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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 months ago

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Songs to Grow Flowers To

I've been re-reading a lot of your fics in Ao3 these past few days, and I've had this idea for a while and I figured hey, why not ask? Basically, human AU, Aromantic-but-not-out Virgil with Hanahaki, and a best friend who is the only one who knows about the Hanahaki and is really worried (I picture Patton in that role, but if you think of a way one of the others would fit better the ideal, by all means go for it! I'd like to see your spin on it :] ) and they keep telling him to tell his crush or whatever and Vee's like "...no". And it ends up being bc of his family(? His parents or sth, bc it's not romantic love, but he's afraid of saying that to his best friend because it would crush them (and it's like, true that whoever it is for doesn't really care about him, so it makes it more angsty-) idk why this popped up in my brain but I can't stop thinking about it- . Maybe hurt/comfort with the friend group finding out and helping him in some way so he doesn't die(? ;w; – anx-fander

Read on Ao3

Warnings: hanahaki, car crashes, hospitalization

Pairings: gen (yeah i know for a hanahaki fic huh ^_^ )

Word Count: 2311

A series of songs Virgil listens to as flowers grow in his lungs. Chronic hanahaki isn't what people think it is. It's not blooming flowers from unrequited romantic love that ends in tearful confessions or the cold nothingness of the surgery. And Virgil, who isn't out as aromantic to even his closest friends, has no intention of letting anyone convince him it could ever be a good thing.

This isn’t supposed to be one of those stories. Chronic hanahaki isn't what people think it is. It's not blooming flowers from unrequited romantic love that ends in tearful confessions or the cold nothingness of the surgery. It's months of not being able to breathe quite right, of stuffing petals into trash cans, of cough drops and medication that's supposed to help keep the worst of them from taking root and long nights in the bathroom lying on his back with a vibrating vest to shake loose the brambles from the insides of his lungs. It's feeling the change of the seasons and knowing that it's going to be hard until fall, of knowing that for every moment he spends outside it's just going to be harder and harder when there's ambient pollen and he'll be sneezing and coughing his lungs out if he isn't very, very careful. Hanahaki isn't glamorous, it isn't romantic, it isn't the key to unlocking a whirlwind love. It's just painful and very stubborn.

Virgil puts on Que Sera Sera as he walks outside, pulling his hood up over his head.

Somewhere along the way, they’re figured out that it’s not really unrequited love that causes hanahaki, not necessarily. It’s emotional neglect. So when his parents still care for him—because of course it's his parents, of course it's the one root he relies on and it's chosen to only feed him sparingly, because they had a child because it's what they were supposed to do and not because he was truly wanted—he's surprised when he still throws up a mouthful of petals. Then he figures out it’s out of obligation, and he doesn’t realize that only makes the flowers grow faster. He sits in the garden one day when he spits up a full flower for the first time. He gives it to his mom, because he's only a child still and he wants to give his mother a flower, and swallows another when she smiles blandly and doesn't bother to bring it home with them when his father says it's time to leave. It becomes much harder to hide all the blood the next time.

July plays over his headphones as he does his homework, a trash can next to him filled with tissues and bloody petals.

Patton is the first one to notice and he’s frantic. He's about to call every single doctor he knows—or that his family knows—when Virgil finally gets him to calm down. He has his diagnosis, he has his treatment plan, he's got everything he needs to be fine, so Patton doesn't need to worry. But Patton won't listen. He's harping on about how Virgil needs to just tell his crush, it isn't worth dying over, that he's worth loving, he is, he really is, but he doesn't realize he's sort of making it worse. Because if this were just about that, about a romantic attraction, then yeah, it wouldn't be that much to worry about. Virgil likes to think that when it counts—and life or death scenarios definitely count—he's not actually that much of a coward. But maybe he is, because Patton just keeps saying how wonderful Virgil is, how much anyone would be able to love him, about how easy it is to love him, and Virgil can't help wondering then why don't they love me? He doesn't tell Patton this, of course, but he does break out into a coughing fit and Patton promises he won't push, not right now.

Virgil puts on This is Gospel as he goes to meet Patton for their walk, smiling as a dog sniffs at his boots.

Some of the other students figure it out and they’re still young adults so…well, you get the picture. It isn’t the teasing that makes it that much worse, it’s not the fact that he can’t explain that it’s not the kind of love they think it is, it’s not even the fact that some of his professors try to chime in not knowing the full story, it’s the fact that when he tries to tell his dad he's being bullied, he doesn’t believe him. Well, he doesn’t believe it’s a problem. It takes until Logan finds him one evening crying in front of two of them that someone actually does something about it. Some part of him should be satisfied at the fear emanating off the two in the face of Logan's rage, but he’s too focused on keeping the blood and petals inside his mouth. He can’t speak until Logan asks him to go wait for him at his dorm, and he throws the flowers up over the edge of a railing once he’s out of earshot. He bites his lip in order to have an excuse for the blood Logan finds at the corner of his mouth when he brings Virgil inside for a cup of tea as part of an apology for letting it get this far. He warns Virgil about how hot it is, not knowing he uses the scalding drink to burn away the petals in his throat. Each soft word Logan utters is another thorn snagging the inside of his lungs, each kind touch another breath he won’t be able to take. He gets the courage to ask Logan for a hug and feels the vines twist into a straight jacket.

He sits on the ground, his back against a nearby wall, She Used to be Mine playing softly from his phone.

It's parents' weekend. His parents don't come, and that's bad enough. but then Roman and Remus invite him to come hang out with their parents while they're here. He sits with them at the restaurant and he's included in the conversation, but it's painfully obvious he is not their child. He excuses himself to go to the bathroom more times than is probably polite, but that only makes them worried, not upset, and he can feel the flowers getting worse. He manages to put on a smile to enjoy dessert and Remus remembers that tiramisu is his favorite. They split a piece and pick up another to take back to the dorm. As they drive back, a truck skids on ice and crashes into their car. Virgil manages to drag himself out of the wreck, trying to pry the others out too. He gets Remus and Roman out, but their parents are stuck. They're all crying, screaming at them to wake up, to try, and by some miracle, everyone survives. An ambulance arrives to take them to the hospital. The meds they give them make them loopy as all hell, so as they patch them up, he hears Roman and Remus's parents rambling deliriously about how much they want their boys to be okay, how much they love them, how important they are, please, just help my son, just tell me my son's okay. Virgil feels a very persistent branch crawling up his throat and the EMT next to him just stares at him with wide eyes before yelling for something Virgil doesn't hear before he passes out.

Virgil clicks through his music library, picking Irrelevant and jamming his headphones into his ears, shoving his hands in his pockets and stalking away.

Roman and Remus are lucky. They each escape with only superficial wounds. Their parents are lucky too; their dad has a broken arm, their mom has a slight concussion, but other than that, it's all fine. Virgil swallows the blood and smiles, happy to see them okay. So happy, he encourages them to go, he'll be okay, he probably won't be here for that much longer—he lies, Janus would be so proud—and they leave but promise to be back the next day. He makes another joke about savoring the time while he can before their mom asks if the hospital's called his parents yet. He lies again. He manages to hold back the vomit until they've all vanished out the door.

He lies there half asleep, Skinny Love playing in his earbuds.

The doctor tells him that he’s only got a week at most, even though he knows how to fight this disease; he’s already lasted much longer than anyone ever anticipated. He says that he has medication, he has a treatment plan, but the crash did some damage that can't be corrected without surgery. And if they're performing a surgery on his chest, then they can't do it and leave the flowers there. The doctor asks for his emergency contacts. Virgil asks them not to tell his parents. It won't make a difference anyway. The doctor says they have to tell someone who can make medical decision for him, and he swallows his mouthful of blood and asks if there's any way they can speak to the on-campus doctor instead. The doctor leaves, promising to try, and Virgil buries his face in the pillow to cry.

He gets asked, once, what his favorite song is at the moment, and he says he doesn't know. When he walks home that night, listening to People Help the People, he thinks that maybe he's never had a singular favorite song.

Roman and Remus get back to campus and their parents fuss over them to no end. Patton and Logan and Janus all fret that they left Virgil in the hospital, they have to go back for him. They promise that he's alright, he's being looked after, that the hospital already called someone else for him. That's enough to soothe Logan and Janus, but not Patton.

Not Patton.

They all come back to the hospital the next day, distraught. Logan flies into his room as Virgil's throwing up more petals and he’s so angry, angry that Virgil kept this from them, angry he can’t do anything about it. Virgil says no, this isn’t your fault, you’re not responsible for my feelings, none of this is on you, I decided not to tell you. He never even intended for any of them to find out, actually, he never expected them to do anything about it.

The doctor tells them he’s been fighting it better than anyone they’ve ever seen, but he asked them not to call his parents. Roman and Remus's parents promptly ask why, and when Virgil stutters and stumbles over any explanation, their mom looks at him with tears in her eyes and asks if it's them, if they're the ones causing this pain.

He stifles a sob and Patton starts crying. Roman and Remus clutch each other and Janus has to leave the room. Logan just stares at him and then looks to the doctor and asks what they have to do to fix this.

The doctor tells them that he's extremely emotionally neglected, that he needs to have a very strong support network built up around him before there's any chance of a full recovery. He still needs some level of surgery to repair the damage done to his chest, but they'll try to be as careful as possible. Virgil's about to say that they don't have to be here for this, but the twins' dad comes and sits right next to him, taking his hand a giving it a squeeze. His friends come and crowd around his bed, promising they're gonna be right there with him while he tries to recover.

For the first time in a long time, the feeling doesn't make Virgil want to cough.

“I care a lot about people, in general," he shyly explains to the twins' parents when he's out of the hospital "but I have absolutely no idea how they work. None whatsoever. There are so many weird rules about how much you’re allowed to care about someone else and in all sorts of very specific ways that I don’t get. So I default to caring a lot very quickly. I don’t expect people to do it back, mostly because they seem to get the minutiae that I can’t see. I get scared because I’m always sure at some point they’re going to hate me for it. The more I care the more scared I am. But it’s not their burden to bear, it’s mine. Is…is that alright?”

“Oh, you poor boy, come here. You're an incredible son, an incredible person, any parent should be so proud to have you as their child.”

"And for those who can't, that's their loss. You're our kid now."

"We have another brother!' Remus whoops as his mom pulls Virgil in for a very gentle hug.

Virgil can't stop smiling through his tears, even as his chest feels like it's about to explode.

"In a good way, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. In…in a good way."

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#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #fic #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #deceit sanders #janus sanders #sympathetic deceit #logan sanders #patton sanders

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mystxmomo · 4 months ago

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can you…write…kevgar… again.. please…

im not asking for a 100k words, 100 is enough for me.. please…

😭💔😭☹️☹️🥺😭😭💔😭eyyeus eueue 😭💔🥺🥺

Okay so like. I do actually want to come back and write something once this event wraps up, because I'm genuinely kind of baffled at how much we're being... like given? It's sparking some ideas. No promises on it though because I need to write being carried by the muses and the tides.

Edit: Also this art at the bottom is REALLY cute I forgot to mention it at first. Thank you for. Letting me see them....

Anyway. I can do you one better than 100 words. Back in like. 2022, I was working on a massive Hanahaki Kevgar AU. I ended up dropping it because I explored what I was interested in with "As the pieces fall into place" (Aka erectile dysfunction au) and was pretty happy with what I had + I think I used chunks of this dialog in that fic (So if some of that looks familiar thats why). However, I also had like. A REALLY NOT INSIGNIFICANT part of this fic written?

Thought it would sit around and collect dust forever in my docs, but you and I both know how sad the state of the Kevgar tag is in. Here's what I had of it put together. Again, I can't stress enough. This is unfinished. But it's also uhhh. Almost 5k words of unfinished? So hopefully some of it still scratches at your brain, even if it's just a draft.

"Original Authors note:

Hello there main friend group, extended twitter friendgroup, and three random strangers in my puter that this pairing will appeal to, I hope this fic finds you well.

Basically, I saw a tumblr post maybe a year or two back that talked about the idea of Hanahaki not as a lethal disease, but instead a chronic one. The idea that it’s a manifestation of your emotions, and your emotions aren’t going to kill you, but by damn they’re gonna be a bitch to deal with. Especially if you keep shoving them down in a little box and avoiding them.

Basically the flowers are a metaphor. It takes away from the tragedy but adds an angle of nuance that I as a writer find personally enjoyable to navigate and play with.

AND I thought to myself. Man you know who would be fun for that? Gay Kevin."

===================

Edgar Valden is real pretty, is the main thing.

Frustratingly so. Men, let alone men with personalities as rotten and cruel as Valden’s shouldn’t be allowed to be as pretty as he is.

But he is, and it’s an issue.

He’s also. Ah… Small. Frail enough to tug at Kevin’s heart strings in a way he’s not entirely comfortable with. He catches himself thinking about that mid-match, Edgar dizzy enough from a recent hit not to fight being carted around on his shoulder. A head smaller than Kevin, and lighter than some of the ladies, Edgar is easy on his arm and warm against his shoulder.

The first time he realizes it, the illusion is immediately ruined by Edgar catching his barings, and begins to kick and struggle out of his hold and cuss him clean. But a sickly, uncomfortable feeling settles in his stomach, and eventually even the most private of Kevin’s thoughts always have a funny way of haunting him. It’s easy to hate him when he’s standing in front of you, sneering and glaring like the bullheaded swine he is. But out on their game field, when the adrenaline runs so heavy his blood goes cold, and Edgar is flying around the field with the same amount of speed and dedication that he takes to his art, it becomes harder to separate pretty from fragile. And late into the night, when Kevin’s thoughts have a tendency to haunt him the most, there’s no escaping it. He prefers it to the guilt that plagues the back of his mind at those hours, but it sits at the pit of his stomach with the same amount of discomfort and nausea as that guilt does. And that guilt, inevitably, turns to rage.

And rage always comes back to frustration.

When he starts hacking up petals and blood, he doesn’t think it’s Valden. He doesn’t think it’s anyone, really.

Emily tells him that it’s called Hanahaki.

“I’m surprised you’ve never encountered it before,” She says, as a general musing.

“I’ve heard of things like it,” He says, “You tend to hear a lot of rumors n’ stories while travelin’ around. You can’t take everything at face value, y’know? Thought it was closer to tall-tales.”

She nods, her brows furrowing together. She tends to get like that when she’s deep in thought. Sort of snappy, and certainly less patient. But she hasn’t gotten to the point that she gets after they finish their matches, running around like a chicken with her head cut off. Instead, it’s quiet pacing.

“Our body has an odd way of reacting to…” She tilts her head, carefully considers her words before she says them. She’s smart like that, “Emotions. Stress. Eventually, it manifests itself physically,” She gives him a concerned look, “Has there been any changes in your life?”

He gives her a weird look. Permanent state of stasis they seemed to be trapped in, their changes were rare and minimal. He had less games these days then when he’d started here, and most of the new personalities at the manor were a respectable sort. To his silence, she almost rolls her eyes. Almost. She’s professional enough not to.

“Ayuso, it could be anything. Have the games been worse recently?” He gives her a stranger look for that one, and she tuts, runs her hands back through her hair and messes up her otherwise pristine looking bun, “Honestly, I’m surprised we haven’t gotten a case of it in the manor sooner. Maybe because of how isolated we are..?” She considers it in silence, and Kevin thinks it would be wrong to interrupt her. But then she’s turning to look at him, “Can I see those petals again?”

Raising a brow, he takes out the handkerchief he’d collected them in. It’s from a personal favorite outfit of his, and at first he’s not actually sure what she’s looking for. Because she brushes the petals off to the side, and raises the cloth to the light, and what she says next concerns him more than anything else about the conversation has, “It’s an abnormal amount of blood for such a minor case,” She mutters, stares, “You did come to me immediately, right?”

He huffs laughter. His throat hurts, “‘Course, course. I didn’t see petals and think it was normal.”

She glares, “Don’t get smart with me, Ayuso. I swear, some of these people could come down with consumption and avoid me for it…” She sighs, and her shoulders fall, “Is it growing thorns…?”

“Is that possible?” He asks, and feels somewhat foolish for doing so. Of course it is. She wouldn’t have mentioned it if it hadn’t been.

“It’s not unheard of,” She says, and steps forward to hand him the handkerchief back. When she looks over at him again, it’s with a certain amount of sympathy he rarely sees on her face, “You should be fine, but…I won’t say it will be pleasant.”

He chuckles, and it comes across as weak and forced, “Ms. Dyer, I may be something of a foolish man, but I don’t think anyone is foolish enough think flowers in your throat are a’pleasant experience.”

She rolls her eyes at him, “Let me see what medicine I can find. I might be able to kill a few of them off for you…”

He doesn’t want to acknowledge his unfortunate reality, but the first time he vomits up fist fulls of flowers, he’s in a match with Valen

It’s not a good match. Emily goes down fast. Kevin doesn’t have time to get across the map. Mike tries to pull off a rescue, but Michiko is faster than he is, and a bit more clever to boot. Edgar manages to pull something off with those paintings of his, but Kevin’s never been any good with the technology in the manor, and by the time Emily’s out of the game they barley have two ciphers done.

With Michiko distracted by Mike, it gives him the chance to slip away with Edgar. He knows Edgar took a bad hit, because he stays limp over his shoulder rather than attempt to fight and squirm against him.

(He’s warm, something whispers in Kevin’s ear.)

“There you are,” Kevin draws, and drops him on the ground with no amount of care or subtlety. Edgar stumbles back a few steps, attempting to blink away the lightheadedness that comes with these matches.

“... Thanks,” Edgar says, quietly, and brushes himself off at the knees. Though he’s doing well to hide it, he has an embarrassed blush on his face, and he needs to lean back against the crumbling wall to keep his balance.

Kevin reaches out to steady him a bit better, and Edgar shoots him a look that could kill.

“Go decode, I’ll catch my breath and find a way to distract her again,” Edgar turns to give him an odd sort of look, the normal irritation that shadows over his face mending away to something else entirely. Though what it is, he’s unsure, “We can probably still save this if I…” He’s trailing off, a distant, manic look to his eye as he does. It answers none of Kevin’s questions, and only increases his concern, and when Edgar kneels on the ground it’s to fuss with something in his hand.

He’d not noticed it before, but the painter already has a syringe in his hand. He must have scavenged the supplies from Dyer's chair, because he’s already trying to find a vein with shaking, cold-nipped looking fingers.

And like a pendulum swinging back and forth, his irritation washes back to sympathy. And with that sympathy comes guilt, and nausea.

Kevin steps forward, and grabs his arm for him. Edgar immediately tries to pull away, but Kevin is stronger than him, and it only takes tightening his grip to get Edgar to still. Edgar squirms under his touch, and something in Kevin’s head equates him to being no different than one of those squeaking barn kittens that didn’t know threats from friends and so they yelled and hissed at anything that grabbed ‘em.

“Hold still,” he says, his voice strained, and Edgar does glare at him this time, “Save the supplies. Y’might need it later.”

Edgar lets him. Patch him up. He can’t argue with strategy, and their playing field is the uncomfortable equalizer. To Kevin’s discomfort, Edgar spends the entire time staring at him with this ugly, uncanny look.

…

“You’re hurt,” Edgar says, suddenly, and reaches out to grab Kevin’s face. Edgar’s hands are soft, and but his touch is not. His thumb brushes against his mouth, and he’s surprised to find that it comes back with blood. He doesn’t remember tasting it. Maybe he’s already so used to it, that he’d just not noticed it, “When did you take a hit?”

A smarter man would be able to come up with an excuse on the spot. It’s not unusual, afterall, to end the match covered in your teammates blood. Especially ones that run as poorly as there’s. Especially with Kevin’s position being as it is.

Kevin is not a smart man. He’s dull, and a coward.

“I’m fine,” He snaps, and pulls back from Edgar. Feeling suddenly quite defensive, he feels his lips curl up in defiance. It’s all show, really. Because underneath it, he can’t deny the sudden surge of nerves and panic and fear. He’s never been any different or any smarter than a cornered animal, but most men in his position aren’t.

Edgar’s hand lingers in the air, fingers oddly delicate despite the blood. And Edgar stares at him. He stares at him for a long time, his eyes distant and hollow and cold, “Okay,” He says, and his tone is odd when he says it. Like Edgar doesn’t entirely believe him. And when Kevin thinks he’s going to leave it at that, he clarifies with, “Okay. You don’t have to tell me. Whatever. Just- Go decode. Maybe I can still save this for us, you useless asshole…”

And Edgar trails off, stares at the spot of the snow where his own blood has dripped on the snow.

There’s no fight left in him after that. There should be. This is the part where Kevin normally feels anger and discomfort at the mans provocation, where they ruin their match and draw the hunters ire. It’s normally the part where irritation takes over sensability.

Instead, Kevin stumbles away feeling nauseous. He doesn’t decode. Decoding would be the smart thing to do, and he is not a smart man. A cold sweat crawls over his skin, and he’s shaking hard enough that he’s having trouble staying upright. He feels it, in his throat and in his gut. Something cutting into his flesh, like the way a cats claws would dig into skin.

He makes it behind shack, before he needs to stop and stable his weight on the wall.

It’s petals and blood mix on the ground in a ugly red soup, chunky and red with rotting petals and cuts of flesh. He wheezes in an attempt to catch his breath, but he finds himself dizzy for it. Eventually, he needs to kneel on the ground and rest his head against the wall, unable to keep his eyes open without risking another fit. The cold weather of Leo’s is as much of a sting as it is a comfort on his throat and skin. And just when he thinks he’s settled his head, he lurches again, the cycle repeating all over.

He doesn’t realize the blood rushing in his ear is the hunter until he feels her cold hand on his back.

“Oh dear..” Michiko says, and her voice is soft on his ear, “This is where you’ve been hiding.”

Michiko is a sweet sort of lady. She doesn’t take the chance to knock him out over it. Instead, she lingers behind him and ushers him in the direction the dungeon must be, stopping him from falling over himself twice in the process

He’d not realized she’d found Edgar. She must have. By the time she guides him over to the dungeon, it’s already open, the wind blowing out of it. He drops into the dungeon without as much as a tip of his hat, and there's this cold, empty feeling that sits in the bottom of his stomach.

Valden was going to kill him.

// Editors note: These next sections are unfinished, but I still give everything I had for you. Anything that has a "...." Around it was supposed to have more of a lead in.

Edgar doesn’t kill him.

But also Edgar doesn’t talk to him for a while, after that.

He doesn’t talk to him. He expects a fight out of it, but he stumbles into the room so pale and dizzy that it draws the concern of Emily immediately.

[Edgar picks a fight with Emily because he's confused and irritated]

“Come on now Valden, don’t give her a hard time ‘cause you’re in a shitty mood,” He steps in between them, and Edgar snarls at him.

“Don't fucking touch me,"

...

Something clicks into place in Emily’s gaze, something Kevin barely catches himself. She looks at the two of them. Opens her mouth to say something. A scolding, maybe.

Then closes it, her eyebrows furrowing.

The first time he coughs up a stem, he cuts up his throat so badly he can’t talk.

Perhap's its for the best. He feels uncharacteristically irritable about the whole thing, as the rose thorns hook into his throat and restrict his breath.....

“Ayuso…?” Edgar calls out, and he sounds surprisingly… small. It pisses him off.

“Just-” Kevin draws in a long breath, holding his head in his hands,

Edgar lingers in the doorway for a few seconds, blinking dully. He looks away, “I was going to ask if you’re alright.” He says, sounding short with him. “I thought….” He trails off, stares at him for a long time. His gaze burns into Kevin’s skin

“Nevermind,” Edgar grumbles, and pushes past him. It’s with a harsh shove, and some smarter part of Kevin thinks he might deserve it. But some ugly, more stubborn part of him only makes him angrier.

....

“Of course I know what hanahaki is,” Edgar says, and the door closes with more force the necessary, “The droll hopeless romantics in the arts don’t know how to shut up about it.”

“You don’t hate me?” Kevin’s heart swells.

“Why would I hate you?” Edgar wrinkles his nose at him, “You’re annoying, and I wish you’d learn how to shut the hell up. But thats really not different than any of the other dumbasses that populate this manor."

Unsure of whether or not to be relieved or to scold the man, Kevin laughs. He feels light headed.

“Want to hear somethin’ funny?” Kevin doesn't wait for a reply, “I don’t…. think I hate you.”

Edgar takes a moment to process that. Then laughs at him. Loudly, and full body. It’s sharp on his ear, and as ugly as it is pretty. Perfect, for a man like Valden, “That's what you’re so worked up about?” He asks, and steps forward to look him over.

“You’re fuckin’-”

“You’re throwing around children's insults and throwing up flower petals over the fact you might not hate me. Ayuso that’s- Ridiculous. Tell me you see how ridiculous that is,” He says, and his smile is hidden behind his hand. Kevin feels ill looking at it. Because even when he’s mocking him, that smile causes his stomach to turn and nerves to creep under his skin.

(His smile is, while at first perplexed, otherwise sincere. It’s something rare to see on the man.)

And he- he doesn’t understand. Edgar doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand what this means for Kevin, he doesn’t understand the severity of that acknowledgement.

Kevin barely understands what this means for himself.

Kevin lunges forward and grabs him by the shirt. He kisses him.

Edgar looks startled. At first, he panics, and Kevin has acute awareness of the way his hand grabs at his shirt and wrist. He doesn’t pull away

But eventually, he calms as Kevin does. His hand moves from his chest to his jaw, cupping his cheek like it actually means something to him. His hands are soft, and Kevin’s are not. Kevin’s lips are chapped, and Edgar’s are sweet. It causes guilt and disgust to rest in his gut all the same, and instead of rage, it just sinks and sits there.

When he pulls away, Edgar is giving him a distant, careful look.

Kevin stares at him with exhaustion, pale in the face and ill in the stomach.

“Oh. You taste like blood. Come here.” Edgar says, and his hand lingers on top of Kevin’s wrist, on his cheek, thumb against the corner of his lip,

Edgar kisses him again. It doesn’t help, but Kevin still indulges in it like it does.

...

When Kevin breaks away, he’s shaking.

Guilt. Disgust. Anger. Discomfort. There are butterflies in his stomach, like the first time [his lady I forgot her name] grabbed his hand and smiled at him.

Fuck.

He pulls away, and he vomits.

Edgar is quiet this time. There’s no mockery, and no cruelty. He watches him with a blank expression on his face, hand drifting like he's unsure whether or not he wants to touch him again. Then, he kneels down next to him. A warm body against his side, a soft hand on his back, rubbing right up between his shoulder blades.

“Hey,” Edgar says, “Go to bed, Ayuso. We can talk later.”

His eyes burn.

Edgar helps him over into bed, and sits on the edge of it until he falls asleep.

They don’t talk about it.

He tries to talk to Patricia about it.

“Mother once told me that love was something you chose to do. People think they fall in love. And maybe there’s some honesty to that. But love is conditional. It’s as much of a choice as cruelty,” Patricia says. She looks toward him, frowns, “But I will admit. You seem to have been born strictly to challenge that idea.”

Kevin can’t help himself. A smile hesitantly pulls onto his lips, and he says, “Y’think?”

“That’s not a compliment. Moron,” Her tongue clicks against her teeth, but her eyes soften on him.

“I don’t know. It sort of sounded like one.”

...

"Listen, Kevin. And I am begging you to listen closely. Because I'm going to tell you something I wish, more then anything, someone had told me," She struts forward, placing her hands on either side of his cheek. The touch is gentle, but firm, guiding his gaze to hers. She has to gaze up at him to look him in the eye, but when that meets, hers narrows on his with an almost predatory look.

But then it falls. Her lips twitch down, and her hands fall, "It's okay."

He laughs, "That's it?"

She considers her next words carefully. Instead of snapping back at him, there's a patient, creeping look to her eye, "It's okay that you're uncomfortable with this."

And his blood runs cold.

Something must change about his expression, then. Because she sways forward again, closer than before. She swallows, slow and collected, "It's okay to feel disgusted with yourself, and it's okay to feel guilty. That's outside of your control. I need you to think about that, because I know you don't understand it. What you're feeling now is- it's fine. It's just... Fine. But if you sit there and let it eat you alive then you're better off dead."

....

He coughs.

And coughs again, . He’s struck with a sudden wave of exhaustion.

He ... Sits down. He feels winded.

He holds his head in his hands.

"I don't think this was ever about Valden," He says, and his hand scratches at his throat.

"Maybe not," Patricia shrugs, "Maybe it was. You'll have to be the one to figure that out.”

He extends an olive branch.

"Do you wanna come drinkin' with me tonight," Kevin asks, and he holds back a grimace as he asks.

Edgar looks at him weirdly, "Not really," He says, too fast for Kevin's heart to handle. But then he continues. Not in any consideration of Kevin’s immediate heartbreak, but because he muses outloud to himself more than he doesn’t, "It gets too loud in Demi's bar. That room is too damn small sometimes. That doesn't sound even remotely relaxing."

Kevin pauses.

"It can just be us," he offers, and takes a small step forward, "I ain't exactly picky about where I drink. If the bar is too loud I can come on up to your room, or you can come up to mine."

"..." Edgar turns to look at him, and his gaze glimmers with a curious interest, "Why don't you come by my studio tonight with some wine."

For a minute, the guilt in his heart is replaced by those soft, lovely butterflies that scatter and crawl about.

“Alright.”

....

“Oh, it’s you,” Edgar wipes away the paint off his arms, and nods him into the room. Kevin offers him a suspicious, quiet look, but steps forward.

“Hurt my heart, Valden. Soundin’ so disappointed I showed up.”

“I didn’t actually think you would,” Edgar says, like an admittance, “Sit down.”

Kevin does.

“I hope you don’t mind if I paint you while we drink,” Edgar says, pouring the wine Kevin brought into two cups. And Kevin - he grunts.

“Now I didn’t exactly remember that bein’ part of the deal.”

“Sucks.”

Edgar extends the cup out for him to take. Kevin does. Their fingers brush, and Kevin’s entire arm buzz with the nerves that come from it.

Edgar works in silence, for the most part. It’s awkward, and uncomfortable. Kevin falls into sharp coughing fits, and Edgar without fail will wrinkle his nose at him, come on over, and wordlessly tilt his head back to the position he wants him in. His touches are soft, and careful. Calculated in a way that Kevin doesn’t often see on him. The wine aside, Edgar has tea prepared for him, which surprises him. Given that Kevin arrived so late, it’s mostly luke-warm. Edgar doesn’t bother mentioning or apologizing for that.

He finishes off a glass of wine. Then another. It just further succeeds in giving him that uncomfortable, sticky feeling he’s never been good at handling.

Edgar stares at him, and Kevin feels that gaze crawling across his skin. The room isn’t warm, but it might as well be.

“I’ve never been good at portraits,” Edgar admits to him, suddenly, his gaze lowering to his pallet. Kevin waits for him to continue, but realizes that on his on he probably won’t.

Despite himself, he prompts him.

....

His gaze is tired. His figure is stiff, “I’m not good at this, Ayuso. I’ve never been good at this. So I’ll be forward. I don’t know why you’re here, and it’s really hard to convince myself of any explanation that seems reasonable.”

Kevin's throat itches. Edgar looks up at him.

“What are you asking me, then?”

“I don’t know.” Kevin says, “I don’t even really know what I want outt’a this, if I’m bein’ honest with you.”

Edgar rubs his eyes. It seems tired, “Fuck me, you’re so fucking stupid sometimes,”

Kevin feels that anger, that kneejerk horror, and he moves to stand. There’s a snarl on his lip before he knows it, as the embarrassment passes over him

“No, no. Jesus- Get that look off your face, I wasn’t insulting you. You just- Are.” Edgar’s jaw sets. His paintbrush slams down, and with it, Kevin stills. He looks like he has a headache, “You are.” He repeats, sharply, and more firm.

“How is callin’ me stupid not an insult?!”

“What else am I supposed to call you when you act like this!?”

Kevin stares at him in disbelief, and Edgar throws his hands up in the air. He holds his head in his hands and closes his eyes, and there’s this short, uncomfortable silence between the two of them. It passes. It always passes.

Kevin gets up to leave.

Edgar catches his hand and stare at him. Kevin hadn't realized he could move that fast, or maybe that he'd been approaching him to begin with. Kevin turns to snap at him, but when their eyes meet he feels it all die out.

“Sit down,” Edgar says

Kevin.... sits.

[The note in my drafts here just said "Second Base" With no other context]

He feels. Guilt. For for wanting him like this.

And, above all else, guilt at placing himself in Edgar’s life. Guilt for his feelings.

He coughs.

Kevin nudges Edgar off of him, and for a moment Edgar’s eyes flash with panic and - To Kevin’s mild horror, betrayal. But Kevin doesn’t have time to sit on it. He rolls over and, as he’s become so accustomed to, hacks and coughs until vomit and blood and whole flowers pool out of his mouth. At first in chunks, and then and into a puddle on the otherwise clean cloth. It tastes like rot in his mouth, stinks like the mush thrown at hogs.

When he comes back down from it all, Edgar is next to him folded on his knee’s. He has a hand between his shoulder blades, tracing sweet little lines into his back.

When Kevin breath’s again, he’s surprised.

His hand is still near his mouth, covered in the ugly [visceral] and gore.

Kevin think’s Edgar will leave him as he did before, especially when he leaves his side and mumbles about not needing to do anything tonight. But to his surprise, he comes back. He has a rag in his hand, stained by paint but otherwise clean, and a cup of water. Edgar takes his hands between his own again and mindfully begin to clean it. His nose wrinkles up when his hands touch a little too close to the gunk, but to Kevin’s surprise, he still works to clean them.

It’s been a while since anyone’s done that for Kevin.

He feels emptier for it.

...

“Didn’t think someone like you would have the stomach for this,” Kevin says, eventually, when his body no longer betrays him.

“... My sister used to get sick when she was younger,” Edgar says,

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” He looks ahead, rather than at Kevin, “The maids were supposed to take care of her, but I…” Edgar trails off, his fingers twitching. Kevin doesn’t push him about it. He has a few stories of his own that he wouldn’t want told.

“Sorry ‘bout your uh-”

Edgar looks down at the vile, and wrinkles his nose, “Why are you apologizing? It’s just spare bedsheets. They were probably Balsa’s anyway,”

They sit in silence.

Kevin is the one to leave.

What he hates most, he thinks, is that Edgar isn’t wrong. Kevin can’t deny his own attraction to the man at this point. That’s why he was here, wasn’t it? And there’s such shame in that. He was better than that.

He doesn’t have a defense for himself. He says, "Is it hard to believe I find you kind of- I don’t know. You’re interesting?"

Edgar's nose wrinkles. His face blanks over. God that's - infuriating. He does that when he realizes he's not going to be getting his way, that he's maybe not as right as he thought he was. Kevin knows this because Kevin's argued with him before, "What could you possibly find fascinating about me?"

“I don’t know yet,” He answers, weakly, and Edgar gives him a look with disbelief so thick he can cut through it. His throat feels dry. Not even the stuffy, clogged dry that could get him out of this, but instead an uncomfortable, distant feeling that has him falling silent and still. He wants to raise his hands up and touch them to the other man's shoulders, but just as much, he finds his hand paralyzed at his sides.

Edgar tries to take pity on him.

“Ayuso, that’s not- It’s not an accusation,” Edgar says, slowly, “It’s just what it is.”

Kevin draws a long breath in. It's patient, and careful, "You were okay with me using you like that?"

"You weren't using me," Edgar sounds annoyed, but there’s confusion there, "I want to fuck you. If I didn’t want to fuck you, I wouldn’t be here.”

Kevin flinches at the vulgarity of it. Maybe it's just how sharply it contrasts the emotions of the conversation, but he - He does flinch.

...

Edgar steps closer, so that they can sit next to one another. He's still and uncomfortable. "Okay."

Kevin laces their fingers together.

There's no guilt for that.

#Kevgar #Kevin Ayuso #Edgar Valden #Kevin Alonso

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notsunnyowo · 1 year ago

Note

Loved your Gojo x Reader fic,m over the Hanahaki disease. Could you do Gojo x Reader with a nightmare? The nightmare relating to manga events (unless you’re not a manga reader then just a nightmare in general).

I already made a fic of my own based on the reader having a nightmare and Gojo comforting them over it, (which you should definitely check out *wink wink*) all based on the manga events because I needed comfort from the latest chapter, but it’s not fun reading the same fic over and over, especially if your reading your own. I need more and thankfully it seems other people aside from myself have made nightmare fics based on the manga (well actually pretending the manga isn’t existent to an extent for our comfort), but I still need more!!!!

sorry if I sound impatient I’m just petty a bit over the manga, I’m not mad with the recent chapter I just have been coping lol, but like I said if your not a manga reader just have the nightmare be something else, still angsty but fluff at the end!

Despite not beeing a manga reader myself I've got some basic knowledge on what happens to our beautiful blue-eyed boi Gojo 😭

So I hope this will turn out to be to your liking!

𝕵𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖆 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖊 - 𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖚 𝕲𝖔𝖏𝖔

Summary: After waking up from a gruesome nightmare, you bury yourself into your husband's loving arms.

Content: MANGA SPOILERS! Sensitive content, Mentions of death, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst with a happy ending, Husband! Gojo Satoru x Female! Reader (AFAB)

Word count: 763

The sounds of thunderous crashes and buildings collapsing echoed in the distance, slowly growing louder and louder, the closer you approached towards the source of the chaotic mayhem.

It was a full-on battle to the death between the two strongest beings in existence. A fight to see who'd come on top. Which one was truly the better sorcerer.

You ran as fast as your feet could carry you. Dodging falling debris and other enemies that came your way. You had to get to him as fast as you could. Had to find Satoru and help him.

Activating your cursed technique, your entire body was coated in a layer of cursed energy which served as a protective barrier which would keep you from any harm that might befall you the closer you got to the front lines of the battlefield.

It might not have been as strong as Satoru's infinity, however it would surely provide you with some much needed protection if the so-called 'King of Curses' decided on launching a surprise attack your way.

You were out of breath, running past your limits, all in a desperate attempt to reach your beloved and offer him your aid, before he got overwhelmed.

Yet once you arrived at his side, you wished you'd gotten killed by some curse along the way.

With utter horror in your eyes you watched Satoru's upper half fall to the ground. His lower body still standing upright for a moment after, before it too fell down on the ground.

The sight made your stomach drop to the floor.

You felt as if you were about to puke at the sight. Your knees felt weak, and you couldn't tell if it was due to your immense fatigue or as a result of the gruesome sight before you. Tears filled your eyes and you felt your heart breaking into a million pieces.

No. . .

No no no no no. . .

This isn't real. . It isn't. . It can't be. !

You let out a broken cry, the sound instantly alerting Satoru's murderer. As his cold deep eyes met yours you felt frozen in place. Unable to move as the man gave you a malevolent smile, before snapping his fingers.

Before suddenly.. It all went black.

"(Name). . ."

"(Name). . . Wake up!"

With a sudden gasp, your eyes shot open and you were met with a pair of ocean blue eyes, staring at you.

"Love, are you okay? . . . What happened?" Hunched over, before you, stood your husband - who you'd just watched get split in half just a second ago.

His brows furrowed at the sight of your disheveled appearance and your glossy eyes. From the looks of it, Satoru deduced that you'd had a nightmare. A rather unpleasant one at that..

The sight of your trembling body, made his heart ache. Despite not knowing what exactly your nightmare was, Satoru couldn't help but curse whatever your mind had conjured during your sleep to make you so distressed.

"Hey.. It's okay.." Your husband cooed, his tone soft and calming, as he gently cupped your cheek, whipping the tears off your face. "It's all going to be okay sweetness.. Shh... shh.. It's okay, don't cry.."

Wrapping his strong arms around you, the milky-haired man enveloped you in a warm and most importantly - secure embrace. His hand gently caressed your head. It was such a calm motion in comparison to your anxiously tremoring body.

"Satoru-" You cried out his name, as you sobbed into his chest. The sound of your broken cries was enough to make your husband tear up. How he wanted to make all of your pain go away. He couldn't bear to watch you fall apart like this.

"I-I had a dream, and you-" The feeling of a big lump forming in your throat forbade you from going on any further. You just couldn't bring yourself to openly voice your troubles to your worried husband.

"Shh.. It's okay. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to.." Gojo whispered softly against your ear, his gentle touch never ceasing to calm you down. Or at least try to. "Everything's going to be alright love.. Just breathe f'me, okay?"

Pressing gentle kisses to your head, Satoru continued whispering calming words to you while he stroked your hair. " 'M here for you love.."

His words made you look up at him, with teary eyes. "Promise?" Your voice was low and shaky, almost as if it belonged to a distraught child.

"Always." The man spoke, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I'll always stay by your side (Name)."

"I promise."

Author Note:

I hope I didn't disappoint with this ask and that everyone enjoyed reading! PS: For anyone that has already sent an ask, know that I will be getting to it in the following days and posting a reply asap! :D

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tsspromptmonth · 8 months ago

Text

Fanfic Cafe Second Menu

Hey babes, new menu drop and I'm finally on order. Just so you bitches know you can always order off menu. We'll tell you if it's a drink we can't make but the menus can help you get a sense of what's available.

Give me attention and ask your questions. The mods are here to do my bidding. They say they're gonna release more information about payment later this month so I guess you can wait for that.

Oh, and if you're worried about all the coffee names being confusing or whatever, you can also just order with the Settings, Characters, and tropes you want. We know what you basic bitches like.

XX Remy

Sleepy Bean Fanfic Cafe Menu 2

More options available by request.

Drinks (Setting or AU)

Affogato = Super Powers Ristretto = Giant/Tiny Espresso = Coffee Shop Earl Grey Tea = Musical Con Panna = Royalty Energy Drink = Youtubers Doppio = Teacher Cream Soda = Tattoo Shop Dirty Chai = Apocalypse Red Eye = Band Cold Brew = Winged Cortado = Film Noir

Syrup (Characters)

Jasmine = Thomas Espresso = Remy Orange = TBD Bubblegum = Emile Royal Raspberry = King Creativity Pumpkin Spice = Toby

Toppings (Tropes)

Natural Sweetener = Secret Identity Crushed Animal Cookies = Animal Traits Iced = Online Friendships Chocolate Kisses = Love Letters Upside Down = Power/Roleswap Sugared Rose Petals = Hanahaki's Spill Guard = Language Barriers Rainbow Sprinkles = 5&1 Salt = Accidental... Aloe Vera Jellies = "I didn't know where else to go"

All drinks are 1 comment per 100 words with a 500 word minimum.

#sanders sides #the sleepy bean fanfic cafe #Menu Drop #tsspromptmonth #fanfic cafe

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grimalkinmessor · 2 years ago

Text

HOLD UP I'm reversing my stance because actually actually actually L having Hanahaki would be uniquely interesting especially in the context of falling in love with someone who already wants him dead 👀 L has limited options if he wants to win live.

1. Again, get it removed. He wouldn't do so until he'd proved Light as Kira, because (if we're going the removing flowers removes memories route) he'd see it as too big of a gamble. He'd wait and pray that he solved the case before the flowers killed him.

There's also the option of L locking Light up somewhere until he recovers from the removal enough to review all of in-love-L's notes and footage on him, but this runs the very high risk of L just falling right back in love with him all over again. No bueno.

2. Make Light fall in love with him. THIS is a unique option simply because L would need to do so in a manner that never displays weakness—no soft conversations for him, no earnest heart-felt wooing. L could confess to Light, but that brings on a whole string of other problems. Light would be delighted by the turn of events, would likely (again assuming that we're going the 'Hanahaki has an emotional/psychological component in how it progresses' route) immediately start acting as if he were also in love with L so as to 'save' him, while also knowing that L would know he was pretending and thus it would not work. There's also the chance that Light would use Misa as an excuse to outright reject him without seeming cold, therefore hastening the disease's progression so that L dies faster. So, those avenues closed to L, he'd have to get creative.

(I do not believe L would ever die quietly in this scenario. It's not happening. He wants to live and he wants to win.)

Forcing Light to fall in love with him through underhanded tactics is going to be his best bet. L would pull out every mental trick in the book to get Light to start seeing him as less of a threat and more of an Option™—Pavlov's dogs would shudder in fear at the shit L would pull. And if L takes this route, he also has to figure out what the fuck he's gonna do with Light after he's cured himself, because again, if it's a psychological component he can't just lock Light up somewhere or he risks the flowers coming right back. It'd be an interesting time for everyone involved :D

The complications of Light realizing what L's doing or even why he's doing it would also be fun. Light wouldn't go quietly into that loving good night if he figured out that L was basically baiting him into falling in love with him, especially not if he realized that L was doing it to save his own skin. He'd find some way to manipulate it in his favor—maybe even by trying to sway L to his side? Would L be tempted to join Kira if the option was there, when his life was on the line and hemmed in from multiple angles? Or even just pretend to join Kira and sabotage him on the side, cuddling up next to him while sending off messages to Anti-Kira groups. Something to think about 💕

Oh, and the flowers L could be afflicted with are endless. Red roses, blue roses, spider lilies, fire lilies, cowslips, aspens, asphodels, begonias, black-eyed susans, coltsfoot, diphylleia, hollyhock, lavender, hydrangeas—I could go ON.

#death note #lawlight #hanahaki #l lawliet #grim rants

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kohakhearts · 2 years ago

Note

request: palletshipping, hanahaki?

wc: 7 158 read on ao3 here

Gary is eleven years old the first time he throws up a flower petal, just south of Viridian City. At first, he thinks it is his mind playing tricks on him; maybe he hit his head when that Pokémon in the gym knocked him out. But it happens again the next morning, and he knows with a leaden sort of dread settling deep in his stomach it’s not.

Gingerly, he picks the flower up, considers it with an appropriate level of emotional distance: it’s thin and round, deeply yellow. When he pinches it between his thumb and index finger, it is small enough that it seems to disappear entirely. There’s still a slight tickle in his throat, but a deep breath in and out assures him there’s nothing wrong with his lungs.

Though it somewhat complicates his return home, he also knows he has a better chance of finding information tucked away on a dusty shelf at Oak Laboratory than out on the road. He tells his grandfather his occasional cough is nothing more than a passing cold he must have picked up on the road, a story which only really gains credibility when Ash comes by and the fits become somewhat more frequent. Even if a coincidence, Gary can’t quite help taking his frustrations about it out on Ash for the handful of days they both stay in Pallet Town.

Unfortunately, his search of his grandfather’s shelves leaves him with about as much information as he had to begin with, being basically none. Most of the books are about Pokémon, rather than human, diseases; and apparently, this particular malady hasn’t been observed in Pokémon.

When he leaves Pallet Town again, it gets better. So he redoubles his training and puts flowers out of his mind in order to focus on the League. Only every other night, when he wakes up with a headache and ringing ears, does his cough re-emerge. It seems obvious, then, that it’s related to what happened at the Viridian Gym—and he is not ready to face the implications of that yet. Not until he wins the League. Not until he proves that he is stronger than that armoured Pokémon made him feel.

But it is not meant to be; his fourth round opponent sends out a Golem against his Nidoking and he has been here before, only this time his grandfather and Ash are watching, and when his Pokémon falls he falls with him. A cough wracks his body, but the petal doesn’t dislodge itself from his throat until later, when Ash finds him outside.

“Gary!”

Gary turns around with a wry smile, which he can’t maintain for long. When he coughs, Ash’s frown only deepens.

“Gary?”

He waves a dismissive hand at him, while the other comes up to cover his mouth just in time to catch the flimsy orange petal before it passes between his lips. He wraps his hand around it and drops his fist down to his side before Ash can see anything.

“That trainer was lucky I was distracted by the girls cheering for me,” he says. His confidence is easy and comfortable, and even if Ash doesn’t look entirely convinced, it’s still enough to let him get away. Another day, another time, perhaps he would have stayed behind to see how Ash fared in his battle, but today he wants nothing more than to get away from here.

As they drive away, he crushes the petal between his fingers, then sends the wilting pieces back with the wind, away from him. The sooner he gets away from here, the sooner he’ll get over it. He’s sure of it.

The flower petals don’t completely go away, nor, however, do they grow worse. It quickly becomes something he adjusts to and deals with, because he has to. He doesn’t try to research it any more than he has, if only because he can’t bring himself to ask anyone else about it. Scouring the Internet on a Pokémon Centre computer, he learns it is a rare affliction commonly associated with repressed feelings of some kind. So long as he still wakes up with nightmares of that Pokémon, he supposes it won’t get any better, but those are lessening, too, as time goes on. It must be a matter of patience, then.

After that, he mostly tries to put it out of his mind. It bothers him only once every few days, if that. By the time he returns to Pallet Town again, he has found ways to make his coughing less obvious; sometimes, he can even swallow them down completely, though it results in an aching pain in his chest that he prefers to avoid whenever possible. Around Ash and his grandfather in particular, he leaves room for the ache, knowing it is better than their questions or, worse, their concerns.

He thinks he has it all figured out, until the night before his battle with Ash at the Silver Conference, he chokes up not just a petal, but an entire flower.

It is round and yellow, small, as if not yet fully grown. He is no botanist, has never been particularly interested in plants beyond their usefulness to him and his Pokémon. He holds it up to the light in his room, then far away, trying to glean…something from it, but there is nothing. Umbreon, who was sleeping near his feet before his coughs roused her, stretches up to sniff at it.

“I guess it’s kinda pretty,” he allows. “If you like that kind of thing.”

“Bre?”

“Forget about it. After we’re finished here, it’ll get better. It has to.”

She doesn’t look fully convinced, but dutifully lies back down. Her eyes follow him through the dark as he leans over to put the flower on the table beside his bed, then slips back into bed and turns on his side, so he can’t see it any longer.

In the morning, it has already wilted. He tells himself he pays it no mind as he grabs his things and leaves the room behind to prepare for their battle.

Facing against Ash, it is easy to forget about the things that are weighing down him. He is a passionate and spirited battler, always intent on keeping his competition on their toes; a long time ago, Gary thought Ash would never grow into the rival he was sure as children they would be for each other, but even from across the battlefield, the glint in his eyes is impossible to miss. Gary swallows hard against the flowers in his throat and throws himself into the battle, the way Ash has always wanted him to do.

His loss comes with a sense of serenity. Any doubt still lingering about his next steps flees the moment the referee declares Blastoise unable to battle. He has made it as far as he ever needed, or truly wanted, to. And on the other side is Ash—shocked, until the realization hits him. And then he is smiling so brightly Gary wonders how he ever let himself believe he wanted to take that away from him.

He throws up a second flower shortly after that, much like the first one. He doesn’t know why looking at it for too long makes his eyes begin to sting. He doesn’t know why it makes his chest hurt so badly to drop it on the ground and stamp beneath his foot, as if it were still somehow rooted to his lungs.

After he is sure that it isn’t going to happen again, he asks Ash to meet him by the lake, and returns the top half of their Poké Ball. It takes a heaviness from him, lessens the ache, even if just a bit. He holds Ash’s hand tightly in his and smiles and really means it when he says that, this time, he’ll be there to cheer him on.

There’s nothing between them, then. Ash opens his mouth, as if to say something, but then thinks better of it and clamps it shut. He just smiles instead. When they let go, Gary turns away first. He doesn’t let himself look back.

His next return to Pallet Town is short but necessary as he considers his next steps. Research is a different path, which will lead him other places and introduce him to new people. It will be like starting from square one all over again.

During this time, however, the flowers only grow bigger, and come more frequently. He spends a few days in bed with what he tells his grandfather must be the flu, just trying to breathe through the stabbing pain in his sides. By now, it has been just over two years since this began; and while the venom of his memories has lessened, the flowers only seem to have developed thorns of their own.

They’re worse at night, when everyone else is asleep. This has been true from the beginning, like loneliness is a prerequisite to their growth. A few days into his stay at the lab, it is so awful he thinks perhaps he really does have the flu, and yet no amount of heaving over the toilet produces anything more than specks of velvety yellow and orange. Most of the flowers are not in full bloom; many come apart somewhere in his throat, leaving his choking that much more pronounced.

It's like this that Tracey finds him, knocking hesitantly on the door and then poking his head inside.

“Hey, Gary?” he calls. “You all right in there?”

In answer, he throws up again.

“Okay, stupid question.” Tentative footsteps echo behind him, until Tracey is kneeling down next to him. He seems to debate for a moment whether or not it’s a good idea, but after a pregnant pause puts a hand on Gary’s shoulder and awkwardly begins to rub his back.

Gary doesn’t have the strength to push him away, nor the mental fortitude to try anyway and risk revealing the source of his illness. Unfortunately, it is impossible to remain in this position when coughs tear through him again and he retches. He spits a few broken petals into the toilet and at least leans back in defeat.

“Oh,” says Tracey, very quietly.

Gary attempts to clear his throat, to little success. Apparently clueing in, Tracey gets to his feet and tells him, “Let me grab you some water, all right? Stay there.”

As if Gary could have gone anywhere if he wanted to. He shoots a pitiful glare at the toilet, as if it is to blame for the flowers now swimming in it. When Tracey returns, he takes the water without a fight, just grateful to have something to relieve the scratchiness in his throat.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” Tracey says after a moment, “but, um…how long has this been going on?”

Gary directs the glare at him, now; he puts his hands up in surrender.

“I know, sorry. It’s just—it doesn’t seem like your grandpa knows. Does he?”

Minutely, Gary shakes his head.

“Does anyone know?”

“No,” Gary rasps. “And you can’t tell anyone, either. It’s not a big deal, all right?”

Tracey’s gaze is kind, yet somehow also unrelenting. He says, “It is a big deal, Gary. I… It’s a rare disease, but I knew someone who had it. In the Orange Islands, we call it Hanahaki Disease. She, um, passed away from it. If you let it go untreated for too long…”

Gary tries not to focus on the part of that statement he leaves hanging between them. “There’s a treatment?”

Tracey winces. “Well…not exactly. How much do you know about it?”

Gary’s grip tightens on the glass. He tells himself it is only that tension making his hand tremble so much. “It’s psychological,” he finally manages. “It’s because of—feelings. If you don’t deal with that…”

A beat passes, and then Tracey kneels down in front of him again. Gingerly, he eases the glass free from Gary’s grasp, then sets it down on the floor between them.

“Sort of,” he says. “But you’re smarter than that, Gary. Pretty sure you can tell it’s not just in your head. It’s also here.” He gestures to his own chest, and then down to his midsection. “And here.”

As Gary watches, unbidden, he thinks of the flower he crushes under his foot, during the Silver Conference. He does not know why, despite the pain of leaning over the toilet for who-knows-how-long before Tracey came around, this is what makes tears spring into his eyes now.

“Then—what’s the treatment?”

“I guess you could say it’s honesty. But I think the first person you have to be honest to is yourself, right?” He hesitates a moment, and then says, “The feeling. What is it?”

Under the weight of his kind stare, Gary falters. Suddenly, his certain diminishes; if it were truly to do with the nightmares and the memories and the fear he’s carried since the Viridian Gym, he would not be here now. Would he?

That’s when it started. So what else happened that day?

He closes his eyes, thinking back. Ash was there. He picked him up off the floor. He looked him in the eyes, open and earnest. The memory of his hands around Gary is more poignant than that of the explosion that knocked him off his feet in the first place.

It got worse recently. He clenches his hands into fists, remembering how it had felt holding Ash’s. Passing him the other half of that Poké Ball. The bright light in his eyes. The ambitious joy in his smile.

He swallows down a sudden lump in his throat and opens his eyes again.

“I don’t know,” he lies.

“Gary…”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Gary says again, voice tight from the flower lodged somewhere within it. He thinks to try swallowing it down again, but there is no point, when Tracey already knows the truth anyway. He coughs a few times, until he is able to spit up the yellow abomination. He holds it out in his shaking hand, vision blurring somewhat.

“It’s pretty,” Tracey offers after a moment. “I don’t know if it’s true, but…I’ve heard that the flowers that grow inside the person afflicted with the disease represent the person they love. So I guess it must be someone fairly bright, right? Someone who…makes you happy?”

Gary snorts out a laugh. “Is this supposed to make me happy?”

Tracey puts a hand over the flower, which draws Gary’s eyes away from it and up to his face.

“Love isn’t supposed to hurt,” he says seriously. “The only way to make it stop hurting is by being honest about it.”

Gary just shakes his head. He can’t tell Tracey. He can barely bear to examine this realization himself.

Tracey sighs, but gives his hand a small squeeze and then reaches down and passes the water back to him anyway. “Well, at least make sure you take care of yourself. And if you ever need anything…”

There’s something terribly ironic about Ash’s friend offering him a helping hand, as if this whole thing isn’t clearly Ash’s fault in the first place. Tracey is nice enough, though, and Gary doubts he would try to involve Ash unless Gary actually asked him to. Still…it’s not worth the headache, when Gary knows he figured it out too late and now he’s missed his chance. If he said anything to Ash now…

Love isn’t supposed to hurt. Yeah, of course it’s not.

And Gary isn’t interesting in hurting Ash now, just to give himself some relief.

He drinks the rest of the water. Tracey waits for him.

Finally, he passes the glass back and says, “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Tracey accepts it with a smile. “Sounds good. Why don’t you go get some sleep? I’m sure I’ll see you in the morning.” He pauses, but only briefly. “Why don’t you leave that here with the other ones? I’ll clean them up.”

Gary stares at him for a moment, and then slowly unfurls his hand from around the flower. He lets it fall into Tracey’s outstretched hand, then hurries up to his feet and heads back for his room. Pure physical exhaustion is the only thing that ensures he falls asleep once he is in bed; it does not stop him from tossing and turning, his dreams an all-consuming shadow around his best friend’s smile, his hands, his burning, passionate eyes.

He tries to leave before Ash can catch up to him, but Ash finds him anyway. He always does. And he sends him off with the half of the Poké Ball and a heaviness in his lungs, like it is no big deal.

Mostly, his first year and a half as a researcher are spent trying to cope with the flowers growing in his lungs. A part of him is convinced he can just live with it, that even if his life is in any sort of danger, that danger hangs suspended far in the future. There must be something he can do in between then, if he just…gets stronger, learns more, tries harder.

On Sayda Island, he mostly is able to ignore it. It comes and it goes, he finds, and when he is occupied with something else, it tends not to be so bad, at least until that thing becomes stressful and overwhelming, like the rampaging Aerodactyl.

Which is a perfect time for Tracey and his grandfather to come for a visit, too.

Tracey is cautious about broaching the subject, but it becomes unavoidable when, shortly before he and Samuel are about to leave, Gary bends over, heaving, and chokes out a few crumpled petals, and then finally a large, round flower.

Dora and Crystal and thankfully preoccupied with Aerodactyl and don’t notice anything. But Gary’s grandfather sees it, and if Gary thought it was bad enough that Tracey knew, well…now he kind of wishes he could sink into the ground and be done with it.

“Gary, what…?”

“It’s not that bad,” he hurries to reassure. “It’s been happening a lot less than before.” He pointedly doesn’t mention that the flower in front of his feet now is the biggest one he’s seen yet. Even Tracey would have no way of figuring that out.

“This is…” Samuel blinks. Shakes his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Gary looks away. He hates when his grandfather gets that look, like he has somehow done something wrong or bad for Gary, like this is his fault rather than Gary’s.

“Gary’s been monitoring his symptoms,” Tracey jumps in quickly. “Right now, they’re not so bad, right, Gary?”

“Oh, uh…” He clears his throat and turns back to face them both. “That’s right. I just…I’m not in a position to do anything about it, that’s all.”

Samuel’s lips thin. “I don’t know much about this particular malady, but I understand the solution is fairly straightforward.” Suddenly, his eyes flash, and dread flows from Gary’s head down to his feet. Leave it to his grandfather to have him all figured out in ten seconds flat.

“You can’t tell him,” he says, and feels like he’s begging but can’t quite help it. “I’m not coming back. Look—Dora and I were talking, and she has some friends working with Professor Rowan in the Sinnoh region. I spoke to him. After I’m finished here, he’s going to give me a position in his lab. I can’t go back now.”

“Really?” Tracey beams. “That’s awesome, Gary!”

“Now, Tracey, wait just a moment…” Samuel is frowning. Deeply. “Gary, I understand you don’t want to leave things in the air for so long, but surely…”

“I don’t even know where he is,” Gary points out. “We’ll see each other again someday, but for now, I’m doing my own thing, and he’s doing his. Isn’t that enough, Gramps?”

“Well…”

“It’s not usually this bad,” he tries again. “It’s just ‘cause everything was so—hectic. I’m keeping an eye on things. You believe me, don’t you?”

Finally, his grandfather’s composure crumbles. He heaves a short sigh, then offers a watery smile.

“I believe you,” he promises. “But I hope Tracey’s right about you monitoring your symptoms. If they ever worsen…”

“I know, I know.”

Samuel gives him a long, searching look, and then nods. “Very well. Then, I’m happy for you, Gary, truly. The Sinnoh region will have plenty of excellent opportunities just waiting for you. Don’t forget to call every now and then!”

Relief lessens the tension in Gary’s jaw enough so that he is able to must up a genuine smile. “I won’t. Thanks for visit, Gramps, Tracey. See ya soon. Have a safe trip back.”

They both bid him farewell, then turn begin making their way toward the boat. Only when Gary is just about to turn away himself does he hear Tracey yelp, “Ash?!”

He shakes his head, sighing. Leave it to his grandfather to spill his secrets for him. All he can do is hope Tracey will keep him from telling anyone even more implicated than Tracey is.

True to his word, Gary does make an effort to call often, and dutifully reports with at least a degree of honesty on his current symptoms. They remain about the same, though his stress levels rise somewhat significantly under Professor Rowan’s tutelage. He is a severe man, with big expectations; Gary intends to surpass them all, but this grows increasingly difficult when he is throwing up flowers every other day.

It is manageable, though. Gary returns to Pallet Town for a short while after he hears Ash has completely the Battle Frontier challenge. He isn’t sure what he expects to say to him, if anything at all; but after not seeing him in so long, he can’t bring himself to think about the disease or the crushed up flowers or anything, really, other than how nice it will be to see him again after all this time.

And it is nice. In the time they’ve spent apart, Ash has grown—physically, of course, but it’s more than that. There’s a new confidence in him, unlike the arrogant self-certainty he has after he toured the Orange Islands. This is more peaceful. Assurance, security—nothing more or less than belief in himself and his Pokémon.

It is the first time Gary’s seen him in person since he left, shortly after realizing the truth of his feelings. Aside from a postcard he sent when Ash was competing in the Ever Grande Conference, they haven’t exactly shared words with each other in just as long. But Gary watched his battles on TV; Gary asked his grandfather about his travels and his Pokémon and his friends; Gary thought about this moment, and what he would say when it came, so often it sometimes kept him awake at night at least as often as the flowers have.

But he doesn’t say anything. He just accepts Ash’s request to battle, and hopes that says enough for Ash to know he isn’t giving up on his dream, and neither should he. Neither Tracey nor his grandfather try to hold him back when he says he is leaving, but, then again, neither does Ash.

It’s just as well, too, because Gary coughs up some more flowers not too far from the lab. Orange and yellow petals drift down around his feet. He takes care to step around them when he finally moves on.

After he returns to Professor Rowan’s lab, his condition worsens.

He is not so stupid as to think Ash won’t be motivated to follow him to Sinnoh after their battle. At the same time, he knows it is still too soon for their paths to converge. When he is in the middle of a briefing with the professor and begins vomiting blood and vomit over the side of his chair, he is too overwhelmed by the pain of it to notice that his mentor has come around and kneeled down in front of him until he murmurs, “Zinnias.”

Gary coughs once, twice, then looks up at him, dazed. “What?”

“These flowers are called zinnias. But I suppose you must know that already.”

Slowly, Gary shakes his head. “I don’t know anything about flowers, other than that these ones’ve been a real pain.”

Rowan’s moustache twitches. “Yes, I would imagine they have been. I must admit I’ve never seen this phenomenon before in person, but it doesn’t appear to be new to you. What do you know about it?”

And it’s strange, in a way, how relaxing it is. It is as if they are discussing a theory of Pokémon evolution—he grills Gary for the facts, then acknowledges the gaps in his understanding and sends him off somewhere to fill them in for himself.

“It’s caused by unacknowledged feelings,” he says. “Untreated, it can kill a person.”

Rowan raises an eyebrow at that. “And yet you’re sitting here now.”

“It’s not that bad yet,” Gary mutters, though the excuse doesn’t feel right when the words are coated in a thin film of iron.

Rowan says nothing to that. Instead, he asks, “And what is the treatment?”

“Honesty. To the target of the feelings.”

“And what of the afflicted?”

“Well, I’m being honest now, if that’s what you mean.”

“In a sense, I suppose.” He strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Then, if there were somewhere you could go or something you could do to ease the symptoms, it would be…?”

Gary closes his eyes and really thinks about this. He imagines that, by now, Ash is halfway across the ocean on his way here, but if their battle showed Gary anything, it’s that he’s still finding his path. And Gary isn’t so different, isn’t he?

He opens his eyes again. Says, “There isn’t anything. It’s just psychological management.”

But Rowan shakes his head. “No problem,” he says in that low, rumbling voice of his, “has only one potential solution. Perhaps you ought to think it over before your next assignment, and then we can re-evaluate.”

Gary chews on this for a moment. He doesn’t mistake any of it for a question, or even a helpful suggestion. This is simply how the professor operates.

At last, he nods. “All right. I’ll think it over. But I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Rowan looks down at the flowers around Gary’s feet. His eyes are decidedly dark.

“Come back if it worsens,” he says. “There are things that can be done if the cure is truly out of reach.”

In the moment, Gary doesn’t ask about it, but when his lungs start to feel heavy every waking moment of every day, after his next run-in with Ash during his assignment with the Shieldon, he begins to consider what exactly Professor Rowan meant.

The answer disturbs him more than he would like to admit:

“There are surgical procedures,” he explains gruffly. “In essence, they will remove the source of the growth from your organs. But it’s highly invasive, and not often done. The mortality rate is too high for most to justify it.”

“But some people survive it?”

“Certainly. Those who do go on to be quite lonely, however.”

“What do you mean?”

“Simply, they lose the ability to love. Much as the heart reacts to the repression of love by growing flowers, it similarly reacts to the unnatural removal of them by altering its function. In a way, it’s not so different from some phenomena observed in Pokémon evolution.”

Gary’s skin feels very cold, suddenly. He rubs absently at his arms. “And that’s the only alternative to the cure?”

“There are plenty of supposed natural remedies, though no scientific evidence to back them up. Some have attempted seances with ghost and psychic Pokémon, while others have supposedly attempted communicating with Legendaries in hopes of establishing a cure. Here in Sinnoh, Mesprit is a rather popular choice for such woes, so far as I understand it.”

Gary imagines himself begging to a Lake Guardian to rid him of his disease, then promptly dismisses the thought with a short, despairing laugh.

“I think I’d rather try my luck with the surgery,” he mutters.

Professor Rowan is silent for a moment, and then he clears his throat. “Forgive me for saying so, but I do wonder if there’s more to your decision to not simply confront the object of your affections than you believe there is. I will not presume to understand your situation, Gary. But I doubt whatever ramification you’re fearing is enough to risk your life over.”

When Gary says nothing, he just sighs. “In any case, there have been some reports about habitat disruptions in the caves of Mt. Cornet I was hoping you might be able to look into…”

That is the end of the conversation, but it stays with Gary for a long time, especially as his body begins fighting against him more and more. When he sees the Lake Guardians at Lake Valor, helpless to save them, he doesn’t think about the flowers. He doesn’t think about whether or not they could help. He sees Ash at the end of it all, one of the heroes standing in the way of Team Galactic, and all he can do is promise to return the Adamant and Lustrous Orbs back to Celestic Town.

Then, finally, he thinks of what Professor Rowan said.

Then, finally, he thinks he understands it.

(They stop no fewer than five times on the way to Celestic Town so Gary can throw up. The taste of blood has begun to mingle with something salty, but Professor Rowan tactfully says nothing of it when he has to wipe his eyes clean as well as his mouth.)

For a long while, Gary has time to simply think about it, if only because his condition gets so bad he is confined to bedrest for the unforeseeable future. He eventually relents to Professor Rowan’s insistences and calls his grandfather and Tracey, whose faces are sorrowful but advice is exactly what he expects it to be: Just talk to him, Gary.

His grandfather informs him that Ash will soon being competing in the Sinnoh League. He already was in contact, asking to have some of his old Pokémon transferred to him. And this time, Gary knows—he has no choice, but he can wait a few more days. He can.

The flowers he throws up now are dry, brittle things, past their lifespan. The blood that coats them when he coughs them out changes their colour into something dull and grey, not at all bright or happy, like Ash is. It feels worse, somehow; as if he has waited so long out of some noble sense of self-sacrifice and all he’s done is kill them both.

He musters up the strength to call Ash shortly before his battle against that trainer with the Darkrai that the announcers are raving about on TV. He has to leave a message with Nurse Joy, but he tells himself he didn’t expect anything different. And then he just has to hope that Ash receives it, and will come.

Though it is difficult to get up and walk around, Gary does manage it once in a while, certain that exercise will probably help him more than hinder him even if it makes his breathing short and fast and painful. Lake Verity is not too terribly far, and he finds that the way the breeze rolls off the water is refreshing; it helps him breathe.

It’s a better day than he’s had in a while that he comes out to the lake to wait for him. He watched the match on TV the other day, and still finds himself amazed at the way Ash smiled at the end of it, like he hadn’t been so unfairly outmatched, like he was just happy to have gotten the experience of battling such a strong Pokémon, rather than lost in the semifinals of his fourth Pokémon League. After all this time, so many years—and failures—he is still smiling just like he was that day at the Silver Conference. The day Gary walked away from him, not knowing what it would cost.

He doesn’t hear the sound of footsteps behind him, because he is bent over coughing when Ash arrives. The bloodied petals fall into his cupped hands. When he glances back to see Ash, they both stop, eyes wide.

Gary curls his hands into a fist, obscuring the petals from view, while Ash takes in two deep, stuttering breaths, then quickens his pace to get to Gary.

“Gary!” He stands above him, and he’s sort of…hovering. Like he doesn’t know what to do. “It’s—it’s been a while, huh? Are you…?”

In spite of it all, Gary cracks a smile at that. He scoots over a bit, and uses his free hand to pat the grass beside him.

“I’m all right,” he says. “Saw your battles.”

Lowering himself down with a wary sideways glance, Ash asks, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Pretty good. I was impressed.”

Immediately, he relaxes. Smiles. “Well, thanks! I’m glad you think so. We trained real hard. It wasn’t easy!”

“Easy’s not in your vocabulary, Ashy.” Gary laughs a bit, then stops, straightening up, as the act of it sends pain lacing up his side.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“It’s…it’s nothing.” He looks away, toward the water. “So, what’s next, then?”

Ash is quiet for a long moment. In the silence, Pikachu jumps down from his shoulder and inches closer to Gary. He doesn’t have the heart to push him away.

Finally, Ash sighs. “I don’t know yet. Guess I should be askin’ you that. I never woulda travelled here if not for you.”

Gary smiles, faintly. His eyes trace out the reflections of the sun against the lake’s tranquil surface. “I know,” he says. “Pretty cool that ya got to battle against Paul’s Electivire, too.”

Pikachu’s nose brushes against Gary’s fisted hand. Not expecting it, his fingers twitch as he pulls his hand away. The petals slips between them, settling down on the grass. Pikachu cautiously steps closer and sniffs at them, then sits back and looks at Gary with wide, sad eyes.

“Pika…”

“Something’s funny,” Ash declares. “Even Pikachu’s worried about you. Gary, what’s going on? You don’t look so good. Have you been eating? Sleeping?”

Gary pats Pikachu’s head. “You’re too nosy for your own good,” he mutters. “Just like your trainer, y’know that?”

“Pi?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He sighs. “Ash, look, I… It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? That’s all.”

“That’s not all.” Suddenly, Ash’s hands are wrapping around his wrists, pulling them toward him so face Gary’s whole body has no choice but to follow. His eyes find Ash’s and blink dumbly at him as he says, furiously, “You’re hiding something, just like you were before! What were you holding, anyway, and why are you— Why are you looking at me like that?!”

Gary opens his mouth to respond, but the words are lost as he begins to cough. And cough. And cough.

“Gary?”

He heaves until at least, the familiar sensation of flower petals tickles at the roof of his mouth. When it passes between his lips, it is whole, not wilted. A yellow zinnia, perfectly rounded, not a petal out of place.

Ash drops one of his hands to pick it up. The only indication of a problem is the streaks of blood, but he is apparently unfazed by that. His eyebrows are furrowed when he looks back up at Gary.

“Really…bad timing,” Gary manages between puffs of overexerted breaths. “It’s—”

“Hanahaki,” Ash says. “Tracey told us about it, once, a long time ago. I didn’t think I believed him.”

Gary stares at him for a moment. Ash looks back down at the flower.

“But I guess it must be real, then. Gary, I…I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Gary recoils. Ash’s head snaps back up, eyes widening. It is only their joined hands and Gary’s frail condition that prevents him from pulling away completely.

“Let me help you,” Ash says quickly. “I—I don’t know much about it, but I get the idea. Who is it? If you need to track ‘em down, then I can help! Or—or if you don’t know how to talk to them, then I—”

He cuts off when Pikachu comes around and jumps on his lap again. If he had the wherewithal to do so, Gary would have laughed at the look the little mouse levels his trainer with.

“What?” Ash bristles. “You think you know, Pikachu? You’re kidding me.”

“Pi-pi-chu!” Pikachu points at Gary, then at the flower. And then finally at Ash. “Pikapi!”

Gary has no idea what he’s saying, but clearly Ash does. He stares at Pikachu, dumbfounded, and then looks up at Gary again. He makes a clear effort to void his face of emotion.

“You can tell me,” he says, quietly. “I won’t judge you.”

“I…” Even still, even knowing the words—it’s so hard to just be honest. Gary’s not like Ash, not even close, and they both knows it.

But Ash feels it when his hand begins to tremble. He holds on tighter and leans a little closer and says, “Hey, it’s okay. You’ve definitely done scarier things than this before. Professor Oak was tellin’ me one time—something about an Aerodactyl?”

Gary lets out a huff of air, a sad imitation of a laugh. “Of course he never saves the best stories for me to tell, does he?”

Ash smiles a bit. “He’s just proud of ya, that’s all. But still—that’s way scarier than just tellin’ someone how you feel, right?”

It’s not. It’s really, really not.

“You asked me to come here because of this, right?”

Wordlessly, Gary nods.

“It reminds me of the day you gave me back that Poké Ball,” Ash says. “And I think maybe—you were kinda nervous then, too. But the Poké Ball helped me understand your feelings, so maybe…this flower…”

“I don’t know anything about it,” Gary rasps. “Except that—except that it’s colourful. Bright. Like the person it represents.”

“Someone bright and colourful. All right. Anything else?”

He swallows back an acidic taste. Clutches Ash’s hand more tightly.

“That person was the first bright thing I saw after the worst moments of my life, so—so I guess you could say they flowers are like that because this person…makes me happy.” He makes a face at that, pointedly not looking at Ash as he says it. “I don’t know what they really mean. I just know that—in all the time we spent apart, I don’t think I even really wanted to get rid of them, because they reminded me of you.”

All at once, the pain in his sides changes into something—different. More of an ache than a sharpness. A scar rather than a wound. His free hand comes up to touch around his throat, gingerly, just waiting for something to happen, but—nothing does.

He breathes in, deeply, and out, and looks at Ash.

And it’s the same look he normally reserves for battles. He saw it on the TV, watching the Lily of the Valley Conference just days ago. It saw it in Pallet Town, outside his grandfather’s lab. He saw it at the Silver Conference.

But there’s no battle here. It’s just them, and Pikachu, who’s looking…rather smug, so far as Gary can tell. And then he doesn’t have any more time to think about it, because Ash is pulling him forward into a bone-crushing hug. Pikachu yelps, ducking away just in time to avoid be squished, but Gary is not so lucky.

Then again, as he lets himself melt into it and his eyes begin to well with tears, he’s pretty sure there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

“You shoulda said something,” Ash mutters. “Y’know, I coulda been here way sooner than this. I wish I had been.”

Gary takes a moment to respond, only once he is sure his voice is going to cooperate. And then he says, “I didn’t want to hold you back.”

Ash pulls away, just enough so that he can look at Gary’s face. He frowns.

“You never held me back. All you ever did was push me forward.”

“This is different, though.”

“Nah, it’s not. Wherever either of us ends up, I know you’re gonna be in my corner. For a while…for a while, I wasn’t sure. But I’m sure now, and I’ll always do the same for you. C’mon, Gary. You’re my best friend. What ever made you think I couldn’t love you back?”

Gary’s breath hitches. With some effort, he manages to pull away from Ash, who just grins at him. Out of the corner of his eye, Gary sees Ash scoop up the flower, and then get up to his feet.

“How’re you feeling now?”

“It’s a little easier to breathe,” Gary admits. “But I think—it’ll take some time. It’s been like this for…a while.”

“A while,” Ash echoes. “Months?”

Gary cringes away from him. He casts his gaze desperately back out toward the lake. “Well…a little longer than that, yeah.”

“A little…” Ash steps closer and leans down in front of him, so he has no choice but to meet his eyes even if only briefly. “How long, Gary? C’mon, just tell me! Isn’t the hard part over?”

“I’m not telling you that. Shut up.”

“Please?”

“No. You’re so annoying. Let’s just go back to the professor’s lab.”

Ash pouts, clearly wanting to push the topic, but then his sympathy for Gary’s situation clearly wins out and he sighs, extending a hand down to him. “Okay, fine. Let’s go. Sure you can walk?”

Gary takes his hand, even as he glares up at him. “I’m sure.”

Even once they are both on their feet, Ash doesn’t let go of his hand. Gary doesn’t ask him to, although his face feels rather hot at the continued contact. It’s only once they start walking that he finally relaxes enough to realize, “I never said the word love.”

Ash blinks. “What?”

“You said you love me back. But I never said I love you.” Gary glances at him, then quickly averts his gaze again. He clears his throat, awkwardly. “So how’d you know?”

“You…didn’t? Huh… I dunno. I guess I just kinda always knew. I never really had to think about it.”

Gary doesn’t know what he was expecting, honestly. He just sighs and wraps his hand around Ash’s a little more tightly. In his peripherals, he sees Ash’s smile widen in response. Neither of them says anything. Eventually, there will be more Gary has to be honest about, but for now…he supposes Ash is right.

There’s no need to speak what both of them already know.

#*reqs #*fic #mine #palletshipping #shigesato #pokemon #this inspired me SO much ive never written hanahaki before but i had a blast thank you #this is so long bianca says i was lost in the gary angst sauce and she may have had a point

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flamingostalker · 1 year ago

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bran my friend in my phone do you have favorite hobbit fic recs to share? I’ve read some of the big ones but spelunking around ao3 as if I am bilbo in the dark is not giving me great results

HELLO my fellow friend in my phone!! Yes I have quite a few😂 I've been taking WILD risks and reading A LOT so please have some of my favs I've found so far:

Sansûkh (obviously) (M) - once in a lifetime transformative work, did insane shit to my grieving brain.

The Riven Crown (E) - I think this one also gets recc'd a lot but it DESERVES IT. I love a good courtship/marriage of convenience situation. This also goes through the nitty gritty of survival through the winter and injuries as well, which I like to read. Satisfying slow burn and hilarious ending.

In the Shadow of Mountain Kings (E) - INSANEEEE fili/oc fic. Retells the company's journey. Don't be intimidated by "major character death" tag, as far as I remember nobody major dies? At least definitely none of the company dies.

lay your troubles down (E) - Bilbo fucks Thorin out of his goldsickness basically but like. much more fuvked up than that in a touch starved/afraid of intimacy kind of way. fucked me RIGHT up.

On Chokeberries and Mushrooms (NR) - Bilbo trying to keep himself from being a burden to the Company, even though he knows he physiologically needs more food than they do. I'm very normal about food.

Green-Handed (G) - sometimes...a hobbit's hands turn green...to cope??? Like a modified Hanahaki disease type of fic. Very fun.

Oak and Mistletoe (T) - AU where Thorin has a mysterious illness where he can't appreciate any sensations. Bilbo does mistletoe magic on him to help. Very cute.

Something to Start With (T) - Thorin and Bilbo thoroughly convinced the other doesn't want to see them. They start talking again because Bilbo notices the GIGANTIC GAPING HOLE in Thorin's foot🥰 hooray for romantic wound care

You Got Me (G) - the company gets to know Bilbo and gives him gifts. VERY cool moments in here for the Nori appreciators especially💜

The "Dying" Hobbit (T) - Oin mishears Bilbo and the whole company thinks he's dying when he just has a little cold. Gandalf doesn't help. Mostly very cute but the Fili and Kili scene SNIPED my ass unexpectedly and did make me cry😂

Twist, Twirl, Dance, Clap (G) - the company teaching Bilbo to dance! very cute🥰

Confidence (T) - trans men Bilbo, Thorin, and Fili that's not porn🥰 you would not believe how hard that is to come by. Not much to this one I guess but I just like holding them in my hands💜

The Color of Possibility (T) - Bilbo saves Thorin from Azog's blade, but now Thorin refuses to see him. And the company is being very unhelpful with trying to arrange a meeting🤔

May Your Forge Burn Bright (E) - AU where Bilbo on a whim purchases the smithy in Bree where Thorin works. Lots goin on in there to keep you reading.

Something Blue (M) - Bilbo/Thorin marriage of convenience but fili/ori subplot as well. Thorin "married Bilbo for political reasons" you know how it goes. Also, Dain gets reallllll comfy with Bilbo🧐

And those are all the ones from ao3 that live in my head rent free! I have more if you like, but I will say I also look at xreader fics and imagines and shit. Always fun to see what the girlies are saying.

#personal #ask #anon #hobbit #thank you for the ask my friend!!!#if you or anybody else has recc's I'd love to read them!#especially fili stuff thats my little guy!!!

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rhimson-waves · 1 month ago

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"A word is like a small magic, a spell that can unlock the world."

- Jane Yolen

~~~~~

Introduction to me, @rhimson-waves:

Hi there! Welcome to my little corner of Tumblr.

My pronouns are she/her. Age: 30. I go by Rhim and Waves.

Fic Recs are appreciated!

(see tag preferences and fandoms below)

About Me:

Reading is the most integral part of myself, but so are fangirling and writing. This is just me indulging in just about everything I love. I'm a sucker for the cold/abrasive/intellectual/grumpy (male) type.

I myself am bookish, clumsy, and have been called an optimistic energizer bunny in my youth, although I've cooled since then (although I will admit that I'm still prone to bouts of giddiness). I have ADHD and the hyper fixation curse is basically my personality.

I also like mood music and ambience videos, fluffy blankets, thunderstorms, coffee, and tea. Stickers and candles are my fiscal indulgences. And snacks.

Right now I'll be posting my fanfic recs, fun fanart I find, and eventually I'll probably post some of my own works. When I decide to actually write them. And am not gripped by crippling rejection sensitivity and anxiety.

I'll link my Ao3 and Wattpad here eventually, as well as a master list of my fic recs below - once I actually sit down and organize everything.

Discord: rhimson_waves

My Favorite Tags/Tropes include:

Isekai, Reincarnation, Time Travel, Slow Burn, Fix-It fics, Revenge, Salt, Soulmates, and Fluff/Pining.

Angst with a Happy Ending and HEA are a must ( I can't do sad endings).

Not afraid of NSFW fics but not necessary either.

Sudden Marriage and Crack fics are highly appreciated.

Enemies to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Identity Reveals, and anything gooey and/or funny are lovely and encouraged.

Tags/tropes I avoid are:

Hurt/No Comfort, Angst with No Happy Ending, Hanahaki, Historical AU, Zombies, Mpreg

I can cry but if I don't get comfort I will riot.

Unrequited love kills me.

Tags/tropes that just depend on the fic are:

Basically anything poly. Some are great and some just make me feel meh. I think it might have to do with getting the pairings right.

Unplanned Pregnancy fics. I often feel the need to scream in frustration when it's the whole plot or a cop out but it can be done well.

Modern AU (I like being in the canon worlds most of the time but this can be refreshing with the right fic)

Fandoms I enjoy:

Harry Potter

Inuyasha

Miraculous Ladybug (up until ~ season 3 before things got crazy)

Batman

Maribat

Marvel

Fruits Basket

Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood

Criminal Minds

The Disastrous Life of Saiki K

Danny Phantom

Stranger Things

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Percy Jackson

Hazbin Hotel

BTS

SKZ

Seriously, if you have fic recs from within these fandoms (and some others, there are more that I enjoy these are just the main) please send my way. Always looking for more content to consume.

(I used to be on here under @raegan_waves805 but therapy had me delete it and I'm starting over)

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myriadparacosm · 1 year ago

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Black Beats Black - IV. Dentelle de la Reine Anne Part 1.

Part 2. (Sorry Tumblr can't handle the size) Chapter I. - II. - III. Read on my AO3

“I really doubt that he wants love from me.”

“Of course he does,” Pandora argues. “You’re his brother and he adores you.”

Emmeline, who has stayed quiet, sends him a tense look. “Sirius is literally dying because of unrequited love. I agree that it’s certainly what he needs the most in any shape. From you or anyone else…”

Regulus shakes his head. They are heading toward the Room of Come & Go before breakfast to fetch his brother. It’s not a surprise that Sirius didn’t show up to watch the Quidditch game yesterday. Where would he stand? By Lupin and Pettigrew’s sides? They were there to watch and support their team with the rest of their friends, Sirius’ team, but he probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

He isn’t angry at him for not coming but the door didn’t open up last night. Regulus had celebrated his team’s victory a bit with his friends - the game finished rather quickly and if he honest it feels like the Gryffindor’s seeker was nowhere to be seen. Although everyone in their team wasn't as good as before; James managed to lose the quaffle two times which Regulus had never seen happen to him before.

It had been boring but at least easy on his lungs considering that he coughed three times during the game. So far, it has only been petals compared to Sirius who has full flowers but it hurts. Pandora’s potion prevented most of the time from anything spilling out and thankfully in the middle of the Quidditch game he could let them fall into the wind. His throat feels full and scratchy most of the time and if he takes a deep breath he can almost feel the petals rustling with it.

Sirius never truly complained about it but he can imagine that the pain must be far worse. Emmeline had mentioned before the game how Sirius not being on the team really changed their dynamic for the worst and Dorcas, who believed they shouldn’t underestimate them in any case, quickly agreed before even the first point.

Regulus should offer to fly with Sirius. After the break it might be too cold and Sirius’ lungs too burdened to be safe or enjoy it. Dorcas and Emmeline already flew with him - Regulus has stayed behind with Pandora and Evan to look for a cure for the Hanahaki. They have written to people who came across Hanahaki: healers, curse-breakers, spouses. They haven’t found, nor does he think they will, anyone who might have survived the Hanahaki. Regulus has felt guilty that he didn’t spend time with Sirius considering that he found no leads but he is pleased that his friends and his brother are getting along. Never would he have considered that an option in his life.

“Did you hear Barty leave?” Evan asks.

Regulus frowns. These two are always running after each other like a duo of hunters always switching who is the prey and neither appear to notice their eternal dance. They are strangely synchronized. Both of them got jealous over the other being too close to Regulus; as if he is a moron who can’t understand that they somehow want to eat each other and be eaten at the same time. Evan loses all his decorum for Barty, which has been a shock to Regulus who grew used to the well-mannered and calm facade he used to wear, and Barty— Barty is more Barty than he should be.

“No. I was probably sleeping.”

It took him a long time to fall asleep because of a lack of news from Sirius. Emmeline has told him that she stayed with him since she didn’t go watch the game. They have apparently chatted about arts but she assured that Sirius is fine, probably only tired.

“Why? Was he noisy?” Dorcas asks.

Evan shakes his head, clearly unhappy and Regulus doesn’t understand how he can be sad over not starting a day with Barty’s babyish manners when he wakes up. It’s always the worst, as if he regresses during his sleep and loses all basic intelligence.

“No. But he took his bag. So he didn’t plan to drop by our dorm again— so either he is with someone or couldn’t sleep,” Evan complains with a rough voice.

Dorcas snorts and outright chuckles at his glare. “Oh come on, breathe. With whom Barty would go? He probably went off musing or brooding somewhere. You know how he is.”

“He likes to be moving,” Emmeline confirms.

“Don’t worry Evan,” Pandora says, slipping at his side for their arms to cross and hands to join. “Barty won’t stay lost too long without you.”

He frowns at her before scoffing. “I don’t worry.”

Regulus stays quiet but his mocking eyebrows are noticed by Emmeline who chuckles quietly behind her hand with a pointed look at Evan. He smirks in return - there is no need to insist but they all know that Evan is actually jealous, probably a bit worried, of whoever might be with Barty. His possessive streak can be impressive.

Because he hasn’t gotten a real sign from Sirius, Regulus decided to check on him before breakfast but all his friends followed without really asking - Pandora as always joining them despite their different houses. He is glad that Sirius isn’t mad that they all know about his curse. It could have been a deal breaker but Regulus is convinced that his brother only cares that none of his Gryffindor friends learn about it.

He can not picture what Sirius could have done to cause such a break, especially with James. But it’s probably for the better, for Regulus at least who is better off as far away as he can be from James.

The door to the Room needs a minute before appearing, which is a bit surprising as Regulus has barely needed to even stop to enter it before. It only takes him a second to realise why it might have hesitated to open up when he spots Sirius’ bed.

His brother is there, no mistake whose long dark hair is on the white pillows. What shouldn’t be here is Barty snoring beside him, looking as dishevelled and as naked as Sirius.

“Oh bloody he-”

“Barty?!” Evan screams and Emmeline jumps to Regulus’ side with wide eyes.

Sirius startles, straightening up for a bit which only shows more of his chest— tattooed? That’s not something Regulus was aware of. His brother squints at them before widening his eyes. Regulus throws him a deadpan for the gesture of it.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Sirius blurts out, almost falling out of bed as he clumsily leaves it with the blanket to cover himself.

Barty is completely naked, just like Sirius, and appears to wake up because he turns on his back with a groan.

“Bloody— Pandora don’t look for Merlin’s sake,” Dorcas blurts out.

“Why not?” She asks, voice rising in amusement despite the hand covering her eyes.

“Evan-”

He only cuts Emmeline’s words by casting a nasty jinx at Sirius, who ducks right in time to avoid it.

“Careful!” He spits before hiding behind his bed when a stinging jinx flies close.

“Evan stop!” Regulus shouts, stepping in but he is rudely pushed aside.

“For Morgana’s sake, shut up!” Barty screams as he curls up on the bed.

Dorcas groans. “Why do I even try?”

Sirius sneaks a peek from his hiding spot and he seems to fully catch on what is going on when he spots Evan’s face. Regulus knows better than to come in between Evan and Barty but he slips his wand out to at least salvage what he can. Emmeline looks weirdly pleased by what’s going on despite her wide eyes.

“Evan, mate,” Sirius articulates as his face falls when Evan rushes toward them. “It’s n-”

Regulus tries to follow but his protego is too slow for Evan’s levicorpus. Before he even blinks, Sirius is dangling in the air by his ankle, thankfully with the blanket still in one hand to cover his groin.

“I’m dealing with you later,” he growls and throws another spell.

Sirius’ hair flips despite the gravity and morphs as snakes which start biting at him.

“Bloody hell stop that and put me down you arse!”

He tries to push his hair out of his face but the snakes don’t stop and attack anything to their reach. Barty suddenly sits up just as Sirius’ curses are silenced by another swift cast of Evan. This one, Regulus lets it pass and only sighs when his brother mutedly turns to him, revolted.

“You deserve that one,” he mutters but casts a spell to cushion the floor below the glaring Sirius just in case.

“Oh cra-”

“You’re dead Bartemius!”

Barty’s reflex is good but not enough to jump away from Evan’s reach. He rolls out of bed at the second stinging hex, this one missing, but his arse is already aching red. Regulus spots Barty’s wand flying to where he is hiding before he stands up with a shield charm bouncing off Evan’s furious spells.

“Stop that Evan!”

“Cover yourself!”

“Wha-”

Emmeline probably didn’t mean to distract him but Barty glances down to see that he is fully naked in front of all of them. It’s enough for his Protego to be broken and for him to be hit by Evan’s sharp flipendo. Before he even hits the ground, ropes are shot at him and tighten around him. It’s clearly painful by his slight grimace but Barty quickly leers at Evan with a wicked look as the latter straight up walks on the bed to stomp over.

Regulus quickly takes that as a sign to put Sirius back to his feet with a miffed glare. The snakes try to bite him and almost manage to get his wand.

“Really? Barty?” He whispers without holding back the slight anger at the unfolding drama. “You didn’t think that perhaps Evan would have a problem with that?”

“How could I know?!” Sirius hisses out as he keeps the blanket on his lap, naked arse on the ground.

“If you wanted to tie me up you could have just asked with a pretty please Evan,” Barty says.

“You shut your mouth before I burn your tongue!” Evan hisses. “So that’s why you were playing nice with him?! Just to snog him!”

Regulus quickly muffles out Sirius’ indignant shriek with his hand. The snakes made out of his hair snap at him with furious bites as he tries to figure out how to cancel them since Finite Incantatem doesn’t work.

Barty rolls his eyes at him. “Oh please, you always hated him! What are you upset about?”

“Oh I’m so done with you, I swear Barty— I’m sick of you and your blasted mug!”

Sirius nudges Regulus’ leg with a frown at Evan grabbing Barty by his hair to put his wand at his throat, the latter only grins with a wild glint in his eyes.

“Are they together or not?” He asks. “Because it’s him who came to me, I swear.”

“I wish,” he mumbles. “Barty just likes playing with fire and Evan is stupid for him.”

“Jealous much?” Barty sneers and chokes when the wand digs a bit too far but his smirk stays strong. “What can I say, I’m fond of long hair.”

Barty did do it on purpose. Evan only started actively hating Sirius in third year because Barty commented on how his hair had grown - that it looked nice and soft enough to make him want to touch it. Before that, only Regulus truly complained about his brother but Evan started to add up on all his complaints with his own as he tried to grow out his own hair; which he angrily cut when Barty was found snogging a girl from Hufflepuff just at the start of this year.

“For Merlin’s sake just stop you two before I lose it!” Dorcas snaps. “You’re both endlessly teasing each other so just get it done once and for all!

“You freaking wanker-”

“You make me blush Evan.”

“I knew you would try to get in bed with him, you bloody slag!”

“Hey I resent that!” Sirius shouts just as Dorcas throws her hand, giving up.

Evan turns to him with blazed eyes and his wand pointed on them. “You-”

Barty makes him trip and traps him to the ground with his whole body. “Got y-CAZZO! Le mie palle!”

So Evan is ready to hit where it hurts.

“Alright that’s it, let them kill each other,” Dorcas says and throws Sirius a look. “You, dress up so we can get breakfast.”

His brother grunts when one of the snakes bites his cheek, he slaps it. “Does it look like I can go out like that?!”

Regulus sighs and accios his uniform and bag, hoping that he prepared everything for his class today. “Evan isn’t going to help any time soon so let’s just go.”

Sirius thankfully doesn’t try to be more difficult, hastily dressing up behind a folding screen that the Room conjures, before following them outside as Evan and Barty keep on fighting and insulting each other.

“Please Room, keep them in here until they start making sense,” Dorcas prays as they walk out of it. “For my sanity and peace for us.”

“Are you—” Emmeline side-steps Sirius when she comes too close and a snake tries to bite her. “Alright?”

“He cursed my hair!”

“You deserve it,” Regulus reminds. “What were you thinking?”

“Barty is the one who came up saying that it would be sad dying without having sex. I don’t bloody know what happened!” Sirius argues with his voice starting to sound shrill. “And how did you even get in? I would have never wanted for you to walk in.”

“He obviously did it on purpose,” Dorcas says. “Barty always wants to get any kind of reaction from Evan so that’s probably why the Room let us in.”

“Are you saying he used me?”

Emmeline looks up in surprise at Sirius’ cold tone. “No— well, in a way, yes. But Barty wouldn’t do that now that we are friends. It’s true that with Evan he is a bit unruly but he couldn’t have predicted that we would come here this morning. It’s an unlucky coincidence.”

“It’s true,” Regulus confirms. “They followed me but I was going to see you by myself. How did that even happen?”

Sirius sighs and slaps the snake that tugs at his collar shirt. “Barty showed up at the crack of dawn to knock at my door. The Room probably thought he was homeless.”

“You were awake?” Regulus frowns.

“I was planning to take a walk before breakfast, for the sunrise and all,” he quickly answers but it comes out a tad bit too oblivious that it’s a lie. “That’s how I found Barty offering to have sex with me and I certainly didn’t know Evan and him were a deal.”

Pandora hugs him as they walk toward the Great Hall. His brother relaxes and smiles, wrapping an arm around her like it has naturally come to happen with her never-ending hugs.

“They have been running after each other since forever,” Dorcas complains. “Evan is frighteningly jealous and possessive which Barty knows. That’s probably why he even mentioned your hair, even if he likes it, but since you’re Reg’s brother it’s more effective than anyone else.”

“Evan tried to grow his hair at that,” Emmeline recalls. “Still is actually but I think he likes it, even if it’s not as long as you, but Barty never said anything. Which doesn’t help.”

“To torture him,” Regulus points out. “But Evan definitely returns the favour. You have no idea how many times he faked being drunk to cling to Barty or how he teases him with the smallest thing.”

“That’s why I try to not eat with these two around,” Dorcas grunts out. “How did you not catch up on that Sirius?”

“I mean, I saw that they often get into each other’s space, teasing or fighting but you always cut them off so I figured they were really at each other’s throats.”

“They are but for the wrong reason.”

Regulus frowns at Sirius. “So you really did it?” He sighs at his indignant blush. “Well good luck with dealing with Evan now that’s done.”

“Was it worth it at least?”

“I’m this close to obliviate everyone then myself,” Sirius says, snorting with them.

“Barty’s cock is smaller than I thought,” Pandora admits.

Emmeline chokes a laugh while Sirius snickers. Dorcas holds her stomach as she starts to wheeze to Regulus’ amusement who shares a sly look with Pandora.

“Tell me how I can convince you to say that to Barty’s face,” Emmeline requests with a beautiful wicked smile.

Pandora purses her lips against Sirius’ arm. “Hum… If you try the potion I’m brewing, the effect will be random.”

“That’s fair,” she agrees. “I risk my life and you too.”

Despite the joyful scene, Sirius looks deeply tired and Regulus wonders if he couldn’t sleep or something else kept him awake. Despite the full moon, the sky was too cloudy to stargaze so it’s probably not for that. He will need to ask if the flowers got any worse. They reached the Great Hall so he can’t ask him yet. Usually, he likes to be a bit early to enjoy some quietness before everyone comes to eat before classes start but they got a bit late thanks to his brother and Barty.

“If I knew I would have kicked him out, I swear,” Sirius babbles even though no one pokes him. “I don’t want to— botch-”

“It’s fine Sirius,” Regulus promises as he can clearly read the guilt brewing in his eyes. “It’s not the first time.”

“And I would rather keep you than Evan,” Dorcas says.

“Not Evan,” Pandora gasps. “I love him!”

“Alright, one vote to keep Barty and one for Evan. Em’?”

“Evan. Barty bite me.”

“Love, it was first year.”

“And I got a scar.”

“Fair enough.”

Pandora frowns at her. “Didn’t you give him that burn though?”

“That was an accident in potion!”

“Reg’?”

“Kick them both out.”

“Sirius?”

“I get a vote?” He asks, slightly surprised, as he sits down with them - Pandora letting go of his arm to sit at his side and Regulus on Sirius’ left.

“Yes of course,” Dorcas says with a smile. “We’re friends.”

Regulus hides a smile and picks up the pot of coffee to fill Dorcas’ cup, Sirius’ and his. Emmeline picks the one for hot water as Dorcas brings Pandora’s and Emmeline’s favourite teas closer. He can see his brother trying to think of an answer but he notices the sudden silence in the Great Hall before that.

“Where the hell did I just sit,” he realises with eyes only widening when he catches on all the Slytherins around them.

“Let me braid your hair,” Pandora cheers, taking out the small precious comb from her shirt’s pocket - a birthday gift from Evan - to start while the snakes completely let themselves be handled without a fight.

Of course Evan’s magic wouldn’t harm Pandora. Sirius shoots her an astonished look before focusing on Regulus.

“Does it matter?” He answers to his bewildered face. “You already sat down, it’s too late anyway.”

“One of us,” Pandora whispers menacingly. “One. Of. Us.”

Regulus has no idea if his brother has given up, too tired or because of everything else, but he stays put at the Slytherin’s table. Even if Sirius tried to walk out discreetly, everyone’s eyes are already buried into him as if he is some kind of mirage.

“Is that Sirius Black?”

“Is he cursed?”

“I thought his brother hated him…”

Perhaps no one pays attention to his state, the eye bags and the newborn thinness in his limbs, since the spectacle is Sirius Black at the Slytherin table. They must have noticed that he has been avoiding the Great Hall for a while now, how the Marauders kicked him out, so it’s quite the come back.

“What is the meaning of this, Black?!” A seventh year hisses out, standing up from his seat not far from that. “You can’t sit-”

Regulus’ wand barely moves but the Slytherin’s meal jumps to her face. Students scoot away in haste with a wary look at Regulus while she screeches about the hot coffee, butter in her hair and porridge in her clothes.

“Stuff your mouth before I do it again, Carrow,” Regulus warns and sips his coffee.

Sirius is weirdly exalted as she storms out with two of her followers. Snape is seething with his worthless eyes throwing daggers at him but thankfully his brother appears to be far too happy to play the scandal to notice as he fills his plate. Pandora is a regular trespasser at their table, which at first many people complained about even though there isn’t a real rule forbidding people to go to another table, but because she is brilliant at potion Slughorn doesn’t really feel up to the task to tell her off.

Regulus still checks on their house’s head who talks restlessly with McGonagall, who almost smiles when she meets Regulus’ eyes, but they don’t appear to do anything. Dorcas is pleased and starts a conversation about their upcoming Potion essay. Emmeline slightly shifts in her seat, innocently scooting closer to her and she vaguely signs with her eyes at Regulus. It’s not hard to see what she means.

It’s a wretched feeling that catches him, despite completely expecting it, as his eyes are hooked to James Potter. It has always been like that but before Sirius was always on Potter's side which had always helped Regulus to keep his soul in check from the foolish earning. Now though there is nothing to pain him, not when his brother is at his side, or to confuse his eyes from feasting.

Potter isn’t looking any different from last time, a bit worn-out and clearly worked up. The rest of his friends are around him with the same confused and speechless expression that feeds Regulus with a twisted satisfaction: yes, his brother is with him. Lupin isn’t here and he hopes that he died somewhere in a ditch. Evans is trying to talk to him. They don’t appear angry at Sirius but still agitated about it, whether it’s positive or not, Regulus has no idea and quickly tries to cover any of his thoughts that might appear on his face when James Potter’ eyes fall on him.

He holds his gaze despite the distance and how McKinnon cuts his sight by shifting in front of Potter to talk or turn to her friends. His eyes stay sharp, glimmering behind his glasses, and unmoving even when he answers to someone. It doesn’t feel like a fight but Regulus considers it as good as one. It’s a bit disappointing that James’ warm brown eyes appear unaffected. There is no anger that he lost Sirius or even one drop of judgement— the rest of his face is also unaffected but his shoulders slowly rise before falling down with the grace of a breath. Potter tilts his head slightly to speak to Pettigrew but his eyes, slightly hooded by his eyelashes, are still on Regulus.

His body is far too weak and he quickly focuses on his cup to ignore this new picture. Many thoughts come to his mind, enough to write a heavy book with only curses dedicated to every single part of James Potter. Regulus needs to forget about all that. Their relationship is resumed as rivals for Sirius, even if Potter would probably laugh at that, and Regulus has never been prone to give up on what he likes. That’s how Sirius was thrown down the stairs at 5 years old when he tried to steal Regulus’ favourite blanket; a reaction he still wouldn’t change if it ever came to happen again but hopefully Sirius has learnt from his mistakes.

“I have a sudden headache.”

Regulus blinks up just in time to see Barty kiss the top of Dorcas’ head, who only painfully sighs out another time, and Evan sitting down completely dishevelled at his side. Loud whispers from the start to the end of their table, and others’, erupt as Barty stretches with no shame the hickey of the size and colour of a niffler on his neck. Regulus quickly holds back his imagination when he spots a tad of blood on Barty’s collar.

“What is wrong with your lot?!” Mulciber shouts.

“Never seen what pleasure looks like eh?” Barty sneers, not sitting down yet beside Evan.

“Don’t try me, you barmy fag,” he hisses.

Emmeline glances coldly amongst them as Dorcas glares at him. Pandora still braids Sirius’ hair but her face has fallen to scowl at people at the other side daring to be pleased at Mulciber’s words. The table is broken with different kinds of tension and a lot of wands are definitely at the tips of their fingers. The whole Great Hall is still watching their table even if it is moved from Sirius to his two friends who might have shagged and fought at the same time.

It’s thankfully broken by a ringing clink when Evan empties his glass of juice in one go before, with no mercy, hauling Barty down to kiss him. A loud clatter explodes and Sirius almost jumps out of his seat, blocking Regulus, with a protecting hand on Pandora’s shoulder.

“Mulciber!” Slugghorn shouts as he rushes to their table. “A word.”

“What?!”

“Look at them! That’s disgusting!”

Regulus would agree because he can clearly see Barty drinking from Evan’s mouth. He lists spells to become blind in his head to distract himself. Slugghorn grabs Mulciber’s lot, dragging them outside with a grim look at their table, which shifts to anxious when he walks past the salacious kiss. Emmeline watches with almost no shame and Dorcas is clearly coming up with a murder when Barty moans, pushing Evan against her to deepen the kiss.

They let go of each other at last and Regulus rubs his eyes as he mourns his innocence.

“We should try that with everything,” Barty says, breathless, and his tongue flying around his lips.

Evan’s lips twitch, softly taping Barty’s cheek away, and checks over what food is near them.

“I’m not sharing more of my pumpkin juice with you.”

“Don’t say it Barty,” Dorcas hisses before he even opens his mouth. “I know what you will say and I will bury you right here and now.”

He snickers and Evan blushes but ignores his nudge. She throws them a glare just to be safe and offer the same to anyone else watching them. Regulus glances at his brother to see him completely speechless but thrilled.

“Evan, I prepared your tea,” Pandora says with a smile, still braiding black hair. “Can I have mash please? Also congratulations to you both.”

Sirius feeds her a spoonful and a snake tries to bite his hand. He throws a look at Evan drinking his tea.

“If you’re happy now just cut that crap with my hair.”

“Feel lucky that you still have hair,” he hisses before straightening himself and brushing his own. “But I’m not mad at you anymore. So I accept your apology.”

“Hard to be mad after that, uh?” Barty whispers.

Emmeline chuckles, buttering her toast. Regulus suddenly realises that they are all mad. It shouldn’t be a surprise but this morning has tired him out and he isn’t quite sure of what to think at this point.

“Please,” he articulates. “Don’t restart this show.”

“I’m done!” Pandora says, letting go of the fantastic, intricate and impossible-looking braid she made out of Sirius’ hair.

The snakes barely have the chance to move because of the braid and some start to attack each other. Dorcas whistles at her work and Pandora pushes it on Sirius’ shoulder to show it off.

“This is beautiful.”

“Thank you Pandora, it’s amazing,” Sirius says with a pleased grin, quickly withdrawing his hand when the snakes try to jump at it, before frowning at Evan. “Why am I the one punished and Barty is still in one piece?”

“Who said I’m done with him?”

Sirius squints at them with a curious look before glancing around - thankfully he doesn’t appear to be able to see his group of friends behind the wall made of Emmeline and Dorcas.

“Look, if I had known I would have kicked Barty out-”

“Rude,” he says. “I even brought a potion for you.”

Regulus notices his brother’s panicked look at Barty’s words and glances between them two.

“What potion?”

“Do we need to speak about that?” Evan huffs out.

“Yes.”

“This madman,” Sirius hisses and lowers his tone even further, “brewed Polyjuice.”

“Out of—?”

“I thought it could have helped,” Barty defends himself.

His brother coughs horridly and his throat sounds like worn-out glasses rubbed together. Whatever manages through his mouth is hidden in his hand and he vanishes it under the table. There is no need to figure that out considering Sirius’ condition: it can only be Polyjuice out of Remus Lupin. Regulus indignantly looks at Barty.

“How did you even get something of his?”

“My fingers are very skilled,” he says with a smile. “Aren’t they E-”

“Are you insane?” Dorcas asks.

“Look, I figured it doesn’t hurt anyone and maybe it would have solved this mess. Plus I wanted to check what’s in his pants.”

Regulus blankly stares. “You have a bloody problem.”

“That’s what I said!” Sirius agrees.

“Wait, that’s why our dorm’s bathroom smelled?” Evan suddenly turns to him. “And why did you even brew it in the first place?”

“Don’t spoil the surprise.”

“So that’s it?” Emmeline asks. “You’re finally together?”

“It’s still a curse,” Dorcas mutters.

“Do you need help, Meadowes? There is someone we could as-”

“Don’t play with the speck of patience I still have.”

Sirius laughs but something bothers him by his slight forced smile. He glances at Regulus who tries to ask what is his problem without a word, but it only spurs him to look back at their friends.

“Aren’t you worried about what your father will say?”

“Hope he chokes and dies miserably,” Barty replies with his fingers crossed and Pandora laughs, copying him.

Evan understands that the question is meant for him, mainly, as a fellow Pure-blood. Whatever animosity he kept up trickles as he shares an almost excited smile.

“Whatever happens, I’m not alone so it will be fine,” he declares. “Plus, Barty brought up excellent arguments.”

“Please, as if you talked,” Regulus says. “I’m even surprised you are out there.”

“You either fought or shagged.”

“In my room?!” Sirius realises.

“We did talk.”

“Someone’s mouth was rather busy but we mana-”

Evan stuffs Barty’s face with a toast. A lot of people stare at them, even when they have finished their breakfast and are leaving, which helps them realise that the classes are starting soon and they have barely started to eat. Regulus doubts that Sirius will be fooled again to join them for a meal in the Great Hall. His posture isn’t completely relaxed and his eyes jump to avoid any glimpse of the Gryffindor table.

“Barty,” Pandora calls, “your cock is smaller than I thought.”

“What?”

“Panda!” Evan almost shouts as Emmeline giggles with no care of her volume.

“Did you mistake me for Sirius?”

“No.”

“We are going out tonight,” Dorcas announces, ignoring the three of them starting to argue back and forth, and Regulus frowns in question. “Do you want to stay in your shared dorm with them two tonight?”

They have the decency to eat, not snog, but it’s not hard to notice that one hand is missing from the table and one of them is half-sitting on the other. Regulus completely forgot about their shared space and he is sure that Barty will forget the silencing spells just to annoy him.

“Alright.”

“Sirius, you too,” she says. “We’re going to a special place.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

He groans out but nods. “I will need to sleep before that.”

Regulus studies him. “Are you alright?”

Sirius smiles at him and it’s annoying how the braid suits him even when he looks awful. “Of course.”

Regulus has many things he wants to say to him: like the mandrake leaf that he put last night after Sirius’ door never opened or asks whether he received a letter or not. What about his tattoos? He has seen them but Sirius never hinted that he has some. Emmeline apparently knew but not Regulus? He has the perfect right to be jealous.

The day flies too fast to do any of that and Sirius is nowhere to be seen at lunch. A lot of students stare at them, whispering, and he even catches the disgusted and furious look of Snape several times. It’s only because Sirius looked dreadfully tired or that Regulus might walk on something horrid if he goes back to his dorm that he finds himself at the Quidditch field.

He likes to play with the team, thanks to Barty and Dorcas, or his friends outside of anything formal but there is a different pleasure to be alone up in the air as the sun slowly dips in the horizon. He flies after the snitch once before relaxing with some stunts to stretch himself.

The only other stop he made was to the Owlery to send a letter to his parents with the usual hidden code meant for Kreacher. It’s not an obligation but perhaps the elf might help them by preparing some of their affairs so they don’t leave empty-handed. Plus Regulus wants to have a proper word with him, even if it might be a farewell. Kreacher won’t be happy and definitely confused at his sudden departure but there is no other way.

It’s a weird feeling to picture himself running away and perhaps never coming back home. There are more bad memories stocked there but it’s still a part of him. Regulus is surprised by the speed of all of this and he wonders what it means for Alphard. His initial reaction to Regulus’ letter where he told that Sirius and him have reconnected, never meant to be broken up again, and that they need to get out of there. Their uncle accepted their request with no amount of hesitation, despite the 10 years if not more without any contact, and even celebrating the news. It’s still a shock to Regulus but it’s probably a good sign; if Alphard happens to read between the lines that something else is brewing then they will figure that out later. Regulus won’t speak in Sirius’ name, except when he is an idiot hurling flowers down a toilet.

The petals are surprisingly tasteless compared to the mandrake leaf. It’s a risky challenge to keep it in his mouth when he regularly coughs but Regulus doesn’t want to wait. The easiest way to prepare this potion is at Hogwarts, he has his ways to brew it here whilst at Alphard’s the break will only last a week. They have a little more than a month so hopefully he manages to do everything before waiting for a storm. Sirius has given him tips on the mandrake leaf and told him he knows where to find the dew and a perfect spot for the moonlight. Still they haven’t talked a lot about it but the sticking charm for the mandrake leaf to not slip out is smart.

He lets the broken petals trickle down the drain of the shower. Pandora’s potion is effective but only temporary, enough to be at peace during classes. Compared to Sirius, his own Hanahaki appears to only happen at precise moments but stubbornly whilst just the thought of Lupin triggers a fit to his brother. Thankfully, it’s only petals which means that they can keep the bond. The curse is probably aware that it can’t feed from Regulus but can’t fight the nuptial bond which ensures its development in him too. It probably throws its energy at once, causing the sudden petals, but can’t stay regular enough to grow in Regulus.

It takes him a moment to recall where he is, water cascading down his shoulders and cleaning him off the adrenaline from his time on the broom, as he stares at the thin golden ring on his finger. Regulus has spotted Sirius looking at his own from time to time, even touching, and he is almost disappointed that he doesn’t feel it when it happens. Hopefully, his brother can still feel his love even if touching the rings means nothing.

Dorcas told them that they will eat together at the pub where they have been before. Sirius still doesn’t know where they are going but agreed without a fight. They must almost be ready to go. He better hurry back to the castle so they can sneak off without any trouble and he has come prepared with clean relaxed clothes to change here directly. Who knows the state of his dorm now that Barty and Evan were unleashed.

“Regulus.”

Winter is already creeping up to chase autumn away before it’s even its time. Dinner should have already been served. All that should have not made James Potter wait at the door of the locker room at the Quidditch’s pitch.

He is still in his school uniform and to an impossible degree his hair is even more rumpled with one side almost completely flattened. His presence here is obviously planned by the scarf on him, clearly not to play Quidditch, but it doesn’t explain how he knew where Regulus was. He would have definitely spotted him coming down to the pitch and he only flew down when the sun completely disappeared.

“What are you doing here?”

There is no mirth in his eyes but a careful and almost soft appeal as Potters’ lips move void of words before his eyebrows fall almost miserably.

“I need to talk to you… and we both know it’s hard to get privacy at Hogwarts, especially if one avoids the other.”

Regulus glares at him and starts to walk toward the castle but he is followed closely. He has noticed a few glances from Potter here and there but completely ignored them. There is no use for them to talk and he fears that he might be dazzled enough to lose his focus.

“We never had anything to talk to each other about and it hasn’t changed.”

“You’re not getting rid of me,” Potter says and even manages to walk ahead to look at him. “We do have common subjects: Sirius for a start.”

“Don’t talk about my brother,” he hisses, frustrated that his glare doesn’t surprise him. “I can curse you here and no one will find you before you're frozen to death.”

“I know you’re hiding him,” he exclaims and stops in front of him. “Don’t-” Regulus’ hand is grabbed before he can properly have a hold on his wand. “Please. Regulus, just hear me out for a moment.”

He tries to retrieve his hand but Potter’s easily covers his, surprisingly warm, but it only pushes him to try harder. Regulus’ gasp is thankfully swallowed down when it tightens but his mistake is meeting those earnest warm eyes; all the people who turn a blind eye to brown eyes are absolute fools but Regulus wishes he was one of them to stop his heart from beating like a newborn snitch.

“Why should I?” He whispers.

Potter stares at him, gaze travelling from his eyes to his lips before falling on their hands. He weakly squeezes it and Regulus tries to not swallow too loudly.

“Because I’m scared,” he answers, pushing up his glasses with his free hand. “I want to talk to Sirius but he avoided me all day.”

Regulus is a bit surprised but it’s stupid of him to assume that Sirius can fight off his guilt to accept any crumb of attention from his old friends.

“And rightfully so.”

Potter watches him and slowly pushes their hands down, taking a step closer and frightening Regulus’ skin like a kissing sting.

“It’s complicated. I’m not the only one in the story but never did we kick him out of the dorm.”

“You also didn’t try to tell him that, did you?” Regulus glares. “I don’t see how I should even consider you honest. You two have always acted like each other’s shadows and now suddenly you want me to believe that you didn’t notice how he disappeared?”

“I knew,” Potter argues with a scowl. “It’s jus-”

“Complicated?” He scoffs. “Same stupid excuse.”

“Look, I’m not exactly the one who Sirius hurt so I can’t decide for everyone.”

Regulus jerks his hand with no success and he considers crushing Potter’s foot. “How convincing. I simply don’t care though. If Sirius won’t speak to you then it’s your problem and not mine. Let me go before I cut your hand.”

Potter sighs, slowly letting go but he abruptly tightens his grip around his wrist. Regulus tries to step back but he is only dragged closer to his dismay.

“Reggie, please I need to talk to Sirius,” he begs.

“Don’t call me that!” Regulus shouts, hoping that the night shadows his sudden blush. “Let me go! I’m not going to do your dirty work!

“I know that you’re hiding him somewhere!” He argues and only keeps his hold on him even when Regulus tries to shove him away. “Which, and believe me, makes me really happy to see that you two are talking again considering how much he worries about y-”

Regulus throws his whole weight on him, finally shaking off Potter’s steady stance, but he is dragged down because his hand is still trapped. Potter is an imbecile because he catches him as if Regulus is the one who fell in the first place and his other hand falls on Regulus’ waist.

“Let me go!” He snaps as he quickly tries to stand up to run away. “What is wrong with you?!”

“Wha– you’re the one who pushed me!” Potter argues and grunts when Regulus starts choking him with his scarf. “Argh! Re-”

They are too close. He has easily felt the muscles straining Potter’s uniform, as if he even needed a reminder of their existence, but he isn’t going to be fooled any longer. His foot finally manages to find the ground underneath them and he stomps the first part he can feel.

Potter hisses in pain, taken by surprise by the look of it, as he lets go of Regulus with his head tilted against the grass with a pained grimace.

“I warned you,” he hisses and quickly stands up with a disgruntled huff. “Sombre crétin.”

He blinks up at him with his hands still on his ankle. “Wait, wait! Regulus for Merlin’s sake just listen to me!”

“No!” He snaps and quickly heads toward the castle, using a lumos to guide him.

“Tell Sirius I need to talk to him!” Potter shouts.

Regulus’ jaw tightens and he turns to spot where Potter is still laying on the ground, almost hidden because of the night. Their eyes meeting cheers him like a firework and Regulus is quickly reminded why he shouldn’t be anywhere near this– ridiculous fool.

“Stay away from us if it’s so complicated, you arse!”

“Don’t make me force you to listen, Regulus!”

He ignores that and storms into the castle before he can catch anything else. His hands anxiously work on his clothes, checking if they are clean, as he tries to keep his heart and mind under control before they are both thrown into a loop of feelings he simply can’t deal with for now.

Potter probably woke up from his nonsense because Sirius sat down with him and his friends - Slytherins. He doesn’t even have the guts to even talk to his brother himself and if Sirius is really avoiding the Marauders then good for him. It’s better like that. Far easier to deal with the Hanahaki too. Lupin doesn’t appear to care for his brother but if Sirius is thrown back into their group of friends then who knows how he will handle this. He doubts Potter will not force them to talk.

“Reggie, are you alright? I was coming to fetch you.”

Pandora walks up with a curious look, hair up in two cute buns, dressed with a long dark blue coat and wide pants with an abstract shirt. Regulus quickly joins her and grabs her elbow to turn them toward the Room of Requirement where she must have come from.

“Bloody Potter is pestering me about Sirius.”

“James? Isn’t that a good thing? Sirius loves him and you t-”

“Panda,” he cuts. “This is everything but positive. They were his friends who threw him out, haven’t they? Why should I help him talk to my brother when he has stolen him for years?”

She nods with a slight frown. “But if James is honest then I don’t think you can stop him from trying to be friends with Sirius again.”

Regulus sighs but he certainly won’t say that he will fight as hard as he can. It’s Sirius’ life in play. Moving on from Lupin is an option but it’s a crazy solution as he sincerely doubts it might even happen at this point. They can’t exactly throw their chances away though so Regulus would rather have a list of crazy cures than none.

They walk in the Room to notice Emmeline sitting in front of Sirius on his bed, frowning as she slowly applies makeup on him, wearing an embroidered pink shirt with a brown skirt and dark tights while Dorcas appears to try on a large-sized jean vest above her short top and purple jeans. Sirius turns to greet them but frowns.

“You alright Reggie?”

“I’m fine.”

“Hum, no you’re not,” Dorcas says, frowning at him from the large mirror. “Not dressed like that. I told you that we are celebrating, didn’t we?”

“How are we celebrating when the couple isn’t even invited?”

“Because they are a menace.”

“And it gives us a second reason to party with them,” Emmeline points out. “I think I'm done, Sirius but I'm not sure if I did a good job. I'm not trained for makeup.”

“Barty told me he is going to serenade Evan,” Pandora whispers in his ear.

Regulus grimaces at the idea of walking on that. Plus he doubts either of them want to be apart when they finally get together. At least they give them some alone time for now.

“I will let you borrow something of mine,” Sirius says and walks to his closet. “Even if I still don’t know where we are going!”

“I’m not ruining the surprise. But you will love it,” Dorcas promises.

“I’m not changing.”

Even if Sirius doesn’t know that they are going to slip in a pub full of music and people, he seems quite ready for that. He wears tight black pants with a few patches of different tissues and a loose sleeveless shirt with some drawing he can’t recognize with a ‘BOWIE’ red and blue crossed by a lightning bolt. Just like the girls he wears make-up and the pale pink small heart at the corner of an eye must be from Pandora’s. His hair is now free, also from the snakes, and more wavy than usual thanks to the braid.

“I can borrow this? You’re sure?” Dorcas asks, putting some of her long braided hair on the front of the vest.

“As long as you don’t spill anything on it,” Sirius says and walks up to Regulus with his leather jacket. “Put that on and– well your hair is alright, did you fly? They are nicely tossed.”

“What?” He startles when the jacket is pushed in his arms. “You want me to wear it?”

It’s hard to not think of Sirius Black without his leather jacket; he probably wears it more than underwear and likes to strut around to show it off ever since he got it in his third year. Regulus can’t remember if he ever saw anyone else wearing it. By Emmeline’s look, probably not.

“It will keep you warm,” he reassures as if he didn’t drop a bomb in Regulus’ hands and he comes back with a pen. “Let me just put a little bit of that.”

Regulus lets him grab his face and quickly closes his eyes when he realises what’s happening.

“Do we go to the usual spot?” Emmeline asks.

“Relax, I’m not stabbing you,” Sirius whispers and snorts when Regulus scrunches up his nose at the unusual feeling on his eyelids.

“Yup. I’ve got a bit of money,” Dorcas confirms.

“Let’s go!” Pandora cheers.

Sirius leads them once Dorcas explains to him that her portkey is hidden in one of the trees bordering the Forbidden Forest. It does seem like he knows the castle flawlessly because they take two hidden passages that they had no idea of.

Dorcas climbs up a tree at the border of the Forbidden Forest and sticks her hand in one of the tree’s nooks. She retrieves her two portkeys and jumps down. They have casted warming charms on them but Regulus had to admit that Sirius’ leather jacket keeps him quite safe from the cold which sleeves are just a tad longer like he enjoys them.

“Portkeys?” Sirius asks, wearing a loose coat. “I thought we would go to Hogsmead or something.”

“That would be far too easy,” Dorcas says with a chuckle and offers the handkerchief for them all to take a hold of it. “We are going to have fun without any risk of anyone following us.”

Before he can ask anything else, they are teleported by the handkerchief. The first time they took the trip, it had been more than weird. It had only been last year when Dorcas offered to bring them somewhere to party; at first they were confused at the offer but it quickly became a small habit to go to this young pub in London. Regulus mostly watches with Emmeline, sometimes Evan, whilst the rest of them danced and sang to Muggle songs they have not one idea about.

“Are we– no way,” Sirius blurts out when he takes a peek out of the empty, sad and smelly, alley to face the Kelpie’s Dance, already full of life. “Are we in the Muggle world? How?”

“Surprised?” Dorcas grins as Emmeline takes out her wand and casts a minor metamorphosis charm on the posing Pandora. “Thought the Marauders were the coolest, huh?”

Sirius laughs and shakes his head. “Is that the surprise? A muggle pub?”

Regulus nods. “We only need to appear older so they let us pass but Em’ is great at that.”

He watches her cast the spell on Dorcas before nodding and crossing his arms. “Alright, fine by me. It’s not my first time though. We went to one for Mary’s birthday last year.”

“But this time it’s with us,” Pandora says with a smile, looking taller but still with her baby cheeks.

“Right, you’re right,” he chuckles and watches Emmeline cast it on Regulus. “How do we come back though? The other portkey? How did you even get them?”

“Gifts from my mum,” Dorcas answers. “One for getting out and the other to come back to Hogwarts. The Forbidden Forest’s border is the last place to apparate without alerting the castle. My dad is worried about that, maybe because he’s a muggle, but it’s not like we are going to drink more than glass. Better not risk that if we apparate.”

“Damn, Marlene would have loved to come.”

Dorcas’ confidence flatters a second before she brushes her hair behind her shoulder. “Of course she would. I have great taste.”

“Your turn Sirius.”

Sirius sends a quick amused look to Regulus. His only request is for Emmeline to get him a moustache, saying that it will be sexy, even if Regulus finds him completely ridiculous.

They pass the doors of the Kelpie’s Dance without a hitch and the guard even greets Dorcas like a regular. The music is not too loud to Regulus’ relief but enough to disrupt his thoughts from gravitating around James Potter’s. Seeing Sirius excited and enjoying his time, seemingly healthier than this morning, also helps with that.

As usual, they only take one drink each to stay on the safe side for apparating home. It’s not like they drink a lot in the first place even back at Hogwarts. Sirius can’t decide on one drink among the long choice so Emmeline tries to guide him as Pandora and Dorcas are already off trying to find a table. Regulus is carrying the plate of snacks, cheese, chips and dips.

“From now on, I will have to be careful in any room I come in but at least,” Dorcas says, amber drink raised, with a solemn look once they sit down. “Barty will stop sighing in my ears about ‘how I wish I could pamper Evan’s hair!’”

Emmeline laughs and joins her tone, glass of shades of warm orange. “And ‘you can’t imagine how I need to hold back whenever Barty comes up with the most insane yet intelligent idea!’”

Regulus raises his dark red, purple even, glass after swallowing his chip. “No more angry tantrums when one looks the other way or whining before they attack each other in some weird courting.”

“I can stop brewing Amortentia!” Pandora cheers. “No more ambushes into rooms together or spiking their drinks!”

Sirius bursts out laughing. Dorcas spits out and wheezes as Regulus turns to her.

“You what?!”

“That was you?!” Emmeline gasps. “I thought they were insane! Barty kept complaining that the castle was trying to trap him and Evan was sick every now and then out of nowhere!”

Pandora nods wisely before sighing. “I will actually miss that now.”

“You drugged your own brother?”

“Fairly easily too.”

Sirius hasn’t stopped laughing despite how breathless he sounds and how his eyes are brimming with tears.

Just as Regulus expected: Sirius fits right in beside the dancing people screaming at the tops of their lungs the lyrics of some Muggle music. Dorcas is right beside him, hair swishing, as she twirls with Sirius, pulling or dragging the other. Pandora quickly hurries to their side, coming back from the loo, and catches on the rhythm before she even reaches them.

Emmeline is at Regulus’ side, more comfortable sitting and eating, but she bobs her head to the music and comments about them. Both of them know how to dance but neither are comfortable around such a crowd. Although he does enjoy one song from a band called ‘Queen’, Dorcas has gifted him some of their records and promised to give him what he needs to listen to them. Maybe he can do that once they are out of the house.

Sirius does force him on the dancefloor with him though, cheeks still smiling and red from the excitement but he hasn’t coughed at all during the night. The leather jacket on his shoulders also softens him enough to amuse him. He stays at his side and pokes him until Regulus properly dances, ‘as silly as a duck’ Sirius says, while managing to glare at his brother without blinking.

Regulus wonders if they would have ever reached this point. Whether he would have pictured running away, disregarding all his responsibilities, if not for Sirius dying. He would have never forgotten about his brother but they would have never managed to cross the bridge especially with the war looming over them. There are so many ways that life can go but Regulus wants this one; forever and ever.

Without Dorcas or Pandora, literally falling on him when she tried to use a broom the first time back in first year, Regulus fears that he would have never realised how his family’s politics are anything but good. He feels utterly stupid that he had believed at some point in his life that he was better than all these people in this pub; superior to his rebellious brother.

There is nothing greater than seeing his brother breathless– frozen, completely rocked by the crowd with a terrified face?

“Sirius?” Regulus frowns at his reaction and looks where his bloodshot eyes are stuck.

There is nothing but their friends who stare back curiously upon Sirius’ reaction. He is staring at something further in the back though but it’s only the wall.

“Sirius!” Emmeline gasps and rushes toward them.

Regulus barely has the time to catch the direction where Sirius fled like an erumpent. Some people complain loudly but Dorcas only pushes them again another time so they can rush after him. A small crowd runs out of the bathroom, complaining about someone sick in there. The retching almost has the strength to cover the music in the bathroom and Regulus finds his feet stuck at the cubicle toilet’s door.

Sirius has his head in the toilet with his back disturbed by every noise that comes out of him. Emmeline immediately steps in to tuck his hair back with a panicked look at the rest of them while Pandora grabs Regulus’ hand.

“This is bad,” Dorcas croaks out.

Flowers fall around the toilet, clearly overflowing, and Regulus shakes himself off when Sirius starts choking.

“We need to pull them out.”

“Let me do it,” Pandora says, pushing his wand down. “You are shaking Reggie.”

Emmeline helps her although he can’t really recall what they are doing. Dorcas holds him back when he keeps swaying on his feet, squeezing his hands, as their words become a rushed buzz. Sirius is turned with his mouth full of moonflowers and wolfbanes and his eyes full of tears.

They somehow manage to fit in this small cubicle despite the flowers covering the floor. Regulus is guided to sit down but he still can’t move and watches the rapid wands gesturing around his helpless brother’s face torn apart by more and more stems, leaves and petals. A large clump made of hideous bouquets finally gets out with a slick spell.

The leather smell doesn’t cover the stink of blood and these cursed flowers. Sirius looks dead and Regulus feels like it. His eyes spill more pain and he digs his fingers in his eyes with a shaky breath, exhaling blood on his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks out. “I’m so sorry, please Moony-”

“Moony?”

“That’s his pet name for Lupin,” Dorcas whispers.

“Please, please, please,” Sirius sobs, curling up on himself as he wheezes his lament. “Don’t be mad at me, I’m so sorry.”

His whole body is shaking, jerking with sudden strength before it falls flat, and his violent coughing restarts.

“What colour is his tongue?”

“What?”

“I need to see it!” Pandora grabs Sirius’ jaw and grabs his tongue after the path is cleared from a garland of flowers that Emmeline tugs out.

“What is it?” She asks when Pandora holds his tongue with two shaky fingers.

Sirius doesn’t fight it, barely moving. Regulus tries to reach out but his knees are wobbly and the floor is wet with flowers.

“It’s blue,” she articulates with wide eyes and a pale face. “He isn’t breathing and is hallucinating.”

“He is seeing Lupin,” Dorcas realises. “How is that possible? He only started coughing just now!”

“The flowers!” Emmeline shouts. “Wolfsbane and moonflower are poisonous!”

“My potion!” Pandora gasps, panicking. “He didn’t cough them out so they must have-”

“Panda, breathe,” Emmeline cuts. “We need an antidote so we need to apparate right away. A basic one should work.”

“Regulus,” Dorcas calls, shaking him and forcing him up on his feet. “We need to get out of here now. Apparating here would be too dangerous and people are trying to get in the toilet.”

He manages to stay on his feet outside of the toilet cubicle where Dorcas and Emmeline grab on Sirius as Pandora cleans it with a spell.

“Moony forgive me, please,” Sirius painfully articulates as petals climb to his lips. “I didn’t mean to do that, I love yo-”

“Dormitum,” Pandora whispers with her wand brushing Sirius’ cheek who falls slack in their friends’ arms. “It will be safer that way…”

Dorcas nods and adjusts him against her. “Let me deal with what we say to the Muggles.”

The music comes back like a merciless wave and Regulus never knew how to swim. It stinks of blood. He wants to go back to Sirius smiling but his eyes can only see the death in his grey eyes. There are many voices that finally leave them once the cold bites them. Regulus wants to bury his face in Padfoot’s fur like he did but he sees the cute cat he made the mistake to bring home, who ended up bleeding and crushed before he received a slap from his mother for bringing a wasteful parasite in their home. Regulus opens his eyes when he smells the leather and hears a fire cracking. Before he can stand up, he is softly pushed down and a hand goes through his hair before scratching where he likes.

“It’s alright Reggie,” Pandora whispers. “Sirius is fine, sleeping. We’re back at Hogwarts.”

She smiles at him and he quickly glances to his left to spot Sirius peacefully sleeping. This time she lets him sit up and her hand returns to the notebook perched on her thigh. They are in the Room of Requirement with no mistake: Dorcas and Emmeline are both sleeping nearby on their own beds and one is free but Pandora stays in her seat at their bed’s side.

“What happened?”

“We gave Sirius the antidote once we came back here,” she explains with a soft voice. “He hasn’t woken up but he is fine, checked his eyes and tongue.”

“The-”

“It’s my potion’s fault,” she interrupts and smiles sadly at his surprise. “It holds back the petals and flowers from trying to get out but they are still alive. His magic must have tried to eliminate them but the poison– it was probably too much.”

“He hallucinated Lupin?” Regulus shakes, finally getting a grasp on his limbs, and he digs his nails into his palm. “We can’t stop him from coughing completely because these blasted flowers are poisonous.”

Pandora nods and quietly sighs. “I will try to brew another potion. If Sirius doesn’t cough them out regularly then it will probably happen again… I’m sorry I didn’t think of that.”

“I knew the flowers,” he argues and rubs his face. “And I didn’t move! Barely-”

“You were in shock Reggie, it’s alright. Sirius is alive too. It’s a normal r-”

“It’s not,” he hisses. “It’s not. I should have done something. I could have– I knew but I didn’t think they would be poisonous in this case.”

“We were all more worried that they would choke him,” Pandora confirms and squeezes his hand. “But we know better now. That’s why you need to rest Reggie because I will need your help for the potion tomorrow. Please rest.”

“But-”

“Sleep Reggie. Sirius won’t be happy tomorrow if you’re exhausted,” she insists and pushes him down, smiling softly. “I will watch over. I promise.”

Pandora is a sly witch because she perfectly knows what spot of hair she needs to scratch, completely relaxing. Regulus has no strength to fight it and he closes his eyes after grabbing Sirius’ hand in his. The next day is more than awkward. Somehow Regulus overslept, only finding his footing after recognizing too many voices around him, and he finds everyone sitting around a table with a copious breakfast.

“Good morning to you lazy bum,” Barty greets.

“Shut up,” Sirius replies, turning to look at Regulus. “You slept like the dead Reggie.”

“Sirius?”

His brother looks as fine as he was yesterday: thinner, paler, worn-out than usual with vibrant eye bags. A soft smile is on his face but it’s fragile.

“The food is warm and delicious,” Dorcas says. “Hurry up.”

“I saved you some coffee,” Sirius adds.

They don’t talk outside from commenting on the food and Regulus doesn’t think he can break this moody peace. Pandora slips outside as soon as her tea is done, whispering in his ear that they will start brewing this afternoon, and the rest of their friends follow soon after. Evan and Barty are thankfully staying chaste albeit a small complaint about a party without them; that they could have moved their own party to the Kelpie’s Dance. Regulus opts to ignore the picture he gets from that.

Sirius stays quiet, playing with his cup, knees up against his chest because he can’t sit normally. Regulus breathes out and swallows his last bite.

“Did the room bring all that?”

“No. I woke up when they were preparing it. Evan and Pandora brought everything.”

He nods before turning to him but Sirius avoids his eyes. “Sirius.”

“Hum?”

“Are you alright?”

His brother coughs wetly and puts a hand over his lips but it doesn’t stop his spewing. Regulus immediately stands up to get closer except that Sirius walks away with a shake of his head and signs with his other hand.

“Wait,” he croaks out and shuffles to the toilet.

His breath is shaky. He tries to focus on that but his hands are aching to be useful so he piles up the empty dishes on the table even if it’s useless considering how the Room works. Thankfully Sirius quickly returns, wiping his lips with his hands. Regulus wants to hug him but he stays put.

“Do you remember?” He weakly whispers.

Sirius looks after before nodding with an empty smile. “I saw him… In the back.”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Regulus quickly says, stepping closer with a cold sweat that forbids him to truly reach out.

“Remus looked at me exactly the way he did last time we talked,” he whispers. “At first I felt it but I thought– I was imagining it. He wouldn’t put his eyes on me anymore.”

“That’s what caused the flowers.”

Sirius coughs and hisses, taking out the flower from his lips to throw it on the ground. “I’m sorry I ruined your night.”

“You didn’t-”

“That’s what your friends said,” he chuckles, voice worn out and void of emotions. “But still, I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were going to die,” Regulus gasps out.

Sirius blinks at him. His lips wobble as he reaches out with wide arms, tears falling from his eyelashes. “Don’t cry Reggie.”

“I’m not crying,” he sobs out, hugging his brother. “You are.”

“Yes,” he chuckles and sniffs. “I am because you are.”

Regulus almost falls asleep, standing in Sirius’ arms still with his clothes and sweat from their outing.

“You can’t die.”

“Reg-”

“You can’t,” Regulus orders. “Because I-I will die too Sirius, with you,” he sobs out. “You can’t leave me alone. Not when I have a mandrake leaf in my mouth because you need to help me or else I will shave your head.”

Sirius hardly laughs but he still tries through his increasing sobs, swaying them together even if it’s clumsy because they step on each other’s feet. He kisses the top of Regulus’ head, needing to pull him down a bit because their height isn’t that different, and rubs his back with a hand.

“Heard you loud and clear,” he says and a smile almost echoes from it.

Regulus buries his face in his neck, restraining himself from squeezing because his brother is already sick and damaged enough.

“Thank you.”

Sirius only shushes him before cuddling him aggressively. “You’re a soft little bastard, did you know that?”

“Why does it sound like a compliment and an insult at the same time?” Regulus huffs out, wiping his nose.

He is surprised when hands settle on his cheeks and he is brought to be face to face with Sirius who has a wide smile.

“I love you so much Reggie. You’re the only thing good that came out from our blasted parents, you know that?”

“Si-”

“I want you to remember that. You hear me, you wicked genius?” Sirius insists, eyes brewing with a tender love, leaving Regulus weak and his throat feeble. “When were you going to tell me we are running away to Alphard?”

“He… He wrote to you?”

“Yes, told me how you reached out and basically that he is planning everything for us. Also slipped his pocket watch in there that will be a portkey for us.”

Regulus looks at him. “And..? What do you think of it?”

“I was surprised and we haven’t seen him for ten years at least since they stopped inviting him to any family gathering,” Sirius muses and tries to put his chin on his head but he is shaken off. “But he was the best uncle we ever had, probably why no one in our deranged family likes him but we also have no idea how he-”

“Just say yes or no for once.”

“I’m all for it, of course! I would have never thought of it to be honest.”

“One of us needs to use his brain,” he drawls out and grunts when the hug shifts to a sideway one.

“What would I do without you, hum?” Sirius asks, pinching his cheek until he slaps his hand away. “You know we should plan what to do.”

“At Alphard’s?”

Regulus frowns lightly and watches his brother walk to his discarded bag at the foot of the bed to take out a piece of parchment. He joins him curiously as a quill and a pot of ink is put down on the bed.

“I thought about what Pandora said.”

A small line is traced in the middle, near the top, of it and Sirius writes his name above it but quickly writes after a second of hesitation ‘Résurrection de’ before it.

“Are you making a bucket list?”

“No. The opposite. It’s literally written Sirius’ resurrection.”

“Necromancy?”

“Now I wouldn’t ask that from you,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “The bucket list is in case I die, right? But if you don’t want me to die then we need another one.”

Regulus swallows and shuffles closer. “A list… of things to do if you live?”

Sirius grins. “Am I not a genius? But resurrection is a much cooler name than ‘in the case Sirius lives or whatnot’.”

“I don’t really see the difference,” he says as he sits down at his side. “But why not. What are you writing there?”

An uninvited lull slips in and he frowns curiously at Sirius who is staring right back at him.

“You know you don’t have to do it,” he says.

“Do what?”

“What I like to do or what I usually do,” Sirius explains. “Like last night, I put some makeup on you, my leather jacket and you even danced.”

“You didn’t force him into anything, trust me.” Regulus lets himself fall against his brother, biting on a smile as he adjusts his head to still have a clear view on the parchment. “Now, what are you putting on your list?”

“They will probably have the same ideas but that doesn’t matter– first item is sixteen years worth of sleepovers. Second is hugs.”

Regulus snorts. “Hugs?”

“Don’t you laugh because Pandora promised me to kick your ass if you don’t give me hugs.”

“Oh my soul shakes in fear.”

Sirius elbows him with a smile. “You can’t disrespect the list’s wishes! Help me fill it or I'll sic Pandora on you.”

“Fine. Put on your list: ‘get his ass kicked by my funnier brother’.”

“We have another one?”

They spend the day but also the whole week-end together before even noticing it. Regulus isn’t sure if his friends are letting them alone on purpose or are just busy; even completely forgetting that Pandora planned to brew this afternoon. He gets lost in their words as Sirius and him recall the few memories they have of Alphard or speculate on what Regulus will be as an animagus. His brother mostly shares his own experience and is cautious about it even though it’s easy to understand that the rest of the Marauders probably are too– ‘Padfoot’ is an obvious give away and they all have some sort of nicknames. Except that he holds his promise and tries to not think more than necessary as Sirius asked. His brother is convinced that Regulus will be a hedgehog because he is apparently a sweet but prickly and biting snare. Whatever he is will probably look more proper than the Grim appearance Padfoot has.

Regulus asks him about his tattoos and Sirius seems to have almost forgotten them because he is used to everyone knowing about them. Most are alchemical symbols and even norse runes, which surprises Regulus but Sirius only wants to tell why he picked them if he spills about ‘your little crush that made you queer’ which will only be out over Regulus’ dead body. At least, he shows him a notebook full of sketches - which shouldn’t surprise him as Sirius loved to draw since he could hold a quill - and Regulus wonders if a tattoo would fit him but he keeps that thought to himself.

As predicted, Sirius stays away from the Great Hall and barely appears to attend classes since he is always in the Room. Regulus can’t help but think that it’s related to Potter. Dorcas has mentioned to him on Monday that it seems most of Sirius’ friends are meaningfully staring at him or trying to talk, thankfully she always gives him a distraction since his brother doesn’t appear up to the task. Potter also appears to have understood Regulus and leaves him alone. It’s a bit bittersweet but he has enough resentment to push any positive thoughts away.

PART 2.

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