#High school reunion au

[jomiddlemarch]

reunions, expansion pack edition

You decided, brunette pixie cut and outdated stereotypes about blondes notwithstanding, to play dumb.

“I’m not sure—”

“Miller.  From 11th grade English. Though I don’t generally go by just my last name anymore,” he said and then extended a hand to shake, which obviously, you had to take. He had a firm grip, calluses across his palms, and you’d be lying if you didn’t admit you were turned on. “Joel.”

“I’m—”

“Oh, I know who you are,” he interrupted. 

“You do?”

“Yeah. You’re the only reason I decided to come to my high school’s 20th reunion,” he said.

“Me?” you said, actually feeling pretty dumb at the moment. More like the struck dumb kind and your mouth was probably hanging open, given the way Joel was smiling at you. You shut it, feeling your teeth clatter against each other, biting your lip but not in the tentative sexy way it happened in a movie or a romance novel. You considered taking a sip of your drink but figured you’d probably spill it or gulp too much and end up spluttering. You couldn’t take a deep breath to calm down, he’d notice, so you balled up your free hand in a fist and then relaxed it. It didn’t work.

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be so hard to believe. I had a crush on you back then. Wanted to ask you to Prom—”

“Why didn’t you?” you ask before you can stop yourself. Maybe you’re actually dreaming, this can’t really be happening, but if it is a dream, it’s a good one, probably the best you’re going to have in the next decade, so you decide you should really push it. The chances of it going off the rails with like some Fraggle asking you to do the Electric Slide (Mokey, not Red) are high, but the chances of Joel telling you he had been interested and Still Was were good enough you’d risk it.

“Lots of reasons. Didn’t think you’d say yes. Couldn’t afford a limo. Or a tux, the little rosebud corsage in the plastic box with all the ribbons and shit. Didn’t want to ask you to go in my dad’s pick-up. Get you all dirty maybe,” he paused and you were both standing there with all dirty hanging in the air between you, hovering, making you blush. Joel looked a little abashed too, which was a relief. “Too scared, basically,” he said.

“I don’t like limos,” you said. “Never have.”

You’d sort of blurted it out, but there was only warm interest in his dark eyes, no mockery.

“Good to know. Didn’t take one here tonight,” he said.

“Me neither,” you said and he laughed.

“Look, you rather talk or dance? I know my limits, I can’t do both. Not with you. Not well,” he said. The DJ the reunion planning committee hired had started to play and people were heading to the dance floor. You thought about Joel’s hands on your hips, your arms looped around his neck. You thought about the revelations he’d already shared, his ringless hands, whether you were going to wake up and when.

“Talk?” you said. “These heels, they’re kind of high—”

“You can take them off, you know,” he said. “Whenever you want.”

“Later,” you said.

“Later’s good too. You want another drink?” he replied. 

“Sure. Surprise me,” you replied. You weren’t aiming for sultry but magically, you’d gotten about 47% of the way there. Joel held your gaze and it was definitely a promise, not a challenge.

“I aim to,” he said.

*

“So, cards on the table,” Joel said, having set down a brightly colored cocktail with a wedge of lime and a matching green umbrella in front of you and a fresh beer in front of himself and nary an actual card. “Graduated, went to UT, run my own construction business with my brother Tommy, you probably don’t remember him. I got two girls at home, eleven and eight, divorced for over five years, don’t see much of either ex and yeah, I got two. Third time’s the charm, so they say.”

“Um, yeah,” you replied, trying to take it all in with some facsimile of nonchalance, a phrase your favorite journalism professor would have struck-through with red pen instantly. “They do say that. I feel like—”

“It’s a lot,” he said. “I know. But my girls are my whole life. I can’t, I won’t hide that. Can’t French braid their hair worth shit, but being a good dad’s the most important part of my life.” 

“No, it is good. I appreciate you not dancing around stuff. It’s just, I feel like I’m in the speed round of a game show maybe,” you said. You took the umbrella out of the glass but you didn’t pick it up. Not yet.

“You think you’re gonna win? Joel asked. He did take a long swallow of his beer, then grinned. God, he was attractive, his features a little too rough to be conventionally handsome, which was better in your opinion. “I’d always bet on you, Scout.”

“Christ, no one’s called me that since high school,” you said. You’d carried your paperback copy of To Kill A Mockingbirduntil the cover nearly disintegrated. It had been tucked into the inner pocket of your navy-blue Jansport backpack but word had gotten around.

“If you don’t like it, I won’t,” Joel said.

“It’s okay. It’s just a blast from the past, you know? Like this whole thing really,” you said. You paused and both of you looked around the room, filled with people you’d seen every day, but never in a setting like this, the hotel ballroom much more nondescript than the gaily decorated lockers that lined the high school hallways, hand-lettered posters plastered in the cafeteria. Everyone was all dressed up in a sort of uniform, Joel like the rest of the men in a nice button-down and chinos, you wearing a cocktail dress that was a little too tight for anything work-related, your heels a little too high, designed to make your legs and ass look as close to amazing as you could manage north of thirty-five, plus or minus Pilates and/or running 5Ks. In your case, definitely minus both Pilates and 5Ks. Joel did not seem to mind, based on the frankly appreciative glances you kept catching.

“My turn—graduated, went to college up north, worked on a couple papers before I ended up back here. I’m trying to make a go of the whole journalism thing but I’m going to take some education classes, hedge my bets. Maybe I’ll end up back at our old school, teaching English in Mr. Pascal’s old room and being the faculty advisor for the drama club,” you said, running through the last twenty years and where you’d gotten to: back in Texas, not sure of yourself. Tonight, you were back in high school but now there was Joel, looking at you like you’d been away too long. Like he knew who you were then and he recognized you now and if anything, he was more interested, where interested was a good enough word for a journalist to use when a man looked at her like Joel was looking at you. 

“Not the advisor for the Herald?” Joel said. “I remember the drama kids being a hot mess most of the time.”

“If I end up back there, advising the Herald will be salt in the wound,” you said.

“Maybe not,” Joel said. “You’d be an amazing teacher and faculty advisor, I know it. And hey, I heard a piece on NPR when I was drivin’ the girls to school the other day and they couldn’t stop arguin’ about what station they wanted to listen to, so I pulled the dad card and picked, and they, the NPR folks, were talking about how lots of people want to support local news these days. Have some faith in yourself—”

“You don’t have to say that,” you replied. “No one comes to their high school reunion to give an old classmate a pep talk.”

“I came hoping to see my high school crush,” Joel said. “Hoping not to make a fool of myself. Hoping you would show up. That you wouldn’t be married or seeing someone…”

Here, he paused, shrugged, and you remembered you hadn’t said yet what your relationship status was.

“I’m single. Totally. Very single,” you said in a rush. 

“That’s a fuckin’ relief, Scout,” Joel said. “Maybe now we can have that dance?”

“Sure,” you said, reaching over to pick up your drink and toss it back. Liquid courage and all that. Joel put his hand on your wrist, lightly enough though it stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Don’t. Don’t want you too tipsy,” he said, his voice soft, maybe the voice he used with his younger daughter if she was having a hard time settling down. “I want you to be able to say yes and mean it.”

Okay, that was not the dad-voice. 

You left the drink untouched.

*

“Never would’ve believed this, back in the day,” Joel murmured. The DJ had switched over to what seemed like an endless medley of the popular slow dances of their high school era and every couple on the floor had reverted to the most basic sway, except for Maria Gonzalez, who was executing what looked like a professional tango with some guy whose name you couldn’t remember who’d been on the basketball team. You’d spent exactly one second trying to remember and then focused on how it felt to have Joel’s hands at your waist, his cheek grazing your temple. He was holding you close, so you could tell he smelled like cedar and leather, like he’d put on an actual cologne to get ready, but just enough. He’d been careful.

“Me neither,” you replied. “I never thought you thought about me like that.”

“Like this,” Joel corrected. Somehow, he brought you closer, his hips pressed snug against yours. “I thought for sure you knew. It wasn’t like I was real subtle—”

“What d’you mean?” you said.

“You serious, Scout? I caught so much flak for watchin’ you instead of the board, I was always hangin’ around your class or your locker. I sent you those pink carnations for Valentine’s Day senior year,” Joel said.

“Those were from a secret admirer,” you protested. “It was signed in block print. You literally wrote ‘from your secret admirer’ without a single hint or clue about how it was you. I thought my mom felt bad and had one of my friends buy them for me.”

“I figured you’d know it was me,” he said.

“How? Telepathy?” you said. Joel laughed and his hands tightened on your waist.

“Okay, maybe that one was on me. I liked you so goddamn much, I wanted you so bad, I thought you’d feel it,” Joel said. You both swayed together for a moment and you rested your cheek on his shoulder. You could feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt, wished you were rubbing your cheek against his bare chest. Finding out what made him moan your name.

“This all right? Not too much?” he asked. 

“Is it past tense? Liking me, wanting me?”

“No. It’s so present tense I’m in danger of embarrassin’ myself,” Joel replied. 

You took one hand from the back of his neck and cupped his cheek, pressing a little to incline his head towards yours. You looked into his dark eyes and then, almost exaggerating, down at his lips. His left hand slipped down to your hip and then briefly touched your ass.

“That makes two of us, I guess,” you said.

“Not possible, darlin’,” he said, his voice, the endearment tender where his body was hard, demanding. He shifted so you’d feel his erection against your thigh, his arousal undeniable.

“This isn’t just messing around,” he said. “This isn’t just tonight, for me. If that’s all you want, I understand, but I can’t—”

“It’s not all I want. Tonight. It’s more than I thought could ever happen,” you paused, arched your back to get even closer to him, “but it’s not more than I want. You didn’t ask me why I came tonight—”

“Why did you?”

“Because someone said Miller was coming. Probably. Maybe. There was a chance you’d show up,” you said. “I bought this dress, these heels thinking you might show up and you’d see me across the room and smile. Maybe lift your beer up in sort-of a toast, like, lookin’ good, and then you’d go back to talking to your friends.”

“I really should have signed that Valentine’s Day card,” Joel said. “If that’s all you thought might happen.”

“Well, it’s all I expected was possible,” you said. “I hoped—”

You broke off then, because it was a lot to confess and also, Joel was now stroking the curve of your hip with his thumb and letting his lips touch your temple, the shell of your ear in what was basically a kiss and then definitely a kiss when you felt the tip of his tongue on your ear and gasped.

“What’d you hope for, Scout?” he said.

“That you’d be good with your hands. Able to help me with my zipper. It was tough to reach to get zipped up and I think it’d be a little tricky to get this dress off,” you said. He made a low sound in the back of his throat and thank God he’d somehow guided the pair of you over to a shadowy corner of the dance floor because you were in serious danger of someone yelling out Get a room already!

“I hoped you’d like black lace,” you said.

@tinytinymenace @goodwithcheese @tessa-quayle @sheepdogchick3 since there was perhaps some interest in more of this drabble, I (ahem) elaborated.

[27dragons]

New Year Countdown: Dec 9

A little Stuckony HS reunion for you all today, with established Stony, pining, and just a soupçon of angst.

Dec 9 - Stuckony - HS Reunion - Snowflake

“He won’t be here.” Tony was fidgeting with his nametag.

“He’ll be here.” Steve took the nametag out of Tony’s hands and carefully pinned it to his lapel.

“But what if--”

“Sweetheart, stop worrying.” Steve put his hands on Tony’s shoulders and kissed his husband’s forehead. “He’ll be here.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I just know.”

Tony made an exasperated noise, but dropped his head to Steve’s shoulder. “I just don’t want to miss our chance. Again.”

“I know,” Steve soothed. It was hard to believe it had already been twenty years since they’d graduated. And almost twenty years since the last time they’d seen Bucky in person, though mutual acquaintances had kept them up to date from time to time. “He’ll be here.”

The last time they’d seen Bucky, they’d tried to ask him to be with them. Bucky had panicked -- Steve still shuddered inwardly to think about the trapped, hunted look in Bucky’s eyes -- and fled. He hadn’t answered his phone for days, though they’d tried calling dozens of times, until finally it stopped working altogether. He’d gotten a new number. The next they’d heard, he’d joined the Army and then been stationed overseas.

They’d tried to pass on messages through other friends, but he’d never sent a message back.

But he was back in the States now, back in New York. And Steve knew this was their chance to make things right.

He kissed Tony’s forehead again and draped his arm over Tony’s shoulders. “Let’s go in.”

Tony took a couple of breaths and pasted on his press smile, the one that all their old classmates would recognize from the news and the hype surrounding Stark Industries’ latest big releases. He squared his shoulders and tucked his arm around Steve’s waist. “Yep.”

They made their way into the already-crowded room. There was twenty-year-old music playing, a disco ball spraying light over the room like a hectic swirl of snowflakes. They stopped a few steps in, scanning the crush for familiar faces and one particular face over all.

“Hey, there’s Bruce,” Tony said, nodding toward the buffet. “I haven’t talked to him in months.”

Steve hummed, still searching. He saw Sam and Scott by the bar, Clint attempting to drag Phil onto the dance floor, and-- His breath caught. “Tony.”

Bucky was standing by the DJ’s table. He looked older, but in a good way. Less uncertain, more mature. Still--

“Still a ten,” Tony murmured, and Steve chuckled at the way Tony’s thoughts mirrored his own.

Which, of course, was when Bucky looked around and spotted them. He went completely still for a moment, then half-leaned to say something to the DJ before turning to come toward them.

Tony tugged impatiently on Steve’s arm, and only then did Steve realize he’d frozen, himself. He let Tony pull him across the floor to meet Bucky at the edge of the dance floor. “Buck,” he breathed. He offered a hand, awkwardly formal.

“Stevie,” Bucky said, and ignored Steve’s hand to step into a hug.

Steve could have wept. “Buck, it’s so, so good to see you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, and held on a little too long before releasing Steve to turn to Tony.

Tony didn’t hesitate at all, just flung himself into Bucky’s embrace. “We’ve missed you, snowflake.”

Bucky hiccupped a little laugh at the old nickname. “Missed you too, tinkertoy.” He kept hold of Tony’s arm when he stepped back, his eyes wet and smiling as he looked from one of them to the other and back. “I’ve missed you both, so much.”

Steve put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Let’s go find a quiet spot,” he suggested. “There’s some things we’ve been wanting to say.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got some stuff to tell you, too.”

[suitsusboth]

this Simone's picture makes me think about a new AU in which Anthony and Kate see each other at the high school reunion and they both came alone and Anthony's jaw drops when he sees the tiny girl who he used to argue with all the time to the point where the teachers gave up on them. The last time he saw her before the graduation was when she got a detention for hitting him in a head with a book. And now? She looks like a goddess and his last brain cell abandoned him when he sees her smirking.

This has been sitting in my inbox for like three weeks, so sorry about that but.... It was a very good idea and I felt the need to write a little something. So I wrote you a fic. Just a little one. Hope that makes up for it.

can't two people reconnect?

[earthsickwithoutyou]

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Hannibal (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter Additional Tags: High School Reunion, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Romantic Fluff, season 1 AU, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Tension, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Eventual Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Infatuation, soft and cute, Feelings, Tenderness, Emotions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Top Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will Graham, First Kiss, First Time, Happy Ending, 90's Music, Sugar Daddy Hannibal Lecter, Southern Accent Will Series: Part 6 of Potential

Summary:  Will accidentally drops an envelope from his bag one day at the FBI when Hannibal is visiting. Inside is an invite to Will's 15 year high school reunion, the very last place in the world he'd be caught going on purpose. UNTIL Dr. Lecter ever-so-generously offers to go with him and pose as his boyfriend...

[tumblerislovetumblerislife]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland Characters: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland (DCU), Despair of the Endless, Simon (Dead Boy Detectives) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone Is Alive, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Charles Rowland Has ADHD (DCU), Autistic Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Mutual Pining, Play Fighting, The rituals are intricate okay, everyone give it up for the (alive) postman aka #1 cockblock, passenger princess edwin, High School Reunion, giving edwin THREE different hell analogies in this one. he really do be going through it huh, why are you as a man a lawyer? to call another man your legal partner?, all my homies hate simon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, First Kiss, Love Confessions Summary:

Edwin returned to the envelope, from which his attention should never have veered, and opened it with a single, precise cut. The letter opener was returned to Charles – another brief, searing touch – as Edwin carefully removed and unfolded the glossy paper. The crest in the letterhead, a bloody wound against the white background, immediately caught his eye. “St. Hil’s, innit?” Charles, leaning over Edwin’s shoulder, confirmed what they both knew. They exchanged a dark, speaking glance. No, neither of them had fond memories of that place.

Or: Edwin attends his high school reunion and is very normal about his (legal) partner.

[shieldofiron]

The worst part about having online fandom friends in other time zones is that sometimes you have truly cursed au ideas you need to show them.

[corvase]

highschool reunion prompts

feel free to use:)

“it’s good to see you. really good.”

did they keep in touch? why or why not?

“i missed you.”

“how’s life?” “shut up we talked yesterday.”

they see each other and still call each other by their nicknames or whatever

“hey remember when you—” “i don’t care if you’re 17 or 37 i can and will throw you off the roof if you tell anyone about that.”

one like “are there drinks?” and the other two look at each other and one passes the other a twenty like “i told you she couldn’t last five minutes”

“this is my kid.” “OH MY GOSH SHES SO CUTE?????? NO WAY THATS YOURS YOU LOOK LIKE A GOBLIN”

if one of them was going through somethifn back in high school, the other could be like “i’m happy for you. i’m sorry i couldn’t do more back then.”

“you’re just as short as the last time i saw you.” “am i short or are you slenderman?”

[profoundbondfanfic]

To Build a Home

To build a Home by intothesilentland (@norestwithoutlove) Rating: Mature Word count: 383k

Twenty-three years of head-over-heels, devastating devotion and love, love, love for the man with bright eyes and dark hair. Fourteen years of friends, best friends, of always together. One moment of rejection. Nine years of apart. Nine years of heartbreak, nine years of continents away, of not speaking, of no acknowledgement, no interaction, no closure, no peace. No happiness. Nine years of Dean’s life entering motions, going through them, constant, cold and mechanic, like clockwork. Nine years of alone. God. Nine years. A lot has changed. And yet Dean still loves Cas just the same. Even if his heart hurts all kinds of different. On the day of Jimmy Novak's funeral, Dean sees Cas for the first time in nine years. He adored Castiel the moment he met him, at only four years old. But after fourteen years of friendship destroyed by one moment of heartbreak, and after nine years of silence, Dean is convinced Cas will want nothing to do with him. And it's killing him.

Dean and Castiel meet when they are only four years old and they become best friends instantly. They do everything together, and they are everything to each other for fourteen years. Until everything is ruined in a single moment. A single moment after which they both have to pick up their broken pieces and try and live their lives, apart this time, with the whole of the Atlantic Ocean between them. Until Castiel's father dies, and Castiel returns home for the funeral. And Dean and Cas meet again.

In this gorgeous story, we follow Castiel and Dean through their lives. Told in alternating timelines, we see the before the incident and the after. How Castiel and Dean grew up together and became inseparable, how they broke apart, how they came together again, and everything it took to finally work through their shit and figure out they're meant to be. The moment you start reading you won't be able to put it down, and you will cry. There will be so much crying, just be prepared for this and do what you gotta do.

It's a story about soulmates reuniting, but it's also so much more. It's about grief and fathers. About family, both biological and found. About death and goodbyes, hellos, and welcome-backs. Mostly, it's a story about redemption and forgiving, especially when the one we have to forgive is ourself.

[jomiddlemarch]

reunions

You decided, brunette pixie cut and outdated stereotypes about blondes notwithstanding, to play dumb.

“I’m not sure—”

“Miller.  From 11th grade English. Though I don’t generally go by just my last name anymore,” he said and then extended a hand to shake, which obviously, you had to take. He had a firm grip, calluses across his palms, and you’d be lying if you didn’t admit you were turned on. “Joel.”

“I’m—”

“Oh, I know who you are,” he interrupted. 

“You do?”

“Yeah. You’re the only reason I decided to come to my high school’s 20th reunion,” he said.

[avocado-plushie]

guess who did another pic based off of a Taylor Swift song!

I legit cannot listen to suburban legends without thinking of jegulus I don't know why. Also wolf star makes an appearance bc they are my favorite.

---

Regulus already wanted to die. 

This was stupid. He didn’t want to be here. It was too cold, too humid, and too late at night to deal with this. 

But here he was, 22 years old, slightly hungover, shivering in the cold and impatiently waiting for his brother to show up and drag him kicking and screaming into the old gym for Sirius’ five year high school reunion. 

[goldenraeofsun]

Day 4: Wicked

Castiel keeps his longing for Dean Winchester, quarterback and last year’s junior prom king, the ultimate secret of his high school years. It's not hard; he doesn’t have many (any) friends. 

At lunch, he sits at what he dubs as the “miscellaneous” table with the girl with the heavy eyeliner and combat boots, the boy with his trick deck of cards and actual top hat, and the freshman who always has their nose buried in a textbook.

After school, Castiel has homework, music lessons, cross country, and chess tutoring. Evenings not spent on extracurriculars are for his parents’ galas, auctions, and other fundraising events for their arts charity.

Dean would have graduated without ever saying one word to Castiel – except Anna Milton breaks her arm two weeks after school starts. Three days later, Castiel twists his ankle, marking the end of his senior year athletic ambitions.

As he hobbles away from his locker, he overhears Dean lamenting that they can’t find anyone to run tech after Anna’s accident.

Castiel gets the job before the school day is over.

* * *

Dean is magnificent as Harold Hill. He may have auditioned on a highly popularized dare from another football player, but he was born for the stage. His whole body lights up on the stage, and his impeccable comedic timing makes Castiel smile, even when he doesn’t get the joke.

Rehearsals quickly become Castiel’s favorite parts of his day. The stage manager, Charlie, seems determined to bring him into the theater fold and makes smalltalk about which video games and movies Castiel must try in his nonexistent free time.

Cas suspects she talks to him out of pity, but he can’t find the willpower to reject her. He has his pride – what teenager doesn’t – but not when it comes to his people skills.

The week before dress rehearsals, his chess tutor catches a cold, and Castiel finally finds an hour to read the first chapters of The Hobbit. 

“You finally read it?” Charlie demands, a manic glee in her eye. She grabs his upper arm as if afraid he’s going to bolt from the conversation he started less than a minute ago. 

Castiel nods. “I started it on Tuesday,”

“That’s awesome.” She punches the air triumphantly. “Count another one for Team Tolkien.”

“I haven’t finished it yet.”

“You will,” Charlie promises – or threatens?

“I like it so far,” Castiel says truthfully because he wouldn’t say anything else to her face. 

“Good,“ Charlie says firmly. In a loud voice she calls, “Hey, Winchester!”

Castiel freezes.

Charlie yells, “Even Novak beat you to The Hobbit!”

From behind them, Dean’s voice comes, “I told you, I’m gonna get to it!”

Charlie shakes her head, telling Castiel in a carrying stage-whisper, “He’s been saying that for years. I honestly figured he couldn’t read and didn’t want to admit it.”

Dean makes a sputtering noise of offense. “What the hell? I can fucking read, Bradbury!”

Their drama teacher, Mrs. Chandler, barks, “Language!”

Charlie snorts, raising her hand to slightly muffle her giggles. “If Mrs. C is back from her smoke break, I’d better get going.”

To Castiel’s surprise, Charlie doesn’t drop The Hobbit until he finishes it. With her (increasingly fervid) urging, he carves out time during study halls, in between scenes, and in the back seat of their driver’s car on the way to school. 

“Why do you want me to read it so badly?” Castiel asks when he only has a few chapters left, tilting his head as he studies her response. 

“Other than the fact that it’s one of the best books ever written?” Charlie asks, her eyebrows rising.

“The beginning was a little dry.”

“Well, I never!” Charlie clutches her heart before she cracks a smile. “Yeah, I know.” She shrugs. “But it changed my life, and, I dunno,” she shakes her head, “I keep hoping it’ll do the same to someone else.”

Castiel sits up straighter in his chair. “I’d say it has.”

“Yeah?”

Castiel nods at the first friend he made in high school, three months into his senior year. “Of course, it has.”

* * *

The week of the performances, everyone is jumpy and on edge. Even Castiel gets swept up in the nerves, suffering through nightmares when he flubs all his lighting cues and forgets his pants.

On Tuesday – their opening night is Friday – Castiel stays behind after rehearsal to run through the lighting again one last time. Satisfied, he gathers his things and exits the tech booth, frowning as his ears catch a melody of strummed strings coming from backstage.

Castiel follows the sound to the green room to find Dean, crouched over a guitar, a songbook open in front of him. But he doesn’t recognize the chords.

“Could be, who knows,” Dean croons. “There’s something due any day, I will know right away, soon as it shows.”

Definitely not from The Music Man.

“It may come cannonballing down through the sky,” Dean sings in a rush, “gleam in its eye, bright as a – a fuck.” Dean blows a raspberry, his lips pursed, brow furrowed, as he traces a finger along the musical bars on the page.

Castiel makes an involuntary noise, and Dean whirls around. “Cas!”

Caught, Castiel coughs to dislodge the lump of nerves from his throat. “Hello, Dean.”

“What’re you doing here?” Dean asks, his expression apprehensive.

“I was running the cues one last time before heading home.”

Dean nods, his fingers tapping against the neck of his guitar, clearly uncomfortable. But, somehow, Dean’s unease puts Castiel more at ease. He takes a step further into the greenroom instead of hovering on the threshold. “You sound… nice.”

Dean laughs humorlessly. “I have no idea what I’m doing, but thanks.”

Before this moment, Castiel never would have thought Dean suffered from anything so mundane as nerves or low self-esteem

“West Side Story?” Castiel asks, peering over Dean’s shoulder to the songbook.

Dean waits a beat, but when whatever he is expecting doesn’t come, he says, “We’re reading Romeo and Juliet in English, and apparently this is just that with music and gangs, so… anyway, it’s stupid.” He raises his eyebrows. “You know West Side Story but not World of Warcraft?”

Cas blinks, surprised that Dean knew anything about him other than his name and his role backstage. “How did you know that?”

“Charlie,” Dean says with a smirk. After a beat, he ventures, “Have you seen it? West Side Story?”

Castiel shakes his head. The last revival only lasted a year and a half. “My parents never found the time to go while it was still playing.” They aren’t that far away, though, over the river in New Jersey.

“What’s your favorite?”

Castiel pauses. “I liked Rent,” he says, “Mother thought it was too loud, but that’s what the music deserved, what the characters deserved, after being ignored and overlooked for so long.”

“I have no idea what it’s about,” Dean says, sounding intrigued.

Castiel clamps his mouth shut. If any team member of the football team but Dean Winchester had gotten cast in the fall musical, the bullying would have been relentless. As it is, Castiel still sometimes catches slurs being tossed his way by the more homophobic members of their class. Dean laughs them off.

Castiel’s explanation dies on his tongue. Instead, he says awkwardly, “It’s… good.” 

Dean studies him. “How come you never tried out for any of this theater crap?”

“I can’t sing,” Castiel confesses.

“Seriously?”

“I mean, I can,” Castiel corrects as his mother’s constant reminders to pay attention to details (semantics) ring in his ears, “but nobody who values their ears would willingly listen.”

Dean laughs, a sound Castiel will treasure forever. “Dude, you can’t be that bad.”

“Trust me, I am,” Castiel says eagerly. “There’s a reason I joined the orchestra instead of the choir.”

“Could I get a demo?” Dean asks, grinning.

Castiel draws up short. “Absolutely not.”

Dean laughs again, and maybe Castiel fell asleep in the lighting booth and any second now Mrs. Tate will come rushing in and remind him of a Calculus exam he should be taking right now.

To change the subject, he asks Dean, a tad desperately, “Have you seen a Broadway show recently?”

Dean grimaces. “Aren’t tickets expensive?”

Castiel frowns. They might be – he has no idea. “Probably,” he agrees, his shoulders slumping. 

Dean gets to his feet, casting his gaze anywhere but at Castiel. “Listen,” he says in a low voice, “thanks for… thanks.”

* * *

Castiel arrives two hours before curtain on Sunday, the last night of the musical. Heart in his throat, hands almost shaking with nerves, he leaves the flowers and envelope with two tickets to Rock of Ages on Dean’s chair. He adds a note, Musicals are for everyone.

Practically every senior knows Dean loved music from the 80s. Whenever it was his turn to choose the warm up music for football practice, he opted for Styx, Bob Seger, or Def Leppard. 

Castiel might not know pop culture, but he does know Dean Winchester.

Castiel doesn’t sign the card, so he doesn’t expect Dean to invite him along. In fact, he avoids Dean for the rest of the school year. If Dean can’t find him, he can’t reject him. Castiel is fully aware his logic holds water like a sieve, but he can’t bring himself to care.

The day on the tickets comes and goes, and Castiel breathes a sigh of relief (and disappointment).

* * *

Charlie 7:20 Heyyy best friend! I scored last minute tickets to NY Comic Con this weekend You up to dinner and a show on Wednesday?

Castiel 7:20 Of course. It’s been too long since you’ve been back on the East Coast.

Charlie 7:21 Good cause I already got tickets to Wicked 7pm b there or b square

Castiel laughs as he slips his phone back into his pocket. He had expected his friendship with Charlie to fade once they separated for college, but Charlie had the singular talent of being just as present, just as herself, online as in-person.

Still, Castiel obviously prefers the three or four times a year he gets to see her “IRL”.

* * *

“So,” Charlie says as they take their seats in the Gershwin Theatre, “are you going to the reunion next year?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t really see much of a point.”

“C’mon, it’s ten years,” Charlie wheedles. “You don’t want to see who went bald or had a dozen kids?”

“That would be very impressive,” Castiel says as he idly skims the playbill. “Statistically speaking, twins are still a relatively rare occurrence. And to have that many children in nine years would mean multiples.”

“So that’s a yes?” As Castiel shakes his head ‘no’, Charlie pouts. “You’re no fun at all.”

Castiel flips a page. “It’s been said before.”

She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, “I’ll get you there one way or another.”

“Unless you’re talking about kidnapping, I’m not sure how you’ll accomplish that.”

“I have my ways,” Charlie says loftily. “Have you seen Wicked before?”

“Years ago.”

“Good,” Charlie says, “You’re not doing anything after this, right?”

He turns to her quizzically. She’s well aware of his perennial lack of plans. “Other than going home and sleeping?” 

“Awesome,” Charlie says as the lights dim around them and chatter dies down.

The curtain rises and the first “Good news… she’s dead!” rings out from the stage.

Castiel leans in close to Charlie. “What are you planning?” he demands in an undertone.

She doesn’t turn her head away from the stage. “Shh! It’s starting.”

Castiel settles back in his seat and tries to immerse himself in the performance. They sail through The Wizard and I and What is This Feeling? Elphaba’s singing is slightly better than her acting, and Glinda adds a few too many runs to her solos.

But then Fiyero makes his big entrance before launching into his big number, Dancing Through Life, and –

“Charlie,” Castiel hisses.

“I know, right?” Charlie whispers back, beaming up at the stage. “He started this month!”

And he might as well be back in high school, since Castiel has eyes only for Dean Winchester for the rest of the show.

* * *

Charlie drags Castiel to the stage door to wait with the rest of the tourists for the actors’ autographs.

Dean emerges with Elphaba and Nessa, wearing a leather jacket to ward off the autumn chill and worn jeans.

“Hey, Dean!” Charlie shouts, waving with her whole body.

Castiel winces at her sheer volume.

Dean turns and does a double-take at Castiel. “Hey!” he says warmly. He holds up one finger and turns to the waiting crowd of admirers. He signs all the playbills shoved in his face, making smalltalk with anyone brave enough to strike up a conversation. But, all too soon, he makes his way over to Charlie and Castiel by the curb.

“Hey,” he says, leaning in to hug Charlie and, after a split second of hesitation, Castiel too. “So glad you made it.”

“Of course,” Charlie scoffs. “Like I’d miss it. Is it too late for a drink, Dean?”

“Nope,” Dean says easily. He turns to Castiel. “How about you, Cas?”

Castiel can only shake his head.

“Alright, Broadway Boy, where should we go?” Charlie asks.

“Don’t call me that.” Dean shudders. He points down the street, and they start walking. “That makes me sound like the lamest sidekick ever.”

“Kinda,” Charlie agrees, punching Dean in the shoulder. “But you’ll only ever be my handmaiden.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Are you ever gonna let me live that down?”

“Nope,” Charlie says cheerfully.

Dean turns to Castiel. “It was an off-Broadway experimental performance,” he explains with a grimace. “There were robots. And tentacles,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “in space.”

Charlie cackles. “It was awesome.”

They cross the street, and Dean pushes open the door to a homey-looking dive bar. It’s relatively empty this late on a Wednesday night. They order their first round at the bar, and pick a table near the front window to catch up.

But, practically as they sit down, Charlie bounds to her feet. “Little girl’s room,” she says by way of explanation, completely ignoring the look of extreme panic that Castiel shoots her over Dean’s head. “Don’t get trashed without me!”

“No promises,” Dean says with a grin as he waves her off. “So,” he starts once they’re alone. He taps his fingers against the side of his beer, and Castiel’s riot of nerves calms a little at Dean’s fidgeting. “How’ve you been?”

“Good and you?”

Dean snorts. “Not bad,” he says, raising his drink to his lips. 

Castiel mentally scrambles for something, anything, to talk about. “Is this your first Broadway role? Charlie mentioned you started only recently.”

Dean nods in agreement. “Finally popped my Broadway cherry on the 2nd.”

“Congratulations.”

They each take a long pull of their drinks. Castiel tries not to stare too intently at Dean’s face.

Dean sets his glass down with slightly more force than necessary, foam splashing out over the side. “Look,” he says, reaching behind him for his wallet.

Oh no. How in the world has Castiel driven off Dean so quickly? He’d thought his people skills, never the best, had gotten better since high school.

But Dean stays seated as he flips his wallet open and pulls out two old, familiar Broadway tickets. “I just wanted to tell you that you changed my life with these,” Dean says seriously, meeting Castiel’s gaze.

Castiel swallows, and he has to take another sip of beer to get his throat working again. “I’m glad,” he says. He reaches out to touch them, his fingers hovering a hairsbreadth above the paper, creased and fragile from ten years of handling.

Dean pushes them closer, and Castiel dares to pick them up, running the pad of his thumb along the half-faded barcode stamped on the side.

“You were amazing, even in high school,” Castiel says quietly. “You deserved to see all the possibilities open to you.”

“What? No,” Dean says, and Castiel’s eyes snap from the tickets to Dean’s face. “I was already saving up to play hookey and line up for same-day tickets.”

Castiel’s mouth thins. “I’m glad I saved you one day as a truant and the extra cost.”

Dean shakes his head. “’M not saying it right,” he says, frustrated. “It’s – Cas, it wasn’t about the show.”

Castiel is completely lost. “Okay?” he says. “I hope you at least enjoyed it –”

“Of course, I did,” Dean cuts him off, irritated. “Fuck it,” he mutters as he stares down at his beer. He raises his head. “It’s that you gave them to me.”

Castiel blinks. “I don’t understand.”

“For some fuckin’ reason, you saw this kid who didn’t know an arpeggio from an archipelago, and thought he could make it on Broadway based on one dinky high school production of The Music Man.” He taps the tickets still in Castiel’s hand, leaning in. “That’s why I kept these close – because they showed that you believed in me.”

Castiel looks up, and Dean’s face hovers much closer than he remembers. “Oh,” he breathes. 

Dean bites his lip, and every nerve in Castiel’s body thrums with anticipation the longer they stay there, not moving, sharing the same air.

“So sorry, they were cleaning out the bathrooms –”

The moment shatters with Charlie’s arrival. 

But, for once, Castiel isn’t going to let it go without a fight. He grabs Dean by the lapels of his flannel and seals their mouths together.

Dean makes a noise of surprise but doesn’t pull away. He reaches up to cup Castiel’s jaw, and his little hum of satisfaction rings ten times sweeter than any love song Castiel has ever heard him sing.

[ill-say-anything-i-hafta]

You've read a million newsies high school AUs, so here's the newsies high school ten-year-reunion AU.

Jack was senior class president, but he's MIA, so Katherine and Specs planned the whole thing. Katherine chose the theme, Kings and Queens of New York, even though Specs told her it was kind of cheesy.

Buttons has a PhD in medieval history; he arrives at the hotel function room in a replica of a 14th century robe that is extremely period-accurate. Crutchie and his wife interpreted the theme in a more whimsical way; Crutchie is wearing what looks like a vintage 1920s mink stole with the head and paws attached, plus a pair of gold glitter cat ears. Everyone else just wore nice clubbing outfits with maybe a tiara or something.

Romeo is single right now, but seems to be feeling the need to come out to all of his old friends, one by one, even though they have all seen his tik toks by now.

Spot and Mush both ran out to the dancefloor from opposite sides of the room when they heard the DJ play the first notes of Beyonce's "Countdown" at the beginning of the night. They never hung out in high school, but they have been dancing together for hours. Spot has lost her spike heels. Every time Mush tries to leave to get food or a drink, she pulls him back.

Oscar and his boyfriend are making out by the bar. They don't talk to anyone else.

Yesterday, David found a box of stuff from high school in the basement storage room at his mom's apartment -- programs from graduation, a random copy of the school newspaper -- and he arrived early to scatter this memorobilia on the tables to surprise everyone. He keeps overhearing Elmer proudly telling different people that Buttons is a doctor now, without context, and it is kind of driving him bananas. He's also annoyed that Jack didn't show up, though he realizes he should have known better than to get his hopes up.

Meanwhile, Racetrack is already drunk and is going around the room spreading the word that everyone is going to meet up at Jacobi's on West 6th after the reunion to shoot pool.

Finch and his girlfriend are into CrossFit and are both super buff. It makes Finch's head look weirdly small. JoJo now owns his own business and drops this fact into every conversation. Albert is still trying to make it as a stand-up comic.

The food at the buffet is actually pretty good, but the open bar ends at 8. Luckily, Morris brought a bottle of Espolòn Blanco tequila to share. Even Katherine has some. Morris and Tommy Boy show each other too many pictures of their kids.

The hotel kicks them all out at 10 pm sharp.

David knows he has to get up early the next morning to drive back home to Pennsylvania, but he decides to go to Jacobi's anyway. When he gets there, he sees Racetrack and Crutchie playing eight-ball in the back. Crutchie is still wearing his tattered mink stole and is losing badly, though to be fair, he has to lean against the table edge for balance every time he takes a shot. Crutchie's wife, who is very pretty, is at the bar drinking whiskey with Spot, who has on the cat ears now. No one else from their high school seems to be there.

David texts Katherine and learns that most people went to a trendy new dance club uptown instead. They even paid a cover.

Tough shit, he texts her. Get over here. For old times sake. And he orders a Miller and tells Racetrack and Crutchie he's got the winner.

[aftgficrec]

My favorite fics are soft andriel, and teen andriel.

Here’s my recs:

Raised on little light by maqicien

Falling is a lot like drowning by chaoticas_hell

This wasn’t in the prophecy (series) by Arirmis

(Account locked) Raise me up so you can watch me fall by Yes_No_ofcourse

And this last one is angst and dark but I do love it

Hiding scars under exy gear By rinz

Wow, that’s a lot of recs in one submission!  Usually we just get one or two 🤣. - S

You can find some of those fics here:

‘Raised on Little Light’ here (since updated)

‘Falling Is A Lot Like Drowning’ here (since updated)

‘Raise me up so you can watch me fall’ here (locked, now complete)

This wasn’t in the prophecy by Arirmis [Rated T/M, 73294 words, incomplete, last updated Feb 2024]

Percy Jackson AU where all of the foxes are demigods, Andrew meets Neil shortly after his mom dies, and joins him on the run instead of going back to camp. Part one spans from their first meeting to their first kiss; Part two will take place a few years later, when certain circumstances force them to return to camp, and Andrew has to deal with what he left behind, on top of their current problem. While both fics should be able to be read individually, it does make more sense if you read them in order :)

Part 1:  Cross your fingers, here we go (T, 25037 words, complete)

Millport is a horrible, dry as fuck little town in the vast nothingness of the dust hole that is Arizona, and Andrew hates it with vigor.  He has been tracking a horde of Manticores for weeks now, and isn’t that something? A half-blood having to chase after the monsters. He is starting to feel like one of Renee’s hunters, when Andrew is pretty sure the nasty scorpion-cats should want to kill him more then he wants to kill them.  Or, Andrew expected to find all sorts of things on his first quest. He didn’t expect a twitchy, blue-eyed half-blood with monsters on his heels, and he surely didn’t expect to fall in love with him.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/non-con, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: child neglect, tw: assumed character death

Part 2: Mortal Bodies, Timeless Souls (M, 48257 words, incomplete)

„Minyard! Get your ass up and put some armor on! Abby, Greene, get the infirmary in shape, border control just spotted a motherfucking Drakon in the woods!“ As if Wymack’s order triggered it, a ear grating screech echoes all the way to the big house. The camp counselor curses. „Move it people, there are half-bloods out there that need to get to safety!“  Or, for two and a half years, Aaron has been grieving the brother he buried, only to learn now, that Andrew is very much alive. He also has a scarred little shithead in tow, that Aaron wants to punch in the face regularily. Life is fun like that.

tw: blood, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/non-con, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: child neglect, tw: assumed character death, tw: vomit

Hiding scars (under exy gear) by rinz [Rated M, 34309 words, incomplete, last updated March 2024]

Juggling a mobster serial killer household and high school is harder than Neil had anticipated. and that goth kid on the roof really needs to mind his own business. OR a high school AU where neil and mary never run from nathan and neil meets the foxes in private high school instead.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: imlied/referenced torture, tw: graphic violence

[sessakag]

I was watching a tv show and it had a school reunion episode so naturally my head went straight to Butterfly. I’m so curious how a school reunion would look like for that story. Personally I’m headcanoning that in 10, 20 years Hinata is wildly successful and happy and that she can throw that in the face of all the people who wished her harm back in high school. Of course it’s Hinata so she wouldn’t throw it in their faces, but she aught to be able to! If she won’t be petty I’ll be petty enough for the both of us. I also imagine by then her and Naruto are settled and Naruto is bragging to anyone who would listen about his fantastic family.

Considering what's gonna happen in Butterfly, the dynamics of her HS reunion would be wilddddd🙈and you're right, she wouldn't be petty but, there may be others that feel like you and are more than happy to be petty on her behalf😂and omg, yes, Naruto would bragggg about his beautiful family to anybody with ears😂

[imagineanythings]

Tis the Damn Season

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 4.8k

The second fic in my Folklore and Evermore Collection

Other fics in the collection: The 1

Her head swarmed with frustration and anger and she finally noticed that she had pulled into the parking lot in front of the methodist church. She laughed to herself as she rested her head on the wheel. Of course she’d come here. Stupid. She moved to put the car in reverse and go somewhere, anywhere else, when taillights in her rearview mirror caught her eye. The air forcibly left her lungs in one swift exhale as she recognized that old, beat up, blue pickup.

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

The familiar musty scent of beer and an unfortunate mixture of perfumes and colognes met her nose as she entered the bar. Faces more weathered than her memory had stored them greeted her as she weaved through. The motion of dodging through these people had become muscle memory, though the setting had shifted some years back from crowded high school hallways to this cramped hometown bar. She settled into a seat at the bar and shrugged off her coat, and once she had a gin and tonic in hand she was far more prepared to deal with the sea of semi-familiar faces around her.

It was all cordial hellos, obligatory “so what are you doing these days?”, or “how’s your family?” or “congratulations on your engagement or your promotion or your pregnancy or whatever else someone could be congratulated on ten years out from high school”. Small talk was easy, but grating, people couldn’t help but joke about how cold she must be here after coming from LA, or asking about contracts or jobs that she wasn’t allowed to talk about. Insincerity leaked from between their clenched, grinning teeth as they would ask “remember when we sat next to each other in bio? We sure had some good times. Did you say you were on set with Angelina Jolie last month?” They would say “It’s amazing that your career is taking off like this, it’s a tough industry” or they’d jab an all too sharp elbow into her side with a far too comfortable smile and say “If you ever need some company out there in LA, call me.”

Fake smiles and performed familiarity left her exhausted and frustrated as she worked on her third drink in a brief moment to herself. She took the time to scan the room and survey if anyone worth talking to had showed up. She was just about coming up empty when a crowded table in the corner caught her eye. She might have missed him with the swarm of people he was sitting with, except for his cold blue stare. She could never miss his eyes, even if she wanted to. Steve Rogers would never not be the first person she could pick out of a crowd. They held eye contact for a moment, air tense, background voices dimmed to a dull ringing in their ears as they returned to a long unpracticed art of reading one another.

She said hello with a quirked brow, he remained impassive, so she sipped her drink and narrowed her eyes, the corner of his lip tugged ever so slightly upwards, her shoulders released the slightest bit of tension, his jaw clenched, her eyes softened, he turned his head to speak to someone else. It seemed that neither was satisfied with the interaction, if it could even be called that. Nonverbal conversations used to be their secret, an inside joke in a room full of unsuspecting idiots. Suddenly she wished she couldn’t read him quite so well anymore.

One drink and a few more awkward conversations later, fresh soap and pine and firewood reached her nose and she knew he was about to pass her on his way out. At the peak of the scent a gentle brush against her side informed her that her estimates of his whereabouts were correct and she sat glued to her seat, forcing herself not to look. But nostalgia and curiosity and possibly a dash of hopeless romanticism grabbed her by the chin after a few moments and led her eyes to the muscular frame headed for the door. He paused, hand on the door, and as if he could sense it, looked up and met her eyes. There it was again, and her heart strung with icy blue hurt. He was gone within moments but she had felt an eternity in that eye contact.

One of the comforts of being home was the ability to zone out on drives through her sleepy, small hometown. Her eyes stayed on the road and her body mechanically brought her home as she thought about seeing Steve in the bar. Flashes of a dizzying high school romance intermixed with memories of the aching emptiness that followed. The feelings existed out of sync with one another.

At home, she only enjoyed a mere few minutes of peace before her mother began her favorite line of questioning. “Why did you have to go so far away sweetheart? We miss you.” Her mother began. With a deep breath, she braced herself. “You know why, Mom. You know I wanted to act. I couldn’t have done that here.” The words fell from her lips with no thought, muscle memory had taken over. “I just don’t see why that had to be the only option. You could make a nice life for yourself here. I mean did you really want to get away from us that badly?” “Jesus, Mom. You know that’s not why I left. We’ve been over this.” The argument went in progressively louder circles for who knows how long. After enough nothing, Y/N silently grabbed her coat. She called, “I’m going for a drive.” Before shutting the front door behind her and getting into her car.

Muscle memory is a crazy thing. She hadn’t thought about where she was going, she only knew that she had to get away for a minute. Her head swarmed with frustration and anger and she finally noticed that she had pulled into the parking lot in front of the methodist church. She laughed to herself as she rested her head on the wheel. Of course she’d come here. Stupid. She moved to put the car in reverse and go somewhere, anywhere else, when taillights in her rearview mirror caught her eye. The air forcibly left her lungs in one swift exhale as she recognized that old, beat up, blue pickup.

It seemed like she had no control over anything she did anymore, as she felt herself getting out of her car. Her brain was sounding all the alarms, telling her to stop, to turn around, get back in her car, and continue her personal pity party as far away from here as possible. Maybe even back in LA at this point. But her legs carried her forward nonetheless until finally she stood on the passenger side of the truck, staring through the window.

His head rested on his steering wheel the same way hers had a few moments ago, he hadn’t seen her yet. Despite all of her rational reasoning, she raised a timid hand and gently knocked against the glass. He jolted upright once at the sound and then again when he realized who was standing in front of him. She figured she was in too deep now, no running away, so she reached out and opened the door, climbed into the passenger seat and nearly had to hold back tears as she felt her skin against its familiar leather. With all the composure she could muster, she looked over at his still stunned face. “Wanna go for a drive?” She asked, and wordlessly, he started the car.

Silence filled the space, wrapped them both up in a warm familiarity for the beginning of the drive. She knew the roads he was taking, leading them aimlessly around the town that made them who they were. There’s no telling how long they needed to sit and absorb each others’ presence, they only knew that they would speak when it felt right again. “What brought you to the lot?” He broke the silence, surprising her. That was traditionally her job. She shrugged. “My parents, pissed at me for leaving and going so far away.” He nodded and hummed. “I get that.” The silence hung between them once again. “What about you?” Guilt broke her first this time. “House felt empty, like I was seeing ghosts. Just wanted to clear my head.” His tone had a practiced evenness to it that she recognized from when he tried to hold back his feelings, like the day they broke up. “Feel like I should be apologizing for that.” She observed. He exhaled deeply. “Maybe. Maybe I should be too.” SIlence met them again and they embraced it, comfortably. She continued to sneak glances at him in the quiet, trying to read him as he drove, as he clearly was trying to close himself off to her.

She took another deep breath after a long while and broke the silence again. “So the bar was a bust, huh? I mean Bucky wasn’t even there.” His shoulders shook in a silent chuckle as she looked up in shock that he was even responding with anything other than snark or frustration. “Yeah, even Tony was acting like an ass tonight.” “Where was Nat? Or Sam? Felt like no one worth talking to was around.” “They’re busy with their lives. Although out of everyone, you were the one we all expected to show up the least.” that coldness leached back into Steve’s tone. “You guys were talking about it? Seriously?” Her brows knitted together and she crossed her arms. “I mean, come on. We all just thought you’d be on a movie set. Or with people cooler and richer than this whole town combined.” The coldness was barely there in his voice, he spoke matter-of-factly. “Nah, LA people suck. Trust me, they’ve got nothing on some of the people here. Some of them.” She put emphasis on that last bit and met Steve’s eyes as they stopped at a red light. He looked quickly back to the road as the light turned green and continued along. The silence surrounded them again. She broke it again. “I miss you.” It was barely a whisper. “Yeah.” He breathed deeply. “I miss you too.” Another stop sign, another quick glance. “But I’m sure you already knew that.” “I’m sorry.” She said once again, she didn’t even know why she was saying it anymore. He just shook his head. They rode in silence for a long time again. She wondered when silence became more comfortable with him than speaking. Somewhere after middle school, she guessed. Either way, there was a nostalgia to the quiet that wrapped her up and made her feel warm despite the guilt squeezing her by the lungs.

The truck rolled to a stop right where it had started. He put it in park and stared straight ahead. “Thanks for the ride.” She said, as her fingers grasped the door handle and she began to push the door open, Steve reached out and grabbed her by the arm. Muscle memory kicked in again as he pulled her to him, a hand threading through her hair as he placed his lips on hers. His tug on her arm had some force behind it, but the kiss itself was soft and gentle, more of a question than anything else. She could feel him holding himself back before she gave in and kissed him back like leaning into a multiple years long itch that was finally being scratched. As soon as she showed eagerness he let go completely, one of his hands was tangled in her hair, the other had snaked around her waist to rest on her back, pulling as close as he could over the center console. She took his shirt in one fist and placed a gentle palm on his cheek. She had been in her hometown for a little over a day now but she hadn’t felt really at home until this moment.

He tasted like peppermint and whiskey and she felt like she was drowning in him when he pulled back to look at her. They breathed heavily in time with one another, something that simple having brought them back into sync after all those years. He spoke first between labored breaths. “Meet me at my place?” “I’ll follow you there.”

The morning sunlight streaked through unfamiliar windows and it took Y/N a moment to comprehend where she was. She sat up in bed and surveyed the neat bedroom she found herself in. It was simple, just the bed, an armchair in the corner, and a large, overstuffed bookshelf. The door creaked open to reveal Steve, in just his boxers, holding two steaming mugs.

“Mornin’ sleepyhead” He said with a chuckle as he carefully slid back into bed next to her. He handed her one of the mugs and a large t-shirt of his. She pulled the shirt, soft and well worn, over her head and then took a sip, coffee exactly how she liked it. She looked over to him in surprise to find him watching her anxiously. Her shocked smile easily melted the worry lines above his brow as he let out what sounded like an involuntary laugh. “I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t have much faith in your high school preferences but I guess some things do never change.” She laughed and let out a playful scoff.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “For everything.” They sat, sipping in silence for another few moments before she spoke again. “I missed you.” “I missed you too, Sugar.” He let his old nickname for her fall from his lips for the first time in ten years and she knew he could see the way it made her breath catch in her throat. They stilled, reading each other as gently as possible, searching for safe waters to steer whatever this was towards. She made the first attempt. “So we didn’t get to talking much last night,” her lips twisted in a wry smile and he laughed and shook his head, tension leaving his shoulders. “How’ve you been? What have you been doing? When did you move out of your parents’ place? Catch me up on all that I’ve missed,” She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees as she raised eyebrows along with her mug to her lips.

He smiled, softly, no teeth, a mix of fondness and hurt in his eyes, but not the accusatory kind she had seen at the bar. It was a dull, sort of throbbing ache that she was all too familiar with that swam in the expansive blue of his eyes. And he started talking. He moved out of his parents’ house about five years back. As soon as he had the money to do it he was out of there. It had been mostly work for the last ten years. He looked at her with a slight sadness as he sighed and said “not much else to report”. She shook her head. “I’m sure that’s not true Rogers, I’ll just have to get a good few drinks in you to hear whatever stories you’re holding back,” she poked him gently in the rib and he laughed. “Trust me, there really aren’t many stories to tell. Feels like this place got a whole lot less exciting once you left.” It was like someone attached a string to all the air in her lungs and yanked it out through her mouth.

“Why didn’t you? Leave, I mean” She asked carefully. “I don’t know, I always thought about it but I had a job and then I started to climb ranks and build something of my own so it all just kind of made sense here,” He trailed off. She saw his minute intake of breath and knew he had more to say. She gave him space to get it out. “Plus where would I go anyway?” He finally let out, quiet, maybe even a bit fearful, his voice quivering the slightest bit. She wanted to put a hand on his arm, tell him he could have always come to LA, stayed with her, but she knew better than to offer that. Instead she put her coffee down on the nightstand and curled into his side, resting her head in his lap.

“Do you ever want to leave?” “I don’t know.” He placed his mug down as well and ran fingers through her hair. “Sometimes. But I mostly like the life I’ve built. I see why you did though,” “You do?” She peered up at him. “Yeah. I mean, this place can be tough. I still don’t know why you wouldn’t stay with me, why you didn’t even want to try with us, but I can respect why you couldn’t stay here.” She sat up, bringing a hand to his face. He leaned into it, letting her fingers rake over stubble and caress his jaw and cheek bones. “I didn’t want to. I just had to get away and I was young and stupid and I didn’t know if I could truly leave if I still had anything here that I was holding on to. If only I’d known what LA was going to be like. That holding onto a piece of my soul might actually have saved me from a lot of pain down the line.” “Are you gonna leave again?” His eyes wouldn’t leave hers and she couldn’t look away, trapped by his gaze. There was no pressure, there was no ill-will or blame, simply an understanding, a sense of I will not be blindsided by this again.

“I’m here for the weekend, aren’t I?” His air rushed out of him. She could tell he was disappointed but he did a good job concealing most of it. She sat up and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, hoping it could convey so much of what she just felt too damn ineloquent to express in words, and then got out of bed and cleared away the coffee mugs. She brought them to the kitchen and rinsed them to give him a second to think, to just be alone. When she came back he looked calm, he had leaned back against his antique wooden headboard, his arms crossed and his brow uncreasing as he seemed to come out of a thought. “You’re here for the weekend?” he asked, gesturing a bit to the space around him, indicating his home. She giggled and nodded. “The whole damn weekend, if that’s ok with you?” She confirmed and he smiled, shoulders and eyebrows relaxing. “Oh that is more than ok with me, I’ll take what I can get, Sugar.” He looked at her with genuine joy it seemed, so much hurt now missing from his gaze. With a wink she turned and started into the bathroom. “Now just what are you getting up to?” He asked and she pulled his shirt over her head with a comfortable smile. “I had an absolutely filthy night last night, feels like I need to wash off.” She tossed the shirt at him, leaving her bare skin exposed, “You coming?” she asked. “Yes, Ma’am” he said, his tone soaked in reverence and eyes full of desire as he made his way after her.

48 hours is nothing in the grand scheme of things, but they stretched it for all it was worth. She made breakfast, he cooked dinner. They rarely left the house except for one extra large grocery run. They drank hot chocolate, they sat by the fireplace and watched movies, they went for a walk around his property, they kissed every chance they got and almost never stopped touching each other in some way. He held her like he knew he was going to have to let go far sooner than he’d like. She couldn’t stop staring at him, trying to memorize this version of him, of them together. They were an older, more mature version of themselves, free of adolescent sting and grudges but never quite escaping a quiet fog of sadness that sometimes tasted like regret if she closed her eyes and focused on it too hard.

The time flew by all too quickly. Suddenly she was packing her small bag, preparing for her flight the next day. She was carefully folding her clothes and trying not to focus too hard on how intently Steve was watching her. She knew him too well at this point, could feel the force of his willpower on her, his presence begging her to stay. But he didn’t say anything, so she didn’t either. She simply zipped up her bag, crawled into bed, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and kissed him, lips meeting his with force and passion. He tangled a hand in her hair and wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her into him, and for just a second, it felt like no other words needed to be said.

Hours later, she rested her head on his chest, feeling his even breathing, listening to his steady heartbeat. She stared into the empty darkness of his room, mind in a rush to get nowhere in particular, jumping anxieties like changing trains in an endless commute. Where do we go from here? Do I just go back home and pretend none of this happens? Can I handle the same silence I sat in for ten years? WIll he miss me? She raced through uncertainties at a rapid pace, but always found herself coming back to the same question. Would he ever just ask me to stay? She wasn’t even sure if she knew what her answer would even be if he did, but she wondered nonetheless. She could feel his breathing hitch, his arm around her shift, she knew he was still awake. She wondered what he was thinking about. She stayed silent and hoped that for once he couldn’t read her like she knew he always could.

In the morning they dressed in silence. She gathered her things and he brought her a cup of coffee, offered wordlessly. They sat in his kitchen, sipping in silence, bodies tense for fear of inadvertently giving too much away. He spoke first, softly, almost timid. “When’s your flight?” “Around two, should probably head to my parents’ to say goodbye soon.” He nodded. “We can head over there whenever you’re ready.” “We?” she quirked her brow and bit back a smirk. “How else do ya think you’re gonna get to the airport, dummy?” He said as he placed his mug in the sink. He found himself frozen upon turning around, confronted with a beaming smile centered directly on him. Neither spoke. The air grew thick and hot around them, a question grew into a lump into his throat, pushed its way to the precipice of his tongue before he swallowed it back down and reached over to grab her empty mug. Her shoulders sunk ever so slightly with what he thought might be disappointment but he couldn’t be sure. “Thank you.” She said softly, “for the coffee and the ride” She paused for a moment. “And the weekend.” He smiled and shot her a quick wink. “Anytime, Sugar” It felt like physically holding herself together, trying not to melt in that moment, and she knew he saw the way she tensed up a bit.

Warm air and sunny skies greeted her as she stepped out of LAX, but a chill ran through her body nonetheless, frost emanating from what felt like an empty pit residing in her stomach. Her phone was already buzzing constantly, messages from her agent, her publicist, friends, everyone and anyone trying to get her attention now that her little “vacation” was over. With a sigh, she scrolled through the messages and eventually called her agent, grateful for the chance to throw herself back into work and shake off the icy blue chill that seemed to follow her all the way here.

LA was busy, there was always something to be done, someone to call or meet with, a script to read over, lines to learn, workout classes to take, personal grooming to be attended to. It kept her occupied, allowing for a distraction as her mind would wander. Even as months passed, her focus never fully narrowed, and there was only so much she could do before the scent of soap and pine needles and freshly cut wood began to seep through the edges of her imagination. They didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure what the protocol would be and they hadn’t had the time to talk about it so she just gave him space, wondering if he was still reeling from their rekindling as much as she was.

She went to parties, hung out with friends, but there was a vacancy there, like everyone looked right through her, or saw her as just another rung on their own ladder to success. She could feel the insincerity in their smiles, squeezing her close with bony, designer swaddled limbs and whispering “I missed you baby!” or “It’s so good to see you!” or “Bestie, how have you been!?” and then pulling away with a smug smirk like they knew they had just given the oscar-winning performance. She wanted nothing more than to tell somebody, anybody about Steve, about what she was going through, but she couldn’t trust anyone. Spilling to any of these people would have the tabloids on it in a second.

So she worked. And she gave her own insincere smiles and hellos that didn’t go below the surface. And she kept her head down. She made some decent movies. She put out some work that she was really proud of. She walked the red carpet alone. She was getting offers on a consistent basis now, being able to be more and more selective about what she wanted to work on. It wasn’t about survival anymore, it was about what she wanted. And suddenly she felt like she wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

She stood on the red carpet for her last film of the year, a cheesy christmas romance that she only had a supporting role in, bombarded by photographers and people yelling her name. She flashed her perfectly practiced smile and straightened out her classic, deep red, floor length gown before leaving the mark for someone else. The shuttering of cameras, the screaming fans and paparazzi and stressed out PAs, the flashing lights, the similarly overstimulated and overworked stars all faded behind her as she walked into the darkness of the theater, and for one singular moment, for the first time in almost exactly a year, she felt peaceful. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to her assistant, changed my mind, actually do book me that ticket for tomorrow? You’re the best, and then she sat down to enjoy her cheesy, silly movie.

She pulled into the driveway in a rental car that smelled of stale cigarette smoke. Through the windows she could see her mother fussing about, putting decorations in place, getting the house in order. It looked warm inside. The flight had been long and her head hurt and her body ached but she found herself locked in place, white knuckles on the wheel. She couldn’t pry her fingers away to open the door. Her head was spinning and her chest felt tight until she let muscle memory take over as she shifted the car into reverse and suddenly everything felt clear. She followed the roads on autopilot, knowing exactly where she would end up but feeling not entirely sure until she arrived.

Stepping out of the car was easy this time. Too easy, in fact. She left it running, door open as she followed the magnetic pull to his front door, adorned with a vibrant, homemade pine wreath. Her heart felt like it was clawing its way out of her body through her throat as she reached a shaking hand up and knocked on the door. She held her breath for a few stunned, silent, panicked moments until she heard movement somewhere inside the house. The air came out of her all in a rush as the door opened and there Steve Rogers stood, right in front of her, live and in the flesh, blue eyes wide as they landed on her. “Hi.” seemed to be the only thing he could get out.

“Hi.” She responded breathlessly. They stood, staring at each other for a long moment, and when he finally opened his mouth to speak she cut him off, letting the words just tumble out. “I’m so sorry I left, I’ve been so miserable this whole year and I just missed you so much and I regret everything I never should have left at all.” she paused for a deep breath. “Would you mind if I stay?” She could barely finish her question before he was pulling her in close, threading a hand through her hair and wrapping the other around her waist, and kissing her like there was nothing else he could ever need but this. He pulled back gently and rested his forehead against hers. “Is that a yes?” She asked, breathlessly. “What? And have waited for you all this time for nothing? Course I wouldn’t mind, Sugar.” He whispered before pulling her in for another kiss, slow, lazy this time, for he had no reason to rush, she had no other place to be, and they had nothing but time.

[erreversible]

pairing: hoshi/woozi rating: T tags: fwss!au, post-university

summary:

A high school reunion quickly turns into a test of Jihoon’s sanity.