the air until his capture. When I grew older and started going out as a teenager I’d always accompany female friends home and make sure they were inside and safe until I left. I never thought why I did this until much later- it had been because I has grown up in the era of the Ripper. It’s strange how life comes full circle. I’m now writing this in Chapeltown in my flat. This area of Leeds was a major hunting ground for Sutcliffe. The murder scenes for at least 4 of his victims are within walking distance of here.

This sense of dread was also all around us in other ways in the late 70’s/early 80’s. This was in the form of Public Information Films which were short adverts made by the government which warned the general population of the dangers of any number of potentially lethal activities as varied as mixing different types of tyre on your car, letting your child talk to strangers, putting down a rug on a freshly polished wooden floor…you name it. My favourite was The Spirit of Dark and Lonely Water which was voiced by Donald Pleasance and warned of the dangers of children playing near rivers and lakes and what could happen.

This PIF scared the shit out of me and reminded me of another childhood source of sleepless nights, a paperback of The Lord of the Rings that was knocking around our house resplendent with becloaked soldiers riding nightmarish horses each with glowing red eyes.

I loved the Public Information Films that were specific to Bonfire Night with the dangers of playing with fireworks being another source of trauma for children up and down the country.

Missives from on high of how to prevent catastrophe in your life weren’t just made for the TV screen either. There were plenty of leaflets, posters and literature around at this time that could educate the populace of how to avoid potential disaster.

There was plenty of imagery that I found so attractive as it would appeal to any fan of cult cinema and particularly the horror/slasher genre. The threat of some crime being committed to either you or your property was very real with an unspecified shadowy figure (the best example being depicted in the ‘Watch out! There’s a thief about’ campaign) seen approaching (a great example of this was the two black boots walking on breaking ice in the excellent ‘Neighbourly Nell’ Public Information Film) or running away.

One poster that I used to see on the wall in doctor’s surgeries, chemists and libraries was the design classic of The Pregnant Man.

Another moral panic that I remember vividly from my early childhood concerned the dangers of rabies entering the UK. Cue distressing images of rabid animals attacking children and humans frothing at the mouth due to the disease. And this wasn’t just in print.

And then there was Protect and Survive. This was a campaign regarding what to do if there was a nuclear holocaust. This booklet would be sent to every household if the button had been pushed and certain psychopathic world leaders wanted the ultimate in narcissistic supply. Details on how we were all to hole up in our self-made bomb shelters with only our loved ones and tinned food for company were outlined. There were even details on what to do if someone in your enclosure had passed away and how their body could be disposed of.

And here, for your perverse pleasure, is the full booklet. I’m sure in these times of lockdowns and Coronavirus we can pick up some worthwhile and strangely relevant tips.

The threat of nuclear war was everywhere in the late 70’s and 80’s. To quote those purveyors of style and hair dye Duran Duran from their number 1 single Is There Something I Should Know, ‘You’re about as easy as a nuclear war.’ Just one push of a button and we would be pushed into a dystopic netherworld.

There was even a drama, Threads made about what that post-nuclear holocaust would look like. It wasn’t pretty and remains a powerful, brilliant and extremely difficult to watch masterpiece. I recommend you to find it but proceed with caution.

But back to film. Another rich source of cult film goodness was to be found in our local newspaper, of all places. Film adverts were placed in here by the local cinemas that showed artwork (sometimes different from the posters) that was, in the case of horror and cult films, lurid in nature and again, utterly alluring to me.

As it would happen, other cult movie fans were indulging in the same pleasures with the excellent book Ad Nauseam being released not so long ago- a compendium of newspaper ads advertising the kind of movies I relished seeking out the ads for.

Just as there were newspaper print ads, there were also TV adverts for upcoming and films that were currently playing. Some of these were just as disturbing as the films themselves. I remember seeing a TV spot for The Shining that was possibly the scariest thing I had ever experienced up until that point. On seeing it again, I still feel the same. It’s a terrifying experience.

Whilst all of this quenched my growing passion for cinema and particularly cult cinema, there was an upcoming innovation that would change everything! That was, of course, VIDEO! And such a momentous event deserves a blog entry all of it’s own…

Pamela Voorhees, The Pregnant Man and The Deep Fried Rat: The Pre-Video Years of a Cult Movie Loving Crackpot I often think about my love of cinema, where it began and the influences on it, both film-based and what was going on around me.