#Engineered Wood Two Door Cabinet

[samfurniture88]

Buy SamDecors Solid Wood Shoe Rack with Four Compartments.  It can be used as a filing cabinet. It can also be used as a bookshelf in your study or as a shoe rack at the entrance of homes or offices.

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 10

an: this is my favourite part yet! Thanks for your patience! 

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 2700

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: angst, military setting, explicit language mentions of torture, graphic depictions of violence, use of guns.

I can still hear ringing from hours of relentless whirling of the helicopter engine beating against my eardrums. Ghost pulls me through the snow with one rough hand wrapped around my arm and the other on his pistol. In the time it took us to fly here, he only riled himself up more. Searing, red anger radiates from beneath his suit. I dread the moment we pass through that door.

Ghost doesn’t clear the safe house. He doesn’t have to. A thermal imaging camera attached to the chopper told him no one’s been there in hours. The night vision lenses reveal to him that no one’s trampled through the slushy snow or left tracks of any kind in days. The tiny cabin is between one of their bases and a large town in Latvia. It isn’t accessible by road. Only a helicopter, ATV, or 40-mile hike from the nearest settlement will get you here. This place isn’t meant to be found. The Ultranationalists won’t have suspected us to leave the country. No one will. Even the other task members have no clue where we are. Only Price. We’re completely alone.

It’s supposed to be safer, but I feel far from safe.

The cabin shakes as he slams the door shut and flips three deadbolts. There’s no escaping him. Even if I somehow miraculously made it out of the cabin, I’d be shot dead before I could make it ten feet away. Inside I am completely blind. There isn’t an ounce of light. Ghost releases me and blood rushes to the spot on my arm he was gripping. I can feel the bruises forming already. He brushes against my back as he steps further into the dark. It’s eerily silent. There’s no traffic outside or music from neighbouring rooms or wind gusts rattling the windows. Everything is completely still. Only my heavy breathing fills the dreadful space.

A small table lamp clicks on as Ghost lets go of the chord. The tiny metal chain clinks against the glass base. He paces around, looking completely out of place. We’re in a small room with a burgundy futon, a wooden table with two chairs, a tiny wood stove, and several cabinets on the far side of the wall. This is the only room in the whole building. It’s cozy and quaint; the kind of place new couples spend too much money on for a weekend getaway. There’s also another lamp standing in the corner of the room that Ghost now switches on. The lamps cause two jagged shadows to follow him around the room. Its warmer here than at the base, but not because the heat is on. This building doesn’t have heat, but we’re closer to the ocean so everywhere’s warmer. It’s just cold enough for the snow to stick to the ground in a slushy consistency.

I stand by the door, watching as Ghost undoes the clasps on his helmet before taking it off and placing it on the wood table. His skull mask is still covered in the bloody remnants of our interviews from this morning. Next to it, he places the large assault rifle. He doesn’t offload his handgun or any of the other various weapons strapped to his person. No, he might need those yet.

Ghost pauses for a moment as he scans the room, taking in our surroundings until his eyes land on mine. As much as I want to, I can’t look away. There’s something about his eyes. There always has been. They hold so much depth it’s hard to describe. So much horror I physically can’t describe. A type of desire that I’m afraid to describe.

He silently stalks across the wooden floor, holding my gaze the entire time, holding onto his anger even longer. Ghost stops only inches away. I shift back toward the door to put some distance between us.

“Are you scared of me?” his eyes narrow as he examines my face. Ghost is a well-trained bloodhound. There’s no hiding my fear from him. He can smell it pulsing through my veins. He can hear the muscles in my heart thundering at a terrifying speed.

“Should I be?” already, my voice is unsteady.

“I would,” he says plainly. My throat tightens and my mouth runs dry.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why’d you lie to me?” he ignores my question, jumping right to the very thing that is fueling his anger. Ghost is already standing too close for comfort, utilizing his size just like he does during the interrogations.

“I didn’t lie to you,” I lower my voice. Maybe if we’re both whispering, he won’t start shouting.

“You did,” there’s venom in his voice. I can hear the rattles of a snake hiding in tall grass. If I take the wrong step, I’m sure to be bitten.

“I told you what he said. Just not all of it,” I press my sweaty palms to the side of my thighs. Ghost’s brooding eyes are shadowed by the bloody skull mask. He’s so close I can smell the tangy, metallic scent. I taste it on my tongue as I bite the inside of my cheek. I feel it in my veins as it pulses through my racing heart.

“That’s rubbish,” his brows furrow and his lower lids tighten.

“Is it?” I ask. What would he do if he were in my position? Are my actions truly that unforgivable? “Why don’t you just interview me like you do them? Then, you’d find out.”

“Because you’re not one of them,” he says with certainty. Maybe not, but are we so different? For years, people told me I was just like my father and he’s “one of them”. How different can we be?

“Maybe I am,” I push back. The rattling sounds closer. My mind is warning me to step away from the snake, but some morbid part of me wants to see what’ll happen.

“You’re not,” he states.

“How do you know?” I ask. What makes him so certain? Sure, 141 does their research before kidnapping someone, but maybe I could be an Ultranationalist. Maybe he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks. Maybe I’m the snake.

Ghost reaches into a pocket on his thigh. He pulls out his switchblade and snaps the blade out. My eyes widen as I step further back, trapping myself against the door. Ghost stalks even closer. His movements are slow and predatory. I have nowhere to go as he presses his chest into mine. The hard equipment strapped to his vest hurts as it rubs against my clothes, jutting into my flesh. One hand harshly wraps around my mouth as the other presses the tip of the blade against my cheek.

I jolt away from the pain and try to wriggle from his grasp, but it’s no use. Ghost has me pinned against the door with no escape. The pressure is sharp and I feel the skin threatening to break, any harder and he’ll draw blood.

“Simon,” I try to say his name but the words are muffled. My hands wrap around his forearm and squeeze. Not in an attempt to pull him away, but just to get him to stop. His skin is hot under my cold fingers and his tense muscles ripple beneath my palm.

When I finally make eye contact with him, my heart skips. His eyes are dark and analytical. This isn’t about hurting me. He is simply gauging my reactions. This is a test.

The skull mask leans in closer. “An Ultranationalist wouldn’t flinch. They’d lean into the pain,” he whispers. Ghost releases me, taking only a small step back. I don’t wait to catch my breath before asking my next question.

“Do you like hurting them?”

“I do,” he says with a sense of pride. It’s now that I realize he doesn’t see these men as people. In his eyes, as soon as they joined the Ultranationalists, they abdicated all their human rights.

“That’s sick.”

“Maybe,” he says, taunting. “But it’s nothing in comparison to what they do.”

I ignore his attempt at changing the topic.

“Do you like hurting me?”

“Y/n,” something in his voice changes. It’s strained, almost. I see his brows furrow at the edge of his mask. He leans back at this. “Do you think that low of me?”

“In Price’s office, the two of you mentioned intercepting a high-ranking Ultranationalist’s family member. That’s what you did to me,” I wait for him to tell me I’m wrong. I want him to tell me I’m wrong. That the families of the men they hunt aren’t being punished for their crimes. Deep down, I know I’m not. “Did you know about that?”

“I helped plan it,” Ghost admits. My throat tightens even more and I fight the urge to cry. Of course, he did. It’s all some stupid vendetta. They don’t care who’s hurt in the process. Part of me can’t help but feel betrayed. I should’ve expected it. When I look into his eyes, there’s no regret. I’m just collateral to him. There’s a larger plan at play and my life is just a small game piece.

“Were you there when it happened?” I ask. I need to know. How much of my suffering was directly because of him?

“No.”

“Do you know the things they did to me?” my voice cracks. “How they pumped me so full of drugs I couldn’t stay conscious? And when I was awake, I was sick for hours. I was so drugged up I could barely stand, let alone walk. My body didn’t feel like my own. They locked me in a dark room alone for weeks. The only time I saw another person was when I was fed just twice a day. I didn’t know if my family was okay! I still don’t! I had a bag over my head ninety percent of the time and when I couldn’t keep up, they’d grab at me and push me until I’d hit a wall or the floor. Did you know that, Simon? I am covered in bruises! Even now,” my eyes start to water, but my sadness begins to transition to anger. “You planned all of that, Simon?”

Ghost takes a moment to watch the emotions flicker across my face and weigh his options. He takes a deep breath before saying “It was a part of the plan. You were supposed to believe you were taken by the Ultranationalists, so you’d be more willing to cooperate with us. We contracted the job to one of our Russian allies so it couldn’t be directly traced back to us. The fact that you were looking into your family’s past was just a coincidence. A convenient one, but a coincidence nonetheless,” his voice is reserved. He’s holding back again and it only hurts more.

“You’re no better than them,” I hiss at him. “At least they’re honest about what they do.”

Ghost scoffs at me and when he looks at me his eyes are narrowed and his brows furrowed. “Honest,” he laughs in patronizing disgust. “You don’t know a fucking thing about them.”

“I don’t know a damn thing about you either! Everything you’ve told me was a fucking lie!” I hate to admit it, but I break first. I’m the first to raise my voice and now all bets are off.

“Have you watched the news lately? Don’t you-”

“It’s hard to watch the news when you kidnapped me!” my face is red and I feel a burning rage. I feel like I’m on fire. Like Ghost has soaked me in gasoline and struck a match.

“Shut your fucking mouth for two goddamn seconds,” he snarls. There are flames in his eyes. “Haven’t you seen the bombings? The shootings? The fucking airport attacks? Any of it? That was all them! They’ve killed thousands of people for political power and they’re only getting started,” his fists are balled at his sides as he pushes into me again. I so badly wish I was closer to his size. At least then I’d have a chance.

He’s becoming just as worked up as I am. Good. He deserves to feel what I feel. The anger. The pain. The betrayal. How fucking unfair all of this is. Ghost’s breathing becomes faster as his chest heaves with disdain. I imagine a scowl on his face as he tries to justify his actions. As he tries to justify all of the violence he is responsible for. 141 isn’t as righteous as they’d like to believe. Their hands are caked in layers upon layers of years worth of blood. Their skin underneath is stained a type of red that won’t wash off in the sink.

“If we take out Makarov and his top generals, we can disband the Ultranationalists. We can stop this utter madness from becoming any worse. If we do that, we’ll save thousands of people and stop wars before they begin,” Ghost rests both his hands on the side of my neck, his thumbs just under my ears. His grip is light, but I feel the urgency under his fingers.  “I will do anything in my power to see that happen,” he says, reigning himself in as he steps back.

“Even kill my father,” I whisper. His eyes flicker back to mine. He doesn’t need to say anything to confirm my suspicion.

“He’s a bad man, y/n,” Ghost’s voice lowers.

“You don’t know him,” the pain is evident on my face. My heart aches and I miss him.

“No. But I know what he’s done,” he watches my expressions, calculating how much he should tell me. “Last month he coordinated a shooting at a refugee camp. Could call that his specialty. Refugee camps and immigration centers, sometimes homeless shelters. He targets vulnerable people and causes that the Ultranationalists know will get people riled up. Your father is responsible for the death of hundreds of innocent people. Do you know who lived in those camps? Young families. Children who had their whole lives ahead of them. He killed them y/n.”

My face scrunches up in disgust and disbelief. I feel the bile creeping up my throat as my stomach twists itself into an impossible knot. My knees want to give out. That can’t be true. He wouldn’t do that, not the man I know. My father is an introvert who likes to buy loaves of expired bread and feed pigeons in Central Park. He runs my mother baths and cooks too much pasta and kisses me on the forehead every time I visit. He is not that man.

“You’re lying,” my bottom lip trembles. “Everything you’ve told me is a lie, why would you tell the truth now?”

“I have video,” he says coldly. “Four of these attacks alone have detailed surveillance footage of him present during the events. But he’s not always present. Often, they’re planned at a distance. He’ll have coordinated most of them from your home.”

“That’s not true,” I mumble into my sleeve as I wipe my nose. “It’s not,” the tears finally spill from my eyes. It can’t be true.

“So no, y/n, I don’t like hurting you,” Ghost cups the side of my face, his thumb brushes along my hair as he gently guides me to look at him. “But I’d do it a million times over if it means stopping Makarov.”

“Where does it end?” my voice is pleading “Makarov, then my uncle, then my father, and all of their generals. Who else do you have to kill before it can finally end? Me? Am I on that list, Simon?”

“I would never do that to you,” he murmurs as his other hand brushes away my tears. All I want is to lean into his touch. To have him hold me and tell me everything’s going to be alright.

“How can I believe you, Simon? How can I believe you after everything you’ve done? After all the lies you’ve told,” my soft voice cracks.

His thumb soothingly brushes up and down my cheek. With each deep breath he takes, his vest pushes further into my chest. Before the pressure was alarming but now, I find a strange comfort in it. I want him to say that there’s a way out of this. That maybe he was wrong about my father. That when I go home, it’ll be like I never left. Simon leans down and rests his forehead against my own. My mind drifts to the blood sprayed across the white skull.

“You can’t.”

PT11:

[moonlitraven]

Tasteless Engine (1)

You always dreamed of being a doll maker. Since your tender childhood, they were always around you. To comfort you. To play with you. To hear you cry when no one was there. The dolls are pretty, and they were there. You lived in a small animated town. Everyday, the scent of fresh-baked bread would wake you up before going to the boutique. This boutique is a small cabinet, stuck between two big houses in a tiny alley. Your family supported you when you told them your dream, and you ended up being the apprentice of the best doll maker of the region (it is not a very popular job).

But one day, this sweet life stopped. The master you followed so whole-heartedly died, and they were no place in town to welcome you. So, after weeks of thinking about your future, you decided to buy a tiny bungalow in the Snowy mountains near the border of the country. There, you would create your own dolls and toys, and sell them in the nearest town, down the mountain. The weather would be harsh, but you had to do this.

And that’s how you ended up living there. Today is easily the coldest day of the winter, and you abandoned your work on the toys and dolls you will sell at the end of the week to snuggle in all the blanket you could find near the fireplace.

You are drinking your third tea in a row in hope to warm yourself a bit more. Your eyes are half-lidded with tiredness and you could not feel your limbs when a big “BANG” resonates in your ears. Alarmed, you leave your mug by the fireplace and quickly go check every room to assure that nothing is broken with the harshness of the wind, blowing and howling outside.

Nothing wrong.

Reassured, you walk back to the fireplace when you hear a lamentation outside, coming from the door. You freeze. You try to listen a bit better to those cries, when the tiny broken voice whines a heart-breaking “please” and you rush to the door to open it.

A bit of snow and cold wind enter your house. There’s no one at the door. You follow the directions of the cries and lower your eyes. They set on a humanoid thing laying on the ground, covered with snow. Your heart jumps and you clumsily grab the body to bring it inside the small bungalow and you quickly shut the door.

“Who are you?!” you shout, louder than you wished.

But the strange thing can only make weird cries and the sound of pieces of wood cliquing. Slowly, you walk toward it. You brush the snow and discover a huge puppet, messily wrapped in violet torn silk. You brush its long dark purple hair and realize that this hair is almost human-like. The puppet seems to act exactly like a human, so maybe it is cold. You put some of your blankets on the body. It groans.

After a some time, the unknown mass stops crying and sobbing, and you assume that it is asleep. Carefully, you step toward it, curious to see what exactly is this body. You delicately remove the torn violet silk, only to reveal a beautiful face covered by messy long dark purple hair. Their traits are well-defined, thin, elegant, and androgynous. They look like a teen, but their skin are white and virgin of any imperfection, glowing... Like porcelain. Your curiosity is picked, and you decided to touch his cheek (just a finger won't hurt, right?), which is strangely solid. You touch it again : you can't be wrong, what is laying on your floor is a human-sized porcelain doll.

[sweetsweetjellybean]

**Series Masterlist is available on the Fic Menu pinned to the top of my blog. Please Fix this link shit Tumblr**

TW: Smut-tacular Smut, Angst, Casual Drug Use, NSFW 18+

Beta’d by @superblysubpar AN: See End of Chapter Word Count 21,074

Series Masterlist

“Where are you two headed?” Steve asks, leaning against the kitchen island, raising a coffee mug to his lips. 

“We’re going to look at the car,” you say, beaming proudly. The long hours and careful saving are finally going to pay off. As much as you appreciated both boys driving you around, you can’t wait to be more self-reliant. This is a step in the right direction. Placing your purse on the island, you start going through its contents, making sure you have everything you’ll need. 

“Need any help?” Steve directs the question to you, but Eddie answers instead.

“I’ve got it covered, Harrington,” Eddie states in a flat voice as he pulls out two black travel mugs from the cabinet and moves around Steve to fill them with coffee. 

“Oh, yeah?” Steve turns to face him, crossing his arms over his chest, “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, It’s not a BMW, but there’s a used Pinto over at Kent’s car lot. I think it will be a good size for her, and it’s in her price range,” Eddie adds a little sugar from the bowl on the counter before snapping the lids closed.

“You’re kidding, right?” Steve sets his mug down on the counter and puts his hands on his hips, “You can’t put her in one of those. They aren’t safe.”

“Like I said, I’ve got this covered,” Eddie says, squaring up to him.

“It’s fine, Steve,” you say, trying to lower the temperature.

“It’s not fine,” Steve says, not taking his eyes off Eddie, “Those cars explode when they’re hit from behind. Something about the gas tank.”

“It’s what she can afford. Okay, money bags?” Eddie’s baiting him. Something has been off since the night Steve picked you up at work. Eddie’s been tense, paying closer attention to your comings and goings. 

“Then she can wait a few more weeks until she can get something else. I’ll drive her. She’s not getting in one of those death traps,” Steve fumes, taking a step toward Eddie. 

“I think we have had enough of your taxi services,” Eddie retorts, narrowing his eyes.

Dropping the checkbook you’re holding, you rush around the islands and hook your arm around Eddie’s elbow, “Eddie, come on,” you gently pull him back from Steve, “we’ll figure it out.”

He lets you pull him around the island, where you quickly grab your purse before heading towards the door.

“Don’t go to Kent’s. Go to Martin’s, you’ll get a better deal. They’ll haggle. Look for an Oldsmobile,” Steve calls after you.

“Thanks, Steve,” you say, giving him a look over your shoulder.

When you get in the van, Eddie grips the steering wheel and stares down at the dash. His knuckles turn white, and he shakes his head. 

“He’s just trying to be helpful,” you say quietly.

“Maybe he should go with you,” he turns his head to look at you.

Clicking off your seatbelt, you climb over the console into his lap,” I want you to take me, okay?” you press a few small kisses to his lips before he finally kisses you back. 

“Okay?” you ask again, rubbing his shoulders.

“Okay,” he softly pats your thigh, “you better get buckled in before safety officer squarehead sees you and has an aneurysm.”

Laughing, you kiss him again before returning to your seat. The van’s engine rumbles to life, and Queensryche blasts from the speakers. 

“Where are we going?” you ask as he drives towards town.

“Martin’s,” he sighs, drumming his hand on top of the wheel.

♡♡♡

“So, what do you think?” Eddie asks from the passenger seat. The wind from the open window blows his curls as you zoom down the deserted road surrounded by woods on the edge of town. 

Unable to keep up your poker face, you let the smile take over, “I love it,” you say, admiring the blue velvet interior of the Cutlass. The trees shade the road as you press your foot down on the gas, speeding along under their canopy.

“Easy now, speed racer. You haven’t signed for it yet,” he scolds with a smile playing on his lips. 

The tires crunch over loose asphalt as you pull onto the shoulder and turn the key in the ignition. Pushing up the armrest, you slide across the bench seat and straddle his lap, “I thought you liked to go fast,” you whisper before nipping at his neck. 

His hands slide down your hips until he’s squeezing your ass, “You really like this car,” he chuckles.

“Uh-huh,” you nod as you pull your shirt over your head and lean down to seal your mouth over his. 

“What do you think?” you ask between kisses. 

“I think,” his hands move to your breasts, kneading them over your bra, “that it looks like a little old lady’s car.”

“Hey,” you swat his hands off your chest. 

He laughs before leaning forward and burying his face in your cleavage. Placing your hands on his jaw, you tip his head back, “What do you really think?”

“It’s going to wipe out your savings after you buy insurance, but if you like it, you should get it.”

The leaves rustle softly as a light breeze blows through. A few of his curls flutter around your cheeks as you kiss, tickling your skin. 

“We haven’t checked out the backseat yet,” you say, grinding on his lap.

“We should be thorough,” his fingers glide down your shoulder, taking your bra strap with them. 

“Do our due diligence,” you agree, pulling on the lever that opens the door. Scooting off his lap, you climb out and open the back door. Reaching behind your back, you unclasp your bra before ducking into the backseat, Eddie following right behind you, unbuckling his belt and pulling off his shirt. 

He slips off your bra, balls it up, and tosses it into the front seat before maneuvering you onto your back and climbing over you until he’s cradled between your legs. 

“Roomy,” he says, looking around before closing his mouth over your nipple, laving it with his tongue, and gently biting down. 

“Yes, Eddie,” you moan, rolling your hips, seeking out some friction.

He’s working on your other breast when he stops suddenly, “Where did you go the other night when Steve picked you up from work?” 

His question catches you off guard. “What do you mean?” you ask, your stomach tenses and burns with nerves, “I came home.”

“Two hours after Enzo’s closed,” his face is entirely blank, disguising his feelings.

“I didn’t go anywhere. I got out a little late, and Steve wanted to talk, so he just drove around,” you loathe how easily the lies roll off your tongue. 

“Oh yeah?” his tone is measured and even giving nothing away, “Did he talk about that girl he brought home from the church? She seemed to enjoy herself. I keep meaning to ask him how she was,” he’s testing you, gauging your reaction.

“He didn’t bring her up.”

“No? Well, Steve’s fucked a lot of girls. He probably can’t tell one pussy from another.”

“Steve’s not going to talk to me about his sex life, Eddie,” irritation creeps into your voice.

“Why not? You two are such good friends now,” the sarcasm drips from his voice as he pulls himself off you.

“We better get back,” he opens the door and pushes out of the backseat, “We don’t want anyone thinking we stole their car,” he says, buckling his belt. He opens the front passenger door and reaches in to grab your clothes. He tosses them to you, leaving you to wonder what just happened.

♡♡♡

"Mmmmm," Steve hums, wrapping his arms around your shoulders from behind as you stand at the kitchen sink rinsing some ripe berries in a colander.

"I love being able to do this," he kisses down your temple, and you spin in his arms, abandoning your task. His mouth tastes minty and fresh as you slide your tongue inside. It doesn't feel wrong being with Steve, the same way it doesn't feel wrong being with Eddie. Loving them is as natural as breathing. There hasn't been any sex since the night at Weathertop. He hasn't pushed, content to hold and kiss you. And there has been lots of kissing. His hands are in your hair as he backs you against the counter, kissing you until you both need to come up for air.  

"Good morning," he says, pressing his soft lips to yours a few more times. 

"You're in a good mood this morning," you note the crisp, light blue button-down he has tucked into his jeans, a little more formal than he usually dresses.

"There's a beautiful woman that I'm crazy in love with in my kitchen," his fingers dip under the hem of your shirt, stroking the skin just above your shorts, "And I get to kiss her while she makes fruit salad," he reaches behind you stealing a couple blueberries, popping one in his mouth before offering the other one to you. Your lips close around his fingers as he places the berry on your tongue. The tart juice bursts into your mouth as you bite down.

"She loves you right back," you stretch to kiss him, the blueberry flavor coating your mouths. 

"Are you hungry? Can I make you some breakfast?" you ask, straightening his collar.

"I'm starving, actually, and I would love that if you don't mind," he says, grabbing a few more pieces of fruit. 

"What would you like?" you're thrilled his appetite has returned.

"Umm, how about some scrambled eggs?"

"You got it," happily, you walk to the fridge to retrieve the egg carton.

"I'll put in some toast. Want any?" he asks with his head in the pantry. 

"I already ate," you say, cracking an egg into a bowl. He makes himself a cup of coffee and drinks it leaning against the island watching you cook. Once everything is ready, you join him at the breakfast table.

"Do you need anything else for the party? I can stop when I'm out," he scoops some eggs onto his toast before taking a bite.

"Nope. We have everything," you went shopping yesterday, driving yourself in your new car. The school year was over, and everyone was coming over to hang out by the pool to celebrate. They had let Eddie walk at graduation despite him having to take one makeup class over the summer. Eddie invited Dustin and Nancy's little brother, who is bringing his girlfriend with them. 

"Where are you going looking so handsome?" you ask smiling, leaning your elbow on the table and propping your head in your hand. The collar of his dress shirt is open, and you can see a hint of dark hair at the edge of his white undershirt.

His cheeks tint pink as he finishes chewing, "I hate missing a chance to be alone with you, but I sort of have a job interview," he sets down his fork and turns his body toward you, "I'm meeting with the town manager and the head of the rec department."

"Whoa, that sounds important."

"The town's taking some of the disaster relief funds and building a new community center. A few of the town council members worked with me at the shelter and they asked if I'd be interested in working there," he picks up the hand you have resting on your thigh and fidgets with your fingers, "maybe even running it." 

"That's great, Steve. It sounds like a big opportunity. Is that something you're interested in?" you've seen Steve with Dustin and his other friends, he really cares for them, and they all look to him for guidance. 

"I'd probably have to take a few college classes, and I'll miss working with Robin, but this is the kind of work I can be proud of," he looks into your eyes, "I'd make enough to support a family."

"Is that what you want?" you ask, unsure how to feel. He's hinting about children when you're still trying to get through this without hurting anyone.

"Definitely," he says without any hesitation, "Do you?"

"Yeah, someday."

He squeezes your hand, happiness glowing on his face. He stands and leans over to kiss you, "I'll be back to help as soon as I can," he takes his plate to the sink and picks up his keys from the island. 

"Good luck," you call after him as he leaves the kitchen while you sit at the table, looking out the window, feeling a bit dizzy.

♡♡♡

There couldn’t have been a better day for a pool party. The hot afternoon sun burned away the few clouds leaving the sky clear and blue. The red line on the thermometer hovers in the high eighties. Summer songs playing through the radio float in the air mixing with the sounds of your friends laughing and enjoying the pool. 

The doorbell started ringing about an hour ago, with everyone showing up at roughly the same time. All of you had been relishing the beautiful weather and the company when you decided it was time to bring out the food. With your flip-flops clapping against the kitchen floor, you load up your arms with bowls of chips and fruit salad. 

“I really like your suit,” Steve whispers as he leans toward you, picking up the tray of sandwiches he helped you put together earlier. The bikini you have on is not as modest as what Nancy and Robin are wearing. At first, you considered changing, worried that you looked a little slutty in comparison, but Steve and Eddie seemed to appreciate it, so you decided to just go with it.

“You aren’t looking so bad yourself,” you wink, taking in his board shorts and sun-kissed shoulders dotted with freckles, a few hours of sun already giving him a golden glow. He follows behind you, putting his tray on the table he’d set up near the house, and you’re almost instantly swarmed by hungry teenage boys - not shy about helping themselves.

Steve had returned from his meeting cautiously optimistic. The interview went well, and they will let him know if they plan on hiring him sometime this week. After he’d changed, you watched him from the kitchen window with a smile and heated cheeks as he pulled out more patio furniture for the party, muscles flexing, a little sweat running through the patch of chest hair. Besides adding extra loungers and deck chairs, he set up two bistro tables with green umbrellas at each end of the patio, creating two separate seating areas. And a separate table for food and a makeshift bar for drinks that Eddie was working at right now. 

He also looks good, his hair tied back at the nape of his neck, his chest full of tattoos on full display as he fills a cooler with ice for soda and beer. Your fingers are very familiar with those smooth planes of pale skin and the way to get his muscles to jump under your touch. He finishes making sure cups, and more ice are easily accessible before taking care of the trash. Grabbing a can of spirit, he ambles over to one of the tables and sits down with a sigh wiping away a little sweat.

“Anyone want to light up?” Eddie asks, pulling a joint and a lighter from his half-empty pack of cigarettes. 

“I’m in,” Jonathan waves a hand in the air, walking away from the small table on the other side of the patio, where he was eating with Nancy and Robin. 

“Baby?” Eddie asks, eyeing you where you stand next to Steve, scooping some fruit into a paper bowl and handing it to Jane, who seems a little shy around you, but accepts it gratefully.

“Coming,” you call, handing Steve the spoon to finish serving alone, “What do you say, Robin?”

“Me?” Robin points to herself, surprised by your invitation.

“Yeah, I need a partner in crime,” you say, waving her over. Robin has been very kind, considering the sticky situation she’s gotten mixed up in, and you’ve really taken a shine to her. It was nice feeling like they weren’t just Eddie’s friends but yours as well. 

“She can’t even be around a cigarette without passing out,” Steve teases as he fills his plate with food. 

“This is better. All natural. Come on over, Buckley. I’ll teach you,” Eddie encourages, shooting a look at Steve.

“Okay, fine,” Robin acquiesces, getting up from her seat and carrying her plate to one of the trash cans. 

“I’m not taking care of you if you don’t like it,” Steve warns as he passes her on his way to sit with Nancy.

“Yes, you will,” she says over her shoulder.

“Yeah, I will,” Steve laughs, taking a seat in her vacant chair and tucking into one of the sandwiches.

Cool water lands on your warm legs when Dustin splashes as you walk along the edge of the pool to the table where Eddie is sitting, “I thought you are supposed to be a good influence,” he scolds.

“Who told you that?” you laugh. 

Kicking off your flip-flops, you let Eddie pull you into his lap, leaving the free seat for Robin. It’s nice to have your arm around his shoulder, his hand resting on your thigh. The distance between you has been growing. Mike tries to look inconspicuous as he meanders behind Robin, leaving Jane to join Dustin in the pool.

“I don’t think so, Mike,” Nancy says from her spot in the shade.

“Come on, Nance. You’re not mom,” Mike says, not even bothering to turn around to her as he speaks.

“Hey Eddie,” Nancy says, her voice sounding sinister, “do you remember what I keep in the shoebox in my closet?”

“Why, yes I do, lady Wheeler,” Eddie says sweetly, “Sorry, Mike. Maybe another time,” he waves the younger boy away. Nancy sips her drink with a satisfied smile. 

“What’s she have in there, dude? Your balls?” Mike asks, clearly annoyed with Eddie siding with his sister.

“Your sister scares the shit out of me,” Eddie admits, “She could hide a body and never get caught.” 

Jonathan chuckles at the assessment of his girlfriend while he sips his drink, “She definitely could.”

“Did you eat?” you ask Eddie as Robin settles herself in the seat beside you.

“I will after this,” he says, squeezing your hip, “You did a nice job getting everything ready.” Robin and Jonathan both shake their heads and murmur their agreement. 

“Thanks,” you say, planting your lips on the apple of his cheek and appreciating his sweet compliment. His words have had a sharp edge since the day you purchased the car, and it’s been even colder in bed. 

“Are you ready for this, Buckley?” Eddie smiles at her as he lights the joint and inhales, holding the smoke in before exhaling. He hands you the joint and explains the finer details to Robin as you take a long drag before passing it on to Jonathan. As you hold it in, the smoke swirls in your lungs, letting the effects lull you into calm. 

Robin takes the smoking joint from Jonathan between two fingers and eyes it suspiciously before taking a small puff. She tries to hold in the smoke the way Eddie explained but ends up coughing it out. She hands the joint back to Eddie and continues hacking like a two-pack-a-day smoker. Jumping up, you grab a drink from the cooler, opening it before you set it in front of her and rub a circle on her back. 

“How do you do that without coughing up a lung?” she asks once she’s caught her breath and chugged down the drink. 

“It’s your first time. You’ll get used to it,” Eddie assures her as he passes the joint along, “You’re going to make it, right Buckley?”

“Nope. I’m done,” she says, getting up, “Let’s just get plastered next time,” she pats your shoulder.

“You got it. Sorry, Robin,” you say sheepishly. She waves you off and joins the others in the pool. 

Taking her seat, you place your legs in Eddie’s lap. His elegant fingers wrap around your knee, occasionally smoothing their way up the length of your thigh as the three of you finish off the joint. Eddie and Jonathan are having an in-depth discussion on the quality of weed available in Hawkins compared to the west coast, but you tune them out, instead watching the younger kids’ antics. Mike is standing on the end of the diving board announcing the overly complicated dive he’s about to attempt, but then belly-flops into the water, splashing Jane as she bursts into giggles. 

“I’m going to get some food,” Eddie says, gently nudging off your legs before standing. He leans down to brush your lips and surprises you by sliding his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. Jonathan gets up and wanders back to Nancy, possibly feeling awkward witnessing the intimate moment.

Deciding not to stay at the table alone, you walk over to one of the loungers and stretch out, closing your eyes, letting the sun heat your skin, and the fuzzy edges of your brain push away any lingering worries as you enjoy the peaceful high. Someone takes the lounger beside you, and you don’t have to open your eyes to know it’s Steve. 

“Stop,” your lips spread into a grin as you feel his eyes moving over your body.

“What?” his playful voice confirming your suspensions.

“You know what,” opening one eye, you peek at him in time to watch him push his sunglasses up his nose and stretch out his arms, muscles contracting as he locks them behind his head before he turns his face towards the sky, savoring the afternoon sun. The two of you don’t talk, pleased to just be near one another, listening to your friends’ conversations going on around you. 

Nancy has been telling Robin about her college plans at Emerson and how she hopes Robin will come to visit when Mike and Eddie casually approach them. Mike tries pushing Nancy into the pool, but it ends up with both of them falling over the edge. Eddie simply picks up Robin and tosses her in before yelling a word of warning and cannonballing in after her. The pair have settled into a friendship akin to siblings, and you can’t help laughing watching them interact. 

Steve turns his smiling face toward you after chuckling over their silliness. This is truly one of those times you wish you could freeze things as they are. The important people in your life gathered close on a summer day. His eyes hold yours, and you know what he’s thinking, this is the kind of life you could have together. Closing your eyes, you lean back and let your mind work on the answers. A few drops of water land on your stomach.

“Come in the water with me, baby,” Eddie calls from the pool. 

Sitting up, you pull your knees up to your chest, “I’m not hot enough yet,” you watch him push his wet bangs off his face.

“You look plenty hot to me,” he wiggles his eyebrows, both his arms rest on the pavers that line the edge of the pool in front of your lounger.

Steve doesn’t move or turn his head, but you almost hear his thoughts asking you to stay with him, to choose him, while Eddie asks you to do the same. Stress returns, killing your high. 

Pulling the scrunchie off your wrist, you tie up your hair before getting up to join Eddie in the pool. For the first time, you question whether your decision is based on your guilt for lying to him or because you want to be with him. You’re always hurting one of them, and you hate yourself for it. 

Eddie takes your hand and pulls you through the water until your body is against his, and he can wrap his arms around you. Steve gets up and strides into the house, closing the slider with more force than usual. Eddie kisses you softly, and you smile, but you can’t help looking at the glass door that Steve just walked through.

Jane and Mike take up the loungers you and Steve had vacated while everyone else cools off in the water. Jonathan and Nancy are sharing a donut-shaped float kicking their feet gently to propel themselves around the pool, and Robin is trying to catch Dustin off guard, so she can dunk him. 

“They make a cute couple,” you comment to Eddie as you watch Mike and Jane talking. He takes her hand and holds it across the space between their seats.

“You think?” Eddie follows your gaze considering your statement. There was something different about Jane that you found interesting. When you first met her, you mentioned it to Eddie, and he chalked it up to her being Hopper’s daughter, but you’re certain that’s not it. 

“I’m going to go inside for a minute,” you say, untangling yourself from him, “I need the ladies.”

“You better go then. We don’t want any P in this ool,” he smacks your butt as you lift yourself out of the water. 

“You’re so cheesy,” you laugh, grabbing a towel to dry off. 

“You love it,” he says, turning back to the others, “Mike come here so I can drown you.”

Walking inside barefoot with a towel around your waist, you try not to drip water all over the floor as you look for Steve. He is in one of the downstairs bathrooms leaning against the vanity, looking at his reflection in the mirror. Your arms move around his waist from behind, and you place small kisses on his spine. 

“I’m alright,” he says, covering one of your hands with his, “I just need…I don’t know what I need,” he turns in your arms and brushes your cheek, “Do you?”

You’re aware of what he’s asking, and you wish you could say what he wants to hear, “No,” you say gently, shaking your head. 

“That’s okay,” he kisses your forehead, “You’re worth the wait.”

But as the guilt eats away at you like rust on metal, you’re starting to doubt if you’re worth it for either of them, “You’re catching some sun,” your hand runs down his chest, “Don’t let yourself burn, okay? I have to get back.”

A quick kiss ends your conversation, and you hurry back outside before you’re missed. Moving to the edge of the pool, you sit down on the pavers. Eddie comes to help you slip into the water. He wraps your legs around his waist, steers you down to the pool’s unoccupied end, and crowds you against the side.

“I’ve been wanting to get you alone all afternoon,” he licks away a drop of water clinging to your neck.

“Well, we aren’t exactly alone,” your hands move to his chest, trying to keep some space between you.

“Alone enough,” he argues, gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“You haven’t wanted me in days, and now that we’re in front of your friends, you can’t get enough?” you don’t bother hiding the irritation in your voice.

“You know how I get when I smoke,” his mouth presses against yours, “I’ve missed you,” his fingers move to your bottoms, tracing the edge down your thigh, in between your legs where he hooks a finger underneath, brushing it against your pussy. 

“Don’t,” you say firmly, and his fingers retreat immediately. He holds his hands up in surrender and sulks down to the other end of the pool. Placing your hands flat on the edge of the pool, you boost yourself up to sit on the edge letting your feet dangle in the water. The woosh of the slider being opened has you turning your head to watch Steve come back outside wearing a t-shirt. The chair from one of the tables scrapes against the pavers as he drags it closer to the pool just behind you, where he sits, rejoining the group. 

“Had enough sun?” Robin asks him as she pushes Dustin’s head below the water.

“Yeah,” Steve says, disinterested, “If you drown him, you can explain it to his mother.”

“Fine,” Robin groans as she lets Dustin up, and he sputters and immediately tries to return the favor.

“I can’t believe we’re finally done with high school,” Nancy says suddenly like she just realized it. 

“That’s right. So long, Hawkins High!” Robin yells as she tries hiding from Dustin behind Eddie. 

“I can’t believe I have to go to summer school,” Eddie raises his hands in a strangling motion. 

“What for?” Nancy asks, trailing her hands through the water. 

“Home Fucking Ec,” Eddie groans slinging an arm around Robin so Dustin will leave her alone. If Eddie himself hadn’t been enough to deter Dustin away from Robin, his announcement alone would have provided a distraction. He and Mike break out into fits of laughter at Eddie’s expense. 

“How do you fail Home Ec?” Jonathan asks, joining in the laughter.

“I didn’t fail. I missed too many classes,” Eddie explains defensively.

“What are your plans after?” Nancy pushes a laughing Jonathan off the float and into the water. 

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Eddie shrugs.

“You should come work at Family Video,” Robin says excitedly, smacking Eddie’s chest.

“I already got a job, doll,” Eddie reminds her. 

“How about something that won’t get you arrested,” Dustin says, raising an eyebrow.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Eddie shrugs.

Steve shifts in his chair, crossing his legs and shaking his head as a scoff rumbles from his throat.

“Something you want to say, Harrington?” Eddie raises his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun as he glares at Steve.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve answers, returning his look. The conversation comes to an uncomfortable halt as everyone senses the tension.

“So…um...Dustin, did you tell Eddie about the club?” Mike says, trying to move things along.

“No, I didn’t, Mike. And now might not be the best time,” Dustin says through gritted teeth.

“What about the club?” Eddie asks, drawing his eyebrows together.

“That asshole Kenny Carter is trying to convince Principal Higgins to cancel Hellfire so the chess club can use the drama room on Fridays,” Dustin splashes his hands on the water’s surface.

“But we’re not going to let it happen,” Mike says from his place on the lounger.

“I know you won’t,” Eddie places a hand on Dustin’s head, ruffling his curls, “You boys got to be careful. There’s always some dickhead trying to take what’s not theirs,” he casts a look in Steve’s direction.

“Does anyone want anything else to eat?” you shout, jumping to your feet before anything else can be said, “I’m going to start clearing some of this away.”

“I will help,” Jane joins you at the table, gathering the empty dishes.

“Thank you, Jane,” you say, handing her a stack of plates.

“Eddie, when are you playing again?” Robin distracts him, and you make a note to thank her later.

Using your chin to keep the dishes balanced, you nudge open the door and use your foot to slide it the rest of the way, “Just leave everything on the counter. I’ll sort it out later,” you instruct Jane as you dump everything on the kitchen island. Leaning your elbows against the countertop, you hang your head in your hands and let out a sigh. When you raise your head, Jane is watching you thoughtfully.

“Thanks again for your help. It was very kind of you to offer,” you force a small smile.

She turns to go, but just before she enters the sunroom, she looks back at you, “There’s more to life than stupid boys, you know?”

Blinking as you watch her leave through the slider, you think that might be the best advice you’ve ever received.

Everyone is out of the water when you return from inside. Steve and Eddie are at opposite ends of the patio. Ignoring both of them, you join Nancy and Dustin standing by the pool with towels wrapped around their middles.

“When do you leave for Boston?” you ask Nancy, interested in her plans. Boston would be a nice place to visit, especially if you were going to Maine.

“I’m not sure,” Nancy looks behind you towards Jonathan, He and Eddie are wandering over to join the conversation.

“Not sure about what?” Jonathan asks, taking a sip from the bottle of beer he’s holding and putting an arm around her shoulders. 

“When we’re leaving,” Nancy explains as Eddie wraps his arms around you from behind. His wet curls brush against your face as he kisses your cheek, his hands are creeping higher up your body, and you cover them with your hands, stopping them from going any further. 

“I want to wait until my mom and Hopper move into their new house. Make sure she and Will are settled in before we take off,” Jonathan offers. 

“Where is Will today?” you inquire. Jonathan has just opened his mouth to answer when one of Eddie’s hands pushes past yours and lands on your breast. Blood rushes to your face, heating your cheeks. Jonathan and Nancy immediately look uncomfortable. Dustin starts turning his head, looking around the yard. 

“Eddie,” you hiss, batting away his hand, “Stop, okay?”

“What?” he asks innocently. 

Robin tries to step in front of Steve as he approaches from the side, “Jesus, Eddie. Tone it down, dude. You’re embarrassing her,” Steve criticizes, his hands on his hips.

The yard is suddenly quiet, the only noise the soft trickling from the pool filter. 

“I think I’m ready to go. Can you give me a ride, Steve?” Robin places her hand on Steve’s arm.

“Yeah, okay,” with a last look at you, Steve lets Robin tug him toward the house. 

Letting out the breath you’d been holding, you turn back to finish your conversation.

“That’s funny, Steve,” Eddie calls out to Steve’s retreating form. His voice dripping with sarcasm, “You didn’t seem to mind my tone when I was watching you fuck my girlfriend.”

Your mouth drops open, there’s a ringing in your ears, and a few things happen simultaneously. Jonathan starts coughing mid-sip of his beer while Nancy and Dustin’s eyes widen. Steve and Robin stop in their tracks, and Eddie stands there with a self-satisfied look on his face. He’s knocked back a few steps when you ram your shoulder into him as you run into the house, pushing past Steve and Robin.

The muffled sound of raised voice comes from the patio as you race up the stairs, slamming your bedroom door behind you. Sliding out the duffle you had stashed under the bed, you unzip and place it on top of the quilt before making trips back and forth from your dresser, filling it with your clothes. The bedroom door gently swings open, and Eddie enters, closing it behind him.

“What are you doing?” he looks around the room, confused.

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing, Eddie? I’m leaving,” you say, crossing into the bathroom to collect your toiletries. 

“Baby, I know you’re mad-“

“Oh, I’m not mad. I’m furious,” you say, cutting him off as you come back into the room and dump everything on top of your clothes, probably getting gunk all over them, but that’s the least of your problems, “I have never been so embarrassed in my life.”

“It’s not that big a deal. Everyone already knows we have sex,” he crosses his arms over his chest, trying to excuse his actions. 

“Yeah. They probably assumed I had sex with my boyfriend. Not that I let two guys take turns,” you pull on a pair of shorts over your still damp swim bottoms, ”I’m just starting to make friends with these people and now they think...I don’t know what they think. I don’t know what I would think if I was them, but it wouldn’t be good. You humiliated me because I didn’t want you feeling me up in front of Dustin.”

“That’s not what I was trying to do. Don’t worry. No one is going to think anything bad about you baby,” he steps toward you, but you retreat to the other side of the bed. His dismissive tone lets you know you’re not getting through to him.

You scoff, “Are you kidding me? Do you know what will happen if this gets around? You and Steve will get a pat on the back while I get labeled the town whore,” you pull a tee over your head, “Do you think you can imagine what that’s like, Eddie? When people judge you and whisper behind your back?” you try putting it in a way he can understand.

“Yeah, I know what that’s like,” he says softly, looking at his feet, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“That’s right, Eddie. That’s the problem. You don’t think about me. You’re too busy having some kind of dick-measuring contest with Steve. Your *friend*, who, in case you forgot, is letting you live here for free,” you zip up the duffle and sling it over your shoulder before grabbing your purse and moving toward the door, but Eddie doesn’t budge.

“Move out of the way, Eddie.”

“Just wait,” he holds up his hands in front of him, “I’ll leave for a little while, and we can talk about it when I come back, okay?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m leaving. You need to move now.”

He moves to the side, and you storm past him, slamming the door behind you.

♡♡♡

If you squint your eyes just right, the bumps in the popcorn ceiling take on the shape of George Washington. Resisting the urge to scrape them off, you roll on your side and look down at your sister from the top bunk of the bed you’ve been sleeping in since turning up at your family’s home two days ago. Your mother explained that your bedroom had been converted into a sewing room as she put clean sheets on your sister’s bed. So when you haven’t been at work, you’ve been here, in your sister’s room, surrounded by posters of Corey Haim and Michael J. Fox, searching for meaning in the textured surface. A knock on the door jamb quiets your sister’s ever-moving mouth. 

“Eddie wants to talk to you,” your mother says, leaning against the door jamb.

“I don’t want to talk to him,” you roll onto your back and search for other dead presidents.

“Well, you can tell him that yourself,” your mother says sternly, “Come on, let’s give them some privacy,” she waves your sister out of the room. 

Eddie pokes his head through the doorway, looking around the room like it might be booby-trapped with girl things. Amusement and a long-suffering sigh take their turns on your lips as you climb down the ladder and close the door behind him. His hands tentatively reach for your hips. When you don’t protest, he pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you and presses his mouth to the side of your face.

“Are you still mad?” he asks quietly.

“No,” you say, savoring his warmth. His head dips to kiss you, but you lean away, “but that doesn’t mean I’m coming back.”

“What? Why?” his hands gently grip your biceps, “Don’t you love me anymore?” his brows pull together, and the sadness in his big doe eyes is enough to break your heart.

“That’s never been our problem,” you place your hand over his heart, “I just don’t know what we’re doing anymore?”

“You’ve changed so much,” he points out, looking away from you. 

“That’s right, and I want you to change with me,” you tap his chest, “I’ve been waiting around for you for the last year.”

“I’ve been in school,” he says defensively.

“There’s always something. Some excuse you have to kick the can down the road,” you take hold of his arm when he tries to step away from you, “I want to start my life. I don’t want to spend my twenties waiting for you to get your shit together.”

“What do you want to do that I’m holding you back from?” he asks with a trace of sarcasm.

“I don’t know, but I thought we would be figuring that out together. You don’t think about me when you make your decisions. I’m just there, somewhere in the background. I can’t build my life around you.”

“So, you don’t know what you want, but you know it’s not me, it’s that it?” he scoffs. His face falls when you don’t answer.

“Look, I’m going to go,” he sniffs, his eyes getting glossy, “We can talk again later.”

“Okay,” you wrap your arms around his middle, but he doesn’t hug you back, and when he walks out the door, you let him go.

♡♡♡

Three more red x’s have marked the calendar since Eddie’s visit, and you miss him - you miss both of them, but you’re still no closer to a decision. It’s different being in your family home after months away. The rooms seem smaller - more crowded, causing you to feel more like a guest, like you don’t quite belong. There’s a slight smudge to the black text printed in today’s Hawkins post, like the typeset was just a little off at the printers. Your finger smooths down the neat rows of the classifieds, only stopping on the boxes that read ‘apartment for rent’.

Your mother walks into the kitchen carrying a bag of groceries, looking over your shoulder at the newspaper, “There’s a boy in the driveway,” she says like it’s a regular occurrence.

“Who? Eddie?” you question as she puts a milk carton in the fridge.

“No. Not Eddie. The other one with the hair. It’s like these boys today are afraid of the barber,” she muses, but you’re already out the door.

Steve doesn’t move from his spot as he watches you walk down the driveway. Sunglasses hide his eyes as he stands with hands in the pockets of his expensive jeans, a white t-shirt stretched over his chest.

“Do you wanna come in?” you ask, hitching your thumb toward the house.

“I want to talk,” he states with an unreadable expression.

“Then come inside,” you turn and walk back toward the house, looking over your shoulder to make sure he’s following you. 

“Out,” you say to your sister as you and Steve step into her bedroom. With a sigh befitting a pre-teen girl, she peels herself off the floor, taking her magazine with her, and stomps out, slamming the door behind her.

Steve steps around you and pulls out the tiny chair of the vanity. He sits and takes off his glasses. Folding down the arms, he hooks them on the front of his shirt before leaning forward and rubbing his hands together.

“Steve,” you begin but stop when he raises his head. There’s a blue tinge to the skin underneath his eyes. A pang of guilt resounds inside you, knowing you are likely the cause of his lack of sleep. 

“You left me,” he says quietly, “You left me without even saying goodbye.”

Tears prickle behind your eyes, and you’re embarrassed by your selfishness, “I’m so sorry,” you swipe at the first tear spilling over your eyelid, “I couldn’t stay with the way things are between you and Eddie.”

“I know why you did it,” he stands and walks to you, cradling your face in his hands. He uses his thumb to brush away another tear, “It just….hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, looking into his eyes.

“I know, sweetheart,” he tips your head back and presses his warm lips to yours in a succession of light kisses, “I’ve missed you,” he breathes out between kisses, “Come home with me.”

“I can’t,” your fingers grip the fabric of the back of his shirt, “You and Eddie-“

“We worked it out,” his hands smooth down your neck until they’re wrapped around your shoulders.

“How did you do that?” your eyebrows raise in surprise.

“We’re guys,” he shrugs, “We grunted a few times and called it good.”

“And how do I explain going back with you?”

He steps back and puts a hand on his hip while the other pinches the bridge of his nose, “He asked me to come to talk to you.”

“What?” you ask, your mouth dropping open.

“It doesn’t matter, okay?” he pulls you against him, “I want you with me. I want to come home to you.”

“Steve, do you know how messed up that is? You want me to go back to my boyfriend so we can keep cheating?” you pull away from him.

“Then we’ll tell him,” he calmly crosses his arms over his chest. 

“No,” you say, stepping back, ”He doesn’t have anyone or any place to go. I can’t hurt him like that. And I don’t know...I haven’t-“

“He can keep the goddamn house. We’ll find someplace else,” he says heatedly.

“Even if I didn’t have a boyfriend, we can’t live together. We barely knew each other four months ago,” you say, scrubbing your hands over your face wondering if your hesitation stems from practicality or your reluctance to let Eddie go.

“Why not?” he asks, stepping closer, “I know I love you. I’d marry you tomorrow if that’s what you want.”

Inhaling a sharp breath, you feel like the earth has just tilted in its axis, “Whoa,” you press your hand to your forehead, “that’s way too much. This is crazy.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out a defeated sigh, “I don’t mean to pressure you. I want you to understand that I know what I want, and time isn’t going to change that. I want a future with you. I got the job at the community center. I’m ready to start my life and put everything else behind me.”

The same words had come out of your mouth just a few days ago when you were talking to Eddie. This is what you wanted. What’s holding you back?

“You say that, but you’re going to wake up one morning and think of the friends you’ve lost and the people we’ve hurt, and you’ll resent me. You just can’t see it yet.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” he takes both your hands in his, “I don’t know what to say to convince you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“I wish I could be as sure as you,” your voice breaks, and your eyes fill.

“You aren’t coming home,” he says sadly. When you nod your head, his arms go around you.

“Just tell me you love me,” he says against your temple, ”it will be enough for now.”

“I love you so much,” your tears are leaving spots on his shirt, but you don’t want him to let you go. He kisses you until your eyes are dry, light brushes of his mouth meant to comfort, not demand, but after he’s gone and you press your face into your pillow, and the tears start again.

♡♡♡

“Goodnight,” you call over your shoulder, a week later, to the few remaining people at Enzo’s who are taking their time wiping down tables while enjoying a glass of wine from the bar. A round of “see ya laters” follows you as you push through the heavy front door onto the quiet sidewalk. The temperature dropped after the sun went down, and you wish you’d had the foresight to grab a sweatshirt. Fumbling through your purse and looking for your keys, you don’t immediately notice the gray van parked next to your Cutlass as you enter the employee parking area. 

Eddie is leaning against the dented side panel, and he smiles when your eyes connect. A warmth washes over you as you return his smile. 

“Rough night?” he asks, gesturing to your shirt that’s covered in tomato sauce from your collar to the hem. 

“Yeah,” you say, pulling it away from your body, “I think I might not be cut out to be a waitress at an Italian restaurant.”

“Well, that’s okay,” he says reassuringly, “Sometimes you have to give things a try to figure out they aren’t meant for you.”

Inhaling a deep breath, your lungs fill with the cool night air, and you wonder if his words hold a deeper meaning. 

“Listen,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, “I talked to everyone from the party. No one is going to say anything, I promise.”

“Thank you,” you swallow and give him a smile. 

“I don’t want anyone talking bad about you. Especially because of me,” he says the last part quietly, looking down at his shoes, kicking a few pebbles on the asphalt, “And I want you to know I’ve thought about what you said,” he sniffs and looks around the nearly empty lot, “I’m going to try really hard not to be such a shitty boyfriend. You deserve better.”

“Eddie, you’ve never been a shitty boyfriend,” hot tears are prickling behind your eyes, and you twist the strap of your bag in your hand.

“No. You were right-“

“No. I was too hard on you. You were right, I have changed, and not all of it has been a good thing,” your eyes burn as the tears flow unrestrained, “I’m so sorry.”

“Baby, what are you sorry for?” his voice is cracking, and it’s killing you.

“For all the things I’ve done to hurt you. Can you forgive me?”

“Baby, I love you. There’s nothing to forgive,” his hands twitch at his sides before he places them tentatively on your arms like he might not have permission to touch you.

Your heart aches. The guilt is breaking you. Dropping your purse, you wrap yourself around him, clinging to him as you cry, knowing you don’t deserve forgiveness, or Eddie, or Steve. You’re so very tired of crying, and you want to let him make it all better - let him love you. He squeezes you tightly and lets you sob while rocking you from side to side under the yellowish glow cast by the floodlight that buzzes at the edge of the building.

“I’ve missed you,” you say when you’re able to speak without hiccupping, your face hot and swollen.

“You have?” his surprise sounds genuine.

“Of course I have,” you lean back to look up at his face and wipe your nose on the back of your hand.

“I miss you too,” he uses his fingers to wipe away some of the wetness on your face, “I’ve had a hard time falling asleep without you. I’ve gotten used to your cold feet on my legs.”

Fisting the front of his shirt, you giggle, “Good to know.”

“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly.

Nodding, you stretch on your toes meeting him halfway. His kiss feels like coming home. Every touch and taste are familiar. Warm lips staving off the chill of guilt. His hands move to your jaw, angling your head to deepen the kiss. Light contented sighs escaping through the gaps. 

“Come home with me,” he requests with closed eyes, mouth still moving against yours.

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Come home to stay.”

He pulls you tighter, his kiss becomes demanding, and you can’t refuse - you don’t want to. 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

His lips pull tight as he smiles against you and prints three more kisses on your mouth before finally pulling back. 

“Can we leave your car here? I’ll bring you back tomorrow, and we can pick up your stuff,” he says with all the excitement of a boy on Christmas morning. 

“That sounds good,” you say, just as eager. He bends to pick up your purse and moves to open the van’s passenger door. After helping you in, he runs around to his side. Turning off the tape deck before turning on the engine, he drives you back to Steve’s, holding your hand the entire way.

The van sputters and comes to a stop in Steve’s driveway. Eddie slips off his seatbelt and leans toward you, with a hand on the back of your head, he places a cloud-soft kiss on your lips, and you let yourself sink in. 

“Let’s not bother Steve. I want you all to myself tonight,” he says while stroking your cheek. A tightness constricts around your heart. Some part of him knows he’s missing a piece of you. 

With his warm hand holding yours, he leads you quietly through the dark house until he can close you in your room, shutting out everything and everyone creating a span of existence for just the two of you. And when your mouths meet, you give him everything you have left. 

His grip on you tightens, and he purrs his appreciation when you tilt your head, giving his access to your neck. “Mmmmm, you taste like garlic bread,” he says hotly against your skin. 

Pulling back, you cover your face with your hands while your body shakes with laughter. 

“What?” he says, confused, “I like garlic bread.”

“I think I need a shower,” you step closer and put your hands on his chest.

“Is that right? Did I tell you what happened in Home Ec. today?” he asks, kneading your hips. 

“No,” you make your eyes wide and shake your head. 

“It was terrible. I opened a container of flour, and it got all over me,” he looks away but peeks at you under his lashes to see if his ploy is working.

“That is terrible,” you say feigning sympathy while he nods his head in agreement, “I guess you need a shower too.”

“Do you think there’s enough room in there for two?” his hands glide from your hips to your ass, and his fingers press into your flesh as he pulls you tightly against the hard length trapped in his jeans.

“I think we could make that work,” your arms circle his neck. 

His mouth comes down on yours in a frenzy of hungry kisses as he walks you backward into the bathroom. The air gets thick and heavy when you turn on the faucet in the shower, adjusting the temperature while Eddie takes off his belt and pants. Steam billows around the small room, and your skirt barely hits the floor when Eddie pushes you into the shower with him, both of you still mostly dressed. Passionate kisses mingle with laughter as the hot water plasters your hair to your cheeks and turns your white shirt transparent.

“Everything’s better when you’re with me,” he says, pulling your drenched shirt over your head. Every sweet word feels like a nail pushing through your heart, but you try to push away the guilt, just for tonight. He kneels as he works your wet panties down your legs and buries his face in your center. His warm tongue parts your folds as you tip your head back into the spray.

“Eddie,” moaning, you tangle your fingers in his damp hair, smoothing it back from his face. A tiny yelp bursts from your mouth and echoes against the tiles when his teeth nip your thigh before he kisses his way back up your body. 

“Now that’s much tastier than garlic bread,” he says, making you laugh as he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra, which ends up in a pile in the corner of the shower along with his shirt. 

“Let’s make sure all the flour gets rinsed off,” you say cheekily as you switch places, putting him under the spray. Your fingers grip the hem of his boxers, pushing them down his legs before kicking them into the corner. Leaning forward, you press a kiss to the center of his chest just above his heart and pick up the bar of soap that sits on the recessed shelf. Suds drip down your wrist while you rub the bar soap in your hands, working up a bubbly lather and letting it dribble down his smooth chest to where his hard cock rests proudly against his belly. Tiny drops of water cling to his lashes, his dark eyes watching you as you replace the bar and stroke your slick hands down his chest until one is swirling around his balls and the other pumping his very ready, swollen dick. 

“Fuck, baby… don’t stop,” he backs you both out of the spray and picks up the soap to take his turn, spreading the iridescent foam over your breasts, teasing your nipples into taunt peaks.

“Does it feel good?” you coo, using both hands on him, twisting them with each tug. Already knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it with the pleasure‐drunk look on his face while he kneads your tits.

“Nothing has ever felt as good as you,” he breathes out before sealing his mouth over yours and backing you against the cool tiles. He pulls your hands off him, intertwining your fingers and holding them to the wall beside your head. He rubs his body against yours while you kiss, skin slicked and sliding, soft bubbles popping between you. He quickly turns, rinsing the front of his body in the steaming water. 

“Put your foot on the ledge,” he encourages, wrapping his hand around your knee to support you, spreading your legs wide.

“Are you ready for me?” he asks, spitting into his hand to lube his cock.

“Mmmm, so ready,” you hum, catching your lip between your teeth. 

Your moans mix like the parts of a song as he pushes all the way in until he bottoms out inside you. 

“I missed you so much. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve been inside you,” he rasps, his forehead pressed against yours while he gives you a moment to adjust.

“Then let’s make it last,” you drape an arm over his shoulder. He thrusts in a slow rhythm gathering your free hand to press back beside your head, locking your fingers. His kisses match his pace, and he takes his time tasting you while the pleasure blooms from where you’re joined. 

The steam gets thicker, making your lungs feel heavy as you fill them with deep gasps while rolling your hips to meet every stroke. Sweat beads on his skin, rivulets running down his chest disappearing between your bodies. Tension builds in you, his measured pace starts feeling torturous - you need more. The muscles in your arm strain as you try pressing back against the hand holding you to the wall, wanting to break free and pull him into you harder. He slides his fingers down, circling your wrist, using his strength to keep you in place. 

“Do you need something, baby?,” he asks sweetly, dipping his head to lick your neck, “You just have to tell me,” he slows further, and you try bucking your hips, but this position has you pinned.

“I need you to fuck me,” you mewl.

“I am,” he teases, a smirk twisting his lips, “I’m gonna make you come…eventually. That’s what you want, right?” he dots your face with tiny kisses. Your lips chase his, but he pulls back too quickly.

“Eddie,” you shake your head with a frustrated smile, “you’re making me crazy.”

“I’ll do anything you want, my love. Just say it,” he chuckles.

“Fine,” you drop your head back against the tile so you can look into those mischievous eyes, “I want you to fuck me hard with your big cock..pleazzze,” you make your eyes big and stretch out the last word like a petulant child.

“It is big, isn’t it?” he laughs.

Before you can think of a clever response, he pulls out and spins you around, tugging back your hips and driving into you hard.

“Yes,” you cry, pushing back into him, bracing your hands in front of you. The sound of your skin slapping together fills the room as his hips piston forcefully against your ass, punishing your gummy walls, and hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. One of his hands glides around your waist and moves lower until his long, calloused fingers are circling your clit, while the other palms your breast catching your nipple between his fingers. Electricity is zapping under your skin everywhere he’s touching you, shooting you up the slope toward your climax.

“Are you going to come, baby? Go ahead, be a good girl and come on my dick.”

His words have you flying over the edge. He holds you up as your legs tremble, and your inner walls pulse around him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cries, pushing you forward. Freezing water hits the back of your legs and has you both scrambling out laughing. He reaches back in and shuts off the water. 

“Oh, you didn’t get to come?” you tut, sticking out your lower lip, looking at his red, angry dick, “That’s too bad,” you wrap a towel around your body and open the door that leads back into your bedroom.

“Baby? You’re not that mean. Are you?”

You laugh as he chases you into the bedroom.

♡♡♡

Eddie’s arm was tightly around you when you woke the next morning. Placing your hand on top of his, you slide your hand back and forth, gently waking him.

“Hmmm, this is a good dream I’m having,” he says, kissing your neck and snuggling closer. 

“It’s going to be a wet dream if I don’t get to the bathroom,” you say, patting the hand and pressing on your stomach.

“Say no more,” he raises his arm, so you can slide out of bed. 

“I’m going to go get the coffee started,” you say once you’re finished in the bathroom, and he’s passing you on the way to take his turn. 

“I’m right behind you,” he says, closing the door.

Quickly, you dig through the clean laundry basket until you find the light blue tee you are looking for and hurriedly pull it over your head. It slides down to about mid-thigh, covering you enough to walk through the house. The house is quiet as you make your way down the carpeted stairs. Nerves are dancing in your belly, you swallow them down and make your way to the kitchen. Your breath catches when you see Steve standing at the island, hair askew, light stubble coating his jaw. His lips part when he sees you, and his expression is unreadable. Standing in the doorway, you nervously play with the hem of your shirt. 

“You’re back,” he says, leaning both hands on the counter. You nod and look down at your toes, wiggling them on the cold tile. His face falls, “You came back with Eddie.”

Again you nod, and you can hear Eddie coming down the stairs toward you. Your mouth opens to say something, but Steve’s lips pull into a bright smile, “You’re wearing my shirt.”

Dropping the material, you return his smile just as Eddie comes in behind you. 

“Good job, Munson. Finally wised up and brought her home,” Steve says, turning his back to pull three mugs from the cabinet, “Thank Christ, I was getting tired of your burnt cooking.”

“Hey, I thought I did a good job,” Eddie says, moving to the coffee pot and filling the mugs, “You said you liked the way I filled out that frilly apron.”

Steve pulls the creamer from the fridge giving you a wink, while Eddie spoons some sugar into the mugs.

“What do you guys want for breakfast?” you ask, finding your voice. 

“Nuh-uh,” Eddie says, bringing two of the mugs to the table, “you’re not cooking for us your first day back. Come sit down.”

“Okay,” you say with a little uncertainty as you move across the kitchen and sit at the table. 

Steve pulls a loaf of bread from the pantry and hands it to Eddie before taking two bananas from the fruit bowl. He snags his coffee and sets one of the bananas in front of you before taking a seat at the table.

Eddie loads the toaster and dusts his hands off, “What’s next? Oh!” he raises a finger in the air and moves to the pantry, “What kind of cereal, baby? We’re out of fruit loops. There’s Frankenberry or Kix. I think there’s some of that Müselix in the back, but I don’t recommend it,” he says scrunching his face. 

“Umm, Kix, please,” you say, amused. Eddie has made meals for you a time or two before, and you always appreciate it, but he’s never been quite this doting.

“Excellent choice. I’m going with the Frankenberry myself,” he says, going about putting together breakfast.

“Your car’s not in the driveway,” Steve notes, breaking the end off his banana and popping it in his mouth. 

“I left it at Enzo’s,” you break the stem on your piece of fruit. 

“I’m going to take her back later so she can go get her stuff,” Eddie says, setting down your breakfast in front of you and kissing your cheek. 

“Thank you,” you squeeze his hand, and he turns to retrieve his own dish.

An uncomfortable silence falls over the three of you, an occasional slurp of pink milk from Eddie highlighting the quiet. 

“What?” Eddie asks as you watch him use his spoon to separate the marshmallows from the cereal bits, “I like to save the monsters for last.”

Laughing, you slice the rest of your banana and add it to your cereal. 

“Now that’s weird,” Steve says, gesturing to your bowl as he stands and retrieves the peanut butter from the pantry. 

“Everyone puts bananas in their cereal,” you say before taking a bite.

“Umm. No, they don’t,” Eddie says, around a mouth full of cereal, “It’s gross, baby.”

“Is this how it is going to be now? You two teaming up against me?” you tease, sipping your coffee.

“Afraid so,” Steve says, putting some bread down to toast.

“Sorry,” Eddie drinks the rest of his milk from the bowl and wipes his chin on a napkin, “Steve’s my best girl now.”

“Jesus, Eddie,” Steve rolls his eyes, picking up the newspaper from the island and sitting down at the table to wait for his toast.

“We better get going. I have to stop by Ricks after I take you to your car, and then I have a few drops to make,” Eddie says, pushing back from the table and bringing his dishes to the sink, “I’ll be back in a few hours, baby,” he moves back to the table and leans down to give Steve’s cheek a kiss. 

“Get out of here,” Steve says, pushing him away.

Eddie manages to plant one on the top of Steve’s head, “He’s just playing hard to get,” he says, making you giggle around your last bite of toast. 

Eddie snaps his fingers, “Are you going to be around tonight, Harrington?”

“Try and kiss me all you want, but I’m not going to sleep with you, Eddie,” Steve deadpans, not looking up from the newspaper.

“How about a few video rentals then?” Eddie asks. Steve lowers the paper to hear him out.

“I’ll bring home pizza and some weed. We can all get blazed and watch a movie. Give my girl a proper welcome home.”

“I wouldn’t mind getting high,” Steve says, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Sound good to you, baby?” Eddie asks as you load the dishwasher.

“Yeah, sure. I’m game if that’s what you both want,” your stomach fills with dread knowing you can’t keep doing this. The lying, the pretending, the betrayal. Crimes committed for the sake of a love that’s ripping you to shreds. There won’t be enough of you left for either of them. A love that made you too weak to stay away.

“Don’t get Top Gun. I can’t watch that sad shit after smoking,” Eddie’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“Fine. But no onions on the pizza this time,” Steve points his finger at Eddie, “I could smell your breath from across the room.”

“Whatever gets me in your pants, Harrington,” Eddie says, winking at him. Soliciting an eye roll from Steve before he goes back to his paper, seemingly disinterested. 

Eddie’s hand on your waist guides you toward the hall, “That’s not my shirt,” his eyebrows draw together, and he looks at you questioningly.

“Oh, it’s not?” you look down and smooth the material on your thighs, “It was in our basket. It must have gotten mixed in.”

“We got to get you some pajamas, baby,” Eddie comments, taking your hand and walking ahead of you. Risking a look over your shoulder, you meet Steve’s gaze as Eddie tows you from the room. 

♡♡♡

After Eddie dropped you off, you drove around town before heading to your house. Now you're sitting on the bottom bunk of your sister’s bed, staring at the packed duffle sitting on the floor.

“Are you sure?” your mother asked when you told her you were moving back to Steve’s, “This is your home. You can stay as long as you like,” she reminded you.

“I’m sure,” you replied, not meeting her eyes, knowing you are far from being sure. It didn’t take you long to pack. Most of your things are still at Steve’s. They’ll be expecting you soon, but you can’t seem to get your feet to carry you from the room, choosing instead to tally up all the things you’ve done. Feeling worse that, given the opportunity, you might not change a thing. You’re hurtling toward disaster, and dragging your feet won’t save anyone.

Eddie’s van is in the driveway when you get to Steve’s house. Their voices carry from the kitchen as you toe off your shoes in the foyer and set your bag on the stairs.

“I was just about to call your mom’s,” Eddie says, coming around the corner and wrapping his arms around you.

“Sorry. I had a few things to take care of,” you feel older and more worn down with each lie.

“I put the pizza in the oven to keep it warm,” he says, kissing your nose, “Are you ready to burn one?”

“I’m going to go change and unpack. I’ll be quick,” you pull away from him and head up the stairs. 

“Okay, but don’t take too long. You know how whiney Steve gets when he’s hungry,” Eddie calls after you.

“Fuck off, Munson,” Steve yells from the kitchen.

Shaking your head, you turn to look at Eddie, 

“See,” he says, pointing toward the kitchen before disappearing around the corner.

Both boys are sitting at one of the bistro tables out on the patio when you join them, wearing a long-sleeved tee and a pair of Eddie’s boxers rolled up around your waist. The sun is just starting to dip below the tree line leaving the air chilled, and the sky streaked with orange and purple. A small sandwich bag of weed is on the table in front of Eddie, along with a lighter and some rolling papers.

“There she is,” Eddie says as you sit in the remaining chair between them.

“Okay,” Eddie slaps his hands together and rubs them back and forth like Mr. Miyagi from The Karate Kid, before opening the baggie, “Rick gave me this shit to sample. It’s a new strain. He said to be careful because it will lay you out. So, take it easy, baby. I don’t want you freaking out,” he sprinkles the weed across the paper before starting to roll it, “You can do what you like, Harrington, but you’ve been warned.”

“I don’t freak out,” you pout, crossing your arms. Eddie’s mouth drops open, and he pauses to give you a skeptical look. So you repeat yourself with more conviction, “I don’t.”

“I’ve got to hear this,” Steve leans forward, resting his clasped hands on the table.

“Well, let’s see,” Eddie licks the edge to seal it, “There was that time you thought your hand was stuck to your forehead, and I had to rip it off.”

Steve throws his head back, laughing.

“That was one time,” you scoff.

“And that time you cried because you were thinking about how one day I’ll be an old man with gray hair,” Eddie says as his long fingers twist the ends of the joint.

“That’s very sad,” Steve says, shoulders shaking as you narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, and that time you made me sit still for an hour while you drew my portrait, and it was just a stick figure. I should have known when you were giggling the whole time.”

“Hold on,” you slap your hand down on the table, “that was you, not me.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Eddie shakes his head at you.

“I know it was you because the stick figure had enormous boobs,” you accuse.

A smug grin spreads across Eddie’s face, “Okay. Maybe that one was me,” he chuckles, “But I wasn’t the one who was dead set on the stars being tiny people that spy on us when we’re doing it outside.”

Shaking your head, you glare at Eddie. Steve’s elbows are on the table, his head is in his hands, and he can’t stop laughing.

“Are you going to keep running your mouth, or are you going to light that thing?” you ask, trying really hard to hide your smile. 

“Your wish is my command,” Eddie says before sparking his lighter.

The conversation tapers off as you pass the joint around, letting the thick smoke do its work. Eddie was right. The weed is more potent than what you’re used to. After a few times around, you and Steve both decide you’ve had enough and let Eddie finish it off by himself. 

The katydids and crickets have woken up. Their chirping and shrill squeaks are joined by the chants of the Whippoorwill, signaling the end of another long summer day. The familiar head and body buzz creeps in, loosening the tension as you watch the lightning bugs dancing at the edge of the woods. 

“I need to eat,” Steve says, slapping a hand over his flat stomach, his eyes looking glassy.

“Yes!” Eddie raises his arm, pointer finger extended to the sky, “Excellent idea, Steve,” he says, standing up and slipping his lighter and papers back into his pocket, “Ready to eat, baby?” he tugs you from your seat and into his arms, his soft lips start working their way down your temple, “I’m so glad you’re home,” his mouth moves over yours, and you open for him, letting him deepen the kiss. 

The glass slider leading into the sunroom is closed so hard it bounces off the frame, and the noise has you startling in Eddie’s arms. 

“Uh-oh. Princess Harrington is testy. We better go in,” Eddie pecks your forehead.

Something doesn’t smell right when the two of you enter the kitchen. Steve is standing in front of the oven with a charred pizza box in his oven-mitt-covered hand.

“Eddie,” Steve says, “You have to take the pizza out of the box before you put it in the oven or at least not set the temperature to inferno hot.”

“Oops,” Eddie looks at the box sheepishly while scratching the back of his neck.

Covering your mouth with your hand, you try and fail to hold back the giggles bubbling out of you. 

“She’s wasted,” Steve says, tossing the blackened box onto the stovetop.

“You’re one to talk,” you say, squeezing into the space between Steve and the stove, “Your eyes are bright red,” you pull out a pair of tongs from the ceramic utensil holder on the countertop and use them to flip open the box. Steve’s hand goes to your hip as he peers into the box from over your shoulder.

“The pizza looks fine,” you quickly step to the side out of Steve’s reach and open the cupboard to take out some plates and glasses. 

“Thank fuck, I don’t have another ten dollars to spend on pizza,” Eddie says, taking a plate from your hand, “What did you get for movies?” he asks Steve.

“Hoosiers and One Crazy Summer,” Steve says, lifting out a slice from the box. Strings of melted cheese stretch between the slice and the rest of the pizza. Steve drops it on his plate and shakes out his burnt fingers.

“Basketball? Really, Steve?” Eddie asks, using the tongs to load his plate and drop a slice onto yours. 

“Where’s your state pride?” Steve asks, reaching over you for one of the glasses of ice water you just poured and heading toward the living room, “I like basketball.”

“Of course you do,” Eddie says, following behind him.

Shaking your head and grabbing a few napkins from the basket on the island, you take your dinner with you, following the sound of their bickering.

The Harrington living room is arranged in a typical conversation style. An oversized couch with a dark wooden coffee table in front of it, flanked on either side by cozy deep, seated chairs. The lamp in the foyer has been left on to provide some extra illumination to the dark room, the flickering light from the tv providing the rest. Steve is sitting on one end of the large sofa fast, forwarding through the copyright warnings while Eddie bites into his pizza sitting at the other end. Passing out the napkins, you warily eye the free seat in between them, but there isn’t enough weed in the world to make that look like a good idea. Placing your glass on one of the coasters scattered on the coffee table, you opt for one of the overstuffed chairs. 

A sad gray hippo wanders down the street, and John Cusack ponders the wisdom of love while you eat your pizza. The empty plates get stacked on the table, and you tuck your legs under you, angling your body to watch the story of Hoops finding love and figuring out his future play out on the TV screen. The occasional chuckles from the boys are more likely due to their altered state than slapstick comedy. One movie ends, and another gets turned on, but your hazy brain isn’t keeping up with the plot. Eddie’s soft snores start about three-quarters into Hoosiers, the strong weed and the sports movie knocking him out. His head is tipped back against the couch with his mouth slightly agape while Steve’s full attention is on Gene Hackman.

The gears in your brain start turning, trying to find a resolution to the questions plaguing you. Steve and Eddie are entirely different from each other, opposites in most ways. Loving Eddie is like a roller coaster, thrilling highs dipping into lows and back up again with impossible speed. Drifting through life with him would be a hell of a ride, but one that could be stuck on the same circular track. It will always be you dragging him through life’s big milestones. More than likely, you’ll end up supporting him and anyone else that comes along if you decide to have a family. But there won’t be any shortage of love and if your relationship survives this storm, you can probably survive anything. 

Steve’s love is like the ocean, vast and strong. He’d be devoted, like the tide, carrying you through life with your feet never touching the sand, never letting you fall. He’d give you everything he has without a second thought, but that kind of all-encompassing love could be stifling. It could pull you under the surface if you don’t have space to make mistakes and solve them on your own. Without a doubt, he would work hard to care for you and make you happy, possibly at his own expense. Deep down, you fear a love born out of betrayal can’t be one that lasts.

Lost in your thoughts, it took a moment to notice Steve returning your stare, his hazel eyes soft but wanting. He runs a hand through his hair, making a decision. He stands and quietly moves until he’s standing in front of you, his chest rising and falling in short breaths. 

The light fog swirling in your brain turns into wisps of confusion when he drops to his knees in front of you. His eyes close as he leans forward and lays his head in your lap. The tip of his nose runs up your thigh, the light stubble on his cheek a delicious scrap on your skin as he nuzzles against you.

He needs your touch. It’s such a simple request. If the room wasn’t so quiet you would’ve missed the soft sigh he releases when your hands move through his hair, brushing it back from his temples. His arms circle around you, his large hands squeezing between your back and the chair, fingers sliding under your shirt so his thumbs can rub circles on your skin. 

His head moves against you like a gentle wave, a light press of his warm lips, a slight swell in the tide. Your fingers tremble as they smooth the soft strands at the base of his neck, apprehension taking hold at the abrupt recognition of how much he needs you. He lifts his head, and your hands cradle his strong jaw. 

“I love you,” floats out on an exhale of breath before the barest brush of his lips turns into a slow deep kiss. His hands grip the hem of your boxers, giving them a sharp tug, pulling them down in the back until he’s stopped by the weight of your hips. 

Kiss-swollen lips move to your ear, “I’m going to taste you.”

His words leave you tingling. Lifting your hips, you let him slide the fabric down your legs taking your underwear with them. He glances over at Eddie as he pulls you to the edge of the chair and drapes one of your legs over his shoulder. A finger raised to his lips warns you to be quiet. His eyes darken when he sees the glossy coating of wetness already glazing your center. 

Biting down on your lip, you watch as he takes his first long lick with the flat of his tongue before he begins lazily making out with your pussy. He places wet, sucking kisses through your folds, pausing to use his tongue to tease your entrance while his nose bumps against your clit. The wet sounds he’s making aren’t masked by the white noise of the TV. Eddie stirs in his sleep, and you freeze. He can’t find out like this. Steve looks up, and you shake your head. He stands, wiping the wetness off his chin before he extends his hand to you. 

He leads you down the dark hall, pausing to push you against the wall and kiss you, the taste of yourself on his tongue making you dizzy like another kind of drug. He eases open the door to his father’s office, flips on the lights, and ushers you inside before turning to lock the door. While his back is turned, you take the opportunity to rid yourself of your shirt, glad that you hadn’t bothered with a bra. When he turns and sees you naked and offering yourself, something passes over his face that has your breathing coming faster. He stalks forward, but his touch is gentle, hands caressing every bit of skin he can reach while he occupies your mouth with his demanding lips. 

“Next time, I want you in my bed,” he says, moving you into the room and lifting you to the edge of the massive desk, the polished cherry wood satiny against your skin. His possessive need to claim you weighs heavy but has your stomach tightening with arousal. The idea feels like a fairytale - to actually be just his. 

“Do you want me to finish what I started?” he asks, pulling his shirt over his head.

Your hands are drawn to his chest like a bee landing on a flower, your fingertips running through the bristly hair, exploring the dips of his muscles.

“No. I want to feel all of you,” you answer by drawing him closer so you can kiss the freckles and flat moles that dot his skin like destinations on a map. All places you want to explore. His arms go around you, letting you give as much as you want, and in this moment, you wish you could give him everything.

He guides you back until you’re lying flat on the desk. The scent of leather and ink rises from the blotter under your head. His big hands return to your thighs, the rest of his clothes now gone, his cock is at your entrance.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he says as he waits for your gaze to push inside you. The intensity of his eyes spread into an open forest of mossy green, being chased by the golden hues of autumn. Penetrating you two ways-your body, and your heart.

His hands hold your hips steady as he begins to move. Unhurried strokes fill you to completeness, wave after wave of warm pleasure cascading through you. The wisps of smoke still circulating in your brain have slowed things down, and every touch is a dream you want to get lost in. His hands roam as you adjust and tilt your hips to meet him. 

“Every day,” his flat palm sweeps upward between the valley of your breasts, “I want you like this every day.”

“Mmm, me too,” you capture his fingertips and press them to your lips before sucking them into your mouth. His eyes roll back, and his other hand tightens his grip on your thigh as he drives into you harder. 

“I need more,” he says, tipping his head back, “I want you closer,” he pulls out and helps you off the desk. 

“I can make you happy if you’d let me,” he takes your hand as he sinks down onto a plush club chair. The rich leather creaks under your knees as they push into the cushion on either side of his legs as you straddle him.

“You do make me happy,” you keep your mouth on his, swallowing his moan as you take him inside you, sliding down his length until you’re fully seated, “Now I’m going to make you happy,” gripping the back of the chair, you lift your hips and drive them down. Both of you expending effort to muffle the moans caused by the euphoria of your connection. He cups your breast, and his mouth laves attention on your aching, taut nipple as you work your hips, the head of cock hitting the best spot every time.

“That’s it. You feel so fucking good,” he moves his hands to your ass, encouraging your movements, “I wanted to touch you since this morning, and now I never want to stop,” his mouth devours yours, his tongue tasting and exploring like a man starved. Desperately, you whimper into his mouth as he starts driving his hips up from below you setting you on a path toward release.

“I love you,” you sigh between sloppy kisses, eliciting a low groan, “I missed you so much,” you confess feeling like a balloon caught up in a wind that’s moving higher and higher into the stratosphere. 

“I love you so much,” he rasps as he throbs and swells inside you, “I need you to come for me,” his tempo rises, and he’s hitting you deeper and harder than before. Your inner muscles tighten around him as your craving to be filled by him takes over. The first hot spurt against your cervix has you shuddering and falling back to earth as more of his warmth fills you and aids his last frenzied strokes. Little shocks and jolts tingle inside you as you crumple into his arms, legs still shaking, completely spent, floating in a cloud of bliss. His hands stroke up and down your back, your head rests on his shoulder, the rest of you pressed against his sweat-slicked chest, feeling it rise and fall as he catches his breath. Your mouths find each other, languid kisses help you come down together. Steve holds an invisible string to your heart that keeps pulling you closer to him and away from Eddie, a game of yo-yo you will never win. 

“That was-,” he kisses your forehead and tightens his hold on you.

“I know,” you say, certain you’re feeling everything he is. It was some of the most intense sex of your life. Kissing him once more, you start to pull back.

“Not yet. Just stay with me another minute,” he pleads.

“I have to go shower before….” you trail off, hating that you’re thinking about Eddie while Steve is still inside you. 

“I can’t keep doing this,” he confesses, “I thought I could, but I can’t keep watching him touch you, not after this. There isn’t a way this ends without him being hurt. I think you know that.”

“I do. I’m so sorry. I know it isn’t fair. Soon I promise.”

“Okay,” he says, helping you off him. After you’re dressed, he stays to clean up while you quietly sneak past a sleeping Eddie. Once the water in your shower is running, you let out a sigh of relief, you could have been caught at any moment tonight. Steve is right. This can’t keep going on. Putting soap on a washcloth, you shower off one boy so you can go to bed with the other.

♡♡♡

Clarity doesn’t come that night or the next day or the next. In fact you’re more torn than ever. The only decision you’re certain about is trying to find another job. Afternoons have been spent driving around Hawkins and the surrounding towns following the help wanted ads in the newspaper that you have circled with red ink. Busy days followed by waitressing in the evenings has kept you away from both boys, but today is your day off so after filling out a few applications, you make your way back to Steve’s house.

There is a dark stain in the driveway where Eddie’s van is usually parked as you pass by it with an arm full of groceries. Stacks of papers are spread out on the tabletop with a tired looking Steve sitting behind them. He’s been reading up on the proposed programs that the town wants the new community center to offer. He has to meet with the board members at the end of the week to discuss the best ways to utilize the interior space for the new building and you know he’s feeling a little out of his depth. His elbows are on the table and he’s using two fingers to rub his temples.

“Do you have another headache?” you leave the bag of groceries on the island before walking over to kiss him hello. 

“Yeah,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in for a kiss, “It's been happening when I’ve been reading for awhile.”

“Maybe you need glasses,” you shrug, noting the tylenol bottle sitting beside a half full glass of water.

“Glasses? I’m not an old man or a nerd,” he says, sounding offended.

“Steve,” you roll your eyes, “plenty of people that aren’t old or nerds wear glasses. Besides,” you run your hands through his hair, “I think you would look sexy with glasses.”

“Is that right?” he asks, pulling you onto his lap, “Well, I’ll have to consider it then,” he brushes his lips over yours.

“Do you want to take a break after I get the groceries put away? I’m going to watch a little TV before I make dinner.” 

“Definitely,” he says, squeezing your hip.

After the bag is unpacked Steve follows you into the living room, plonking down on the couch beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you start flipping through the channels.

“What do you want to watch?” you ask snuggling into his side. 

“I don’t care. I’ll probably end up closing my eyes for a while.”

“Are you sure you aren’t an old man?” you tease, before settling on a rerun of The Brady Bunch.

“When is Eddie coming home?” he asks, looking at his watch.

“He has band practice tonight. So not till later,” you say with a yawn, “See what you started,” you complain feeling sleepy now that you're tucked into his warmth as Alice cleans up after the rowdy house full of kids.

“Just watch your show and give an old man some peace,” he teases, kissing the side of your head. 

The whooshing sound from the TV is what woke you. The faint light from the snow filled screen barely illuminates the room. One of Steve's hands is tangled in your hair, cradling your head where it rests somewhere between his shoulder and his neck. The clean laundry scent of his shirt mixes with the citrus and cedar that clings pleasantly to his skin making you absolutely dizzy with every inhale. In your sleep your bodies have found their way together, possibly at your heart's behest. Every innocent intention inevitably ends with you wrapped in his arms and the way he feels right now, so good and so warm, has you wondering why you would ever want to stop it. 

His eyes flutter open as if your thoughts have somehow woken him. Your hand moves to the side of his face, your thumb brushing back and forth over the light stubble on his jaw. His eyes are asking you a question that you can’t answer with a word. The pouty curve of his full bottom lip is too much to resist, your mouth closes over it in a slow sweet kiss. Just once turns into twice and three times before the fuse is lit and your hungry mouths start to feverishly devour. Gasps and hums join the symphony of your kisses. With a quick move, you’re beneath him,his long body stretched over yours. A low groan travels from his throat into your mouth when your hips rock against him in a desperate plea for more. A strong grip on your thigh molds your leg around his waist bringing his rigid length to perfect alignment with your hot core. Kiss swollen lips slide urgently against each other as your clothed bodies rock together. 

"Let's go to my room," his hand works its way under shirt, his thumb rubbing against the peak of your nipple. 

"Don't stop," you plead, bucking against him, moaning as his hard bulge hits your clit with every grind.

“Jesus. Can you come like this?” he whispers against your mouth. 

“Yes. I’m so close,” you beg. The light in the foyer turns on suddenly. Shock rockets through you. Somehow you missed the sound of the door opening. It takes a few moments for your bodies to stop after your minds register what's happened. Steve moves off you as Eddie stands in the doorway.  

"What the fuck?" Eddie says, sounding genuinely confused as he comes further into the living room, the light from the hall seeping in behind him. Steve's moving towards him, both hands raised in front of his body stopping just after rounding the arm of the couch, not letting Eddie gain any more ground, while you scramble up further into the room, backing away from both of them. The endless static still buzzing from the TV adding to the chaos.

"What the fuck?" this time he screams, his face turning red. He brings the heels of his hands to his forehead and paces back and forth, his shadow following him, as he tries to come to terms with your betrayal, "I fucking knew it," he says in a calm tone as if he's speaking to himself. 

His hands drop to his sides and stops moving staring at you, "I fucking knew," he yells, leaning forward his whole body raising to his toes with the force of his words, "I didn't want to believe it. I can't believe you could do this to me," he stretches out the end of the last word, balling his fists. 

Your trembling hands cover your mouth as your eyes fill with tears. There's nothing you can say to make this right. His anguish hits you like a tornado, sucking you empty and filling you with a guilt so heavy, you might burst at the seams.

"It wasn't like that," Steve says in a low voice.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Eddie spits, turning his attention to Steve. Eddie's on him in flash, both fists gripping Steve's shirt collar, his red face inches from Steve, "I trusted you. You son of a bitch," his arm cocks back, hand bunched into a fist, ready to fly. 

Steve's hands go up in surrender, he turns his face to the side, eyes closed ready to take the punch, "Go ahead, I deserve it. I'm not going to fight you, dude, but it wasn't like that. I love her."

"You're fucking her," Eddie yells.

"I love her," Steve says again, eyes meeting Eddie's when the punch doesn’t come. 

Eddie lowers his hand back to Steve's collar, pulling him forward before pushing him away with enough force to send Steve backward over the arm of the couch.

"We tried to stay away from each other," Steve straightens up and rubs his chest over his heart, "We didn't want to hurt you, but I love her."

"That's just fucking great," Eddies voice drips with sarcasm, "And what about you?" he asks, turning towards you, "Do you love him?" 

His voice breaks at the end of his question, even in the faint light you can see his big doe eyes getting glossy. Regrets are stacking up like a wooden block tower, ready to crush you when they fall. 

"I love you" you sob, taking a step forward, putting you all at the same distance apart. They both look at you knowing you have more to say, "but I love Steve too."

The room feels like a vacuum, all the air leaves with those last four words. Eddie crosses his arms over his stomach, bending forward like he's been punched.

"I feel sick," he says, turning away from you both. Your feet start to carry you towards him but Steve holds up his hand to stop you. 

"How could you do this to me, man," Eddie shakes his head before turning back to Steve, "I thought you were different but it turns out I was right the first time," Eddie moves toward him, getting in his face, "You have everything. This house, cool car, money. I don't have anything, except her," he raises an arm pointing to you, "You could have anyone you want. They practically line up for King Steve."

Steve is trying to stay calm, but something is changing in his expression, his jaw clenches tighter as he stands tall letting Eddie yell only inches away. 

"You had your pick," Eddie gets louder, standing so close the tips of their sneakers are touching, "but you had to take her from me. The one person in this world that loves me. You can't stand not having everything. So you take her and leave me with no-"

"Take her," Steve snaps, screaming back at him, walking forward making Eddie step back, "You fucking gave her to me," Steve puts both hands on Eddie's chest shoving him back hard. Eddie stumbles but quickly regains his balance. The shocked look on his face, saying he's just realized he's had a part to play in all this. 

Eddie places his hands on his hips and looks down at his feet, "How many times?"

"What?" Steve asks brows drawing together in confusion as he takes deep breaths.

"How many times did you fuck my girlfriend?" Eddie demands, lifting his head but keeping his distance, "Or is it too many to count?" he scoffs, shaking his head. 

Steve looks down and then glances at you before answering, "Twice," he at least owes Eddie the truth. Eddie takes a step toward you and so does Steve. 

"That night he picked you up at the restaurant?" Eddie questions you. 

Swallowing and wiping some wetness on the back of your hand, you nod. Hot tears still stream down your face but somewhere inside you there's relief - no more lies.

"You lied right to my face," Eddie fumes, moving towards you. Steve takes a few steps to the side putting himself in Eddie’s path with you behind him. Eddie keeps advancing, "You need to decide, right now. It's him or me," he barks.

Eddie’s eyebrows lower and lips tighten as he realizes Steve is not letting him get any closer to you. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Eddie challenges. 

Steve's hands are at his sides but there's a tremor running through them as he opens and closes his fists, "Back up," he growls through gritted teeth.

"Eddie-" you try cooling things down only to be cut off. 

"You think I'm gonna hurt her?" Eddie says astonished, "I would never fucking hurt her. You should know that after what we've been through. After we fought together."

Steve doesn't answer but his breathing sounds labored. 

"Steve, it's alright," you soothe, stepping towards him but stopping short of boxing him in. 

"You think I could hurt a woman after watching Chrissy die right in front of me," Eddie probes, "You saw the blood. You know what he did to her. What he did to me and Max."

Your mouth drops open, you've never heard any of this. Steve backs away from Eddie shaking his head as if to clear it. 

"You know what we had to do to kill him. You remember that, right?" Eddie pushes, "All the screaming. All their pain."

Steve stumbles back, his breathing picking up and getting shallow as his hands cover his ears.

"Eddie, you fucking stop it," you move forward, pushing Eddie away from Steve before running to the wall and turning on the light switch. Steve goes down on one knee, his head drooping down. Moving back to him, you put your arm around him trying to hold him steady as he hyperventilates. 

"Eddie, who killed Chrissy?" you ask. His eyes snap from Steve to you. This is the closest you've come to any answers, "Who did you kill?" the question chills you as it leaves your mouth. 

Eddie's face hardens, his warm eyes turn cold as his lips pull into a tight line, "Ask him," he nods his head in Steve's direction.

Steve continues to panic and you turn back to him, dropping down to your knees, holding him against you as you hear the front door slam behind Eddie.

"It's okay. You're alright," you cup his jaw and try to break through to him, "It's just me and you. We're safe. Put your head in my lap," you say, easing him down to the floor. 

♡♡♡

It's the mourning doves coos that wake you. There's a small group of them that gather on the patio in the mornings. Their white tipped wings flutter as they descend, singing out their sad song until their wings are tucked against their bodies and they begin their search for food. Their call makes you wonder who they mourn for, or are they here to remind you of what you've lost.

Blue-green morning light filters through the blinds in Steve's bedroom, the plaid wallpaper making the room feel smaller than it should. Your head rests on his bare chest, both his arms holding you close, his deep even breaths fanning over the top of your head. 

Eddie hadn't come home last night and it wouldn't have changed anything if he had. Steve had needed you more. He was exhausted when he finally had calmed, his head in your lap while you stroked his hair. He apologized over and over as you led him to his room but there was nothing to be sorry for. He watched as you stripped down to your underwear before joining him in bed. It wasn't about sex, it was about solace, needing the feel of each other. He held you as you slept, reaching for you whenever your bodies weren't connected.

When his hold on you tightens, you know he's awake.

"I've wanted this for so long," his voice is rough and heavy with sleep but also yearning, "To wake up with you. But last night is not how I wanted to get here."

"I know," you press a kiss to his chest and run your hands over the soft skin covering his muscles, "Me neither."

"I hate that I couldn't protect you," his voice quieter than it was before.

"There was nothing you needed to protect me from," you say, raising your head to look at him. 

"This time," he breaks your gaze and stares up at the ceiling.

"Can you tell me about it?"

"No," he looks back at you, the burden he's carrying making him look older at that moment.

"Steve-"

"I know. Later. I want to enjoy this a little longer, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay," you say, sharing a kiss before rolling over and his arms pull you snugly against him. Sleep wanders in and you both doze for a few more hours. 

"So, what happens now?" he asks, sitting up in bed with the blankets gathered at his waist while you pull on the t-shirt and shorts you had been wearing yesterday.

"I have to go," you say, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him. 

"How did I know you were going say that?" one side of his mouth quirks as he shakes his head and looks around the room, “Everytime I think we’re getting somewhere, you leave.”

"Eddie doesn't have anywhere else to go. He probably slept in his van or on the floor at Wayne’s," you reach out and take his hand, “He won’t come back if he knows I’m here.”

“Eddie is a grown man,” he pulls his hand away and gets out of bed, putting on his boxers followed by a pair of jeans,”He has to stand on his own feet some time.”

“So what? He should lose everything in one fell swoop? He doesn’t deserve that,” you cross your arms over your chest.

“He is not the only one hurting here. I’ve stepped aside this whole time. Turned my head when he kissed you and touched you. And it ripped my heart out every time,” he pushes his sleep-mussed hair back off his forehead and sits down on the edge of the bed, “I love you and you love me. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling me.”

“I do love you,” you argue, “It would be so much simpler if I didn’t. Do you think I would put us through this otherwise?” you take both of his hands in yours, “I love you.”

“Then don’t we deserve a chance to be together? To be happy? When you think of your future I know you see us together just like I do. We’ll have a good life together but I need you here with me.”

“Let me ask you something,” you say, lacing your fingers with his, “How are you always so sure we’re going to end up together?”

He shrugs before giving you an answer, “I love you. I just can’t think any other way.”

“Then you’re going to have to wait for me a little longer.”

Leaning forward you place a chaste kiss on his mouth, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Okay,” he replies.

“I need you to talk with someone about the panic attacks,” you state simply. He shakes his head and looks away from you.

“There has to be someone who was there that will understand,” you push.

“I can’t lay this on them,” he argues, “They need me to keep it together.”

“What about Chief Hopper?” you propose, “Wasn’t he in the war or something? He’s probably seen this before.”

“How do you know about Hopper?”

“After what he did for Eddie. The way you’ve mentioned him. I figured it out,” you lightly squeeze his hand between yours, “I think one of the reasons I haven’t been able to decide is because I’m worried about what will happen to both of you. So, will you do that for me? Will you speak with him?”

“If that’s what you want,” his grip tightens on your fingers, “But let me ask you something. Have you considered that Eddie might not want to be with you anymore?”

Nodding your head, you blow out a deep breath, “I still need to decide,” you try and explain, “Would you want me by default?”

He tugs you closer and you let him pull you against his chest, “I love you. I want you to choose me but I’ll take you anyway I can have you, because I know you love me too. But if that's something you can't give me, I love you enough to let you go.”

But that's not what you want, you don't want him to let you go, not now and maybe not ever. He holds you until you can’t put off what you have to do any longer - you love him and you're leaving him again. With tears in your eyes you pack your things. All of them. This will be the last time you're in the room you've shared with Eddie. No matter who you choose, your time here is done. It may be the last time you're in this house. Steve waits for you at the bottom of the stairs. He takes the duffle from your hands and carries it out to your car. 

“It’s going to feel empty here without you,” he says as the two of you stand in front of your car saying your goodbyes.

Sucking in a shuddering breath you say something you’ve needed to say to him for a long while, “I’m sorry. I hate that I’ve hurt you.”

His big hands move to your neck, he thumbs smooth along your jaw, “Sweetheart, being with you has been worth it. I knew I was in trouble from the first time you came down wearing my shirt.” 

A grin tugs at the corners of your lips, “I love you.”

“I know. I love you too. I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Please,” you say. His mouth brushes over yours one last time before you get in your car. Hot tears stream down your cheeks as you watch him in your review until you turn out of sight.

♡♡♡

Your mother finds you sobbing in your car when she pulls in the driveway after taking your sister to the orthodontist. She wraps an arm around your waist and urges you into the house, bringing you straight into her room and closing the door.

“It’s time to tell me what’s going on,” she says, sitting down next to you on her bed. So you tell her. The whole story. Well almost the whole story you leave out the threesome and any other sex, and drinking and smoking. After that, it really doesn’t take you very long at all.

“Christ on a cracker, that’s a fine kettle of fish,” she says when you're done.

“What do I do, Mom? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” you say, wiping your eyes.

“You’re a big girl. You’ll have to decide this on your own,” she pushes your hair back off your shoulders, “but if you really love both of them. I think you’re going to have to decide who you can’t live without.”

♡♡♡

Putting a cardboard box into your trunk a week later, you smile as the familiar rumble of a loud engine accompanied by even louder music reaches your ears. You straighten up just in time to watch Eddie park his van on the street in front of your house. 

"Moving out?" Eddie teases, as he comes to stand beside you in front of your open trunk that's loaded with boxes. 

"Yeah. I am," you wipe your sweaty hands on the front of your shorts. 

"Oh shit, you really are? I was joking," he rubs the back of his neck nervously.

"Yeah. I found a place I can afford. I think it might be good to be on my own for once," you explain. It's time to choose yourself for a little while. 

"Do you need any help?" he asks looking down as he kicks the pavement with the toe off his white Reebok.

"That would be great. Do you want to follow me?" you question, pointing to your car with your thumb.

"Okay. Sure," he perks up and closes your trunk before jogging back to his van. The nervous tension between you feels like pins being driven into your heart. Both of you are unsure how to proceed after you've hurt him so badly. All week you've wanted to go to him, even going as far as driving by Gareth's when the band had practice, but ultimately what he needed, just like you, was space to make his own decision.

Eddie follows you up the stairs on the side of the garage, carrying a box of mismatched dishes your mother gave you. The windchimes attached to the underneath of the landing gently tinkle out a soothing tune.

"I can't believe you're renting from Mrs. Landry," Eddie says as he waits for you to unlock the door, "English sophomore year was brutal. She hated me."

"Well, you need to remember to turn down the music before you pull in or she still will," your key turns in the lock and the wooden door protests as you ease it open.The warm summer breeze blows through the  windows of your small studio apartment. The sheer curtains billowing around the boxes you have yet to unpack.

"You can set that down wherever you can find space," you offer, setting the box of linens down on the mattress of your unmade bed. He slides the box on to your tiny kitchen counter before he starts poking around the room. 

"This is pretty nice," he sticks out his bottom lip nodding his head as he looks around. 

"Beggars can't be choosers," you shrug, taking a seat on the worn couch that came with the apartment. The dated furniture is a far cry from what was in Steve's six bedroom, six bathroom house. 

"I'm serious. This is a big step. I'm proud of you, baby."

The term of endearment gives you a small flutter of hope that maybe all is not lost between you. He pauses in front of your refrigerator checking out the photos that are held up with magnets.

“Family photo,” he quips, flicking a polaroid of you, him and Steve that Dustin snapped at the pool party before everything went bad. The three of you looked happy then.

“Does Harrington know you're here?” he asks, lifting the flap of a box that's stacked on top of a few others.

“Yes,” you fold an afghan and drape it over the back of the couch, “The two of you aren’t talking?”

“No, we are. Just not about you,” he wanders over to sit next to you and you nod in understanding.

“Eddie, I need you to know the biggest regret of my life will be hurting you. You didn’t deserve it and I’m so very sorry,” your eyes are already getting glossy but you need him to know.

“Yeah, well you know, I shouldn’t have pushed you towards him,” he says, picking at a button that is sewed onto the back of the couch.

“It’s not your fault. It might have happened anyway,” you say, trying to be truthful.

“It’s not the sex. It's the lying,” he says, finally looking straight at you.

“I know,” you can’t hold back the tears, “I made so many mistakes.”

“Well, I’ve made a few myself,” he picks up the box of tissues from a table at the end of the couch and offers you one, “We had fun, though. Didn’t we?”

“Yeah, we did,” you say, taking a tissue from the box and mopping the wetness from your puffy face. He waits patiently for you to pull yourself together. 

“So why did you come to see me?” you ask, getting up to throw out the tissue. When you sit back down, you tuck your hands under your thighs to keep from touching him.

“I had a couple of things to tell you,” he pulls a lighter from his pocket, opening and closing it a few times before stuffing back in.

“Okay,” you encourage him.

“Nothing ever happened between me and Chrissy. There was some flirting, at least on my part. She was at the trailer because I was going to sell to her. Some of the hard stuff. I know you don’t like it,” he wipes his hands on the front of his ripped jeans, “I don’t get that kind of attention from girls like her. But if something had happened, I’m not sure I would have stopped it.”

“What does that mean, girls like her?”

“It means nice girls. Girls like you.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you say, swallowing, your leg bouncing up and down, “Can you tell me what else happened?”

“Not yet,” he says, shaking his head, “Maybe not ever. I don’t want to think about it. I just want to move on."

"Okay, what was the other thing you wanted to say?" you ask suddenly eager for this to be over so you can cry all alone. 

"That's the harder one," he looks around your apartment again, then down at his lap - maybe to gather his words or his courage. He finally lifts his head, "You broke my heart and you did it more than once."

Squeezing your eyes shut, you cover your face with your hands, losing the battle to hold back your sobs.

"I don't know if I can ever trust you again," his voice cracks, "But for some stupid reason, I still love you."

Leaning forward, you fall against him and his arms work their way around you. 

"I've never stopped loving you," you cry into his shoulder, "but I've ruined us. I don't deserve you."

"Maybe," he sniffs and can feel him wiping away his own tears, "but I still want you."

His admission has you crying harder, partly because you're about to break his heart again.

"I'm not going to lie to you anymore, I can't give you that, not right now. I need more time."

He gently pushes your shoulders, easing you away so he can see your face, "Because of him?"

Wiping your eyes, you nod.

"I don't understand," he says shaking his head, "You either love him or you love me. How can you not know?"

"I'm sorry," you agonize, "I don't know why it's like this. I can't help how I feel."

"Neither can I. And I'm certain I love you, only you. If you can love me, only me, we can work through this, okay? But baby, you've got to figure your shit out."

"I'm trying. I promise, I'm trying," wiping your swollen eyes as you cry.

"Alright," he sighs, "I need to go."

He stands to leave and you walk him to the door. He draws in a long breath before inclining his head to kiss you, "That wasn't goodbye, okay? That was see you later."

"Okay," you wrap your arms around him, "See you later," you say against his cheek. He hugs you back before he walks out the door.

♡♡♡

And life moves on. The rest of your boxes get unpacked and you get used to going to bed alone. You're offered a job as secretary at a new office that just opened in Kerly. The pay and hours are better and you don't come home covered in pasta. Eddie and Steve both come by often. Once they even came together, wanting you to know any hard feelings are behind them. You've met them each for lunches and sometimes dinner, casual dates, just spending time together. 

Eddie's summer class is wrapping up and he's making plans with Jeff to share an apartment. He's even put some applications in looking for some regular work, you suspect Wayne might be the driving force behind that decision but a step forward is a step forward. 

Steve is working part time at Family Video and part time with the town while the community center is under construction. He's struggled a little with some aspects of his new role but the head of the rec department has taken him under his wing and is showing him the ropes. Undoubtedly, he'll be successful, he just won't think any other way. 

Being on your own has been tough and sometimes lonely but it's given you the space to get to know yourself and enjoy your own company. Forgiving yourself has been the most difficult but possibly the most important thing you've done. Slowly, you've let go of the guilt. 

Then, one ordinary summer morning, you woke with the sun streaming through the curtains and your alarm blaring. In your haze of sleep, you forgot that you were alone and reached for him. When all your hand found was the cool softness of a well worn sheet, you knew exactly who you were reaching for, the one you couldn't live without. 

The heels of your shoes clack against the busy sidewalk as you walk the two blocks to the restaurant. Your feet will likely be aching by the end of the day but you wanted to dress up for your lunch date. Men in suits and groups of women dressed in business attire walk quickly making the most of every minute of their lunch hour. The upscale dinner's entrance is on the corner of two intersecting streets of the downtown. Walking past the people eating at teal outdoor tables with bright yellow umbrellas, you push against the brushed metal handle of the heavy door, a bell jingles above your head and you're immediately greeted by the smell of fried potatoes, eggs and burgers. Standing just inside the entrance you wait patiently to be seated. 

Letting one of them go was more painful then you could have imagined. The grief and loss leaving scars behind that will never let you forget. But when it was done, you could see his relief in being set free. He took a part of your heart with him when he left, a piece that belonged solely to him, a sliver you'll always be missing. Whether he puts it in a drawer or carries it with him, it's his to do with as he pleases. 

"Just one today, hun?" a waitress in teal dress and white apron grabs a matching teal menu from a pocket attached to the back of the first high-back booth lining the wall. 

"Two, please. He'll be right along," you tell her, already feeling happier that you'll soon be with him.

Strangely, after everything, moving forward slowly seemed like the best decision for both of you, cementing your love into a strong foundation before taking the next step - this is how you build a life. 

She leads you past the lunch counter lined with occupied vinyl upholstered stools and globe pendant lights hanging intermittently above it to a booth pressed up against the enormous plate glass window looking out onto the hectic street.

A set of bright white coffee mugs resting upside-down on their saucers are joined by shiny metal silverware wrapped neatly in napkins on the lacquered wooden table top.

"Coffee?" she asks after she waits for you to slide onto the tufted vinyl bench seat. 

"Just water, please," you say, accepting the menu she hands you. She places another on the table in front of the empty seat across from you before carrying your mug and saucer away with her. 

You've kept your apartment for now but he stays over frequently. And In the quietest part of the night with the moonlight illuminating his beautiful face, he holds you close, keeping you warm, and together you make your plans. 

Setting your menu down on the table-for once you already know what you want, you turn your head to daydream while you watch the people pass by on the street. A mother with a baby in her arms and a small child at her side meet up with a man in a shirt and tie. He leans down and kisses her cheek before lifting the toddler up into his arms and the family changes direction heading towards the park.

 It was always going to be him and some part of you knew it from the very first kiss but now you're ready to give him the best of you, willingly, unencumbered and completely.

The song playing on the radio ends and the DJ laments the approaching end of summer reminding everyone listening that with every end comes a new beginning before starting the next song, and you can't help thinking he was talking directly to you. The bell above the door chimes as it opens and you feel your cheeks rising when you see the top of a familiar head come through the door. His eyes move quickly searching for you and you hold your hand up in a wave when they connect with yours. 

As he walks towards you, the smile that he wears just for you makes everyone and everything fade into the periphery and you're filled with a love so big you're not sure how your body is containing it. Your hands itch to touch him, knowing that after everything - you're his and only his and he is yours. All the fears you had are blown away in the wind, like a dandelion letting go of its seeds - leaving only the possibilities of what can be remaining. In the aftermath of disaster, betrayal, love lost and love found, the long road of your future stretches out in front of you, and although you won't always be able to see what's around the next curve, you'll travel that road with him. 

Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this fic, please reblog. It makes a big difference in helping others find my work. Drop a comment I'd love to hear from you.

AN: Endings are always bittersweet. Thanks for being on this ride with me, it's been an emotional one. Who did you see come through the door at the diner? Let me know in the comments. Special thanks to @loveshotzz who always pulls out my best writing and the rest of the hive @myobmaya @boomhauer @superblysubpar As always Jelly's after-hours answering service will be available to answer all your asks. xoxo -A

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[hanibalistic]

THE MASQUERADE | HAN JISUNG.

genre | (in general of the universe) fluff, angst, romance, friendship, magic au

synopsis | jisung decided to respond to a letter advertisement offering him a job at a coffee shop. it was a very old-fashioned way to apply for a part-time job, but he thought there would be no harm in taking a chance!

word count | 9.9k+

warning | none

universe | the cosmic shops / here is the discord link to its world-building server if you are interested in knowing more :)

note | world building i miss you.

Jisung had no idea how much louder his world would become when he stepped into the coffee shop. 

With nothing but multiple rehearsed speeches prepared and a nearly empty bag that stored only his tablet for note-taking, he let the door behind him close gently while fixating his eyes on the environment of, hopefully, his future workplace. A deep sigh left the confines of his chest as the familiar operating noise of the coffee machine hit his ear. 

He put in his two week notice for his previous barista job a month ago. He had no expectations for maintaining any friendly work relationships, and he did not. He had gone to work and gone home on every shift. His silence was not kept. That would be impossible. But the continuous ‘How are you today?’ chain with his co-workers was not exactly material for making friends. 

His charming side left after he got hired the day of his interview; part of him knew the manager was desperate for workers, and he understood why. The pay was dog shit, the hours were horrendous, and some customers hit the nail on the head with being the group of people most undeserving of anything good in life. Besides those, let’s all the honest, being a barista is not a worthy enough relevant experience for the future careers any student would want to pursue. 

The joke of his life writes itself. He quit the last barista job because of its dead-end path and the poor work environment just to end up interviewing for another one. This job listing was nowhere on credible search engines or semi-sketchy recruiting websites. He found it in an advertisement letter addressed directly to him that was sent to his home. 

He applied though, because the joke of his life writes itself. 

The shop smelt of coffee beans and stunk of natural wood. Instead of a modern, popular beige color scheme, the structure maintained an overall old-fashioned brown tone, with vintage furniture and little to no alternative vibrant colors. Customers lined up before a long wooden counter with no openings; on top sat multiple steam machines shoving out coffee heat, either waiting or already being used. 

The accent wall attached to the one behind the cashier counter was made out of auburn red bricks and cement instead of ancient wood. Slapped in the middle of the brick wall was a fireplace with an ominous key cabinet stuck in the middle just above it. Jisung squinted at the fireplace, feeling compelled to wipe his glasses with the hem of his sweater. He swore he saw some colored dust on the logs. 

You made a mental note to swipe the fireplace after humorously following Jisung’s gaze toward it. You had already rung up all the customers’ orders this morning before he could snap out of his trance. Determined to startle him a little to make up for the dull morning, you waited by the side of the counter with your arms folded and leaned against the edge. It took Jisung a while, but eventually, he turned his head away from the brick wall and jumped when he noticed your stare.

“Good morning,” you greeted.

“Good morning,” he returned politely with a casual bow. He cleared his throat of his nervousness; it was still there. He just pushed it behind a well-crafted facade of confidence. “I am here for the interview.”

You raised a brow with intrigue. That was a surprising turn of events. By a turn of event, you meant any deviation from the usual barista routine. Either way! You were usually on top of everything; the cleanliness of the shop, stocking ingredients, tending to request letters, and remembering information communicated to you by the Entities. You cannot for the life of you remember ever hearing about the shop receiving new hires. You have been working alone for three and a half years. If there were such news, you would remember!

Jisung pursed his lips patiently when you raised a finger, signaling him to give you a moment. In the meantime, he stood on his spot and recounted everything that had led him up to this point—the advertisement letter, replying to the advertisement by mailing a response letter (which was weird to him), getting an irregularly quick decision back that told him to come to this location for an interview. He made sure he double-checked the location before coming here. He could not have been wrong, could he?

His eyes followed you as you moved toward the back, where the wall of tiny drawers was. Sniffing to get the nervous itch out of his nose, he reached a hand up to pinch the tip. He wasn’t sure why he felt out of place. When you pulled open one of the drawers to peek inside and closed it shortly after, he realized that those were not decorations. He was sure the ones on the top of the ceiling would be, though. 

You touched your hand to the empty spaces between each row to find a spot that could get you what you needed—the phone booth. When you did, you banged the space with your fist twice and stepped back. A ground shiver happened, startling Jisung. One of the drawer rows was separated from the wall with visible lines. Then, like a revolving door, it turned to the side and revealed a small accent brick wall with a rotary dial phone on top of an antique table. 

You picked up the phone and dialed a number. Jisung has no idea what happened. 

His best guess was that it was a deliberate design choice, but that assumption was quickly defeated with two counters he thought too quickly of. 

One, corporate design choices are almost always made to maintain the old or garner new consumers. He knew that much as someone who has always been heavily involved in the inner workings of the mainstream music industry. He had a phase where he pretended being independent was better. With the fabricated authenticity people much value today, it still is better. But everything takes money, including breaking into the industry or just making an album in general, so he did care about corporate to an extent. 

Even though he had never heard of this coffee shop before and had no idea how closely related to the Starbucks level corporate it was, there was no way the store structure was not crafted with the goal of inviting more customers. Except the changing telephone booth was shown when there were no customers around. It was just a function of the architecture that an employer could use, which to him made no sense. What can a cool feature be worth if the money spenders never see it?

Two, that kind of architecture must have cost a fortune to build. But Jisung had just heard of this coffee shop when he was offered to apply for a job here. When he was doing some research online before accepting the offer, he found no information about it either (and why did he apply to this job again? Because the joke writes itself!). A coffee shop as secretive as this one could either be two things: a soon-to-be vacant spot or a top secret hideout for extremely wealthy people. Considering its mundane location—just across the street from a plaza with McDonald’s and Pizza Hut—Jisung settled with the first thing. 

Funnily enough, he would not put it past people who could wipe their snot with dollar bills to be bored enough with their life that they decided it would be fun to open a coffee shop just down a regular street. To fit more into the ordinary atmosphere, they have decided to hire only one employee and pay them the most undeserving salary too! It was anything to live like poor people without actually doing it!

Jisung shook his head off the millions of assumptions popping up. He was thinking too deeply about this. All he had to care about was getting the job, or not getting it. He planned to figure it out as he played along. 

“I don’t know, Hyunjin. He doesn’t look too fine to me.” You spoke into the receiver while stealing glances at Jisung. “He looks zoned out, almost. All I’ve shown him is the turning walls, though.”

The other end laughed heartily with a joke you would have understood once, but you giggled with him nonetheless. Afterward, Hyunjin confirmed that he, too, got himself a visitor at the shop without prior notice. You heaved a relieved sigh, knowing that you made no mistake, even though it was unlikely that you would have to prepare anything extravagant to introduce a newcomer into the extraordinary world of the cosmic shops. All you would need were patience and a way of explaining things, both of which you possessed. 

After you hang up, you knocked on an empty space on the wall again to turn it back to the drawer row. Your hands flew to rub against your apron to clean off the cement feel, and then you smoothed it out of habit. Looking up from the ground, you caught Jisung’s eyes and smiled at him. He returned it with a much lower intensity, likely because he was still confused about the sudden wall change. You headed to the side of the cashier counter and kicked harshly against it once. An entryway opened up for you, and you walked out from behind the register. 

Jisung tried his best to hold back the furrow of his brows. As confusing as everything had been, he was still making an impression that would get him hired. But he swore on God that there was no visible entryway when he walked in through the door, which gave him direct sight of the side of the long counter table. And, of course, he swore on God because he did not believe in such things, so there would be no real repercussions if he made a mistake in his swear. You did walk out from behind it. He was not taking any chances.

“Sorry for the wait. I was not aware that we would be getting new hires,” you said as you held out your hand. 

He immediately reached out and gave you a firm handshake. “No worries! My name is Han Jisung!”

“[Name],” you returned. “You are a little early, Jisung. You came during rush hour.”

“The letter I received told me to come at this time, though,” he informed, motioning at his bag as if he had the letter with him and could bring it out for evidence if you doubted him. 

You hummed in acknowledgment. The letter could only have one sender: the Entity in charge of the coffee shop. Since the Entity also has access to the shop’s customer walk-in hours, if it specifically instructed Jisung to arrive at the time of serving, it could only mean that the Entity has a strong desire for Jisung to become a barista at the shop. It was a chance for him to catch you working, after all. If the Entity was unsure of its choice, it would have arranged for him to arrive when the shop was empty instead.

“I see.” You acknowledged to yourself before making eye contact with Jisung again. “You caught me at a terrible time, unfortunately. I just rang up all the customers’ orders, but I haven’t made them their drinks yet.”

Jisung smiled with uncertainty. He knew you were the only employee working at the front, but he didn’t think you were also going to be the person to interview him. He assumed someone of a higher position must be lazing around at the back and was charged to consider his application. Were you the only person here? Were you the manager who sent him the reply letter? What about the time clash? What kind of lousy management was this? This was even worse than what he had to deal with last time! 

Maybe he shouldn’t work here!

You ran a hand through your hair as you turned your head to the side. Your lips pursed and smacked inaudibly as your mind riddled with thoughts about what you should do. When you looked at Jisung again, you politely smiled at him. It was a pretty smile. At least he thought it was pretty.

Maybe he should work here.

“Would you like to come to the back to help, or would you want to just wait around while I finish with this batch of drinks?” you asked, pointing behind your shoulder at the register. He didn’t look confused, but you added anyway. “You were already hired when the response letter was sent to you. You didn’t come here for an interview, I reckon. You came here for an explanation, which will help you determine whether you want to work here.” 

Jisung breathed out an unsteady laugh. “Oh, I’m just looking for a part-time job while I work through university. I am fine with anything… even though I quit my last job, so clearly I wasn’t fine with anything…” The last part was mostly silent. After beating himself up enough, he perked up and nodded surely. “I think I will work here and see for myself. I’m sure you guys don’t have any policy I haven’t seen before!”

You giggled humorously at his response. How clueless, how cute. “This is not an ordinary coffee shop, Jisung.” 

“You guys sell coffee, no?” he questioned.

“Hmm…,” you hummed, mirroring his questioning pitch, “we sell more than that.” 

“Oh, is this one of those–“ Jisung snapped his fingers to conjure up the right words. He probably shouldn’t be talking to you so casually, but he could not help himself. You were the one who started speaking informally. You were only influencing him. “Marketing schemes? Where you guys say you’re selling coffee and something cheesy, like a homey environment?” He used air quotes, which, again, he probably should not be in his position. He just could not help it!

You scoffed. “No, but I’m glad you think this place is homey.” 

“Actually, that was just an example. In fact, I think this place can use a bit more feeling of domesticity,” Jisung said, seemingly building up his confidence with each word he spoke. He rubbed his hands together as if he was in deep thought, and then he made a noise when he finally settled with an example to his suggestion. “Maybe somebody like me? I’m friendly, and all the neighborhood grandmas tell me I am adorable, like a stuff-cheeked squirrel.”

You could not see why the Entity wanted him unless it has a slowly revealing secret of choosing personality over actual competence. It would be harsh to judge Jisung so quickly, which you knew. His ridiculousness was overshadowing any specks of natural assumption in people you have that he could be very competent at this job. Not that this job requires much real effort on a daily basis, but when it does come a time that effort is needed, absolutely nobody could slack behind, or the result would surely be bloody. 

Jisung responded to your judgemental eyes with a blushed smile. You sighed inwardly—he was cute, though. 

“Would you help me, Jisung?” you asked again; you would just have to explain on the way. He got the feeling you were asking him to get on board. Expectant eyes stared up at him, and a smile plastered on a cutely tilted head. “Please?”

Oh, he should definitely work here.

Jisung loved to pride himself as a fast learner, and he was! 

He wasn’t smart, but he was clever and quick-witted. Thanks to all the years of him being a curious and rebellious child growing up and having adults around him who cared deeply for him, he often had to weasel his way out of lectures and punishments. The point stood as he grew older, with his teachers, co-workers, and (some) managers, with multiple variations of him easily escaping problems. He absorbed his surroundings and people and knew how to manipulate them.

Just not this time. Mostly because he was confused with what he was absorbing. 

After agreeing to help you with the orders, Jisung anticipated being told the steps to make several cups of coffee—the easier ones, at least, like the Espressos and Americanos. But you had him on customer duty instead, which was intriguing at most. He had just realized nobody was waiting around the area for their order when you mentioned it. When he asked about it, you told him it was because the process of making a drink was better off staying confidential, which was, again, intriguing at most. 

He had worked as a barista for so long and seen so few variations to making the same caffeinated drinks that he could hardly believe there was anything special about the menu of this particular shop. Besides, customers were usually not perceptive enough to stalk the process of a barista making their coffee, let alone steal the recipe or complain about it. He had seen some before, but they were a rare breed of people! 

He begrudgingly agreed to serve the customers, even he was unsure why he was being defensive about the task. That invited even more interesting rules you gave him. 

Firstly, he was told not to introduce himself or make unnecessary conversations. Initially, Jisung thought it was a work ethic issue—chatting with a customer for too long will delay the working pace! He understood that and did not care much about talking to the customers anyway. Except you added clarification that he did not ask for, which was that you guys did not need any rare but possible (and unnecessary) mishaps in memory erasure when the customers leave.

Secondly, as he watched you make the drinks in hopes of getting a glimpse of the process, he learned one of two things: the tiny boxes behind him held lumps of dust of different colors, and you mixed them into the drink. The first thing you did for every cup was add the dust that looked like craft shop dust glitters. Nothing about it looked edible to Jisung. Everything about it looked like the materials pre-schoolers will slap on a Mother’s Day card. When he asked about it, you said they were personality dust, and it would do him nicely not to inhale nor taste them. 

Lastly, there was nothing on the cups. There were no labels, no names, and no order abbreviations. There were only patterns. Each coffee cup has a unique design; chalk stripe, pinstripe, checkers, plaid, and whatnot. You informed him that every customer has a charm bracelet made of patterned pearls around their wrist. The patterns on the cups reflect the ones on the bracelet identically, so all he needed to do was to obverse and hand the drinks out. No calling names, no asking about anything. Just serve the drinks and leave.

These were a set of exceptional rules. Bizarre ones! Most of what he was cautioned not to do was against the customer service etiquette he has spent years honing, and the way the customers behaved was also out of normality. Everything so far has made him a point that said working here would be easier than usual but also unfamiliar. Extraordinarily unfamiliar. 

“How are you doing, Jisung?” you asked after you collected all the leftover bracelets from the trinket plate left just by the back exit of the shop. Customers were instructed to drop them off when they leave. “You seem unwell.”

“That’s harsh. I don’t think I look that worn out,” Jisung muttered. 

“Not worn out,” you said as you approached the fireplace and reached for the key cabinet. You hung the bracelets on their respective slots within the cabinet before closing it. You turned back to Jisung, your expression monotonous. “Just confused.” 

“I am confused,” he replied as he crossed his arms. He regarded with you faint distaste. It was a misplaced judgment of how he felt about everything he had learned about this coffee shop so far. “You guys have interesting rules here.” 

“This is not an ordinary coffee shop.”

“Yeah, okay–” He pursed his lips shut and heaved a deep breath. Whoever was behind this marketing scheme to be different and unique has got to quit it because authentic things can only stay authentic for a maximum of two months before becoming annoying. And this whole extraordinary concept you were selling him was getting on his nerves. “That is not remotely true about anything these days.”

“What is? Extra ordinem?” 

“What is that?”

“Latin.”

“Oh, my sincere apologies. Public school didn’t exactly teach me a dead language,” he said with a few nods of false acknowledgment. “Is that a requirement? Do I need to be fluent in an obscure language to work here? Something like Sanskrit?”

“Oh, I know Sanskrit.”

“Of course you do.” It came out as a defeated whisper. Jisung rubbed his eyes and thought using humor as a defense mechanism against whatever he felt would do well. “Actually, let’s switch the roles for a bit. I want to talk to your manager about something.”

“You can’t do that until you have officially signed the contract to work here,” you hummed, giving him a brief glare for his snarky remark as you turned away from him to head to the counter. “Which I am just getting to before you interrupted me, by the way.” 

You kicked the counter once and walked through the space. You moved toward where you last brought out the dial phone, Jisung recognized, and you repeated the action you did to turn the wall around. You knocked on the space between the drawer rows twice. He counted how this operation unfolded: two knocks, the ground shakes, and the wall turns. But, instead of a dial phone, what came about this time was a podium with a comically oversized leather notebook. 

Dust filled the nearby air when you closed the notebook. It was as heavy as you expected; you have never had to take it off the podium. Holding it to your chest, you turned around, noticed the steam machine, and paused with a forgetful gasp. You had to key in the code for the teleportor. Shifting to the side, you put the notebook on the counter before going to the steam machine. 

There was a sequence to what to push, what degree to turn the dials, and when to pull on its handles. Jisung noticed it through some obscure form of rhythmic measure he could hear from how you handled the steam machine. The steam machine whistled with an airy heat, like the starting of a steam locomotive. When you were done, the fireplace ignited with a burning flame. The flame blew out as abruptly as it started, startling Jisung for the second time. 

He stared at the fireplace with big, jittery eyes. But the way you slowly pulled the notebook back to your chest and left from behind the counter did not go unnoticed. You made your way near the fireplace and turned around, beckoning him over to you. Jisung furrowed his brows and fidgeted with his legs as if debating if he wanted to move anywhere near a self-igniting fireplace.

“Let’s stop stalling,” you urged just a beat before he jogged over to you, causing him to scoff in irritation. 

“I wouldn’t stall so much if you would give me a thorough explanation of what is happening around here,” he retorted. “I don’t want to participate in any unsafe work environment charges.”

“You won’t have to if you don’t sue us.” You pointed into the fireplace, mostly giving him dull eyes and ignoring his comments about everything he came across. “Crawl through the tunnel.”

“Wow! You are just full of surprises!” Jisung clapped his hands loudly. His smile looked delirious. “Did you not hear what I said about unsafe workplace environment?”

You rolled your eyes. There should be nowhere more notorious than where you work when it comes to unsafe workplace environments. If Jisung were worried about safety—first of all, the Entity would have never set eyes on him in the first place. It must have been that he has another quality so overwhelmingly beneficial to this service chain that the Entity decided to take a risk and recruited him. Secondly, if Jisung were worried about safety, you genuinely would not recommend him signing any contracts today. If anything, he should make his way out now.

But you must explain everything for him to make an informed decision, so it was through the tunnel willingly or—you pursed your lips together—a slight change of plans.

“Fine,” you sighed with a dramatic shoulder slump. “All subtly is gone.”

You clicked the heel of your right shoe against the ground, scraping it more than landing it. Then, with much effort, you slapped your hands twice. The ground rumbled, but this time the floor began to spiral in addition to the Earthquake. Sounds of rusty gears reverberated off the walls like a stereotypical factory, moving something out of sight. Most things stayed in place, not at all bothered by the shaking. 

Jisung went on his tip-toes in response to the spinning floor, but he soon realized that while the ground under his feet was moving, he was not. He gawked at you in disbelief when he saw that you were only patiently standing off the side, waiting for a result he wasn’t sure about. Then he had a thought that perhaps you were used to this. But the only reason he could fathom this being a common occurrence was that the design of this coffee shop has got to be phenomenal, and he had already rejected that assumption a while ago. 

A pair of single vinyl sofas and a tall, round coffee table rolled into the room. When they were set in place near where Jisung was standing—the back of the sofa nudged his hip—the ground stopped shaking. Jisung whipped his head from the sofa to you. For some reason, he decided not to run for the door. Something told him that if this was the level of abnormality the coffee shop could produce, the door leading outside must not be outside. 

Not to say he came to that conclusion because he did not believe in magic. Rather, he believed in a well-practiced production team and the greatness of technology. With a full head of modern, sensible options to choose from, Jisung decided this must be the second coming of The Truman Show. Or something like that, at least. He wondered if he would get compensated for this. Maybe he would sue, just not for poor workplace environment. 

“Sit down, Jisung,” you asked after you set the notebook on the table. You picked a sofa and rested yourself atop it, waiting for him to do the same but choosing not to stall anymore. “This must all be confusing to you–“

“Is this a variety show prank?” He cut you off with a twirling finger pointing at the ceiling. When you bewilderedly gave him no response, he sucked in a notable breath and leaned back against the chair. He crossed his legs and shrugged, almost smugly, as if it was a huge accomplishment to bust your little broadcasting scheme. “I have to say; this is all very well done. But I think I’ve acted like an idiot enough for thirty minutes' worth of content, so please ask the editing team to blur my face, or else I will sue.” 

“You can’t sue us,” you said, with deadpan eyes and a deadpan tone. This really has dragged on long enough. “We don’t exist anywhere on the government registry.” 

“What? You guys are independent?”

“Technically,” you nodded, “we work for the higher-ups.”

He smirked questioningly. “So, the government?”

“Think high as in literally.” 

He furrowed his brows, his smile depleting seconds longer because he was thinking deeply about this. “Like…” he grumbled, “Gods?”

“There you go. It’s not that hard.” You clapped your hands softly in a mocking mannerism. “Not directly, though. We work for Entities, who work for Gods.” 

He opened his mouth, debating what he should say. If growing up in a religious school has taught him anything, it was that God is not real. It could be a gross case of misplacing his hatred for the school system, and in general, the school itself that made him come to the conclusion. But he has generally never broken out of that realm of thought, and he didn’t think he ever would in the future. Today was not going to be the day his belief got questioned. 

“I am not religious,” he informed.

“Sure. That means nothing to me, and I reckon it means nothing to them too.” You shrugged dismissively. “You don’t have to believe in them. You just have to abide by them.”

He tilted his head in unwilling agreement. If anybody here should know about abiding by values they do not believe in, out of fear or shame or any outrageous emotions, it should be he who the less-than-gracious societal standards have touched. He has been doing that since he began his studies at the religious primary school, after all. 

He could humor this. 

“Okay,” he said and crossed his fingers. “What do you have for me?”

“A thorough explanation,” you replied. “And a fair warning to please listen very carefully to what I say in the next few minutes because I hate to repeat tedious information. Once you sign the contract, you cannot terminate it unless of exceptional circumstances.” 

Well, somebody should really sue this place. 

Jisung was not religious. 

You were not asking him to be.

It felt like you were, though. Either that or you thought he was stupid. Not just out of a strange dislike but genuinely. Both of which left a bad taste in his mouth. But this was going too far and too specific into detail that it was out of place to settle it all with scamming as a solution. If this wasn’t a scam, then this must be a cult. A cult that believed in specific cosmic energy. But not even the internet tarot readers would go as far as to renovate an entire shop to sell a belief! There was no way.

That left him one last, unwilling option: this must be real. 

From the Goddess’s sacrifice in a war from a time he couldn’t begin to date back, to the creation of this coffee shop and a chain of other shops under the same magical premise, to the powerful beings with no forms that were basically in the position of a branch manager—this whole shebang must be real. And he, Han Jisung, who does not have a fulfilling life mapped before him, was somehow selected to serve here.

On second thought, the most outrageous thing you have said so far was that he, of all people, was chosen. 

“What was the war about?” 

“The war is inconsequential,” you replied with a brief smile, finding it hilarious that the war was what he decided to ask about first.

“Didn’t a lot of people die from the war?” he questioned with an incredulous but still righteous-sounding whisper. “That is why the Goddess died, wasn’t it?”

“But did you die in the war?” you asked rhetorically before you shrugged. “You didn’t. Then it shouldn’t matter.”

“It’s history. A tragic one at that,” he argued while maintaining his previously low tone. “War is war. A massacre is a massacre.” He eyed you carefully, trying to access you more than you were letting on for him to see. You looked like a human, but he was still in the unknown about what you were. He wanted to know. He wanted to find an excuse behind that seemingly apathetic demeanor. 

“Yet you can learn nothing from it, and you can do nothing to prevent it if it happens again,” you said with a raised brow. You had not meant for the mood to dampen, but you would take no attitude from any boy with a false sense of heroism today. “What is history worth if it’s just a story?” 

Folktales, fairy tales, and fables. Raconteurs do not tell lessons from pure imagination. Everything children have ever read was real somewhere within this vast universe. They were all history—Cinderella’s dream coming to an end, the flock of sheep that died because of a boy’s deceptive mischief, and Thumbelina’s home being turned into a fuming factory. The original story is always history, and the subsequent renditions are the result of creativity, which was still one of the greatest gift a God has ever given mankind. 

Yet they were not important. You learn from stories, and you never execute their morals. Why? Just because they were contained in colorful spines and spoken through a soft mother’s mouth? 

“I did not mean to say the war is unimportant in the foundation it set for the world to be where it is now,” you added. “But neither were you there at that time, nor have you been working in the structural manifestation of its consequences long enough to care, have you?”

“It’s worth it because I care,” Jisung said after a moment of silence. He looked determined; the answer did not come out of spite. “You told me what happened, and I am in the know now, so I care. I don’t have to have experienced it.” 

History matters because story matters. Stories of humanity, stories of humans, stories of people; they all matter. He was born in this generation because people cared enough about each other to keep each other alive and going. There were old stories about strangers he had never met because someone once loved them so much that they could not contain their legacy in memories alone. History matters because story matters because love matters. 

You debated against telling him the little impact his care has on the world. Taking a mental step back, you slumped against the sofa and nodded in agreement to seal the conversation. What mattered now was to get the hiring orientation over with. 

“Do you have any more questions for me?” 

Jisung flashed his determined eyes at you, a result of his previously one-sided agitating conversation. He quickly bounced from the brewing distaste onto his usual humorous demeanor. He cleared his throat and mimicked the motion of rolling open a very long scroll. The scroll would obviously be full of questions, but much different than the performative ones he would ask at an actual job interview. 

“What is the compensation for working here?” He wiggled his brows at you with a smile. 

“Anything reasonable and within the limits of what an Entity can or is allowed to do. The kick is that it doesn’t have to be money,” you said with a snap of your finger. “One of my colleagues asked for a five hours extension on one of the nights last month to study for an exam.” 

“Cool. Have the manager know my first paycheck will be at least five thousand dollars,” he hummed. “Next question! Do I get to do all those house tricks you did?” 

“You would have to,” you replied with a shake of your head, unsure why he even asked the question. “Additional to the tricks, you will also be granted special abilities.”

“I was getting to that!” He closed the imaginative scroll in his hands. For a moment, his expression flattened with seriousness. This part was important to him because of his excitement to obtain superpowers (a childhood dream of his, one could say) and his curiosity to understand the need for him to have them. “We need those abilities because of unforeseen attacks, right?”

“Yes.” You nodded. 

“Do you know why they happen?” he questioned.

Those were not detailed in books. Being an avid reader, you have concluded that one requirement of understanding the books in The Repository is comprehension skills. Books of Life describe actions and events but do not discuss emotions and thought processes. Why did this person do this? Why did this person choose a particular someone? The books do not detail the reason, just the action. Reasons can only be found in a reader’s interpretation. 

To answer Jisung, you have no idea. You could only guess, and you had developed an elaborate assumption long ago. You just have no wish to indulge Jisung in it today. 

“Why do people do anything?” you countered. 

Jisung sighed. His best guess was for power. It seemed to always lead back to that. 

“The Entities have a protective barrier around all the cosmic shops to prevent attacks, so we are mostly safe. But the barriers are essentially useless if faced by a creature whose power is on par with them.”

Jisung deduced the rest by himself. He has read enough comic books and watched enough movies to understand what you meant. If any creature is to barge into the store, there is a very high likelihood that the creature would be of the same caliber as an Entity. Hostility paired with high power—he did not need a demonstration from celestial beings to predict the chaos that particular duo could cause. It was already happening on Earth. 

“Has anyone ever died from an attack?” he asked. 

“Not that I know of. Heavily injured? Yes. Died? Not sure.” You shook your head. “We don’t talk about it. If you really want to know, you best consult the librarian.” 

“A librarian, like from the… you know,” he waved his hand as if gesturing at a God standing behind him, “non-human library? Is there one?”

“Yes. It’s called The Repository. It is the only all-knowing thing in this universe.” You laughed briefly at his thoughtful expression. Then you began to hum. “I think our current librarian is a human boy, though. The previous librarian stepped down and is now practicing alchemy in the tower instead. He is an owl.” 

“Does the owl talk?”

“He does.”

“Do you think he will let me record him if I ask politely?” Jisung joked, but some degree of his voice showed that he was seriously anticipating agreement from you. This was all new to him, but the excitement of welcoming a magical world into his existence simply could not be contained with disbelief alone. 

You snorted at the idea. The owl was but an old man in animal form. There was not one menacing bone in its body. “He loves flattery, so that might be the way to go.” 

He grinned. He didn’t actually plan to videotape the talking alchemist owl. Come to think of it, how fascinating it would be to get a taste of alchemy finally? Let alone meeting a sentient owl that has enough intelligence to practice it. That would be cool. It sounded fake; Jisung still had lingering doubts about everything. Reacting so calmly and floating with the process like this was extraordinary of him. 

A timid corner of him wanted to be part of something greater, something magical, something untouched by regularity. Because throughout his life, he has been underwhelming. Nothing valuable comes from a boy pursuing a creative future that would bring him nowhere because he was both unlucky and simply not good enough. That was it for him—a mistake made during freshman year in college that would soon dictate the rest of his life.

Unless he chooses to be a barista at an otherworldly coffee shop. 

“So…” Jisung muttered with his eyes on his hands. He played with his calloused fingers, fading wounds on his skin from guitar strings reminding him how his life could be more significant. He slowly peeked at you when he finished his sentence, “When do I start work?” 

You clenched your fists together. Jisung wanted to work here. That signaled the end of an era of you working alone, facing monsters alone, and being alone. A spark of excitement ignited within you like you hadn’t heard good news in a while. You contained it professionally and sealed the vault with a thankful smile. He was taken back by the sincerity of it, and a sudden blush crept onto his cheeks. 

He knew this from the moment he saw you; time hasn’t altered his opinion. You were very pretty to him. 

“They will send you the work schedule after you sign the contract and get your gift from the tree,” you informed as you touched the leather notebook on the table. You opened the spine to reveal two pieces of paper stuck to the back. They were employee profiles. You turned the book around and pointed at Jisung’s profile sheet. “Check your details and give me your hand.”

Jisung schemed through the information. He never checked them once throughout his life, not at the doctor’s office, not when he was applying to university, and not even when he was renewing his passport at the government center. The odds that there would be an error is too low. Nodding and humming in mindless agreement, Jisung paid more attention to the profile structure than the information printed on top, and he gave you his hand. 

You huffed at his carelessness but said nothing. Taking the first page of the notebook between your fingers, you guided Jisung’s thumb to the slit of the parchment paper and swiftly nicked his skin with it. He winded with a strangled yell, surprised and obviously pained. Retracting his hand, he held his thumb and squeezed to numb the pain. He panicked when more blood trickled out, and his next instinct was to get it away from his clothes. 

“What the fuck?” he accused. 

“You need to sign the contract. I already told you,” you replied with a point to the end of his profile sheet. “You also need the blood for the tree.” 

“This is a lawsuit waiting to happen!” he hollered as he stamped his thumb to the paper, leaving a print. Unlike his expectations, nothing happened. It was just a bloody thumbprint. 

You ignored him as you shut the notebook. Standing up, you briefly gestured for him to follow you before shuffling on your way. You quickly ran behind the register counter to return the log book where it belonged, then you approached the fireplace and pointed at it for another attempt. This one would be smoother, you believed. 

“Crawl through the tunnel,” you demanded.

Jisung scoffed, and one side of his lips quirked with unwilling smugness. He kicked his feet and glared at you as if telling you he was going to do it anyway, so you should have asked him nicely. You rolled your eyes as he knelt before the pit. He grimaced when his hands touched the burnt wood, but he continued through and squeezed his small shoulders through the fireplace. You followed behind him closely. 

It did not take long for you both to come out the other side. Jisung could already see the brightness from inside the tunnel, but his eyes still needed a short adjustment period when his head popped out through the hole of a tree. He forced his body out of the hole and carefully stood up, his eyes still squeezed shut to accommodate the sudden sunlight. You did the same but with more familiarity and dusted your apron like you always did after crawling through the tunnel. 

Jisung rubbed his eyes harshly a few times and blinked to process. The wind picked up behind him as his sight welcomed a never-ending meadow, something like a fairy-tale garden or an enchanted forest. Flowers grew on all grassy surfaces, with tender trees lodged far and between. A curved walking trial could be seen leading up to what seemed to be the biggest tree he could find in the area, and when he squinted, he could find a picnic table with several chairs around it. 

“Come on. We need to get to the tree,” you urged with a tap on his shoulder. 

Jisung followed behind you. There was a pattern in his steps; he admired the scenery, and sometimes he would stop to check something out before hustling to catch up with your pace. He wanted you to give him time to take everything in, or maybe even more to explore this place, but he supposed work will always be work. He would have more time here when he began his work. 

“Where is this?” He asked after his third time catching up to you. 

“This is the Glory Garden,” you replied. “Do you remember the drawers behind us on the wall? We get the personality dust we store there primarily from this place.” 

He kept a confused smile on his face. “Personality dust?”

“Yeah, that is what we sell,” you said casually. “I planned to tell you once you start training.”  

“You guys sell personality dust?”

“No, we sell personalities.” 

He stopped in his tracks with a head tilt, squinting at you. First of all, like almost everything that has happened, that sounded fake. Second of all, that was a significant part of the coffee shop operation that you have conveniently left out of the explanation. He wasn’t sure if the sale aspect of this business was anything important to mention, but should you not have told him anyway? Third of all, selling personalities? Give him a break!

“You can’t sell personalities,” he laughed. 

You turned around to face him. There was not one ounce of argumentative gleam in your eyes, only exhaustion and perhaps a mildly irritated speck. With a face like his, it was a waste for him to be so upsettingly redundant.

“This is where you draw the line?” you asked. “You just crawled into a fireplace, through a tunnel in the fireplace, and out to a meadow that doesn’t exist on Earth. But this is where you choose to use your critical thinking skills?”

He furrowed his brows. That felt like a personal attack on his intelligence. “I don’t like your tone.”

“Start liking it then,” you retorted quickly before spinning on your heels and walking away. You added with a wave of your hand, though, just for some self-entertainment. “You can do it. You’re smart.”

Jisung snorted in disbelief as he watched your back. He pointed accusingly after you, faint curses flowing from his lips like a waterfall. But there was a smile on his face. Running a hand through his hair, Jisung licked the corner of his mouth and pulled his lips into a grin because he secretly liked it. He wasn’t sure what he liked; the subtle distaste you two have for each other? Your irritation with him and his utter lack of trust in you? The kind of light-hearted rivalry he read so much about in comic books? Perhaps. Or it could be his crush on you making the judgment.

He chased after you, jogging along the only walking path in the meadow. You soon led him to a flower bed filled with variations; sunflowers, tulips, peonies, lilies, and many more he could not recognize. But the most intriguing about the flower bed was that all of them were abnormally tall and squeezed closely together. It seemed the further the bed went, the higher the flowers were, starting from his waist and going over his head.

There was an opening in the middle of two overhead roses. You had to push them apart to open the path up ahead. The more Jisung saw it, the more this flower bed felt like a trap. A human catching device of sorts, he was imagining. Something the fantasy people created to catch intruders who did not have the purest of hearts!

“Stupid… stupid… stupid…”

“The flowers can read your thoughts,” you told him without looking back. “They’re calling you stupid.” 

“I would make a problematic joke, but I’m walking inside you guys right now–” Jisung pursed his lips when he processed what he said. He shook his hand before his mouth to forgo his poor word choices mentally and also his horrible thoughts of cutting this whole flower bed down with a construction truck. He hasn’t learned how not to think whatever he wants to yet. “Please don’t kill me.” 

The flowers continued with their one-word insult until the end of the path. Coming out from the other side was the beginning or the end of a cave with heavy moss vines hanging over it like a door. Jisung peeked through the gaps as he walked out of the cave, and his brows raised. He turned to look behind his shoulder; all he could see was darkness. 

This place felt hollow. It was under the same sun, but the ancient trees forced the lights to dim with no gaps between their leaves and branches. Sounds of cicadas filled the forest, mixing with the gentle swings of wind against the surface of all the plants in this place. Everything was quiet and old, and humid. This was the type of place people go to for peace of mind or to end their lives. There must be a lake here somewhere that somebody has jumped and drowned in. A refugee, a God, a girl and a boy.

“Do you see that tree there?” you asked gently as you pointed upward.

Jisung trailed after the direction and faced up. He could see it, but seeing only parts of a colossal log hidden behind the fog was weird. “That is where we’re going.”

“That is where we’re going,” you repeated in confirmation. 

You two walked. Jisung tested himself on his memorization to find out he was quite directionally challenged. Still, he pushed back against the defeating thought with the excuse that not only was this forest enormous, but he was also still in a state of shock, and this was only his first time here. He should redo the test when he has done enough exploration. He reckoned he would do much better.

After a few minutes of non-stop walking, you finally stopped. Before you both was a wall of thick fog, Jisung could not begin to try and see into it. You rubbed your hands together to combat the sudden cold created by the mist. Then you turned halfway around to alert for his attention. You reached your hand out to him, waiting.

“Take my hand,” you said. “You’ll get lost in there.” 

“Is that true, or are you flirting with me?” he said with a loud chuckle.

“My friend almost died in there.” 

Jisung’s hand flew into yours with a solemn nod. He apologized under his breath, not quite meeting your eyes after the foolery he unknowingly pulled. You found his reaction amusing, mostly because you were lying. 

The fog never kills; it only loses people. You remembered the first time you arrived at this place with Hyunjin. You two came across each other at the flower bed path leading to the forest—called The Green Hallow, you later learned—and decided to walk together for company. After heading into the fog, you two separated and became increasingly lost as you attempted to find each other. Once you two did, Hyunjin grabbed your hand and did not let go until you both reached the other side. 

You did the same with Jisung. His hand was soft in yours as you walked straight ahead without changing the angle of your steps. Keep straight, do not falter, and go through the fog. Coming out the other side was The Oak Fort—a sanctuary separated from the rest of the forest, protected by the power of the most ancient oak tree in the universe. This place was different from the forest; quieter but with tranquility, and there were gentle sounds of wind chimes in the air.

Jisung looked above and noticed the twisting branches poking out below the clouds, circling the fort like a dome. The most ancient tree, the wisest tree, the most powerful tree. You let go of his hand, and he reacted by staring at the sudden cold that hit his palm. He threw off the feeling and followed you. He stepped across the narrow stream of water near where the tree's root submerged into the ground and met you in the middle. 

“Touch the tree with your palm. Make sure your blood gets on it," you instructed before taking a few steps back to give him privacy. 

His helpless eyes lingered on you, and part of him relaxed when you smiled encouragingly at him. He looked back at the tree and heaved a deep sigh. He thought he was hallucinating blood spots on the wood; marks left behind by previous workers. This was what he wanted. This was what he agreed to! He had already signed the contract, so he couldn’t get out of it even if he wanted to now. Press his palm, and his life changes forever, for better or for worse. 

Biting his lower lip slightly, he abruptly flatted his palm against the tree branch. 

You watched with anticipation what would happen. From your experience, when you and Hyunjin received your respective gifts, the tree produced a different reaction. You both deduced that whatever happens during the process reflects the gift that the tree grants. That assumption was later confirmed by your research on the oak tree in the library. Looking forward, though, there didn’t seem to be much happening.

Jisung looked up with confusion. A sudden recoil of dread salivated in his mouth then—could this be rejection? Was the tree refusing him a position at the shop? Could the tree even make a decision like that? Well, of course, it can! It is the most ancient tree ever! It must have been through countless wars and seen numerous generations! It could probably even fish out the fact that he sucked! If anything has a say in who could work in a store made out of pure magical bullshit, it would be the tree! 

Jisung abruptly choked on thin air, grasping for oxygen. His body struggled against sudden immobility. He was too busy arguing with his head. Even if he wasn’t, this was all too sudden for him to properly react anyway. Your wide eyes fixed on Jisung, unclear of the usual violence you were seeing until you took a risky step forward and squinted your eyes. They were barely visible but wrapped tightly around his limbs, and his throat was spider silk. 

But they were not soft. They were cold and threatening, like metal wires thin enough to cut your head off cleanly. After a moment, they began to burn at his skin like splatters of boiled water he could not avoid. It hurt. The burning hurt. And he could barely breathe. Unbeknownst to Jisung, the spider silk glowed a faint golden color as it submerged into his skin, giving his vein the natural magic the tree had taken out of itself. That was where the burning came from; not the submersion but the magic. 

The magic was where the pain came from. 

When the gifting process was done, Jisung dropped harshly to the ground and sobbed out the fear. “What the fuck! What the fucking was that–fucking shit–what–“ He got thrown into a coughing fit simultaneously as he sucked in as much oxygen as he could. “Fuck you! What was that? That sucked balls!”

“Do you curse this much regularly?” you muttered as you helped him up. 

“Fuck you, I thought I was going to die,” he retaliated tearfully while accepting your help. The redness on his face slowly faded as reality returned to him. “Damn it. I thought it was going to be butterflies and rainbows.” 

“With magic? Never,” you giggled. “Magic always comes with a price, especially when people who normally wouldn’t have it use it. We all went through the same thing when we got our abilities, and we all have to look after the possible consequences of using them.” 

Jisung eyed you with narrowed eyes. That made him feel better. He thought he was, embarrassingly, the odd one out; the only one who got his bones and pipes knocked out of him by a tree. An ancient magical tree, but still a damn tree nonetheless! Sighing audibly, he asked, “What was yours like?”

You hummed. “I was suffocating until the tree was done. Not gasping for air, suffocating. No air in or out of me at all.”

“That sounds better than what happened to me,” Jisung scowled. 

You rolled your eyes. It was not a competition, but if you had to pick a person—or a pair of people who got it the worst? “I think the two working at the music store got it the worst, actually,” you mentioned with a grimace. “One of them was bleeding by the end of it, everywhere. The other one got a tree branch shoved down his throat.” 

Chan and Changbin began working for the cosmic stores after you. You were not there during their gifting process, but you were there in The Repository when Changbin barged through the doors with a heavily wounded Chan on his back, looking for help. One of the creatures that emerged from the fog after the gifting process led them through the hidden cave in the middle of the oak tree. That directly led them to the library tower. 

The alchemist owl was the one who tended to them. You remembered it giving Changbin a cup of dark green goo to drink, instructing that it would be needed to get the wood residues out of his body. You made friends with him as you gave him a tour of the library; it was just to help him swallow down the disgusting drink, really.

“That’s a lawsuit,” Jisung mused under his breath to combat the disgusted itch clambering at his throat by simply imagining what you just told him. He rubbed the base of his neck after he caught a glimpse of your deadpan, and he smiled. “It’s not funny anymore, huh?”

“It never was.” 

“Oh.” He rolled his eyes and whistled. “Harsh.” He liked it. “So, what now?”

“You’re done. Now you go back to Earth and wait for your schedule,” you said. “Oh! Before I forget–this should go without saying, but no using any of your abilities outside of,” you waved your arms about, “this setting. Unless you are coming for work, then you are allowed to use magic to get any door to lead here.” 

“The superpowers work outside of,” he mimicked the waves of your arms, “this setting?”

“Yes,” you sighed in defeat. You could not tell if he was mocking you or trying to make a serious joke. “Please don’t use it outside of… this setting….”

Jisung hummed in agreement. There was a lower chance of him attempting to use magic on Earth if you never even told him he could in the first place. Besides, who would believe him? Nothing is what meets the eye these days, even if they are real. He wouldn’t, though. He would listen to you.

“Okay.” A small smile peeked at the corner of your lips. “Welcome to The Masquerade, by the way. That is our shop’s name. Masks, personalities, you know.”

“Haha…” Jisung let out a wiggle of laughter that died down quickly. Not because he felt awkward but because he was deep in thought. It took him a short moment to speak. “A Masquerade, a mask parade.” 

You blinked with pity. Jisung pursed his lips together and forced a grin on his face. 

It would be a tough crowd from now on. 

[space-mermaid-writing]

The Vamp and the Were [IronStrange]

Summary: Tony would mark the day he met a vampire that did not immediately jump at his throat. Just for once – that would be a nice change.

Relationship: Werewolf!Tony Stark / Vampire!Stephen Strange

Tags: hurt/comfort, idiots in love, angst, fluff

Ko-fi | Read it on AO3 | Masterlist | Word count: 3.8k | Previous | Next

Chapter 9: Camping

“Hey, you wanna go camping?”

“Camping?” Surprised about the question, Stephen raised an eyebrow. His phone in one hand, he gestured with his other to Wong and stepped out of the room. “Why?”

“I just need to get out for a few days. It’s a Were thing. Usually helps with the nightmares, too.” Tony spun around on the chair in his lab, biting his lower lip. If anyone asked him why he asked Stephen to accompany him, he would say he didn’t know. But that would be a lie.

Truth was, he wanted Stephen to come along. Just the two of them in the middle of nowhere. Tony really liked to torture himself. “Normally I go to Mexico,” he explained on the phone. “But if you join I would look for somewhere less sunny.”

“And will you stay all furry during the trip?”

“Probably not the whole time.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, you’re joining?”

“Yes, Tony. I’m going camping with you.”

A smile cracked out on the engineer’s face. “Okay. Great.”

~~

It wasn’t difficult to convince Wong to guard the Sanctum in his absence. In fact, Wong seemed to approve that Stephen took a few days off.

Stephen and Tony agreed to travel by portal since it was much less flashy than taking the jet. They met a few days later with their luggage, which really wasn’t a lot.

Tony showed the sorcerer a photo of a cabin and Stephen opened a gateway. He should have known that camping with Tony Stark didn’t mean small tents and sleeping bags. Instead they had a cozy cabin in the woods.

The air was noticeably cooler than in New York. And while in Greenwich, had the sun just been setting, there was the deepest night here. Besides that, it was quiet, except for the soft rustling of the wind in the tree.

“Where are we?” Stephen asked, not recognizing the area when he looked around.

“The Ural Mountains.”

Stephen paused. “Ural as in Ural, Russia?”

“Well, yes.” Tony shouldered his bag and walked to the front porch. “It’s perfect. Only 5.6% population per square kilometer, 5 hours sunlight a day at this time of the year and currently a very vampire friendly 41° Fahrenheit. That’s 5° in Celsius.”

"I know how to convert that." Stephen picked up his bag and followed him. “Is this yours?”

Tony shook his head. “I traded with a business partner for a year. He gets a house at the sea in Spain.”

The sorcerer had a strong suspicion that said business partner was also a Were. Well, he won’t complain.

The inside of the cabin was cozy but modern. With a full stocked kitchen – Stephen wouldn’t need anything from it anyway – and plenty of room for two.

“Do you need to store your juice boxes in the fridge?” Tony asked while checking out the kitchen.

“No, I can go without them for a few days.” And if he did need something, he would portal and grab it. He watched Tony as the engineer peered behind each kitchen cabinet door like a curious dog. “So, what do you normally do when you go on these ‘camping’ trips?”

“Mostly, I run,” the engineer admitted.

“Do you want to go on a run while I unpack?”

“Nah, it can wait until the sun is up. Let’s go check out the area. I was told there’s a lake nearby.”

They went on outside.

Stephen wore civilian clothes for a change. In fact, he wore just a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, although it was clearly too cold for that. But he seemed comfortable, even enjoying the biting wind. But then, he probably would enjoy a vacation in the Arctic.

Tony had thrown another jacket over his sweater. When he was out as a wolf, temperatures were less a problem with his thick fur.

Both had no trouble seeing in the dark with their heightened senses.

Less than half of the moon was visible in the night sky. A beautiful crest of cold, silvery light.

For some it might be a symbol of danger for it was the time when the shadows formed and predators came out to hunt. Those who did not wish to be seen could move about. Creatures of the night and the dark. Like vampires.

The moon itself didn’t shine. It just reflected the light of the sun, like an enchanted version of the source of so much life.

Still, it was the only kind of sunlight that did not burn Stephen and his kind. Yet, his undead condition was much more apparent as the bleak light danced across his pale skin.

The sight distracted Tony from the fact that he was feeling restless. He still was fidgeting, suppressing the urge to move faster. To stretch his legs and just run.

But he held back. Stephen was here with him and if there was one thing better than running, it was walking next to the sorcerer.

Finally the promised lake came into view. The surface shimmered invitingly in the moonlight, and Tony ran ahead. He kicked off his shoes, rolled up his pant legs, and waded into the shallow shore water, kicking it like a playful dog.

Stephen let him without commenting on it. He realized that it was important for the Were to get rid of the excess energy. He sat down in the grass on the shore and watched him patiently. There was something endearing about seeing the engineer this carefree.

After a while Tony came back and dropped down next to him. “We should go skinny dipping.”

“No.”

Tony pursed his lips. “You’re a killjoy.”

“And you will get hypothermia if you jump into the ice cold water.”

Which was true, but the Were did not admit that. He didn't say anything and that was almost the same as admitting it.

He shook the water off his feet and put his socks and shoes back on.

The small dots of stars shine brightly in the night sky.

“Do you miss sunlight?”

The question was simple yet complicated. It wasn’t merely the ability to go out in the sun that Stephen lost the day he was turned.

“I miss meeting people during the day,” the Vamp admitted. Humans after all weren’t creatures of the night. Not truly. And besides the people of Kamar-Taj, Christine was the only other person that knew when he had become.

And now of course Tony and Peter.

He had seen plenty of indirect sunlight in the Sanctum. Sometimes he stood at a window, simply watching people for hours. It was a perfect allegory of how life was for him now. He was no longer part of the human world. Only a bystander, forced to stand in the shadows.

The number of vampires among the sorcerers wasn’t exactly small. There were also other species beside humans.

Still, sometimes Stephen couldn’t help but mourn what he had lost.

Tony’s eyes met his and for a moment Stephen felt seen. It felt like the engineer looked behind his cold demeanor and saw that behind everything, Stephen was a lonely man.

It should be alarming, the sorcerer wasn’t normally one to share his deepest feelings and fears.

But he wasn’t able to look away from those warm, brown eyes. He didn’t know what it was about the Were that made Stephen trust him.

A creature sinfully inviting.

He should stay away.

Yet, Stephen found himself on this camping trip with the man.

If they weren’t a vampire and a werewolf, he would have read more into the invitation. But they were what they were. Both not human and almost on opposite ends of the humanoid spectrum. At least that's how it appeared to Stephen.

Tony was the epitome of sunshine. Chattily, outgoing and socially accepted.

Stephen hid what he was, for vampires were generally considered bloodthirsty monsters, driven by instincts that only told them to feed. To kill. Unfortunately, that was true in most cases.

His down-spiral thoughts were interrupted by Tony, who noticed the faint bright strip on the horizon. “We should head back.”

He stood up and held out his hand to Stephen to help him up. In the first second the sorcerer just blinked, his thoughts still trailing in that negative direction. But it was forgotten as soon as he took Tony’s hand and he let himself be pulled to his feet.

Contrary to his expectations, Tony did not let go of his hand afterwards. Even more, the Were’s finger intertwined with his when he pulled him along, walking the path back to the cabin.

If he was physically able to blush, Stephen was sure his face would be red. At least his cheeks felt hot. It was ridiculous, he shouldn’t be flustered by a simple gesture like this.

On the way back Tony was much calmer than before, more content.

Only when they arrived back at the cabin, Stephen withdrew his fingers from Tony’s, and he missed the warmth of his hand instantly. “I’m going to prepare for the day.”

The werewolf nodded. “Sleep well,” he said, although he knew that vampires did not really sleep. The undead did need to rest, but not like the living.

Stephen usually used the time to meditate. He stepped into the bedroom he had chosen before and closed the shutters from the outside and the curtains from the inside to block out the sun. And just to be on the safe side – and because he was in a foreign house – he cast a spell into him that helped him not to burn immediately if any sunlight should touch his skin.

He looked around the room. The furniture was made of heavy wood, probably oak and cherry. There was a bed, a drawer and next to it a bench with additional storage space.

Stephen chose to sit on the bed, his legs crossed with his back to the wall. He took a deep breath to calm down and get into the right state of his mind.

The temperature in his room remained comfortable for the vampire. He knew it would rise a little during the day, but he trusted Tony to keep an eye on him.

Then he closed his eyes.

~~

Tony, meanwhile, treated himself to a snack and some water in the kitchen. He waited some time to see if Stephen would need anything and only when the first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon, he was sure that this was not the case and he left the cabin.

There was a shed on the backside of the cabin, and next to it, there was enough firewood stacked to get a small family through a winter. Tony and Stephen wouldn't need any though. While the Were liked a nice bonfire or the coziness of an indoor fireplace, fire was one of the few things that posed an absolutely deadly threat to vampires.

And Tony didn't want the sorcerer anywhere near such a danger.

He took off his clothes and stowed them next to the tools in the shed. The cold gave him goose bumps and he hurried to shift.

His bones changed, grew longer. Adjusted, stronger muscles stretched over them. Dark brown fur sprouted from his skin. His senses became sharper and the scents around him more present.

It was prominent now to him that the cabin belonged to another werewolf, but it felt friendly enough that it didn't bother him.

Then he started running.

Just straight forward. Moving fast over the barren, solid ground of this land.

It cleared his head. As a wolf, he acted more on instinct; following smells and noises. He stretched his limbs, his back, and enjoyed the opportunity to move in full speed for once.

He ran several miles until his lungs burned and only then slowed down. Finally coming to a stop, he threw himself on the ground to roll in the dust like a young dog. It was great.

Afterwards he felt more settled. There was no more itching that made him fidget.

He continued to move at a more leisurely pace and changed directions to make a semicircle so as not to stray too far from the cabin. He also paid more attention to his surroundings now.

He found a creek nearby and drank some clear water before he curiously explored the unfamiliar area, following a few tracks of local animals.

Although the area was deserted, there was much for the Were to discover.

A herd of wild boar had crossed this path a few hours ago. Most of the birds took flight before him and perched on branches a safe distance away, chirping at him from up there. He spotted a polecat, but it was too small to hunt. No challenge at all.

The sun rose higher, but the temperature barely exceeded 57°F. With his fur, he did not mind much.

A hare had the misfortune not to escape him fast enough and ended up as his lunch.

It was not until sunset that he made his way back to the cabin. If he were alone on this trip, he would also spend the night out in the wilderness, but now it felt like he was called back.

Stephen was already awake when he arrived. The sorcerer was reading a book as he sat on a swing on the front porch. Today he wore a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his marble carved-like forearms, which was very much appreciated by Tony.

Seeing the man made the rational and human part of the werewolf's brain come back online faster than it normally would.

The sorcerer looked up when he heard the paws approaching him and put his book aside with a smile. “Did you have a good run?”

Tony huffed in agreement, not shifting back yet.

Stephen reached out his hand to scratch the wolf’s ears. The Were climbed onto his lap with his front paws and rubbed his cheek on Stephen’s chest and shoulder, scenting the clothes. It just felt like the right thing to do.

The sorcerer pushed Tony's head away from him as his muzzle moved further up to his neck. “No dog drool in my face,” he scolded, but his voice betrayed him. Sure, Tony was in his wolf form, but he still smelled mostly like his human form. And that scent was very inviting.

His slender fingers brushed through the fur on his neck, where normally a vampire would bite. It was awfully close to the place where werewolves put their mating bites.

Tony stilled under his touch, looking at him with trust. Awaiting.

But Stephen didn’t do anything further. He removed his hand and the moment went over.

Tony trotted back into the house. He was tired and could use a short nap. After all, he hadn't slept since last night and all the running today had worn him out.

Stephen stayed outside. It was fully dark now, but that didn't stop him from reading. He had hung a small portable lamp above the swing and enjoyed the frosty temperature, and that he could stay outside without being noticed.

Camping wasn't so bad after all.

He heard it before he saw anything. Footsteps, creeping closer. A heartbeat. He waited and listened without outwardly giving the impression that he was doing anything other than being focused on reading.

Stephen waited until the footsteps came to a halt, about 30 feet away, before he put the book aside and turned his head straight in that direction.

There was a figure among the trees; humanoid. The Vamp was ready to attack if necessary.

The person hesitated, but realized that they had been discovered. They took another step closer and sniffed the air

A Were, Stephen realized. He stood up to signal the man to not move any closer. He wanted to know who stood before him.

The Were seemed confused by Stephen’s presence and also wary. The sorcerer could now clearly identify him as male. He wore a full beard and shaggy, shoulder-length hair that gave him a wild appearance. He looked way more the classic werewolf than Tony in his suits and perfectly styled hair.

The Were said something in a language Stephen didn't understand.

“Do you speak English? नेपाली? Deutsch?” he asked, offering various languages, in which he was at least partially fluent.

“Did you move here?” The Were had a thick accent and Stephen needed a second to actually understand him.

“No, we merely rented the house for some time.”

He could see the man thinking about who ‘we’ could be. He continued to eye Stephen. "You are not the Were I smell here all around, are you?"

He did not mention with a word whether he found it strange that the sorcerer seemed to have no smell at all.

“That would be my companion.”

“Can I talk to him?”

Stephen nodded. He stepped to the front door and opened it without ever turning his back to the stranger.

The cabin was in the outback, but apparently not far away enough from another pack to notice their visit.

“Tony,” he called inside, knowing the fine ears of the engineer would hear him. “We have a guest who wants to speak to you.”

The delayed answer came in a sleepy voice. But at least it confirmed that the engineer was back in human form. “Who is it?”

“For all I know it could be your long lost cousin or something like that.” It was a sneaky way to inform him that their visitor was a werewolf.

Genius that Tony was, he understood immediately.

“Fuck, wait… I’m coming.”

There was a series of noises, before Tony came rushing outside. Stephen stared at him. He was wearing only boxers and Stephen’s shirt from yesterday. Did the Were sleep in his bed?

His brain short-circled for a second there, too busy ogling the toned legs – lots of skin in general – to notice Tony came to a halt in front of him, shielding him from the foreign werewolf. His stand was wide, not quite threatening but definitely with authority.

“Yes?”

The other Were shifted his feet but didn’t back away. “Do you know Marvan?” he asked in that same accent as before.

“I do.” Tony eyed the man. And then he surprised Stephen again by switching into what sounded not quite like Russian.

They exchanged a few words while slowly approaching each other. Stephen watched the two Weres in case he had to intervene, but their tone was surprisingly calm. They seemed to trade some questions and answers.

Still, Stephen saw Tony’s tense shoulders and stance; It was the opposite of being relaxed. He wouldn’t be surprised if they shifted any moment to circle each other.

But after a few minutes, they seemed to come to an agreement. Because both men nodded, now with friendlier expressions, and shook hands. Then the stranger said goodbye and left.

Tony waited until he was out of sight before turning back to the sorcerer.

Stephen's eyes were still on the Were's mostly bare legs. Or maybe again. He found it hard to think and make those little distinctions at the moment. It took a while to realize that he was being watched and his gaze moved up to Tony's face.

Their eyes met.

Tony was still surrounded by a mixture of his own and Stephen's scent. Stephen's focus was zooming in on the engineer's neck where he perceived the beating of a pulse. He licked his lips.

Then Tony moved and before Stephen knew it, he was kissing him.

It took his mind a second to catch up, but then he reciprocated with equal vigor.

The Were was chasing his tongue, marking his territory.

His breath was hot on Stephen’s lips. “We’re invited to a barbecue tomorrow night. We don’t have to go but it would be rude to miss it.”

Before Stephen's brain was able to form a cohesive thought, his mouth was already occupied by another kiss.

“Is it a Were thing?” he still managed to ask.

Tony nodded. His fingers had snuck under Stephen's shirt and were resting on his hip. “I can go alone if you don’t want to.”

That made Stephen pause and stare at him with his intense blue eyes, his pupils slowly getting back into focus.

There were so many reasons why this suggestion was wrong on so many levels. First off, they were on a foreign continent.

Secondly, they didn’t know the other Weres.

Sure, they were neighbors of a friend and maybe it was a pack thing. But still, Stephen would never let Tony go to them alone.

“I’m accompanying you,” he therefore clarified.

“Fuck, you’re great,” Tony muttered. He didn’t kiss the Vamp yet again, but his hands were everywhere, on his arms, his shoulders, exploring while his mind screamed ‘mine!’.

He realized that he was getting handy and forced himself to keep a little distance – or at least to withdraw his fingers. He didn't want to overwhelm the vampire who normally was rather reserved with physical contact. He was pleased that earlier Stephen had not only not flinched from his kiss attack, but had even reproduced it.

He was pretty sure he was buzzing with pheromones and energy at the moment.

Tony had just taken a nap after being on his feet for a whole day and a night but he felt restless again. This time the unexpected visit from the other Were was the main reason.

The area didn't feel as vast and endless as it had a few hours earlier. Sure, those neighbors were several miles and thus a good distance away, but Tony couldn't help but feel like his territories had been invaded.

Even if the guy stayed polite, Tony felt the need to check the borders, to check if the other Were truly left.

Stephen studied him, silently watching his every twitch. “Do you want to go running again?”

Tony closed his eyes, tried to calm down. He knew if he got too restless, it would affect the Vamp and he didn’t want to bother Stephen even more when his emotions were already all over the place.

“Kinda, but it can wait until sunrise,” he sighed.

Also, he didn't want to leave Stephen alone. On the one hand, because he liked the company. For another, because his protective instinct kicked in. Rationally, he knew the vampire was strong enough to stand up on his own, but his wolf brain yelled: protect!

Shit, he really was in deep.

He needed to notch it down.

Well, Tony never did anything half-assed.

“We could go on a walk if that would help you,” Stephen offered.

Tony thought it would also help him do more kissing.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” he said instead.

_______________________________

Tag list: @jekyllhydetrash @goopierthenyou Tell me if you wanna be added/removed

[haakaan00502]

Ghost's Ten Steps to Survival

Longer post than usual, also posting in no particular order. Halfway writing this I realized it wasn't really that much of a Ghost x Soap post and just ended up being the two of them in a recon mission. Basically its not romantic as I thought it would be.

Already wrote it, be a waste if I don't use it. Thanks for reading, enjoy : D

And yes, it says ten steps so expect nine more.

Approximately 2k words.

TW: Gun Violence

Masterlist

Step 3: Self Defense

One… two… five… seven… twelve, In his boot, three in his belt line, some in his sleeve, one on the side of his knee. Ghost was decorated with knives.

Being over prepared will always be better ten times and over than being not, Ghost faces a battle with something constantly changing, with new variables popping up in the least expected times and places.

He’s prepared for something unpreparable, life.

This wasn’t the first time he was overgeared, he had plenty of MOLLEs, and he’d make sure each and everyone of them are used. He has rules, plans in his mind for very specific scenarios, even back ups for events he wouldn’t know what’s going to happen.

His eyes instinctively scanning the nearest exit, his hands always near the most probable environment weapon, he stands no further than six feet away from the door. His age is enough credibility for his experience, he lives in a job that works for death.

It had always been like that, or he now, will always be like that. 

Life wanted him dead, now he lives knowing he’ll die. 

…

The faint sounds of an engine dying gives brief life in the empty urban streets. Ghost shifted slightly, the dust on the floor flying into the air, the sun shining on them, making it look like winter’s first snow. 

“We’ve been compromised Johnny,” Ghost says rather calmly, gathering his belongings he could carry on his body. Doing a quick inventory before looking at Soap who’s slightly hurrying in collecting his own.

“This operation’s been nothin’ but a bust,” Soap sighs as he stands next to Ghost, rifle equipped.

“We confirmed hostile movement in the area, half the job is done.” 

A sound of glass breaking from the distance didn’t startle the two. Soap checks the area outside by the window, as Ghost contemplates their next move. The floorboards he stands on make the slightest squeak with the tiniest movement, he looks around and weighs his choices. 

 “It’ll take them two minutes to reach our floor,” Ghost says to Soap as they both walk towards the door.

Succumbing to old habits, beforehand he memorized the layout of the building. One he found annoying due to its quirkiness. Six floors with two entrances on either side. With there only being a set of stairs on the east side going up to the fifth floor, then the next flight would be on the far west, going up to the sixth. 

He nods at Soap to which he nods back. Ghost opens the door abruptly, they run towards the stairs, jumping off the rails and skipping half the flight.

Not wasting a single second, they start to run again. Going through dust stained floors with chipped paint walls, their boots creating a loud thump with each step. They near the next staircase, stopping when they hear heavy footsteps going up at an alarming pace. 

Quickly they run back, going inside one of the rooms, leaving the doorway wide open. Ghost hid behind the door while Soap is at the side of a cabinet.

Ghost slows his breathing down in an attempt to mask the sound, his rifle pointed directly at the door. The smell of damp wood flooding his nose, his heart rate rising by the drop of a leaky plumbing. 

Trained footsteps walk past their room, hitching Ghost and Soap’s breath. They hear the door adjacent to them open, causing Ghost to tighten his grip on the rifle.

Everything went silent aside from the mental swears he is having. 

Drip.

Drip.

The sound of a squeaking floorboard alerted Ghost, using the door’s eyehole as a guide, he shot through it. The sound of a body dropping.

Swiftly, he grabbed the dead man’s arm and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut. Soap takes the queue and starts pushing the cabinet, blocking the entrance. 

“Insane bastard,” Soap says between breaths as they both listen to more footsteps and chatters outside the door, barely audible.

The two look around for possible reinforcements to give them ample time to think of a plan. Ghost starts looting the body, checking for I.D.s or any sort of identification for evidence. He found only ammo and standard knives. He takes the enemy’s rifle, disassembling it. 

The thumping on the doors gives Ghost and Soap a sense of urgency, they start to speed up their search. Ghost goes through the cabinets and lockers installed through the walls. Soap inspects the walls, checking if there’s parts made out of hollow material and seeing if breaching is possible. 

He checks the desk, going through the drawers to find anything useful. He tries pushing it to provide an extra barricade only to realize it's drilled to the floor. 

Another sound of glass breaking alerts the two, they both look towards the door and see smoke coming out of its gaps. Slowly, the wooden cabinets they used turn against them as they start to catch on fire.

“Can’t this day get any worse,” Soap grunts, unlocking windows to prevent the smoke from filling the entire room. 

“It’s your lucky day Johnny,” Ghost says, pulling out a rope out of one of the lockers.

…

“It’s ye lucky day Johnny,” Soap mumbles to himself annoyed.

“Shite,” Soap says fifty feet above the ground.

Barely half his foot on the ledge, he treads carefully looking for an angle to safely jump down from. He looks down at the ground littered with broken debris and overgrown grass, not necessarily afraid of heights but still enough to break a sweat.

With the rope passing through his legs and over his head, Soap carefully rappels down the building, the rope offering just enough length for a single floor. 

Soon as he secures his footing over the fourth floor’s ledge, he surveys the room. Seeing if anyone is inside before attempting to open it. 

“Ghost!”

“Soap?” Ghost yells from over the fire, looking down from the edge.

“You better get down and fast, I’m breaking the window.” Soap says, holding onto the rope tighter before grabbing his rifle and pointing its buttstock on the window edge.

Ghost makes sure the rope is tied tightly on the desk, tugging it multiple times to check its sturdiness. He grunts as he braces himself before wrapping the rope over his body. Groaning after imagining the rope burns he’ll be getting. 

Soap looks up, making sure Ghost is ready before he smashes the window. Quickly he jumped inside, putting the rifle up to his sights as he began clearing the room. 

Ghost slides down the rope until he is by the fourth level, he reaches by the edge with his foot, jumping over the window sill and firmly lands, crunching the broken pieces of glass. He cuts the rope as high as he could reach and throws it at the corner of the room. 

Soap nears the door, back hunched, each step calculated. He leans back on a nearby wall, placing the back of his hand on the door. Next he touches the doorknob, checking if it is warm. 

He signals Ghost before he starts walking backwards, eyes never leaving the door. They meet halfway through the room.

“Fire hasn’t reached this level yet.” Soap informs over his shoulder. 

Ghost looks at the door, making multiple decisions in a split second before deciding on the obvious two.

“Up or down.” He turns to Soap.

“Up?” 

“Want a party down there? Be my guest Johnny,” Ghost says, starting his move.

“Shot alive, or burned alive, great,” Soap sighs, following.

Ghost goes towards the door, opening it before taking a step back, looking through each angle he could see outside. He steps out, his gun pointed opposite to the door, checking for anyone down the halls. Soap follows, doing exactly the same in a delayed manner, constantly sticking behind Ghost. 

They move down the hall, towards the end while minding their footsteps, avoiding loose boards. Ghost treads forward as Soap walks backwards.

They reach the staircase, hesitating for a moment. 

Ghost takes a breath as if he is about to dive, he slowly creeps towards the staircase, his gun pointed. He sticks to the wall, his eyes directly in front, looking for anything that stands out. Listening for any movement, even checking for the slightest hint of someone else’s smell.

He takes the first step up, pointing his gun up to the middle, turning his body to check the upper floor’s railings. Clear. He takes another step, checks, clear, and another, and yet another, repeating the same movements. Most silent footsteps, the faintest breathing, and a heart so calm so he won’t hear it beating. The only positive thing in this scenario was having someone to cover his six, Soap’s a bonus too, Ghost thinks. 

They reached the floor they were in before, the sound of fire cackling dampening one of their senses. Every second they move and every second they stay is a constant risk, something the both of them cannot wait to get out of.

The two move moderately fast but in a constant manner, keeping momentum. They walk past the room they locked themselves in, the fire seemingly walking on the walls. Soap wraps ripped clothing around his mouth to help with the smoke, but still occasionally coughs.

Ghost shoots the broken bottle a quick glance, seeing the shatter-patterns point toward the direction they are heading towards, confirming that he made the right decision. 

He starts a small sprint, signaling Soap to do the same as the ceilings of this abandoned office building, finally serving its time and starts to give out. Ghost starts running towards the window at the end of the hall, smashing it before jumping out.

He lands at the fire escape, shooting down, quickly killing one enemy camping by the fourth floor fire emergency exit.

Ghost starts going down the stairs, looking behind briefly only to see a fierce looking sergeant on high alert. Giving him a warm and proud feeling in his chest with a strange comfort of safety.

The shots from earlier and clanging of metal surely alerted everyone in the building, they descended as fast as they could without tripping. 

They hear foreign shouts from the windows as they receive gun shots. Hiding below the fire escape, they have to get out as soon as they can before more hostiles show up. He signs Soap to make a run for it, which Soap follows.

Soon as Soap sprints, the gunner from the window follows suit with shots. Ghost aims up, using Soap as a distraction to give him enough time to zero in directly at the enemy’s head before shooting, killing the man instantly.

“Perfect shot L.T.”

“You called it Sergeant-“ Ghost hears gravel move just right behind him, his hand quickly moving to the gun strapped on his chest like it was a magnet.

But before he could even look behind him, he hears a loud thud fall to the ground. 

“Though I think mine’s better.”

Ghost turns his entire body around, seeing a dead man on the ground with a bullet between its eyes. He releases the breath he hitched earlier, releasing some tension from his back. 

“Doubt it,” Ghost said, a smirk concealed by his balaclava, though Soap already knew that look in Ghost’s eyes.

The two jog towards their armored truck parked behind the trees hastily, Soap reaching by the driver’s door first than Ghost. 

“No way, I’m driving this time,” he says as he hopped on the seat before Ghost could protest.

Ghost was about to speak until rounds of fire hit the truck’s rear, making dents on the bullet proof glass, some ricochet to barks of wood. 

“Get in!” Soap yells as he covers fire as Ghost enter the passenger’s seat, grunting.

“Good ol’ boy.” Soap smirks, stepping on the gas as Ghost groans.

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

The Stars, The Moon, The Sun, and an Incoming Constellation

Part two

also posted on my a03, Agentsquirrel

The next day, they went back to their regularly scheduled house hunting. They found a purple Victorian in need of repairs with all original wood cabinets and flooring. By the sheer excitement in Sam's eyes, she would have murdered Danny if he didn't let her pay cash on the spot.

They were moved in by the end of the month, Danny finding out the place was haunted by more than a few child ghosts, who insisted on their newest little sibling having their room right next to theirs, and that they get a hobby horse.

Both Danny considered reasonable demands, and really, they were going to use that room anyway, as it was closest to their room. With a single phone call, Sam had her parents sending her family's heirloom cradle and rocking chair to be delivered within the week.

The nursery was going to be space themed, of course, and Tucker was already tinkering with a high-tech baby monitor. Unexpectedly, the doorbell rang, and Danny resisted the urge to phase through the floor to get to the door, reminding himself that they didn't have blinds yet.

Surprisingly, a green bulldozer was in their driveway, the police officer from the other day, and a blond man standing on their front stoop. Danny answered the door, trying not to sound as nervous as he was.

"Anything wrong, officer?" Danny asked, blocking them from seeing inside.

"Are you Danny Mason?" Charlie asked, slipping into Police Chief mode.

Danny nodded. "Yes."

"We are here to take your statement. I'm Graham Burns, the town's Civic Engineer. This is my dad-"

"Griffin Rock Police Chief Charlie Burns." Charlie offered his hand, and Danny shook it.

"Legally, I am still Daniel James Fenton, as my legal name change is still pending. But, I prefer to be Mr. Mason, or Danny, if we have to be casual."

"Of course, is Mrs. Mason home?" Charlie asked, making a note to edit his reports.

"Yes, permission to go back inside to get her?"

"Of course, but you aren't -" Danny slipped back inside before Charlie could finish, shutting the door in his face. "-Being questioned." He finished, rubbing his eyes in irritation.

Danny came back with Sam quickly, a fake smile on both their faces.

"Hello." Sam said, quite uncomfortable.

"Sam Mason?" Charlie asked.

"That's me." She answered stiffly.

"I wanted to ask you questions about yesterday's incident."

"Of course. Would you like to come in? There's not much furniture, but Danny could grab a camping chair from his office if need be."

"That's not necessary. Could you tell me how you got caught in that fight?"

"We were wandering around after Tucker took the car. We needed to use the restroom, and he decided to be an ass and drive away as a prank. Unfortunately, neither of us could use a map if it killed us, and we ended up in the restricted area. We were looking for an employee when those guys opened fire, and from there, we were just trying to survive." Sam said.

"I got lost in the smoke and took my time trying to get out." Danny said. "The hospital staff took my shoes and socks, and Sam's shirt, they are with mainland police."

"That's all I needed to know. Have a good day." Charlie said, pulling Graham with him as he left.

They got into Boulder, and Charlie gave Graham a look. "Next time, let me talk."

Graham cleaned his glasses and sighed. "Got it."

They drove back, and Charlie called a family meeting.

"Guys, they know nothing. Tomorrow, I will go pick up evidence from the mainland, but for the moment, Dani, Graham, I want you to at least try to fish for information. I want to know what killed those men, and why."

"Sammy?" Danny said, his voice that tired tone he gets after processing a bad fight. "Are you sure those gangsters were bad?"

"Yes, Danny, they wanted to kill us and followed us across state lines. Now, they know that this is Phantom's territory, and we can focus on the future baby and setting up a proper home."

Danny chuckled. "You sound like your mother."

"My mother didn't let man-eating hot dogs lead a revolution."

"Fair. I mean, at least the local schools are decent."

"And about to get a nice donation." Tucker said, his usual beanie replaced with a red silk scarf and rumpled from his mid afternoon nap. "The blinds should be here in a few days. Until then, Danny, feet on the ground."

Danny sighed. "Got it. Can't pretend Phantom is just a wig and contacts anymore."

"Uhh, no. You have the night sky as a skin tone, and your eyes are all melty now that you are a fully fledged ghost." Sam said. "I mean, it's gorgeous, but doesn't pass as human."

"Could I at least go flying? Please? I will stay out of the way of the helicopter?" Danny begged.

"Fine. But be careful." Sam said, knowing he would have snuck out to do it anyway. They all slept in separate rooms anyway, as they all preferred different sleeping arrangements, as Sam's a blanket hog, Danny needs a night light, and Tucker is a night owl.

As soon as the sun set, Danny went for a walk, found an unlit area, and bolted towards the sky, transforming as he went. He became a green bolt of light, twisting and turning in the sky. He went as high as he was comfortable, feeling the wind try to pull himself along. He knew he was unconsciously phasing through the worst of the wind currents, so when he grabbed onto gravity and started to free fall, the wind hit him at full force, his back stinging from the biting wind.

He pulled back up before he hit the tree line and surveyed the docks. A cleanup crew had been through already, though the bullet holes had yet to be patched.

Danny continued flying, performing loop de loops and aerial tricks for an audience of no one. At least, he thought so.

Just below him, Huxley was filming with his altered cell phone, secured against the getting one last good shot of the being’s face before sending it to Chief Burns. He had learned his lesson with the invasion incident and, with no backup, didn't want to risk being attacked by the otherwise oblivious creature.

Danny circled back to the edge of the suburbs, dropping down into a tall patch of grass and fighting his way back out, spitting out a few blades that had somehow made it into his mouth. He walked back to the house, fumbling with his house key and managing to trip over several boxes before falling into a lawn chair, breaking it. Sam flipped on the light, unimpressed.

“Really? Could you have been any louder?” She asked, her long, floor-length robe made of silk and dyed reclaimed rabbit fur, swishing over the cracked floorboards that desperately needed to be refinished.

She had the epiphany that the most sustainable way of buying clothes was wearing out what you already own and buying quality, sustainably sourced pieces from brands and artists that align with your values. She was still vegan but realized that buying plastic to avoid animal cruelty was a bit of an oxymoron. She found a variety of artists that worked with all reclaimed and ethically sourced materials and, as her clothes aged and wore out, had been slowly replacing them. Each piece was pricey, but she knew they would last, and no one was exploited in the creation process. After her tulle robe had ripped, Tucker had bought it for her as a Christmas gift (they celebrated mostly Jewish holidays, as Sam's family is Jewish, but Danny loves Christmas, so they usually had a small tree and a couple presents. Tucker insists on going to his parents' house for Thanksgiving. )

“Sorry. I realized I couldn't just drop in the front yard.”

“No you cannot. Go to the bathroom, check yourself for ticks, change, and come snuggle. I want Danny hugs tonight.”

Danny smiled and gave his favorite goth overlord a peck on the cheek before changing and heading up to bed.

[mysun-eyedgirl]

I have been working on this story for quite a while now. Faith Scott is a character I have been building and changing over the years. I hope you enjoy this. Special thanks to @rookieloveskashi for giving me the courage to finally post something.

Summary:

Faith Scott, a talented network engineer grappling with personal loss, discovers a mystical portal in her new home that transports her to the world of Naruto. There, with her White German Shepherd companion Panzer, she meets and saves Kakashi Hatake, forming a powerful bond as she trains to become a shinobi. Faith faces formidable adversaries. Her journey is marked by intense battles, personal growth, and unwavering determination to protect both her newfound home and her loved ones, all while navigating complex relationships and the overarching threats posed by powerful enemies.

Click to read on Ao3

Chapter 1

I just finished picking up the keys for my new house as the closing date finally arrived. I had signed and it was bittersweet. What should have been a joyous occasion will be etched into my brain as a somber one as I came directly from my father’s funeral, right before that was my eldest and only sister’s funeral and her one-year-old son, my nephew. My father’s car was struck by a drunk driver driving down the wrong way on the highway and they were passengers, and they were killed on impact. I have been told life goes on, which it does, I guess.

As I pulled into my new driveway in my red sedan, the movers behind me. I climbed up the three steps on the faded wood steps to the four-bedroom two-story single-family home with white aluminum siding paint needs redone of course. I opened the screen door and it fell off the top hinges and I look at it lay off-kilter, ‘Can anything just go right?’ I think to myself. I unlock the heavy wooden green door with paint chipping in various places and open it so the movers can bring my things in.

“Ma’am!” One of the movers calls out to me.

“Yes?” I sigh.

“We wanted to let you know in transport, that some of your things have been lost.” He winces no doubt used to being yelled at. “He continues, it looks like it is some clothing items, kitchen boxes, living room boxes. We were unable to locate so we have written you a check.” He hands me the check. I took it from him and walked away.

I guess the answer is no, nothing will go right. The universe wants me to suffer for some misdeed in my past life or something.

“Just put everything in the house please.” I say and go on about the walkthrough. The house is in the middle of nowhere Ohio, middle of nowhere was my preference, Ohio, not so much, I moved closer to my sister to help her with my nephew. She worked on a military base, and we were going to be living together, her husband left her for someone a little, younger and bigger chested. She wasn’t bothered by that. She loved her son so much nothing else mattered. I work from home as a Network Engineer, it doesn’t matter where I am as long as the internet connection is viable.

The wood floors are original oak, just need refinished and sealed. The paneling must go. The kitchen needs redone, the cabinets aren’t even salvageable, they are the original 1950s style. I want to go more modern. As I continued to walk from room to room with my thoughts, I found myself in the basement. I heard the movers yell they were finished, and they left. I looked around, I had a modern washer and dryer left in the dusty basement. There are no cracks in the foundation, it doesn’t smell moist or musty one of the reasons I bought the place it is in great shape, one owner just needs updated. I go back upstairs to go into my car and bring my tools out of my car, my dad always told me when moving keep the important things in your car, so they don’t get lost wonderful advice Dad.

I moved everything from the car into the house, my tools, desktop, monitors, laptop, video game consoles, books and huge first aid kit. I felt a vibration from my pocket and pulled out my phone to answer.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Panzer is all done from his groom. He was a very good boy. Did you want to come get him or would you be needing him dropped off there is an extra fee for that?” The groomer asked.

“Oh! I would love if you could bring him to me.” I replied.

“That is out of our normal service range we will have to charge mileage if that’s ok?” The groomer clarified.

“I will pay whatever.” I stated exhausted with today’s events.

“Ok great. We’ll be there in thirty to forty-five minutes.” I ended the call.

What a lifesaver. ‘I feel like such a horrible mom. Where are his bowls?’ I thought to myself.

I headed to the car to look. “They must have fallen under seat.” I mumbled. Reaching under the seat I found what I was looking for.

“AH HA!” I exclaimed excitedly that something is finally going a bit right.

I brought it in and set up his dishes. The food is in one of the kitchen boxes. If it is not there, I will just order takeout and we will eat together, no big deal.

I decided to take my tools and first aid kit to the basement and get started. I want to keep my mind busy, and off everything. It takes me two trips to get everything down the flight of stairs and set up. The horrible fluorescent lights turned on and my large toolbox opened and organized everything I need out. I get my wireless speaker paired to my phone with my loudest emo music playing and I head back upstairs as I know Panzer is about to be dropped off.

I met the groomer at the front door with the tip and I thank him and said our goodbyes. I close the door and take off the harness and toss it haphazardly to the side. Panzer is so excited but weary as this is a new place.

“Hi baby boy. Did you miss Mama?” I lean down to give him kisses on his big white nose. I have had German Shepherds my whole life, but he has been the biggest and it always seems as if he knows what I need before I even do. I’d be lost without him. “Let’s go downstairs Big Man, this is our new home we need to fix it up. We are going to be here a while.” He followed you without question as you went to work downstairs.

The music continued as I picked up the crowbar and went where I left off on the far wall to start prying off the hideously dated paneling. It was easy to do, the glue they used to attach it was barely holding and only two nails per piece. It didn’t take long. I felt like I had a rhythm going and was on the last piece of this wall. Excited to have started something and getting close to completing a segment had me reeling.

The piece I finished prying hit the ground and Panzer started flipping out. I immediately turned to look at him and he wasn’t looking at me. His nose was in the air, and he was sniffing, his hackles were in the air, and he was growling.

“Panzer, what’s wrong?!” I asked worried. I have never seen this behavior in him. His eyes shot at me and he suddenly moved between me and the wall. This confused me more.

‘I have never seen him like this.’ I thought perplexed. It was just a concrete wall.

I continued to stare at the wall and that’s when the air shifted. As if someone opened a door. Wind blowing through the basement. I looked around confused, the windows are glass blocks, this house was built in the 1950s, the windows don’t open yet there is wind in the basement. I felt my heart beating faster as clearly something is amiss and Panzer sensed it well before you.

The concrete wall swirled and looked blurry and translucent at the same time almost like an old TV set when the signal is not clear, but I can sort of make out a picture but not quite. Just as soon as the wind started it suddenly stopped and the walls picture cleared up. It’s a forest, and there is a small clearing with six trees, three on the left and three on the right. In the center of the trees is a man, he is very close to where I am, and I can make him out. I am not sure if he can see me.

Once, I see the man I realize I have finally fucking snapped. I see him bleeding, he is pale, he has his trademark silver spiked hair like in the show and books. He’s in his jōnin blues and his green vest is almost tattered. His leg is injured, and he’s got a huge gash in his torso. This is all I can make out as Panzer starts to growl. I look up and there is incoming. Six ANBU and they are not of the Hidden Leaf Village. I felt my legs running towards him and that’s when he could see me. He threw what looked to be his last kunai at me and I dodged it. Holy shit he must be dying.

“Kakashi, we have to go, or you will die here.” He looked startled, he doesn’t know who I am, and I don’t blame him. “Six ANBU closing in.” He looks and I can see him calculating. “Shit we don’t have time for this. Panzer!” Panzer jumped through the gate and growled at Kakashi and herded him towards the gate. He stumbled and fell, and I grabbed him by his vest and pulled him through as soon as we were all through the gate closed.

I looked right where my head was, and a kunai stopped right in the concrete at head level. I looked down at Kakashi and he passed out. Shit. Even if this is a hallucination, there still is a chance that this could be real so I will do what I would do in that instance. I need to help him.

I grabbed my first aid kit, gloved up and got to work. There is so much blood fresh, dried and dirt. I can’t salvage the vest. I ripped it off the shirt must go as well. I had to cut through it to get to the wound. I grabbed a roll of paper towels that were within reach and applied pressure to get the wound to stop bleeding. I leaned on it with my knee and while that was working to stop the bleeding, I started cleaning the wound on his leg. My bet is some kind of poison. I don’t know what it is.

“Panzer, stand here. Stay.” Panzer took my place applying pressure. I ran upstairs to my kitchen boxes, I unpacked and frantically looked for the vinegar. I found it in the third box, I remember seeing it. Glad this one didn’t get lost.

I ran back downstair and took over. I poured the vinegar on the open leg wound. No movement. It wasn’t as deep as it could have been but deep enough. I placed some butterfly bandages on it and patched it up. I removed the paper towels and there wasn’t too much blood, the gash is about an inch deep, nothing in there and my guess again some kind of poison got the best of him. I did the same thing, cleaned the wound with vinegar, hoping it would neutralize the poison. I can’t take him to a hospital, shit he’s survived worse. Plus, I know he lives…. unless… Ok none of that. I grabbed the surgical staple gun, removed it from the sterile package and placed four staples in him. Thank God he didn’t move or wake up. That would have been terrifying. Now the I.V. for fluids, I placed an I.V. quickly in his right arm and hung the saline turned the manual drip all the way up. My sister used to always joke that I was prepared for anything. Too bad I was never prepared to lose her.

I turned the music off now that the adrenaline had worn off. I went upstairs and got a pillow and a blanket to try and make him comfortable and to stare at him. I can’t believe this is happening. I needed to keep myself grounded and understand this was real and not a hallucination plus I didn’t want him to take off in this world and panic.

I placed a cool wet cloth on his forehead to help with his slight fever, it wasn’t much my guess it had to do with his body fighting off the poison. Several hours had passed and not much change. He got some color back in his face. Panzer refused to leave my side, so I fed him down here and I have seen him hold his bowels for 48 hours he is fine with this.

I gloved up and started to redress his abdomen wound. It looks clean, not bleeding through, and he seems to be healing at a decent pace; I wonder if that has to do with chakra, I thought. I noticed Panzer stand up abruptly and come next to me quickly. He made a little growl, Kakashi must be coming to. I hurried and dressed the wound to put some distance between us.

Faith Scott 22 and Panzer 3

Created using AI.

[universitypenguin]

Hey Alice :) this is prob a weird question but what kind of car do you think Lloyd drives? We know he’s luxurious so I can see him in something sleek and sporty like an Audi or another European make car

Also how do you envision Lloyd’s house? Is he particular about his decor? Is he the type to be in to antiques or more modern pieces of furniture

I think Lloyd would drive something expensive, but also nondescript. I’m picturing a Mercedes-Benz sedan. It would probably be gray or black. I can see him in a few different models. If he was being conservative, he’d have bought a mid-priced model like a C 300. If he was in a spending mood when he bought the car, he’d have gone for the pricier S 580 4MATIC.

He likes the performance of German engineering and the powerful throttle of the motor. It’s an added bonus that in the D.C. metro, the car blends into the sea of other luxury vehicles. The reason he’d never consider a smaller, sporty model, like an Audi R8 or a BMW M4, is simple. You can’t fit a dead body in the trunk. He’s not planning to commit a crime, but proper preparation prevents poor performance. And when you need to move a dead body there’s no room for error.

Lloyd sticks with a roomy sedan that has plenty of space in the trunk. He keeps it stocked with a shovel and a large box of kitty litter. In the Virginia climate, those items don’t attract much notice. They’re snow storm essentials and he keeps them next to the emergency kit with blankets, water, jumper cables, and a tow chain. But a shovel and kitty litter is good for more than just getting traction in an ice storm, you know? 🫣

For his house, Lloyd lives across the Potomac from D.C. in Old Town Alexandria. He chose the house because it’s less than 30 minutes from the office and the charm of the cobblestone streets appeals to him.

The neighborhood he picks has a brick wall and wrought iron gate facing the street. To get to his house, you have to park in a lot down the street, and then walk down the block to the courtyard gate. The gate isn’t locked but it’s another layer of security - something that would slow down an attacker. Inside the gate is a cobblestone courtyard with Beech trees in the middle. There are five townhouses in the courtyard neighborhood, two on the right and two on the left, with another at the back.

Lloyd owns the inner property on the left side. He likes the location because he’s insulated from every possible angle. The gate protects the front and the courtyard access gives him a view of anyone approaching. Both sides are covered by the other row houses and the brick wall hiding the common area means no one can see much beyond the small gate. The large trees prevents overhead photos and the lack of a garage door further secures the location.

For decor, he paid a decorator to fix the place up. She went for a mix of antiques with modern touches, with a subtle nod towards costal styles in the color palette. The walls are a neutral white, to better showcase the eclectic artwork she chose for his home. She went with the traditional set of wingback chairs, a structured sectional sofa to anchor the room, and a jute rug in the living area. His coffee table is a simple design made of reclaimed elm wood and the end tables are mismatched. One table is made out of distressed gray wood and the other is polished brass.

The decorator gave him plants to tie it all together. He has a fig tree, a Japanese maple, and a ficus. There are potted plants in every room, and he loves how they liven up the place. Looking at them makes him feel like he’s at home. That’s in addition to the herb garden with mint, basil, chives, and tarragon, that she installed in his kitchen window. He has to admit, the herb garden is one of his favorite touches. He uses it almost every day.

The kitchen is thoroughly modern. It has a wide island down the middle and cabinets on both walls. The quartz countertops are durable and crafted to look like marble. Having lived in flats with marble counters in the past, Lloyd has no interest in getting the real thing. They’re too easily scarred. He has a farmhouse sink, with plenty of elbow room to peel potatoes and stack up dishes. On the end of the kitchen is his formal dining room with a table that, when extended, seats fifteen.

His bedroom has one of the best antique pieces in the house. The Italian Renaissance walnut headboard has hand carved Foliate Scrolls and a matching footboard. He has it restored and styles it with a green jacquard bedspread. The decorator finishes the look with antique tea tables for the nightstands, and places an overstuffed chair and a reading lamp in the corner. She installs a wall of floor-to-ceiling black out curtains to prevent the east facing windows from waking him up at dawn. On the windows themselves she adds bamboo shades to bring another texture to the space.

And despite his protests, the decorator puts more plants in the bedroom. Lloyd can’t help but leave them there even after she’s gone. They just… work. He’d never have put them there on his own but the morning sunshine makes the Christmas cactus bloom every three months and turns the climbing vine thing into the picture of health within days.

A year later, when it’s time to decorate the guest room and the sun porch, he re-hires the same woman. This time, he hands over his credit card and tells her to follow the same process she did the first time.

[dragonmuse]

Could we maybe get more of Jim with Pickle and/or Sweeney? I think they're so fun!!

(month and a half later, coming in with some Jim, Pickle and a little Oluwande )

Oluwande opened the door and Pickle sprinted in, yelling hello as they dashed up to Jim, 

“Are we really going?” she demanded. 

Jim dropped their breakfast plate into the sink. “We’re going.” 

“YES!” Pickle punched the air. 

“It’s a big birthday present,” Delly was saying as she stepped inside. “Are you sure...” 

“Jim was going to go on their own,” Oluwande assured her. “I’m not sure which of them is more excited.” 

“ME!” Pickle bounced. 

“Definitely the kid,” Jim affirmed.  

“Sure,” Oluwande grinned. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have fun,” Delly looked between them all. “I’ll be back at five to pick her up. Try to get some video for us.” 

“Can I do chin ups?” Pickle asked. 

Obligingly, Jim stuck out their arm, anchoring their elbow to their hip so Pickle could use it as a pull up bar. Delly hid a smile, 

“Have fun, sweetheart.” 

“I will! Love you, mom!” 

“Love you too.” 

Pickle managed a handful of chinups, then spent a few minutes admiring the duck collection (which these days had its own small set of wooden shelves hung next to the kitchen cabinets). She deemed her favorite as the one who had a jaunty top hat on. 

By then it was time to go, Jim jamming their things into their pockets and Oluwande taking whatever else he thought they’d need in the patchwork bag John had made him ages ago. It’s patches were starting to need patches, but it did make him easy to spot in crowd. 

“Ready?” Jim asked Pickle. 

“Yes, let’s goooooo!” 

They took the train up. Oluwande produced a little magnetic travel version of Sorry! From his bad and they played it with Pickle mostly charmed by the miniatureness of the pieces more than the game.  The station was wooded, everything lush and green when they got out. Jim shed their coat, pleased with the air on their skin. 

“Supposed to be a pickup,” Jim told Oluwande as they came out of the station. 

“Looks like some people are waiting over there,” he pointed and before either of them could look further, Pickle dashed over to the group and asked one of the other kids, 

“Are you going to the airfield?” 

“Yeah!” the kid grinned. “Are you?” 

“Uh huh!” 

The two of them were already in deep conversation within the minute it took Jim and Oluwande to catch up. A woman standing with the boy smiled at them, 

“She’s a friendly one, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Oluwande laughed. “No idea where she gets it from.”

“Thomas.” It certainly wasn’t from Delly, who could be warmed up over time, but otherwise looked disturbingly like her brother and just as barbed. Jim liked her a lot.  

“How old? The woman asked. 

“Eight,” Oluwande provided. 

“Milo is nine. He’s been excited about this for weeks.” 

“Should be fun. I’ll be staying on the ground though.” 

“Oh me too!” 

Jim let Oluwande and the woman chatter on. Pickle and the kid had run out of conversation, but Pickle didn’t seem to mind, looking upwards, 

“That cloud looks like a deer,” she said confidently. 

“Yeah?” Jim searched and found no such thing. “Cool.” 

A small bus pulled up and then it was ride into a world of open fields. Jim leaned forward in their seat to look out the window, Pickle practically climbing over them to see too. The planes gleamed, sleek, small and poised as if hungry to take to the air. Above them, a flight had just taken off, the hum of engines filling the air. 

“They’re small,” Oluwande said, a pinch to his lips. 

“We’ll be fine,” they kept their eyes on the window. 

“I know, but still.” 

When they arrived, a perky squad of teenagers started giving them a long spiel about safety and proper etiquette. Jim listened with one ear and had their eyes on the sky the rest of the time. Planes took off, soaring easy as breathing overhead.  The clouds Pickle had spotted before had mostly traveled away, an expanse of endless blue before them. 

“All right, let’s get our wings!” One of the teens said, clapping their hands together. “Our pilots are waiting for you.” 

Waiting was extremely irritating and Pickle apparently agreed, getting increasingly fidget-y in the hanger until Jim decided they should just poke around until told to stop. Oluwande didn’t even try to stop them. 

“I’ll hold your spot and text you when we get closer,” he decided, already taking out the book he’d brought for himself. 

“Love you,” they said and kissed his cheek, pleased by how it made him smile before they wandered off. 

The look confident and walk fast trick somehow still worked with a seven-year-old glued to your side which was pretty cool if you wanted to see the inside of a maintenance hanger.  No one else was inside, so they were able to investigate. 

“Look at all this!” Pickle pointed to a workbench, laden with what looked like engine parts. “What do you think it all does?” 

“That’s a piston,” Jim gestured to it, not touching. There were limits. “Know what that does?” 

“No?” 

So Jim explained that parts of the engine that they understood (enough to keep their motorcycle running) as they did a lap around the enormous space and it’s sleeping wounded giants. At point point they stood right under a little jet and Jim lifted Pickle up so she could see inside the plate someone had removed to get at engine bits. 

Oluwande: Almost up!  

It took a second to reorient themselves, but they got them back in time with no one the wiser.

“Hi,” a gruff looking older man with a bristly mustache approached. “Are you Dylan?” 

“Um yeah,” Pickle didn’t move from Jim’s side. 

“I’m Captain Jeff and  I’m looking forward to you co-piloting with me today. Are you taking anyone up with us today?” 

Pickle just nodded, and Jim resigned themselves to having to being an adult for a bit. Traitor. 

“I’m Jim,” they held out their hand and were pleased to find a solid shake. 

“Looks like we got all the paperwork set, so! Dylan, are you ready to go over our flight plan?” 

“We have a plan?” She asked, eyes wide. 

“Always have to have  a flight plan.” 

Jim stepped back to let Pickle get first look at everything, but they were zeroed in on Jeff’s words too. Unlike the initial safety talk, this stuff was interesting, concentrating on the nuts and bolts of flight. Jeff was good at explaining without oversimplifying.  Pickle quickly warmed up to him and happily gave him a good luck fist bump before they finally got onto the plan. 

“Ready, co-pilot?” Jeff asked Pickle. 

“Ready!” 

Jim strapped into the little seat behind them, The world was a little curved with the glass and the engine rumbled into their bones. 

“Let’s do our pre-flight check,” Jeff went through gauges and toggles. 

And then it was time. They radioed the tower and got clearance for take off. It was nothing like a commercial flight. Everything felt immediate and vibrant, as if there was barely anything separating them from the sky. Jim laughed gidily, unable to stop themselves and Jeff gave them a thumb’s up. 

“You okay, Co-captain?” 

Pickle was silent, and then nodded, 

“It’s amazing!” she shouted over the engine noise.  

The flight was short, just a loop around the fields, but Jim relished every second. Pickle’s vibrating excitement, Jeff’s calm competence and explanations, the wide green fields and bright blue sky. It was beautiful. It was only by chance that their phone dug into their thigh so they remember their promise and did actually get some video of Pickle seriously checking dials under Jeff’s guidance. 

The landing was smooth as butter. 

“I wish we could go again,” Pickle said as soon as their feet were back on the ground. 

“Me too,” Jim shoved their hand into their pocket, fingering the brochure they’d snatched from the front desk. 

It was never too late to learn to fly, they figured.

[lastconcourse]

Deluxe Demonic January

An unstageable stage play for objects and words

Regiondirect→ View from stage center:

A lower-middleclass living room: Interior from the 1990s, decaying. The walls are white with brown wood trim, the dining table is in a niche standing on a tile floor at middle. There are three windows, two with shuttered plastic Venetian blinds at stage middle (behind and above the table) and one at right, over the sink, that lets the readers see out onto fresh snow falling on a wet wooden deck. It is January, the funniest month of the year. Right, a television is emanating sounds of interesting news reports from the living room. A fireplace is at left. There are no Christmas decorations.

(Fireplace hearth, fireplace logs, firepokers, vacuum cleaner, dinner table, framed family portraits, Venetian blinds, kitchen sink, microwave, stove, pans and pots, closet door, bowls, silverware, plates,)

Stage left to right:

The hook of a gantry crane lifts a cauldron of hot chicken soup off of the stove and moves it through the foundry-kitchen over to a table where three white ceramic bowls eagerly open and close their lids like shells of clams. The heavy greasy chains holding up the cauldron begin to lower with a sound of an engine humming up in the darkness where there is no ceiling. The ceramiclams receive the hot soup.

Once the bowls are full the cauldron lifts up again and starts to slide back into the kitchen, but then something bizarre happens: A standing lamp invades the cauldron’s space suddenly, rudely, and the gantry tries to avoid a collision: it’s too late. The lamp is steadfast standing where it shouldn’t be and the cauldron crashes into it spilling hot soup on the kitchen floor; so hot the tiles melt: and the greasy chains tangle on the lamp and the lamp refuses to move, and the cauldronchains are wrapping around it and the soup is spilling and burning through the floor like acid and the floor tiles retreat away by sections, like slime mold. The gantry curses the lamp. And the lamp shade is soup stained. Dumped soup floods. Sound of the cauldron dropped. Backsplash of chicken fluid. The cabinets have a panic attack. The cabinets are sure that they are dying now→in any moment their feelings and terrors will end, and they will stop thinking. Gross spilled soup deluge eats away and sets fire to floor, walls, and drains out around the fireplace bricks. The bowlclams are unconcerned.

Lamp tumbles over like a tree that is felled. A comet made of stacked together credit cards is going through space with a tail of paper receipts trailing, it enters from stage left to stage right on a long orbit, then impacts the burning floor, flinging millions of plastic cards and paper strips outward, which settle in the burning slime mold and combust: as brimstone in the lava: Hell is this kitchen room scene this January.

FallenLamp: I only wanted to light your world. I only wanted to show you the way.

Cauldron: You ruined their dinner.

A train of seven shopping carts enters on a railroad coming from stage right: The first cart is full of billiard balls, and a trapdoor opens right in the cage of the cart spilling out the billiard balls which go rolling like boulders, crashing into the burntframe exposed-acid-eaten wounds in drywall faces of remaining kitchen walls. A pair of hands wearing gardening gloves crashes through the windows above the eating table, they snatch the ceramic bowls full of soup then whisk them out of the room.

Billiard balls roll into molten tiles and crack apart from the heat: Multicolor dust in the conflagration, the remainders of the balls melt into the heated slurry of receiptink and cardjuice. The running colors from all the melted plastics together, combined with the burnt-back floor tiles, resembles condiments swirling on a burger patty. This swirl of melt runs down the incline of the kitchen floor and pools in a metal mold at lower stage right. It cools and dries there, the mold is a skull-shaped mold: All the melted plastic dries as a skull. This skull is red, yellow, blue, white, and black. This makes the first skull.

Billiard Balls Credit Cards Paper Receipts Floor Tiles

Bulliard Bealls Cradit Carlds Papor Reeceipts Floongr Tipes

Bullid Beadls Crawdit Carlps Panorse Reeceith Floonguer Tip E

Skbull Bhead Crjaw Calp Panose Reeith Flonguer Lip Ea

Skull head rjaw scalp anose Teeith Tlonguer Lips Ear

Skull Head Jaw Scalp Nose Teeth Tongue Lips Ears

Regiondirect: At Stage Left:

A sentient wheelbarrow with an architect’s lamp neck wielding an electrified knife rolls in from the living room and stabs into a cabinet door. The door ignites. Tires splash the chicken soup: All the cabinet doors open and bang closed and open and bang closed and open and bang closed and open and bang closed like a video of a poltergeist attack.

Regiondirect: Bulldozers made out of frozen soap and water→

Wet fabric from the lampshade is shoveled into a cooking tray by a small bulldozer and with some receipts + credit cards dropped on top for good measure, the tray is loaded into the oven and baked. Once all the plastic and fabric has been burnt to a crisp it is taken out+crushed up, mixed with glue and poured into two long molds along with some metal bolts, nuts, and washers. This fabripaperlastic +metal concoction dries in the molds: The molds are both arm shaped. All the metal settles into the middle of the mix: mid|fabric on bottom → slurry on top. And when it dries, it becomes two polymer human arms: This is the first pair of arms.

Lampshade Fabric Paper Receipts Credit Cards Bolts Nuts Washers Glue

Lompshaude Fabrice Paperm Roceipts Credist Cerd Boclets Nouts Walshers Gluers

Lomphauder Fabricep F Papearm wRoceists Crederves Bousclets Endouts Walmsher Gliers

Lompulder Fabicep Fe Porpearm wroceist Rederves Mousclets Tendouts Walm Glingers

Loumlder FaBicep Fem Porearm Wroeist Nederves Musclets Tendouns pWalm Flingers

Sloumlder aBicep Femu Forearm Wreist Nerves Muscles p Tendons palm fingers

Shoumlder Bicep Femur Forearm Wrist Nerves Muscles Tendons palm Fingers

Shoulder Bicep Femur Forearm Wrist Nerves Muscles Tendons Palm Fingers

The first pair of arms is transported in a boxcar on an oval railroad track that crosses from stage middle to stage left.

The arms are dropped in the doorway to the living room.

From the fire: The kitchen wall collapses and the backdrop is now a moving picture projection of an overflowing mailbox having more and more junk mail jammed in.

Wood flakes off doors drenched in mud,→ mud tire-flung,

into Third of Seven metal cart that

Rolls in a chain: ‘Cross where does dishwater drain,

Bubbled soap plus limpid soup spilled up ↑

broken-in cabinetwood: Fireplace speech:

FireplaceHearth: I wanted to give my family a place to put heirlooms and childhood photos

Instead I sit here, my heart unlit,

watching the house that holds me be consumed by fire.

DinnerTable: And I meant to host celebrations, and meant to give mother a place to eat beside father and children,

Instead the meals are taken from my surface by fights,

and I rot wet in a puddle of ruined dinner.

Lamp: and Lamps are meant to light the pages of books, instead; here I drown in ridiculous soup.

DinnerTable: Damn you to hell, anybody who stands in the way of a parent having nightly dinners with their own children. Damn the late hours, and the deluge of junkmail and infesting trash!

KitchenStove: Come on dude, it wasn’t that severe.

KitchenSink: He’s always this melodramatic. Yawn.

KitchenToaster: That’s what he calls ‘real problems?’ Hah!

The shoppingcart train pulls up on the track section parallel to the felled+shadeless lamp, and the third shoppingcart opens up a door: a metal monorail track unfolds downward the side of the cart and a chainsaw descends it: then a bone-duplicator slides down after it. The pole of the lamp is sawed in two and the duplicator clones both the pieces (the duplicator uses the intelligence of light sensitive bacteria inside a tank to scan an object.) Now the four pieces of metal post are turned into bones for humanoid legs. A hinged panel lifts off of the floor, there’s a dim tungsten light on in the dark space under. Two blocky mechanical limbs come out. One ends with a bucket of plaster on a carrier, the other has a trowel and a bundle of metal straps. First arm coats the posts then the second wraps the straps→On the quickly drying loose wet. And this makes the first pair of legs. An offroad forklift with a red metal birdhouse for a chassis+lawnmower wheels drives in and lifts the legs onto a vehicle on a separate train track which sends them fast over burning carpet into the living room. The legs stand up and angrily kick over the television. Now the screen breaks. So mad, not being the center of attention. Five big reflective, Crystalline panes, snowed over and behind with shattered glass dust; piled on the black plastic and reflecting throughout with ceiling light; like a microcosm landfill of oil and ice, are placed on a rail cart→launched out of the living room, sky high to the far upward corner of the kitchen; exploding against the corner, dropping in the fire: Melting on the wood.

Kick→Widescreen Television

Kick→ pWidescreen Televasion

kicle Piledscreen→Televassiron

Kile PileSheen Televass→wiron

Pile Pile Shaeern Telegass Wireon→

Pile Sharn Teeglass→Wireson

Pile Shards→Glass Wires on

Pile of glass shards + wires

(Regioneditor note: Bone-Duplicator; a leathercoated steel box with a fifteen-fold nested circuit of twenty thousand monorail tracks with small army-green robot arms on carts driving around→and injecting→fluid metal and hot glue onto a projected hologram of an image that has been photographed using light sensitive bacteria who have assembled on a matrix and secreted orange ink to project an image negative after the flash was flashed.)

Lamp Pole Metal Straps Plaster

Lhamp Poele Metalve Sotraps Plastoer

Lhiamp Poeel M’cetalve Sootrap Plastoes

thiamp kn’Poeel M’ectalve footra Plastoes

thihp ‘knoeel M’ecalve footr asToes

Thighp Kneel M’calve Foot sToes→

Thigh Knee Calve Foot Toes

SpilledSoup: Sgilrlloguloulioulllfssgllrroggloglloouogluguogloil

KitchenTiles: I have been burnt, drowned, and shoveled in that order. Never again will I be kitchen tiles.

The skull, arms, and legs, all wiggle on the floor a moment, like magnets spun by an unseen attracting force, then they drag towards each other and coalesce into a body, and the body begins to rise.

SpilledSoup: oiloulluuglopgriloglgrlggllsscchhffmmooiillllsslcch

And the body starts walking

The mailbox is blown over by record storm winds, then the millions of pieces of junk mail blow down the neighborhood road into all of the green pristine front yards of all the houses and are skyward swept into a massive whip tornado of white envelopes and spilled coupons.

And the body sits in a horseless carriage shaped like a skull. Sitting in the mind. A camera sees the nightmare unfold.

All of the kitchen set rotates 180 hilarious degrees on a carousel. On the backside of the stage is a a microfilm screen showing a dark blue tinted picture of a suburban house/front porch and door + an obituary underneath + a hospital bed. A tape recorder plays an apology then is violently jerked off the stage by a cane.

Regiondescribe:

The word “Dinner” Turns into a six wheeled carriage with a pneumatic limb on the end:

The two n’s duplicate → that makes four n’s → the n’s are bent and stretch into O-hoop shapes, these are rims

the lowercase-e’s enter the centers of the O-shapes and turn into spokes,

so that makes four O-e Hoop/spoke wheels

the lowercase-i turns on its side and makes a base chassis/frame, the D goes on top of it as a canopy

then the lowercase-r grows joints in three places→ that is Shoulder;Elbow;Wrist

S-E-W lets the r-limb bend like a human arm:

n=wheels e=spokes i=chassis d=canopy r=arm

→Dinner

[worthyhog0001]

The Road to Culinary Perfection: A Comprehensive Buyer's Manual for Modular Kitchens

Introduction

In the ever-evolving landscape of contemporary living, the heart of a home, the kitchen, has undergone a transformation. Modular kitchens have emerged as a popular choice, combining functionality with aesthetics. This buyer's manual delves into the world of modular kitchens, guiding you through essential considerations and offering insights to pave the way for your culinary haven.

Understanding Modular Kitchens

Defining the Modular Kitchen

A modular kitchen is a modern kitchen design that utilizes pre-manufactured cabinet parts to create a flexible and efficient layout. These kitchens consist of standardized units or modules that can be combined in various configurations to suit individual preferences and available space.

Key Components of a Modular Kitchen

Cabinets: The backbone of a modular kitchen, cabinets provide storage for utensils, groceries, and kitchen appliances. They come in various materials, such as plywood, MDF, or particleboard.

Countertops: The worktop or countertop is a crucial element for food preparation. Materials like granite, quartz, or solid surface are popular choices due to their durability and aesthetics.

Appliances: Modular kitchens often feature built-in appliances like ovens, microwaves, and dishwashers. Choosing energy-efficient and space-saving appliances is key.

Accessories: Pull-out trays, carousel units, and corner solutions optimize storage space. Drawer organizers and built-in waste bins enhance functionality.

Backsplash: A protective covering behind the cooking area, the backsplash can be both functional and decorative. Materials like glass, tiles, or stainless steel are common choices.

Choosing the Right Layout

Popular Modular Kitchen Layouts

Straight Layout: Suitable for small spaces, the straight layout features a single-line configuration with all kitchen components aligned along one wall.

L-Shaped Layout: This design involves two adjacent walls forming an L-shape. It provides ample storage and countertop space, making it versatile for various kitchen activities.

U-Shaped Layout: Ideal for larger kitchens, the U-shaped layout involves cabinets and appliances along three walls, forming a U-shape. It offers ample storage and workspace.

Island Layout: In addition to one of the primary layouts, an island is added for extra storage, countertop space, and as a focal point. This layout is popular for open kitchen designs.

Selecting Materials and Finishes

Cabinet Materials

Plywood: Known for its durability and strength, plywood is a popular choice. Opt for marine-grade plywood for increased water resistance.

MDF (Medium-Density Fiberboard): More affordable than plywood, MDF is suitable for cabinet doors and panels. However, it is less resistant to moisture.

Particleboard: Economical but less durable, particleboard is often used for cabinet interiors. It is essential to ensure proper lamination or coating to protect against moisture.

Countertop Materials

Granite: Durable and resistant to heat and scratches, granite is a classic choice. It comes in various colors and patterns.

Quartz: Engineered quartz offers a non-porous surface, making it resistant to stains and scratches. It comes in a wide range of colors.

Solid Surface: Seamless and easy to maintain, solid surface countertops are available in various colors. They are susceptible to scratches, but these can be easily repaired.

Cabinet Finishes

Laminate: Affordable and available in numerous colors and patterns, laminate is durable and easy to clean.

Acrylic: Glossy and modern, acrylic finishes are moisture-resistant and provide a sleek look. They are available in various colors.

Veneer: Veneer gives a natural wood appearance. It is a more expensive option but adds a touch of elegance to the kitchen.

Maximizing Storage Efficiency

Clever Storage Solutions

Pull-Out Trays: Easily accessible and efficient, pull-out trays maximize cabinet space and make reaching items at the back easier.

Corner Solutions: Lazy Susans, carousels, or pull-out shelves effectively utilize corner spaces, eliminating the challenge of reaching deep corners.

Drawer Organizers: Dividers and organizers within drawers keep utensils, cutlery, and other items neatly arranged, optimizing space.

Tall Pantry Cabinets: Ideal for storing groceries and kitchen essentials, tall pantry cabinets provide vertical storage and keep the kitchen organized.

Selecting Appliances

Built-In vs. Freestanding Appliances

Built-In Appliances: seamlessly integrated into the kitchen cabinetry, providing a sleek and cohesive look.

Freestanding Appliances: stand alone and can be placed anywhere in the kitchen. They offer flexibility in terms of placement and are generally more budget-friendly.

Energy Efficiency and Smart Features

Energy Star Ratings: Choose appliances with energy-efficient ratings to reduce electricity consumption.

Smart Appliances: Integration of smart technology allows for remote control and automation, enhancing convenience in the kitchen.

Multi-Functional Appliances: Opt for appliances with multiple functions, such as a convection microwave or a combination oven.

Ensuring Adequate Lighting

Importance of Proper Lighting

Task Lighting: Illuminate specific work areas, such as countertops and stovetops, with focused task lighting to ensure visibility during food preparation.

Ambient Lighting: Create a pleasant ambiance with ambient lighting, often achieved through pendant lights, chandeliers, or recessed lighting.

Under-Cabinet Lighting: Install lights under cabinets to brighten the countertop and enhance visibility while cooking.

Budget Considerations

Budgeting for a Modular Kitchen

Prioritize Essentials: Identify essential elements and allocate a larger portion of the budget to them.

Quality Over Quantity: Invest in durable and high-quality materials, as they contribute to the longevity and functionality of the kitchen.

Comparative Research: Compare prices from different suppliers and manufacturers to ensure a competitive yet reliable choice.

Future-Proofing: Anticipate future needs and trends to avoid frequent upgrades, ultimately saving costs in the long run.

Hiring Professionals

The Role of Designers and Installers

Professional Designers: Collaborate with a professional kitchen designer to create a layout that optimizes space and aligns with your preferences.

Experienced Installers: Choose experienced installers to ensure precise and efficient installation of modular components.

Consultation Services: Many modular kitchen suppliers offer consultation services to guide you through the design process and address specific requirements.

Maintenance Tips for Longevity

Caring for Your Modular Kitchen

Regular Cleaning: Wipe surfaces regularly with a mild cleaner to prevent dust and grime buildup.

Avoid Harsh Chemicals: Use gentle cleaning agents to avoid damage to cabinet finishes and countertops.

Check for Leaks: Regularly inspect for any water leaks under sinks or around appliances to prevent damage to cabinets.

Repair Promptly: Attend to any repairs promptly to prevent minor issues from escalating.

Conclusion

Embarking on the journey to create a modular kitchen design is an exciting endeavor that demands careful consideration. By understanding the key components, choosing appropriate materials, optimizing storage, selecting efficient appliances, ensuring proper lighting, budgeting wisely, and relying on professional expertise, you pave the road to culinary perfection. May your modular kitchen not only be a functional space but a stylish and personalized haven where the joy of cooking and sharing meals is elevated to new heights.

[defiant-firefly]

Oh yeah fun fact about those escape room games me and my mum have been playing: they make no fucking sense. Not in a 'we can't solve them' way, they're actually fairly easy (for me anyway but I think that's cause mum gets bored) but because the protagonist is a detective with stupid reasoning sometimes.

Mostly saying this because she got shot at and kidnapped (by the guy wearing the keffiyeh so like... yeah that's not helping her case here), ended up in a cabin in the woods, found this guy's camera in his backpack, and said one of the photos on it was suspicious. Two of the three photos were pretty sus. First one is of the protagonist and her friend (I think) investigating the disappearance of a woman at the petrol station from the previous chapter. It's from an angle that makes you think he was just camping out in the fucking trees to take this photo, so yeah that's a bit weird. The second is of the missing woman sitting on a bench reading a paper, taken from within the bushes. Pretty sus, right?

But it's the third one that gets logged as vital evidence. That's the one that makes the protag think there's more than one kidnapped woman here. Clearly, super important! So what was it?

A wedding photo. The culprit's wedding photo with a blond woman hugging him. She's wearing a flower crown that's part of a puzzle, but otherwise, that's it.

The protag thinks a wedding photo is more suspicious than a photo of a woman taken from within the bushes. The Arabic man can't have married a conventionally attractive woman! No villain like this has ever been married before! No no no that's just not right! She must have been kidnapped too and coerced into this! How cruel! /s obviously

Like. Come on. They could at least have made the woman look even remotely like she didn't want to be there if they were going for this. They're not even trying to be subtle about this.

The REAL fucked up thing about this man should be that to get into the attic, he has to pull down the mounted animal heads on the wall in the right order. And he had a fucking lightbulb in a draw that only opens when the guns in the rack are in the right places. And he didn't notice the distinct lack of boards over tha attic window when he pulled up outside. And his number plate combined with a fishing bait catalogue is the security pin for the basement door that unlocks from the inside where the victims are.

The more fucked up guy is the fisherman who locked his car jack behind a number code box. And the protagonist for spending like an hour solving puzzles to put out an engine fire rather than get the fisherman out the fucking car before it explodes.

The culprit is actually cool btw. He has a fucking secret cave behind a waterfall as a secret spot to hang out in after he kills someone. A secret cave!!! Behind a waterfall!!! With a comfy hammock in it!!! And he's trying to kill this dumb fuck protag!!! Sure he might be a murderer but I'd forgive him if he kills this racist, judgemental idiot that has to spend forever organising the box of donuts before she can take one, and locks her office phone inside a locked draw you can only open with the key from a safe, where the code is the amount of squares on the files in the cabinets she also has to organise before she can use them.

Like damn bitch, you live like this?

I get it's an escape room puzzle game, but like. There are some things that maybe just make your characters look insane if you make them puzzles ngl

[kahztiy]

Flash Memory: Vitrine of Consciousness --YD6~01 Lionel and Gavin injuries, in the guise of a grandfather

Cement-scorched cracked scars my purlicue’s mediate arch thumb and index finger digits, reminiscent of the bricklayer’s trowel in my grip, as I pressed the hinge pin through the button-holes, and another golden cufflink toggle clasp the sky-blue-white fine striated shirt’s doubled-fold cuff. and right hand with Jean’s engagement onyx ring, alongside her wedding band picked by the heel, the Italian-tailored shoe, to pose onto the plinth to mixed shoes underneath the lid to the cabinet. I fingered a shoehorn, slipping my foot inside, stepping onto the shaggy carpet, to slip into a horsebit loafers on to my other foot, raising my eyesight along the pants’ pleats. soft Irish dance feet around the corner from the dressing room mirror atop the three-tier tilt-out heeled-shoe storage, from a glance at my centered Windsor tie. I pricked ears across the double bed’s white Duco headboard. to the bush outside the awning window sashes against a sky’s white glow, to two birds’ wild romantic flutters and chirps. 

At the pace of a day to waste, with a glimpse fleeting, crawling out of bed, linen slender edge along the flipped back bedding, I spent thinking about the widowed geologist’s site visit. discarded Jean’s bedside sleek blanket and puffed pillow niggles, a biting, soulless chill. Past the ruffled frosted porcelain  lamp shade to her night table’s glass top, I lifted keys jingling at my fingers, past the gold mine dumps, shuttled in my Audi S Coupe to Springs. Near home, from the Impact of a crash, engines kissed, from which an angelic young woman dressed in an efflorescent white, stepped from her outlined lobe of a heart to mine. In the aftermath, out of the showroom, I drove a Champagne Audi, and likewise dating Jean, I loaned her a 411 Volkswagen. The angelic woman stands outside my side window, her shocked eyes reaching for my boys in the rear, after I surmised the backrests absorbed their impact. In the aftermath, I continued shuttling to the geologist, who ordered me to stop construction work because his wife had died. 

Light on my feet, out of the main bedroom, I’m minded toward a new start and oblivious to history’s wake, my speculation to a real estate market fall. opening bargain hunters, leading to two mortgage repayments, until Jean had no option but to follow me to a countryside suburb — dead silent, the corridor’s doorway spilling light, ghosted the plain white walls, the cradle of little boys’ growing fire to a stampede on a level-loop carpet. Lionel shooed his little brother, fearing his mother’s wrath, until up a few stairs, their steps fell silent. From the west wing long corridor, I’m walking Jean’s domain. The yellow glow, reflected by the low tongue-and-groove pine ceiling, I sensed the embossed ceramic tiles under my feet. To veer away from the north yard’s amber bullion glass door, adjoining through a wide doorway to the upholstered turquoise lounge furniture lost in space. I head for the shining telephone press button apparatus on a stool, in the lights of the south entrance door’s trio sidelights amber columns.

In a chill reigning silence, the telephone’s scattered rings, seeking openings among fluted columns and paneling, dissimulating plain icy walls. A decor I stole from an exclusive restaurant, and reminiscing scars, hence the drum’s rotating razor-sharp blades on the benchtop wood planer fingertip senseless shaving. The ringing runs like my little boys, past matching upholstered black Duco dining chairs huddling a diamond tablecloth, the west wing kitchen, a wild circle through the adjacent family room, emerging from the lounge, persistent searching for me, until reluctant receptionist’s fingers, brought the horn to my face.

I hung up the phone to a caller’s stern male voice. “There has been an accident. . .” Alongside, I pulled the solid door to the porch. Headed for my latest Red Audi to the fleet. With a bird’s-eye located the Stock Trader client, to track back mapping the Johannesburg highway’s overpass off-ramp. I reverse out of the carport, shift into forward gear, with a hand’s heel spin the steering wheel, to drive up the pan-handle driveway to the gates. engaged in Kelvin’s street, exiting the Wendywood side, to fine-tune the man’s voice echoing in my head, “Glenhove Road.” 

Ahead of the overpass hangs a dark blanket, as I’m soul-searching precognitive vibes. the asphalt splits at the grass off-ramp island. throttled to coasting to bright red traffic lenses. On hold, I’m destined to head across into Central Street. A translucent Caltex bubble steered me in the face. I’m holding my brain’s scattering imagination, peering along the concrete curb, the slender grassy median a novelty to the roadway blurring to a distant strobing blue dot. My foot pressed the throttle, pulling across the intersection, passing a canopy’s fluorescence flood a few cars on the driveway, uniformed figures attended by fuel pumps, in the changing angle found my bearings before the highway construction. Crawled into the clearing roadway with a topographic survey as a white red-striped ambulance, wails away from the stationary vehicle distancing in the prolongation through Houghton’s mansion toward The Wilds.

Across the median, I spared glances at Jean’s Toyota slewed, the tail fender impact kinked the corner lamppost. I’m driving in the tracks of the ill-fated charcoal car, to a grandfather’s shadow rising from the intersection’s asphalt. With the heel of my hand turning the steering wheel, by the abrupt-ended median, rotating the grandfather’s scene as I spared an eye on the bustling parametric around Jean seated in the bright ambulance’s tailgate. Beyond which, the grandfather steered across the oncoming lane, seeking his course through the thickets grown tight since the access inception of the inbound highway.  

I pulled up a distance past Jean’s Toyota along the curb, to alight the car, stepped onto the sidewalk, backtracking along the sidewalk, questioning. ‘_Where did Jean come from?_’ driving the boys to the Wendywood elementary school._’ I surveyed her father’s Toyota Cressida, the rear fender wrapped around the lamppost. I’ll pan a near-fatal scene, save for the concrete curb absorbing the rear wheel’s major impact. I step from the corner curb, heading toward Jean in a framed glow, tranquil on a throne. elegant crossed legs, lanky blond tied back in a ponytail. In my approach, raised lonesome eyes. 

 Schlepped with the burden of her mornings at the computer desk desolated account department, I paused. She said. “They have taken Lionel and Gavin away to the hospital.” Her downturn eyelids, accent drooping. “_’Our children! It’s not my fault what happened,_’ An old man just cut in my way — Can you get my purse out of the car?”

I turned away from Jean without visible injury midst examining paramedics. ‘_Me, of all people, she had provided the house number to call?_’  To arouse the Hydra of my mind, outreach over the suburbs, to hover in the Cape Dutch architecture’s vicinity to the Stock Trader, I extended with a wing. Through a hole high in the shy, reckoning to sight, Jean’s mother, in her family world, placed a ceramic teapot in the middle of the table. Onto a round table conversation, overhearing Jean says. “Ivan doesn’t love me anymore...” 

While Rachel abstained from meddling, William Whitehorn, Lionel and Gavin’s grandfather, soft-spoken, said. “Jean! Just do as necessary. . . I’ll help you. Don’t worry about money.” My Hydra’s sight volatilized, rolling the scene in my head, I stepped the curb, around the lamppost wrapped by the rear fender, gripped the unscathed door, ducking the door gape from the passenger seat to the dark footwell, found Jean’s handbag by the foot pedals. Free to spy. ‘_How far are you proceeding with your divorce?_’ I scrambled midst a cold chill, to fumble through Jean’s bag, to unfold a slip of paper. My mind’s Hydra to sight, the conference room. In Jean’s wake, the divorce lawyer, and son reassured his father, Barry Baskin, across the table. “This is a case. . . ‘_to reap the fruits_’ We have a blank check — Her father pays.” 

The paramedics swung doors closed to a pair of translucent windows, while I handed Jean’s handbag. I turned toward my red Audi, catching glimpses as the driver rushed for the flank, disappearing by the cabin. The van pulls away, the milky windows distancing, and left among the wrecks spread on the broad asphalt branching intersection.

Amid both forearms cast in plasters, Lionel sat upright in bed, and Gavin too, but stood beside his mother by the window light, amid a nurse on her way. I reflect the boys tossed, rough, and tumbled through the rear compartment of Jean’s Toyota, to a distracted glance over my shoulder, to an animation in the angle of the doorway outside the hospital room’s glass partition. A herd of stomping boots approached with wall-banging crates from the corridor. Turns out, a cheeky little blond girl scurried through the doorway into the room’s aisle, but unbeknownst, Aetheria permeates the internet. I’m called back to the television personality, Sybel Coetzee look-alike ash-blond mother, calling out. “We’re here with a television crew, for a Christmas Children’s program by the South African Broadcast Corporation.” from a bustling television crew. The mischievous blond head sunk behind the bedstead to Lionel’s bed. The camera operator freezes in the doorway, raising Sybel’s attention to Gavin. Sybel answers. “No, he can stay too.”

[topreviewin]

Hey everyone! Are you looking to add a touch of modern elegance to your kitchen? Look no further than the Baxton Studio Laurana Modern and Contemporary Dark Walnut Finished Kitchen Cabinet and Hutch! Its stylish silhouette and dark walnut finish make it a perfect fit for any kitchen or dining room. Not only does it look great, but it also provides plenty of storage and organizational space. The hutch features a top cabinet with glass paneled doors, two shelf spaces, a bottom cabinet with two shelves, a drawer, and an open space perfect for a microwave or other kitchen appliance. Plus, the back panel of the microwave compartment has a circular opening for cord management. The Laurana is constructed from an engineered wood frame and made in Malaysia, and requires assembly. All in all, this stylish modern cabinet and hutch would be a great addition to any kitchen or dining area!Table of ContentsOverview of the Baxton Studio Laurana Kitchen Cabinet and HutchKey Benefits of the Laurana HutchOur Thoughts: Is the Laurana Kitchen Cabinet and Hutch Worth It?Customer Reviews AnalysisPros & ConsFrequently Asked QuestionsDiscover the PowerOverview of the Baxton Studio Laurana Kitchen Cabinet and HutchFunctional and Stylish Storage with the Baxton Studio Laurana The Baxton Studio Laurana Kitchen Cabinet and Hutch is designed to elevate your kitchen or dining room, providing plenty of space for storage and display. With a sleek dark walnut finish, its engineered wood frame offers a contemporary and modern feel. Easy to coordinate in most interiors, the Laurana includes two bottom shelves behind doors, one drawer, and two top shelves behind glass paneled cabinet doors. And with a circular opening in the microwave compartment's back panel for cord management, it's ideal for keeping your kitchen tidy. Plenty of Storage Spaces for Your Kitchen and Dining Room Needs The Baxton Studio Laurana House Kitchen Cabinet and Hutch is the perfect solution for keeping your kitchen essentials organized and neat. With a total of five shelf spaces, you'll have plenty of room to store kitchen appliances, cookware, dishware, linens, and much more. Plus, the single drawer ensures items like utensils, silverware, and other small items are kept out of sight. This cabinet also features a roomy open section ideal for the microwave, coffee maker, and other frequently used items.Key Benefits of the Laurana HutchThe Laurana Hutch: Perfect Storage for Any Kitchen The Baxton Studio Laurana Modern and Contemporary Dark Walnut Finished Kitchen Cabinet and Hutch has a simplicity and elegance that is matched only by its practicality. With an attractive dark walnut coloured frame, two top shelves behind glass paneled cabinet doors, two bottom shelves behind doors and one drawer for storage and a microwave compartment with a circular opening for cord management, this cabinet fits perfectly into any kitchen. An Array of Benefits This hutch provides plenty of space for storage and display, making it the perfect addition to any kitchen. The modern and contemporary-inspired design emphasizes a tall, rectangular silhouette and clean, solid coloring that will fit in any décor. Its engineered wood frame is finished with a sleek dark walnut and is complemented by black door and drawer handles. With two top shelves and two bottom shelves for storage, plus a drawer and microwave compartment, the Laurana will make your kitchen look better and be better for organization. The microwave compartment also has a circular opening for cord management, allowing the appliance to be tucked away without leaving excess cords in sight. The Laurana is designed for easy assembly and comes with the necessary hardware. Overall, the Laurana Hutch will be just what you need to increase the storage and display potential of your kitchen.Our Thoughts: Is the Laurana Kitchen Cabinet and Hutch Worth It? Yes! We believe the Laurana kitchen cabinet and hutch is an excellent investment for any home. The modern and

contemporary-inspired design is set apart by its sleek color palette and sophisticated finishes. This hutch cabinet is incredibly practical, providing you with plenty of space for storage and display. The open space is perfect for storing a microwave, coffee maker, or other kitchen appliances, and the back panel has an opening for easy cord management. The Laurana is made from engineered wood materials and finished in a luxurious dark walnut color. It has two bottom shelves behind doors and one drawer for storage, and two top shelves behind glass paneled cabinet doors – perfect for showcasing your favorite items. Assembly is required but comes with detailed instructions for putting the cabinet and hutch together for you. With its timeless style and ample storage options, we guarantee the Laurana kitchen cabinet and hutch won't be a disappointment. Customer Reviews AnalysisWhen it comes to customer reviews, it's always hard to know what will remain consistent! But when it comes to the Baxton Studio Laurana Modern and Contemporary Dark Walnut Finished Kitchen Cabinet and Hutch, one idea is consistent: while putting it together can be a huge pain, the final product looks beautiful and is definitely worth it. Often referred to as "a challenge bigger than IKEA," reviews of the Laurana come with tales of stickers on the wrong pieces, instructions that are a complete joke, pieces that aren't labelled, and needing three or more people to put it together. Despite all of that though, the cabinet offers great storage and the roll out drawer is perfect for those little knick-knacks that need to be kept out of sight (no one needs to see your dog-leash!). People mention the sturdiness of the cabinet, one reviewer exclaiming that "the press board cracking easily" and yet another noting that "it's beautiful [but] I'm afraid if I have to move it, it will break somewhere [sic]." The main takeaway from the reviews though? A good 10+ hours spent putting it together, but it is so worth it in the end. One user queries—asking a question that we can all relate to— "Was it worth it after 10 hours of building?" and answers it herself with, "Yes, because it is gorgeous." So all in all, when it comes to the Laurana cabinet and hutch: yes, it will take forever to get it together, but once it's done the results are stunning! Pros & ConsPros: The Baxton Studio Laurana kitchen cabinet and hutch have a sleek, modern and contemporary-inspired design sure to look beautiful in any kitchen or dining room. The dark walnut finished engineered wood frame adds a touch of sophistication to the piece while the black door and drawer handles provide the perfect contrast. With two bottom shelves behind doors and a drawer for storage, as well as two top shelves behind glass paneled cabinet doors, this kitchen cabinet and hutch offer plenty of space for storage and display. The microwave compartment features a circular cord management opening for increased convenience. Cons: The Laurana requires assembly and is not ready to use right out of the box. The dark walnut finish gives this kitchen cabinet and hutch a dignified look, but may be too formal for some. Although it is advertised as having two top shelves, the glass paneled doors might reduce the useable space by a few inches. Frequently Asked QuestionsQ: What type of materials are used to make the Laurana Cabinet and Hutch? A: The Laurana Cabinet and Hutch is made of an engineered wood frame, finished with a sleek dark walnut hue, complemented by black door and drawer handles. Q: What size is the Laurana Cabinet and Hutch? A: The Laurana Cabinet and Hutch has a product dimensions of 70.87" H x 23.62" W x 15.75" D. Q: What features does the Laurana Cabinet and Hutch have? A: The Laurana Cabinet and Hutch features two shelves behind doors in the bottom cabinet, one drawer and an open space for the placement of kitchen appliances. On the back panel of the appliance space there is an opening for cord managment. The hutch also has two top shelves behind glass paneled cabinet doors.

Q: What type of assembly is required for the Laurana Cabinet and Hutch? A: The Laurana Cabinet and Hutch requires assembly. It is recommended to follow the instructions carefully when assembling the product for added safety. Discover the PowerThanks for reading our review of the Baxton Studio Laurana kitchen cabinet and hutch! We hope you found it helpful in making your decision. If you're ready to buy, just click the link below and we'll take you right to the product page. Happy shopping!