#I hope you remain honest. It was fun watching you stumble around the back alley

[throwaway-yandere]

What HaPpEneD aT 10:10? (Yandere!"Gepard Landau"/Reader)

Scriptwriter's Note: I implore you to remember what happened at 10:10. And once you do, come talk to three of my associates. For now, let her help you recall what's going on in the present time. You can remember the time, but we need you to remember the murder weapon, who killed who, and the motive.

Synopsis: Trapped in Serval Landau’s basement for so long, you made a deal with the Sampo to escape confinement. As it turns out, your timing is never impeccable. Aka: a Belobog "murder" mystery. (A/n: ansy here, have fun trying to guess what happened! But please. PLEASE do not read this if you're sensitive to the topics below ⬇)

CW: Yandere and horror themes, "most unreliable narrator AND reader ever" - sam, violence, amputation, mentions of domestic (physical) abuse. His smile is stiff as a board. There’s a portal at the end of the story, your choices matter (there are 2 possible endings). Welcome to the Back Alley.

A murder was announced to occur on Saturday, October 2, at the Golden Theater’s back alley, around 10:10 AM.

It was an unidentified note. Short and crudely pasted cutouts from old magazines were its contents. Many believe the Astral Express put it together as a twisted joke. It’s no coincidence that the clocks' little hands near the theater were also forever stuck at 10:10. No one took it seriously. Additionally, a nearby bookshop used this opportunity to "hype" its mystery books by joining the bandwagon. While the Silvermane Guards officially took the "threat" as if it didn't exist, others transformed it into an event by creating crime scene props with March 7th and Stelle serving as the main judges.  

Who'd even investigate such a note when the Golden Theater doesn’t have a back alley?

By 5:00 AM, that silly note was not at the forefront of the Silvermane Guards' minds.

It was you.

Sampo shakily exhaled a quick "heya, friend," as his legs continued to speed past the Silvermane Guards, who were all very much ready to fire. The merchanr was forced to inhale sharply and slightly elevate his voice as he worriedly fixed his attention on his 'package.' 

"Y-You're good, aren't you?" 

Inside the shopping cart (who knows where he got that) he had been pushing was a wanted person. A bit feverish, you nodded without much commitment. Even the slightest movements relieved the dubious merchant as he picked up the pace, avoiding the stray "warning" shots that were fired near.

Today, you didn't awaken in the house where you were held captive. There were no mechanical noises or loud drilling. However, your morning did begin with your flesh awkwardly molding against the metal grid patterns of the shopping cart. There was no complaining when you realized it was your old friend Sampo who had carried and set you down. You didn't even consider asking this man where he was taking you.

Days earlier, he had paid you a covert visit and explained his strategy. So you concluded that he was the one who made the "false" murder announcement public. He also implied that little Hook made the note. Your gut tells you that even while it makes sense to assume that she is the author of that absurd announcement, it doesn't seem to be the truth. But at that point, your fears of being tubed with immoral equipment vanished and you felt gratitude rather than alarm. Not that you'd ever figure out that I made it, anyways.

"S-Sampo…" You groaned, not moving from your position as your friend fished out his homemade bombs from his pocket. "W-Where are you taking me…?"

Anywhere is better than her basement.

"To Nat, of course!" You needn't tilt your head to know that he was smiling wide. "Is there any other doctor more reliable than Miss Natasha?"

You'd insensitively joke about Vache Harrower, but your strength betrays you. Not like he'd give you a chance to drop some smart-alecks when he timed his bombs right. 

Just a few short seconds after, your best friend rolled his smoke bombs on the floor and made a larger dash. You heard a tremendous boom from the back, and a silent malicious voice in your skull hoped for injuries.

They worked with her.

Jolting you up, Sampo made one swift left turn and another to the right, making sure that the last remaining guards that trailed you both were lost in the haze. He didn't stop running, but you can tell he's getting tired. Sampo is a merchant, not the sister of the ex-Captain of the Silvermane Guards.

Your nose scrunched.

Serval Landau… that paranoid woman and lousier liar…

The oldest Landau used to be your best friend along with Pela. She had treated you as though you were Gepard's twin at times, much to your discomfort. Even her parents referred to you as their kin. 

Since you had no one to care for you as a child, the Landaus happily raised you. Had you not rejected their offers for adoption, your life certainly wouldn't be where it is now. 

Back "home", Serval would make suggestions that you were more of a Landau than she’d ever be. In turn, you’d cock your head and look unamused. Then act more like one, you’d reply. Yet these forceful encouragements do not reach her.

Even when you beg her to let you out of the house, she won’t let you.

We’ve been over this before, she’d reply. I can’t let you out on your own. You’re missing your right leg, what if that man finds you? 

You’ve never understood that logic. Who was she referring to, your old boss?

Her brother died a year ago.

You once liked him. You'd even go out of your way to say he was worthy of anyone's trust. 

Was. That was before you knew that deep in the recesses of his mind that loyalty was the beginning and end of Captain Gepard Landau's character. Uniting men under his leadership, he sought only the best for his beloved Belobog.

Your mind drives memories of Gepard away and you can no longer remember what transpired to cause this. After all, you undoubtedly considered Serval and Lynx to be sisters, but you never thought of him as a brother. You can't exactly pinpoint why you treated him like that since the very beginning.

Based on your shattered memories, you were stripped away of your position as his aide. Serval claimed it was because you didn't harbor traits of self-preservation. She made a show of how unreliable you were on the field, that you were hysterical and a "liability." Their relentless critique went on for half an hour until the higher-ups had given in to her demands. 

Worse, they permitted her to surveil your movements 24/7. Using your amputated leg as an excuse, she effectively put you on house arrest– not your home, but hers. She's not an effective caretaker either, despite her attempts. Serval's use of transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation is far more brutal than what a normal practitioner would do, but no one can hear your complaints except for Molly. Her tests are never comfortable. And you loathe this.

She acted like your loss of a leg turned you into damaged goods that only the siblings can see value in. That her giving you a prosthetic was a sign of love rather than a shackle.

They said you were “hysterical”, and that you should be forgiven for whatever sin you’ve committed.

Insulting.

Insulting. Insulting. Insulting.

"H-How closer are we to the underground?" You gripped the cart, your heart racing at the speed.

Sampo coughed after accidentally inhaling his smoke.

“S-Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t change the direction of the cart–”

“What?!”

“The cart won’t turn!!!” Sampo screamed.

With each passing second, the gap between the cart and the theater narrowed. Your heart raced as this was your first experience of real danger after being sheltered for a year or so. Even though you were aware that Sampo had no control over the impending crash, you still glanced at him expectantly.

He smiled, drop-dead nervous and boyishly sheepish.

"Give me two minutes!!!"

"Give me two minutes, Captain!!! We still need a few more."

You beamed, holding your axe to chop wood for your comrades in the Outlying Snow Plains. 

At first, you weren't trusted with heavy weapons. Luckily, being "weak" is a curable ailment for everyone. And the cure is called hard work and extreme effort. That, and an axe. 

You were the very definition of a model soldier and he found himself incredibly lucky to finally see you join the Silvermane Guards. You had an excellent posture; you were a sharpshooter and a wonderful axeman– even your breathing looks rehearsed.

And for a damn good reason.

When the Height's economy sneezes, the underground catches a cold.

Unfortunately, that means children as young as you were had to bear the flames.

The Landau parents had taken a shine to you after taking you as a servant from the orphanage. Your captain's father adored you, even though his never-smiling voice had not once indicated his affection. Captain Gepard bears resemblances from his old man in appearance but not his military demeanor; you were the one to hold that torch. 

It was through Mr. Landau you learned how much metrics and timings make a difference between an animal and a human being. You grew from someone who skitters away dynamically like a gas particle to a person grounded with instructions on how each step in a stride must be measured to perfection. Growing up with the Landaus was by no means a happy life, but it made you more keen on what constitutes "proper living." 

To you, being hit by vases and chairs for failing to fold Mr. Landau's clothes in exactly the way he wants them to be was preferable to dying in the streets with your grandmother with nothing to fill your stomach other than the restaurant trash cans nearby. And you were certain you brought more pride and joy to Mr. and Mrs. Landau than you had to your parents who had abandoned you since birth. 

People see Mr. Landau when they look at you and not Gepard.

But that's only because they have never seen the way you behave when it's only you and the Landau siblings are together.

“Working hard, I see,” Gerard said in a light joking manner.

You scratched your neck, embarrassed.

“Nah, I’m actually very lazy.”

“Don’t be so self-effacing,” Gepard smiled kindly. “I don’t miss anything. I’ve heard that you’ve made your rounds and even took on some of Pela’s duties while she’s on leave.”

“Eh, we both know I wouldn’t have done it without Pela begging me to do it for her Tales of– nevermind, Captain.”

Gepard had always viewed your abilities with the greatest reverence and approval. Serval was always quick to emphasize how her "favorite non-blood related sibling" is an "uninhibited performer" before everyone else, so Gepard thought this true in every aspect. You must think of this as writing a song to keep your mind sharp. You lose any sense of reservation once in “the zone”, and if Serval fell for the way your brows furrowed when penning down tunes and lyrics, Gepard faltered when he saw the glint in your eye as you pieced all the information needed to catch Sampo Koski’s whereabouts after your promotion. 

He had never told you this, but Gepard always felt weird sensations pooling in his chest whenever he saw you hyper-focused on something.

Or someone.

“Do you think I can catch him, Geppie?”

Gepard ruffled your hair and your face brightened up.

"Never falter, (Y/n),” he said firmly. “For I wholeheartedly believe in your strengths. Catching Sampo Koski will be a walk in the park for someone like you."

To think that your first caught infamous criminal is your last true friend… Destiny surely toys with those who say “That’ll never happen.” It's always a fun phenomenon to write a script about.

“Walk in a park”? Try “crash in a theater”.

“SAMPO!!!”

You yelped, clawing his shirt and yanking his upper body like a wild animal. His heels screeched as the cart faced the direction of the Golden Theater.

And what nestled near the Golden Theater was its Back Alley, a place that exists on the border between reality and myth. Whispers among children weave tales that those who enter the depths are trapped in a journey of confronting their unresolved trauma and guilt. It is believed that the alley acts as another dimension where the lost must face their inner demons before emerging back into the real world, scarred forever by the distorted horrors they have confronted.

And for the first time in your life, you saw it.

You saw a fence that was never there before.

Your heart dropped.

“SAMPO!!!”

He closed his eyes, bracing for the impact alongside you.

Sampo Koski lived by a particular quote: "True happiness always entails the manifestation of the dignity of mankind,”

And only a few knew that it's only 1/3 of the full quote. The next part includes: “and true guilt is the catalyst for self-reflection and the pursuit of redemption–" 

Flickering street lights and unmoving 10:10 clocks cast eerie shadows of dawn. It’s said that the people who traverse its trails encounter manifestations of their inner turmoil, a reflection of their deepest regrets. Some emerge transformed, carrying newfound clarity, while others head on a downward spiral. 

He wondered which one you would be.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n).”

Sampo smirked…

And let go of the cart.

“But the Back Alley is waiting for you.”

His hands, calloused but clean, tenderly held yours. You felt ice even without a metal ring wrapped around his finger. At that thought, you blinked.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Yes, dear?"

"You don't have a ring on you," you said with an unreadable expression. "Will we ever have a chance at getting married?"

You thought it was funny; he didn't.

We.

What did you mean by “we”?

Him and you?

Or you and someone else?

Surely you and him, right?

But is that really an idea that he needs to know?

The Supreme Guardian was right.

Doubt breeds arrogance.

“W-Well–” Gepard’s breath hitched, awkwardly fumbling his cuffs. “I don’t know about that.”

You muttered. “So the future's uncertain.” 

“Of course.”

“Hmm.”

He gulped, realizing that you were mad at his response.

But he can’t let any of this continue any longer.

“(Y/n), I have something I’d like to tell you…”

“Nghh….”

You heard the shopping cart roll towards a wall– must be the same one you crashed onto. As you caught a glimpse of your surroundings, you were astounded to see how foggy it was. The wall-mounted advertisement for a love-matching service is hardly visible. It was impossible to see past the surrounding streetlight, even with "un-smoke bombed" eyes. 

Doesn’t look like you’re in the administrative district.

You cannot see a single familiar building from this fog.

No heaters in sight and your breath practically singed your throat. The fog prickled your skin, but for reasons unknown, you did not shudder as a feverish man would’ve. Strangely enough, you felt fine.

You tried squinting at the road again.

Your heart dropped.

... There was no road.

You can't tell if it's the snow and the fog– but there's no pavement towards the exit in sight. It's as if wherever you stood floated. It was a literal dead end. As you peaked into the cliff, you did not see the bottom.

There was nothing there.

Even if you tried jumping, you weren't sure if there would be anything to fall on.

Capable arms wrapped themselves around your form. They were far stronger than your eyelids, which would barely open. Semi-automatically, your hand reached for this person’s shoulder, attempting to reposition yourself from their hold. You can barely make out their face, but their hair was slightly darker. This stranger lacked the envy-inspiring golden allure that the Landaus have.

Not processing that information fast enough, you spoke.

“S-Sampo, wh-what happened–”

You went pale.

No.

No.

No.

You pushed this "man" aside and dropped to the ground, barely maintaining balance on your one remaining leg. The man has now grown to be a towering figure over you, his star-bright eyes peering at you, paranoid. The air felt heavy, laden with a palpable sense of the unknown. Only the sound of your lonesome "real" foot scurrying away broke the silence.

“A-Are you alright?! W-What’s wrong....? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The man sauntered closer. His light but lifeless eyes locked onto yours, piercing through your soul. He had dirty blonde hair and he wore a sweater similar to the one that you never got to give to your best friend's younger brother, but–

“G-Gepard…?!?!”

The man tilted his head.

You squinted, hoping to find solace in a detail you might’ve missed or so. 

Finally, your shoulders slackened, exhaling a large white cloud.

“No… You’re… not.”

He sent you a fleeting look of pity before making an awkward joke.

“Do I look similar to a past lover?”

His smile is stiff as a board.

“No— my— my deceased… boss…” You spoke bitterly.

This person, who looked eerily similar to the dead Gepard Landau, stared with red-rimmed eyes. Did he cry earlier? With nothing else to focus on except for the thick fog, you remain frozen in place.

“This is…”

Terrifying, you wanted to say but that would be offensive.

“Impressive…” You gawked, slowly forgetting the vulnerable position you left yourself in. Sharply, you drew a breath. “You look like you could be a Landau.”

Your hand reached to touch his cheek, and the stranger leaned into your touch. Far too engrossed by this encounter, you did not care for his slightly hollow eyes and more than elated expression. It was the bigger picture that you saw.

It was the near-perfect image of the deceased Gepard Landau.

His skin was pinkish and his heart raced.

“Your hand is warm…” He commented softly, face red.

“Your face, your voice— it’s just your hair and your sense of fashion that’s different, and—”

“My name is Gerard,” his smile remains stiff as a board, but there's a touch of friendliness to it. “I don’t believe I appear anywhere near ghostlike.”

You’re inclined to believe that he’s lying.

No one can look THIS similar to Gepard.

And that name as well.

You don’t know what to think.

As you were about to retract your hand, he held it back in place, guiding it closer to his lips. He breathed in. His breath marked the fog. “Gerard” inched closer, stepping his foot near your prosthetic right leg. With little distance between you two, your temperature has progressively grown hotter. It’s uncomfortable watching you both like this. I should’ve closed my eyes.

“See?” He mumbled.

“Can you sense how warm I am?”

“So you’re not Gepard… Or a ghost, I guess.”

You laughed to yourself. You’re not sure about your statement, either.

But while this man may appear friendly, his eyes were a haunting reminder that some things can never truly be left behind.

“As I have stated before, my name is Gerard.”

Even his name sounds like his.

“I-I’m sorry, I was dazed,” You pinched your temple. Without his warmth, the cold bit your cheeks which made you turn around. “T-Thank you for carrying me out of that shopping cart, Gep– Gerard.”

You looked around again. Nothing to see but fog. Far from surprising.

“Gerard, where are we?”

The dirty blonde man laughed. 

“The Theater’s Back Alley.”

“The Back Alley?” You scoffed quietly, contemplating on how Gepard insisted to you before that it never existed– and now his promiscuous doppelganger is arguing otherwise. “There aren’t any back alleys around the theater.”

This place doesn’t look like an alley. 

It’s far too large for it to fit the description. This must be an abandoned town. Unbeknownst to both of you, way before your time, this place was called Chernobog.

“Yes there is,” Gerard hummed. “It’s where we are now.”

“Then can you carry– lead me back to the main district?” You decided to humor him. “I’m not supposed to be wherever this place is.”

“I wouldn’t allow it.”

“Why not?”

Gerard grinned. His radiant smile baffled you as his demeanor changed from slightly teasing to tender from just the crinkles of his eyes. 

“Because I love you, of course. I can't just let you leave.”

You froze.

Why? Why does he speak as if it ever so slightly comes from the diaphragm as he did? 

Why does his voice sound so much like Gepard’s?

You thought it was wrong.

Gepard would never say those words.

Not to you. Never.

As Gerard’s casual confession hung amidst the fog, a peculiar heaviness settled on your heart. It wasn't the words themselves that caused this unease but rather the haunting resemblance his voice had to Gepard’s. His voice was rich with authenticity, free of malice, and his confession was short but somehow sweet.

But you didn’t want to hear that from him.

You averted your gaze. A flood of memories had suddenly surfaced at that precise moment, including the hearty sound of Gepard's laughter. It appeared as though the dead had come back to play a cruel game. Unable to bear his comfortable “joke”, you recoiled and feigned deafness, face veiled behind an indifferent mask. Perhaps the Aeon of Preservation may have advocated for this. In a sense, perhaps denial meant safety. Silently, you begged for your thoughts to stop, for the resemblance to dissipate, and for the ache of grief to be buried again.

“Back on the topic at hand, if you wish to exit the Back Alley: I don’t wish to help you,” he smiled.

His smile is always stiff as a board.

“Why not stay here? Are you not a wanted person?”

You glared.

“How did you know that?”

“Murder, right?” Gerard drawled, his eyes softening in what you call disgusting pity. “Someone important. Someone that made you stuck here.” 

“Stop making accusations,” you spat, offended by his left-field slander.

“I’m not,” Gerard said. “I know who you killed. How about you? Do you remember who it was?”

Silence.

“But that doesn’t matter now,” he announced firmly. “Why don’t you come with me? Let me shield you from the monsters.”

You froze.

“Mon… sters?”

“Yes, monsters.”

Unexpectedly, a far-off wail of sirens and static radio pierced the air, disorienting. There was nothing to be seen when you lifted your chin to strain your ears in search of the source. Gerard's urgent voice broke through your daze.

"Run." 

With a swift and practiced motion, he swept you off your feet, cradling you in his arms back to the position you woke up in. He knew your current prosthetics were not meant for running. A prosthetic limb is like a new fingerprint and Serval would never make your new identity one similar to escapists. At the moment, you had a prosthetic leg for everyday use, and not blades for running.

As Gerard hurriedly carried you through the dense fog, you felt no sense of security as you had before. Something lurked just beyond your line of sight. In an act of spur-of-the-moment bravery, you stole a glance over Gerard's shoulder, and thus, you were paralyzed.

What emerged from the depths of the fog were grotesque “figures”. 

Their bodies were mutilated, with their arms hanging loosely at their sides. They reared their heads, twisting and contorting. It was humanoid in stature, blanched and nearly armless. If it were not for some tissues, you were certain they wouldn’t have arms to begin with. Their flesh seemed boiled together like patchworks of human remains. They started to inch closer, their movements disjointed.

Fear coursed through your veins as you realized their intentions were set upon you and Gerard. But his voice cut through, his words not faltering.

"Hold on tight," he said steadily.

“Whatever you do, don’t let them get to you, (Y/n),” Gerard whispered. 

“Please, do it for me.”

For the duration of “dawn”, Gerard carried you to safe locations. You have not met a single human person throughout the day. This was a concerning observation after knowing how large the “alley” was. He knew the area like the back of his hand and successfully guided you to hospitals (which, unfortunately, had more of those monsters from before) to patch some minor wounds from Sampo's “shopping cart trip” mishaps. 

Before you could walk to the hospital bed, he grabbed your wrist in a tight hold.

“Shhh…” Gerard tugged your arm. “You don’t need to walk. Please, permit me to carry you.”

Despite your whispered protests, he rarely let you move around. Which made sense since your staggering did alert them of your location.

But you don’t like the way he touches you.

Those Gepard-like eyes lingered on you as if he were trying to memorize every inch of your skin. His actions were marked by an unwavering vigilance, always on guard for the slightest sign of danger even when you encouraged him to relax a bit. It was as if he was driven by an unspoken longing or unresolved past experiences. And you've only just met.

This time he made sure to turn off his radio. Suspiciously enough, "Gerard" carried a Silvermane Guard issued radio but it only seemed to make sounds whenever danger lurks by.

You tried not to think about that. Save for the dusty bed and wispy drapes, the posters strewn across the hospital walls caught your attention. The wall didn't have anything else notable other than those prints. They must be the same ones you saw on the streets, yellowed with age. The prints ranged from love hotlines, anger management tips, and a wanted poster.

Your poster.

Unlike the previous ones, this one was preserved thoughtfully, plastered right at the center amongst all the prints. Intriguingly, floral stickers were peppered around your images. Not the childish ones you'd buy for a cheap price, but more refined illustrations. You're not too versed in the language of flowers, but they did look like blue roses and marigolds. If only you could recall what Gepard said about what those flowers meant...

For now, you hazarded an astute guess as to why it was cleaner than the rest, staring unamused at Gerard. He sheepishly smiled, face flushed as he tried not to notice your glare. Gerard seemed proud of his handiwork.

It was nearly cute.

If it weren't for the fact you seriously don't know who he is.

“Gepard—”

“Gerard,” he corrected you in a commanding yet soft tone, ironically similar to your old Captain.

“You don’t have to patch my wounds.”

“Just let me,” he pressed on, wrapping your scrapped arm with gauze. “This was part of my combat lifesaver course.”

You shifted from the bed.

“You’re a soldier?”

…

He didn’t answer.

You tilted your head.

“Are you sure you’re not a Landau–”

“Affirmative.”

He could’ve twisted the gauze tight enough to make you wince in pain, but he delicately wrapped it and added immense pressure not to your wounds, but in his gaze.

“I am not your “Geppie” and I am not your old employer.”

With a voice that commands resolute clarity from you, you doubt he’s telling the truth. 

You paused.

“How?”

“How what?” He muttered.

“How did you know that nickname?”

You gulped.

“How much do you know about me?”

You were on high alert the moment he called you by your name when those monsters chased earlier– you have never introduced yourself. Couple that with the fact that he was to accuse you of murder, you didn’t know what he thought of you. 

This time, he didn’t smile.

“Enough to know that I love you.”

“You say that like it makes any sense!” You snapped.

“I know everything because you wanted me to love you, and I do love you too. I am not a shield for the people like him. I don't have the burden to protect anyone else, doesn’t that make me a better man for you now? There's no need to make sure the Silvermane Guards are always at the ready. I don't have to worry about pride- about being a Landau.”

He delicately reached out, guiding your hand to rest against his cheek. His softened features conveyed a love for your "warmth", but the pool in your stomach made this experience unbearable.

“My life is reserved for only you. That is my oath.”

You ripped your arm away from him with disgusted eyes.

“Just tell me the truth already!!!”

He looked down, frowning.

“You don’t need the truth...” 

Gerard's eyes glistened with a bittersweet melancholy as he watched you, a faint smile tugging his lips. He had a look that says he knew all too well that you are unaware of the depths he was willing to go to protect you. The dirty blonde man reached out, his hand instinctively yearning to rest upon your shoulder, but he withdrew it quickly, his fingers curling inward.

“That’s why you’re here. In this foggy back alley.”

He scooted beside you. Even if he couldn’t bring himself to comfort you enough, you knew he spoke the truth when his voice cracked in a small whisper of: "I’m with you."

Gerard grabbed your hand again and softly kissed your fingertips.

No one could miss his sharp gaze. The man has deluded himself that you were his to protect at all costs. A nature that stemmed from a deep-seated desire to control something that he couldn't acceptably justify. A pure obsession that defied reason at its finest.

You know that look all too well.

But you can’t put a finger as to where you’ve seen it. What a shame.

You looked at your hands.

... Strange.

Since when were you wearing a golden ring?

Your eyes intuitively gazed at Gerard's hands.

All of the sudden, your throat dried.

You're both wearing wedding rings.

“You don’t have to be alone again,” he mumbled. “We can live here. You could plant and look after flowers with me– though I’ve never been good at it. It’d be a quiet life, just as you’ve always wanted.”

“If that’s what you’re offering then you’re no different than Serval,” you laughed to yourself. 

His eyes darkened.

Before you could comment on it, he cut you off with another considerate smile.

“You must be hungry. There’s a cafeteria downstairs, I’ll procure some rye bread.”

“(Y/n), babe, where are you?”

You looked up. An alarmed woman’s voice called out.  

“... Serval?”

No reply.

The voice seemed to be coming from the door.

“Serval, are you there?”

“(Y/n), i-it’s okay! C-Calm down, calm down,” the voice continued. “Things just happen. I’ll help you okay? Shhh, d-don’t cry, don’t cry, I'm here…”

“What are you talking about?”

“I won’t let it happen. They don’t even have to know you were here. P-Pass the mop now, shhh…”

It made a sound far too damaged to be called a soothing chuckle.

“What are you on about?–”

The broken voice began to sing, sounding as though she had been clinging onto a husk of someone who’s been too far gone. 

“C-Calm your nerves, my p-precious friend,

For "tomorrow"'s problems will never end.

In this short song, I s-softly sing,

You're cherished, my dear, in e-everything.”

You reached for the bed railing and supported yourself upright. Prepping your leg for a short walk, you placed your foot down–

THUD.

The door swung open, making you jump slightly.

Gerard came back, his breath nearly stripped away as he sauntered over. His only saving grace was his stamina, but otherwise fear would've dragged him down. There was not a single piece of bread in his hand. I’m glad he came, you would’ve been out of the alley immediately otherwise. And that's not good for us.

The voice was gone.

The sounds from afar now ring more of an animal than a human. 

"(Y-Y/n)," he called out. "We need to leave."

You tilted your head, about to question what was wrong but you were cut off by his abrupt scream.

"NOW!!!"

He took you by the waist, carrying you in a way there was regard for your amputation but fast enough to make you feel unease. You gasped as Gerard's hold on you tightened, sprinting out of the "safe location."

"W-What's going on–"

"They're close," he whispered. "They're coming. It knows we’re here."

With one free hand, he pushed down passing cabinets as he bolted. Nothing was on his mind other than to flee with you. You didn't dare look at what was behind. You didn't want to face the truth.

"Gerar–"

Despite your desire not to see these creatures, a lone monster stands at the end of the hall.

It loomed before you, a grotesque fusion of flesh intricately molded together like human flesh sewn tight to a Silvermane Guard uniform, its form twisted and contorted while multiple unnerving eyes peered from its misshapen visage. Although it may have eyes more than you have fingers, you have a sneaking suspicion that they are completely inoperative. Its skin bore an unsettling array of intricate carvings, etched like cryptic scars across its entire body.

Something about its appearance resonated with you.

It slugged closer, staring. As to “where”, you can't tell. Each inch of its body had slits for eyes enough to instill paranoia. At least one pair must've been staring at you. Yet, most of it was on him.

Gerard.

"Tch..." His eyebrows furrowed, troubled.

He ran towards the end of the hall and miraculously swerved to avoid its axe. His pace quickened. 

"(Y/n), whatever you do, don't think about why these creatures exist. Even when I'm gone."

“What do you mean?”

“Just don’t. That’s an order.” He said, sounding more of a plea than a warning.

The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly as you struggled to keep up with Gerard's swift pace.

As he ran, questions burned in your mind, desperate for answers. His words echoed in your head, but your curiosity had implicit demand for a shred of understanding. You couldn't help but glance back, catching a glimpse of the creature still in pursuit. It persisted in its relentless pursuit of you, unwavering in its resolve.

"F-Faster!" you gasped between labored breaths. “It’s closing in on us!”

Gerard's expression remained stoic, his eyes focused on the path ahead.

He ran towards a door and pushed it open with a kick. You both stumbled through the threshold, entering what appeared to be the cafeteria, but the sterile scent mingling with the food made that guess somewhat unconvincing.

Gerard quickly assessed the room, searching for any signs of danger. The sound of distant alarms and muffled screams echoed through the corridors.

“Just what the hell is that?!” The words escaped you unintentionally in a mortified whisper.

Gerard cupped your mouth.

You both forgot to close the door.

What a horrible mistake.

The unsettling monster began its search. It emanated shrill sounds that pierced through your ears, making you almost move to cover them. The cries reached a hauntingly high-pitched cry that echoed like metal against metal. The mournful wails never resembled wolfish growls but rather heartbroken cries. Its speech resembles the guttural syllables "I" and "U" in an auditory expression of grief.

It turned around, but it also had eyes on its back.

Cowering in terror, you huddled close to Gerard behind the counter of the desolate cafeteria, seeking refuge from the approaching monster. 

As the creature drew nearer, its grotesque eyes fixated on you and Gerard, its elongated limbs reaching out with chilling anticipation. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you heard Gerard’s breath hitch as you both clung to the faint hope of survival.

But to your horror, as the monster approached head-on.

Its rotting flesh bypassed you, swerving past your trembling form, and seized Gerard instead. 

“(Y/N)!!! RUN!!”

Gerard pointed at the nearby mop.

He wants you to leave him.

A gasp of terror escaped your lips as you watched in disbelief.

His blue eyes widened, mirroring your panic but worse, as the monster's grasp tightened around him. Gerard yelped, his voice trembling as his fear of death loomed. Its grip was not merciful. 

It smacked Gerard against a desk.

Again.

Again.

And again.

Blood streamed in his scalp.

The monster took his arm.

And ripped it apart.

And soon.

Nothing.

Thud.

You went as silent as the corpse as you watched it extinguish his life in a quiet finality.

Tears streamed down your face, unable to look away. Maybe it's a trick of the mind, but you were starting to feel a pain from where your leg was removed. Your brain was still convinced that you still had it- and that it is in danger. You feel as if your ankle was angled downwards, hiding from the monster. Such sensations made your skin crawl, especially considering the circumstances. It was not the best time to experience phantom limb pain.

The monster briefly met your gaze as if to mock your survival. It limped away, leaving behind you with nothing but a corpse.

Hours felt like mere minutes before you were snapped out of your prolonged emptiness. Gerard remains on the floor, dead-eyed and bloody. Thankfully, your current PLP was manageable at best but the throbbing sensation distracted you for a while. Your mind was blocking out the blood on his face. It did not process how mutilated it had become, nor did it care to acknowledge his arm that lay on the checkered floor.

His cheeks looked warm, alive.

You fixed his hair.

“Gep– Gerard…”

…

…

You need to leave.

YOU NEED TO LEAVE.

Since that incident, you've been by yourself in the Back Alley, even though you sense that there may be other lost "people" like you nearby, you chose to act alone despite this.

There's no need for another Gerard.

You followed the walls every time you had the nerve to step outside, cursing Serval occasionally for failing to provide you with a prosthetic running leg. That, and her garbage methods she calls "physical therapy."

You have overstayed your welcome despite not knowing how long you have been in this dense fog. Oddly, you've never experienced hunger in your time here. You are unable to move around freely, and worse, you are unable to scream for help, unless you want the people who are still present in the dense fog to find you. 

You don’t have time to grieve for a man you barely knew.

You sighted a police station. Much like every building in this surprisingly large “alley”, it had been abandoned. It looked like the one you worked for, down to the paint job and the door frame. Funnily enough, the door was open, and thus, it was temporarily yours.

What greeted you first upon entering was a creature similar to the monsters you’ve crawled away from– but it did not move.

The still creature lay on the floor, staring at its hand. Its bottom half was similar to a mermaid's. You did not see two legs. When you approached, there was no reaction. You can only presume it was dead. Or that it never had a life to begin with.

You heard radio static as soon as you tried approaching it. But you don't recall ever having a radio in your possession.

“You poor thing…” You found yourself uncharacteristically sympathizing with a monster. The fatigue was eminent in your voice. “What happened?”

You're so stupid. Don't you think that "corpse" looks familiar?

You looked at its other hand and saw it holding an axe.

You took it.

As you brandished the weapon, its Silvermane engravings became more apparent. This was a soldier’s model, one you used back when you were an intelligence officer. Perhaps it will come in handy later.

“I’ve never heard of this station before, then again, I doubt many knew there’s a back alley in the first place,” you scoffed. “But, hmm…”

You turned your head to face the monster once more. You don’t know why you feel oddly calm facing the monster this boldly. With the axe acting as your new makeshift cane, you pushed it down. Nothing happened.

You got back up and took a look around.

For a police station, there were tons of love-related posters hanging around with half of them viciously vandalized. Some of them made you laugh as you read them. The handwriting seemed to belong to someone, but you can't recall whose.

LOVE ISN’T REAL.

I DON’T NEED A MATCH. I JUST WANT ██████.

“Pathetic,” your emotional equivalent of a snort was a slight huff. “And you’re all supposed to be Silvermane Guards? Guess this place was deserted for a reason.”

You hate how you sounded exactly like Mr. Landau just now. Out of all the children in the Landau household, you had it the worst with Md. Landau. Hearing yourself mutter something he would say... you're not sure how you feel about that.

Scoffing, you walked past the corpse and onto the break room. 

Missing just a few posters in your way.

IF I CAN’T HAVE ███, 

THEN I’LL JUST REMOVE ███ LIMBS.

Hours passed. You haven’t found the exit.

You heard Serval’s voice again. She was apologizing to you. Then, silence.

Nothing happened on what you presumed to be the “next day.” You cried to yourself until you saw the same monster who killed Gerard. It was ready to give chase until suddenly, it stopped when you were incredibly focused on escaping.

You tried thinking about why it did what it did. But it left more questions than answers.

Tore down a couple of posters. They were starting to get to you.

You think there is no exit. You made a quick mention about how Gerard probably knew where it is to yourself, but the same monster must've heard you. You felt eyes watching you and it made it's appearance by narrow alleys. You bolted.

You found another human. But he was long dead. You wondered if he was the same person children loved to talk about. The anxious man who lingered at the gates of the Back Alley. If I remember correctly, Stelle encountered this man before. Wonder what she thought of him at the time.

You heard the radio static again when you approached him. You decided to ignore him for now.

You mopped the man's dried blood. Who knew the mop Gerard pointed at in his last moments had it's use.

He looked stiff as a board. He was reeking, but at least he had a smile on his face.

You obtained a key after cleaning up the puddle.

“Was there ever an exit?”

Nothing happened in this timeframe. But you think you have an idea as to why these creatures exist.

Specifically, why they exist because of you.

How long have you been here? Sorry, I wasn’t keeping track.

You also weren't sure how long you'd been searching the town. Quite frankly, I was getting bored of watching. You tried to play this off like a maze game, constantly following the walls to your right as though it would magically lead you to the exit. Did you know that Lady Luck is not particularly lenient when bestowing favors? Your life here is slowly becoming more stale and your constantly improving ability to strategize your routes to avoid monsters has been making your adventure more of a chore to follow.  

It's admirable that you were so tenacious in clinging to life in such a dangerous environment with a single leg, but it was extremely frustrating that you couldn't see this alley for what it was.

As if to cure such boredom, you entered another abandoned building. Turns out, the key you pried off a dead man's corpse fits perfectly. It was a psychiatric clinic owned by one Dr. Kauffman, a licensed therapist who received teachings from Dr. Kang Tu via the Astral Express. I never cared about those people. They're just cashing in on the occult, the easily "hooked", and the disturbed. You harbor at least 2/3 of those qualities. Congrats.

The walls are more notably filled with the same set of posters you've seen scattered around time. This time, you weren't feral enough to tear the posters down. However, you didn't grasp the meaning behind them either. You refused to look deeper, even when you don't recall what would stare back at you. 

Mindlessly, you staggered inside a room. There were no professionals inside as far as you could tell without any of the lights on, just a cold sofa. You walked slowly and sat down. 

As soon as you comfortably secured a position to take a rest, you realized you weren't alone.

Star-bright eyes followed your movements as soon as you entered the room.

“Gepard?”

You blinked.

“Oh. Gerard, it’s you. I thought you were–” You paused as Gerard shook his head, eyebrows furrowed with a smile that repressed his frustration. “Sorry.”

“Anyway, I’m… confused. How are you alive?” You asked. “Your arm– it’s back. What’s going on?”

Desensitized, you no longer knew what to think.

You're being strangely calm, don't you think?

But one thing was for certain: this “man” is not supposed to be standing.

Gerard pursed his lips.

“Anyway?” He mimicked you bitterly.

“What do you mean “ANYWAY”?!?”

You flinched as he took steps forward.

“You didn’t even care about me, didn’t you?!? It’s Gepard this, Gepard that– Gepard is DEAD!!!” 

Gerard screamed at your face, gripping your shoulders tightly.

“Why… Why is it always him first? When I am everything he couldn't be?” 

Gerard chuckled lowly.

“I-I was so afraid. I was so afraid that I won’t be able to see you again– that I’d disappoint you– but no, it’s always Gepard first. Why can’t you be obsessed with me in the way you were so– so…”

He cried. Hot tears ran down his cheeks as his shoulders deflated. Gerard cast his gaze to the ground while his hands reached to wipe his sorrows off his face.

“I would die for you. Why can’t you do the same?”

You tilted your head.

“Strange, now that I think about it–” you said nonchalantly. 

“Didn’t I watch you die?”

Silence.

You should comfort him.

“Gepard,” you started.

Wrong name.

“No, it’s Gepard.”

Wrong name.

“It’s not the wrong name. I know what I’m saying.”

Wrong name.

I continued to correct you.

“It’s not–” You took a shaky breath. “It’s not the wrong name, you fucking idiot.”

He remains still, quiet.

Almost frozen.

Stiff as a board.

You laughed.

“I get it now. Haha. I get it now.”

You look down, staring at the human corpse. Human corpse? No. That’s not a human. A human cannot die twice. 

You get it now. 

You’re in the Back Alley.

There are always eyes that watch the Back Alley.

You look above, particularly to no one, but you believed the scriptwriter must be listening. 

“He’s listening, isn't He?”

Yes. He is.

It's time for us to talk.

The clock struck 10:10.

[real-fanta-sea]

Cutscene after mission in Kortz, but its 52/66 👀👌

First of all, thank you for the prompt, dear! Second of all - I'm sorry it took me 5 months to get my ass to write it 👉👈 but, I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. TW: profanities, lots of horny (because the internet is for porn, duh), and overall NSFW (that's why it's hidden under "keep reading") Without much further ado, here's your fic 😊

********************* "Well, that was fun..."

Michael's been itching to light a Redwood ever since he's shot down the damn Merryweather chopper. His whole body was screaming for a hit and amplified the need by sending adrenalin-induced shivers down his spine.

Who was he to fight with his vice? He took the packet out of his jacket's inner pocket with a precise, smooth move and pressed it firmly with cold fingers, trembling with need. He earned a first-class ticket to hell many years ago, so who the fuck cares if he gets there sooner than later?

Despite his loud self-loathing telling him otherwise, there was someone who cared after all. "What are you doing smoking, huh?" Michael's eyebrows raised slightly in disbelief as he watched Trevor bounce off the wall he was leaning on, latch the Redwoods from his grip, crumble them and toss them aside. The eyebrows raised to his hairline when Trevor overstep all the boundaries they had and lightly slapped his cheek in an almost motherly manner. "No, no, no, that's bad for ya, don't you know?"

Michael's heart started racing again upon the uninvited touch, and he felt the pang of something he hoped to have killed and buried years ago, and that particular something stunned him for a couple of seconds. The mere eye contact was unbearable, and Michael quickly turned his gaze to the remains of his cigarettes and let the rage weight him down to earth again.

"Yeah, well, maybe it's got a little something to do with being caught in the middle of a three-way fire fight between two government agencies and a private militia. You know it gets me a little stressed out..."

As soon as he finished the sentence, he regretted the snarky tone he chose and turned away from Trevor's hurt expression. Fuck, he felt as if he kicked a puppy. His head twitched sideways as it usually did when he was overwhelmed, and he couldn't help but bounce on his feet a little.

"Okay, but we still need you alive, Mikey boy." The remorse was gone, replaced with dread. What the hell did that even mean? "I mean, ya know, at least for now." That didn't help Michael to ease at all. He shot a mild menacing glare Trevor's way and squared his shoulders, awaiting the worst. "Unless, of course, you have another surprise for me, huh? Maybe somethin' to do with another inappropriate friendship?"

Okay, the exchange was getting ridiculous at this point, and Trevor got back to his annoying, suspicious self he knew too well. "Yeah, that wasn't exactly Dave's fault..." Trevor mirrored his gesture as if he tried to show Michael how futile his effort to explain the connection to Dave really was and slowly came closer to Michael, who just tried to look calm and smirked. "No, no, he's just a friendly face of a corrupt government agency, looking to further his career by dealing with an equally corrupt and full to the fucking brim with bullshit low rent hood!" Great, the last thing he needed was an angry Trevor slitting his throat open in a nameless back alley in Morningwood.

"Listen, Trevor, I've been meaning to thank..." but it was too late for friendly gestures. Trevor's eyes already spew fire as he started pacing back and forth, eyes glued on Michael. "Oh y'know, I've been meaning..., Yeah, I've been meaning to tell ya, y'know..." he mocked, and caught Michael off-guard. "What, homie? What have you been meaning to tell me?" Trevor turned around and stepped closer again, but this time, his eyes gave away a different kind of fire - the kind Michael remembered to have kindled heat during cold North Yankton nights.

Without any warning, Trevor grabbed him by both shoulders and threw him against the wall so hard Michael's face cringed for a split second before he remembered to collect himself and glare at Trevor. But it was too late to appear menacing, now that Trevor held both of Michael's wrists in his rough hands and pushed them above Michael's head, grating them against the facade. "What have you been meaning to tell me, Mikey?" Michael gulped and looked back into Trevor's eyes and fought with the sudden idea to reach out and kiss the lips hovering above his own. Trevor's deep growl sent shivers down his spine, and he allowed his head to fall back onto the wall, closing his eyes and easing into the sensation of Trevor's breath on his neck.

"That you stabbed me in the back?" Michael bit his lip hard to stop himself from moaning when Trevor gently pressed his lips against the pulse point on his neck and nibbed on the tender skin, lingering there, breathing Michael in. "Or that you were... and always will be... a worthless wretch who deserves to be put under?". Michael's eyes shot open as his heart skipped a beat, and instead of aroused anticipation, he woke into beast mode. The rage rush put him back on his feet as he sent Trevor stumbling back into the alley, where Michael tackled him against the wall on the other side, and while pinning him down with his whole weight, his hand shot up instinctively and wrapped itself firmly around Trevor's throat.

If he were honest with himself, he would say he felt betrayed, helpless and dangerously aroused by the thought of Trevor's lips and fingers touching him and didn't quite know how to process it all at once. Trevor's grin drove him crazy, and not only because of the plump lips curling up. Michael growled and squeezed harder against the soft, pulsing skin.

"THEN WHY THE FUCK DID YOU COME BACK FOR?"

Trevor gasped as he fought for breath, but that didn't stop him from grabbing Michael by hips and yanking him closer. "Oh, you know why..." Puzzled, Michael let go for a second, but it was enough for Trevor to take advantage and roll Michael against the wall and rest his thumbs comfortably against his jaw. Trevor's sight lingered on Michael's lips for a moment before he met his eyes again, this time conveying a whole different message. "Shut the fuck up and kiss me..." Trevor's whisper was still hoarse from being choked, and as he leant closer to Michael, the latter found himself easing up into the heat of Trevor's body, tuning out everything else but a beat of his racing heart.

It wasn't exactly like in the movies - there were no fireworks, no oblivious clip montage, no orchestra in the background. It was just the feeling of surprisingly soft lips nibbling on Michael's own, the heat, the sweet buzzing of excitement and sparks setting his skin on fire where Trevor's fingers have wandered under his shirt. Trevor pulled back for a second to slide down Michael's jaw and tease M where he knew was his weak spot - and got the muffled moan out in answer to brushing the tip of his tongue all the way down his neck.

"Fuck, T!"

Michael's whole body was on fire, and all he wanted at this point was to fuck Trevor through the wall if he wasn't pinned down by his friend, who showed no intention to stop kissing him. The least he could do was to grab Trevor's hips, pulling him closer and thrusting forward while holding onto handsful of T's ass. "Be careful what you wish for, Mikey..." was the only answer, followed by a low moan as T pushed back and brushed his hard-on against Michael's. Trevor took advantage of Michael's parted lips to seize them again, but he was awaiting an invitation to deepen the kiss this time. He was not prepared for Michael clinking their teeth and brushing his tongue against his with such hunger and greed. He could not wait any longer.

Michael's fingers yanked impatiently on Trevor's grimy jeans, almost tearing them apart, to get hold of what was throbbing inside, and laced around the girth of Trevor's cock. A gentle stroke was all it took to make the tough guy tremble and moan - and Michael enjoyed the power he now held as well as grieved the broken kiss. Slowly, he built up the pace while rolling Trevor over against the wall again, but this time, it was Michael who kissed Trevor's neck and playfully bit his tanned skin with every stroke. Somehow, in between the moans and curses, Trevor could still unzip the fly of Micheal's jeans and free his cock out of the tight pants with shaking hands. He has always been skilled in pleasing him the way no one else could, Michael thought as the other hand unbuttoned his pants and sent them falling down to his knees. Gently, Trevor slid one finger along his balls to his perineum and pressed it up while brushing up and down.

The pressure building up inside Michael was barely bearable - Trevor's lips, Trevor's smell ("what the fuck, has he showered or what?"), his hands working him up slowly; all of it was suddenly too much and too little at the same time. Aroused, Michael broke the kiss and let go of Trevor's cock to look back at him with a predatory glare - and T immediately understood what was about to happen. All it took for Michael to set off was the tip of Trevor's tongue darting out of his mouth and a cocky nod of his head. Michael grabbed Trevor, turned him around and pressed him back against the wall face first, with such hunger it made Trevor moan upon impact. With one hand pushing Trevor against the wall by the scruff of his neck, Michael kicked his legs apart to make the entering easier for him.

"Fuck me already, Mikey!" Trevor trembled under his touch and wiggled his ass against Michael's erection. "Oh, look who's a cheeky bitch now!" Michael spat onto his fingers, not even bothering to check if it was enough. He just couldn't wait any longer. "Be careful what you wish for, T..." and slid himself inside of Trevor, his knees turning into jelly upon the tightness and heat of his lover. "M...Mikey! Jesus, you're bigger than I remember..."

Instead of answering Trevor, Michael pushed his lover's head harder into the wall, grabbing a fist full of hair and rocked his hips faster while holding onto Trevor's side, gripping hard. With every move, every cry of pleasure, he felt more at home, and all the frustration and fear melt away to make place for Trevor. "God, Mikey, harder!"

Fuck, he almost tripped over the edge right there with Trevor's needy moan. Michael instead pushed deeper and leant forward to bury teeth into Trevor's shoulders, as well as used both hands to keep Trevor steady in place and thrust forward as hard as he could, getting crossed, rolled back eyes and flushed cheeks in return.

Michael felt sweat pearling on the small of his back as he pumped in harder, desperate to enjoy what T had to offer, feeling the pressure building up within. He didn't want to come so soon, but anytime he attempted to slow down, Trevor pushed back and made him keep up the pace. Slowly, the world around them dissolved into a smear of colours. With each move, he felt he was getting closer to the edge: just one more move, just one more moan - Michael pushed as deep as he could and clawed his nails into Trevor's soft belly, looking for support as the whole world shivered and trembled with him, and somewhere far away there was Trevor saying something about loving him and his voice moaning out the same response over and over again.

When he came down from the high, Michael was happy to collapse onto Trevor's back and let his breath even out while still stuck inside his lover. "Fuck, T... that was..." but words have failed him. Instead, he decided to latch on the exposed skin of Trevor's neck and shoulders and plant kisses there when a slight shiver of muscles around his cock reminded him of painful truth - T hasn't cum yet. Michael smirked for himself when he slid his hands down from Trevor's hips to find him rock hard and ready. Without being reminded about Trevor's preferences, Michael gripped his cock firmly and squeezed just right to get a hiss of pleasure in response. He didn't bother with starting slowly and just pumped his fist up and down fast, with teeth planted into Trevor's shoulder. "Mmmikey!"

The shaky breath escaping him and his whole body vibrating in the rhythm of Michael's fist gave Michael signs Trevor is near the point of no return. He slid out of him and let Trevor lean onto him for support instead - he remembered too well the leg shaking orgasms of the past when T could barely stand. "M.. Mikey! Mikey!"

"Cum for me, baby..."

"Tell me... fuck! Tell me you love me, please, Mikey! I need to hear it, please, M!"

Michael squeezed Trevor harder and, leaning closer to T's ear, almost touching it with lips, M let out a hoarse whisper, "I love you, T."

************

Lester sat back in his wheelchair, trying to even out his breath, and brushed sweat off his forehead with his left hand. Fuck it, he thought, I'll have to clean under the table for the third time this week, and threw and an oblivious couple of crumpled paper tissues into a black plastic bin next to his desk. With a sigh, Lester proceeded to clean himself up and wipe his right hand into yet another tissue and input a command to stop recording and download the video onto his hard drive. With a happy little huff, he turned the wheelchair around and decided to take a piss and then crack a cold one open to even out the liquid levels. As he steered away, whistling, a window with a flickering low-quality image from a security camera showed two familiar men kissing and fleeing out of sight in separate directions to disappear back into the depths of their denial and misery.

[cadence-talle]

Rain Against A Window (Chapter Four)

Pairing: Fitz Vacker/Dex Dizznee, Eventual Biana Vacker/Sophie Foster

Wordcount: 1,955

Summary: In which Juline Dizznee finds a child, our scam team gets closer to Paris, and the city of Petersburg lights up. 

Other notes: This chapter was so much fun to write! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. 

Taglist: @everyonehasthoughts, @clearlykeefitz, @loverofallthingssmart, @a-lonely-tatertot, @enbies-and-felonies, @molly-sencen, @lemontarto, @appalyneinstitute1, @ruewen-and-rising, @silver-snow, @linhamon-roll, @hyperlollypop, @never-ever-too-many-fandoms, @keeper-of-the-lost-queers, @impostertamsong, @vibing-in-the-void, @yeetersofthelostcities, @mistythegirlfluxmess

Read it on ao3 or under the cut! 

St Petersburg, Russia. October 13, 1917. 

Juline stumbles out of the collapsing stables, letting go of the horse she’s holding. It gallops off through the streets and she groans; it’s never going to come back.

Not that it matters, really. No one’s going to have any need for horses now. 

She’s not sure how long it’s been since the first gunshots were fired. Six or seven hours, probably. Juline is just lucky she wasn’t caught in the crossfire and had enough time to get all the horses out. 

A small wail echoes across the crumbling land, and Juline’s head snaps up. She knows that sound; she’s been listening to a kid cry for going on five years now. 

Sure enough, there’s a girl sitting in the rubble, knees curled up to her chest and cheeks wet with tears. She looks about four or five; just a bit younger than Dex, if Juline is right. Her heart twists and she holds out a hand to the child. 

“Hey,” Juline says softly. “What happened to you?”

“I- I don’t know,” the girl says, teal eyes filling with tears again. Juline looks her over and something heavy drops in her gut- this is most definitely Princess Bianca. “I hit my head, and I feel sick, but I don’t know why.” She looks up at Juline. “Why?”

“There was an accident,” Juline says, taking the girl’s tiny hand in hers. “You must have gotten hurt.”

“Oh. Are you my mom?”

Juline blinks. Then blinks again. She’s almost positive that Queen Della is dead; there’s no one still alive to take care of this girl. 

Exhaling, she makes a decision. 

“No, sweetie. But I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

“Okay,” the girl says. “That sounds good.”

And so the Dizznees gain another child- Biana, she’s called. Juline worries sometimes that it’s too close to Bianca, but it was a name Bi herself chose and Juline isn’t cruel enough to take it away. 

Besides, who would look for the last remaining member of the Vacker family in the poorest parts of St Petersburg? These streets are cesspits, filled with violence and alcohol and…

Sickness. 

Juline isn’t dying, not yet. But she will be. She’s seen what this sickness can do, watched her own husband waste to nothing in front of her. And it’s only a matter of time- there’s no way they can afford the medicine. 

Still, as she sits in her bed and forces herself to open her eyes again, she’s comforted. Because Biana is still out there, still free, still alive. 

And no one can ever know. 

-/-

St Petersburg, Russia. February 27, 1927. 

“And then he just… let me go.” Fitz finishes. “I don’t know why. I was sure I was going to get arrested or something.”

“Huh.” Biana frowns, tapping the arm of her chair. “That’s weird. They’ve been cracking down on a lot of scam teams lately- throwing them in jail or worse. I’m glad you got out, but that’s weird.”

“What should we do?”

Biana shakes her head. “Nothing. Hiding somewhere else would be useless. We’re almost ready to leave. All Dex needs to do is forge our train passes and we’re good.” She turns behind her, to where Dex is furiously scribbling on a yellowed sheet of paper. “Speaking of which, are you heading down to the printer’s today?”

“Yeah.” Dex says, not looking up. Biana raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay then. I’m gonna go to the market, see if there’s any food on sale. Fitz, why don’t you go with Dex?”

“Me? Why would I-” Fitz starts. He’s not sure why he’s so opposed to that idea; Dex hasn’t been so much as rude to him since that very first day. Still, there’s something clenching his gut that makes him want to run. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone. Not after yesterday.”

“Right,” Fitz nods. “Of course.”

Dex stands up, folding the letter he was writing into an envelope and putting a stamp in the corner. “Okay, let’s go. I want to mail this on the way there.”

“Have fun!” Biana calls as they step into the late-morning light. 

-/-

Dear Mom, 

How are you? How are the triplets? I hope it’s not too cold out there; I know Rex was trying to learn how to knit, but knowing him, that won’t go well.

Things are all right over here. Bi and I have food, and we think we found a way to make a lot of money. Maybe even enough to finally get you out of debt so we can all live together again. 

Petersburg is… tense, right now. Like everything is holding its breath in anticipation. There’s a rumor that Prince Fitzroy and Princess Bianca survived, so all the officers have been on high alert. We’re okay, though.

And we made a friend! He’s nice- kind of confused, but nice. And he’s super pretty 

(Please pretend I didn’t write that.)

I miss you. The city’s not the same without you here to fill up every small hideaway we get with laughter and music. Bi and I are trying, though. We’ll get through this.

See you soon. 

Love, Dex. 

-/-

“Okay,” Dex says as they exit the printer’s, a stack of paper clutched in one hand. The sky is beginning to darken, rays of pink and orange spreading across like paint on a canvas. Fitz is surprised it took so long; he’d always thought of printing as something fast and easy, but there are all these parts. And the travel passes aren’t even done- Dex still needs to forge the signatures on them. “We should get back. Biana will be-”

He trails off, looking at something over Fitz’s shoulder. Fitz spins around to see three uniformed men moving down the street toward them. He swallows and starts to back away. 

“Hey! You!” One of the men calls. “It’s almost curfew! What are you doing out?”

“Uh.” Fitz says. Dex grabs his arm and pulls him into the alley to the side of the building, hurrying them both up a fire escape. 

“Go, go, go,” he says through gritted teeth once they’re on the roof, running along the shingles with a grace Fitz is positive he can’t replicate. “What are you waiting for? Come on!”

They leap between houses and swing around water towers as the sun sets, lights in windows popping up like stars. Finally, Dex comes to a stop on top of a building on a particularly large hill. 

“I think we lost them,” he says, looking back at Fitz. “What?”

“I’ve never seen it this high up before,” Fitz whispers. From where they stand, the whole city’s spread out underneath them like a glittering map. Each lamp in each home is a shining jewel, calling to him. “It’s beautiful.”

Dex snorts, sitting near the edge of the roof and staring at the lights below. “Trust me, it’s a lot less pretty when you grow up down there.”

“I didn’t say pretty. I said beautiful.”

“Okay, your majesty, what’s the difference, then?”

“Pretty is surface level. It’s looking at someone and thinking ‘oh, they’re attractive.’ Beautiful is… more than that. It’s watching someone live and listening to them talk and seeing all their faults but still loving them. If something’s beautiful, that doesn’t mean it’s perfect- it’s just messed up in a beautiful way.”

“Oh.” Dex is quiet for a moment, the two looking at the city lights. Fitz feels an overwhelming urge to take back his words. 

“I don’t actually know the city very well,” he says. “I’ve lived here for a few years, but it’s mostly just… work, sleep, repeat. Nothing like-” he waves a hand at the scene in front of them- “nothing like this.”

Dex sighs, leaning back on his hands. “Petersburg is this odd mix of amazing and dangerous, and most things here walk that line very closely. So when you grow up on the streets…” he pauses, as if trying to find the right words. “It’s hard to make an honest living. And much, much easier to get drawn into things that aren’t exactly sanitary.” 

“That’s why you’re so good at forging stuff,” Fitz responds. “Right? And why Biana is so persuasive. You guys do this a lot.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we do.” Dex sighs. “Our mom never wanted us to be scammers. She used to work in the palace stables, but when the tsar was killed…” he mimes an explosion. “That whole line of business kind of blew up. She and Dad did their best, and we managed to stay afloat for a while, but-” he bites his lip. “When Dad died, Bi and I knew we had to do something. We had more siblings by that point- the triplets, they’re thirteen now. And Mom’s few jobs weren’t enough to keep us fed.”

“So you turned to stealing.”

Dex shrugs, kicking his heel against the brick of the building. “Stealing, scamming, anything that could get us food or money. We ran into trouble a few times, but we managed to slip away. The streets of Petersburg aren’t too bad if you have someone by your side.”

“Oh,” Fitz says. The words I’m sorry seem too small for this, too small for someone who’s been through so much hurt. “I guess I can see why you don’t think the city is beautiful, then.”

“No, actually, I think it is.” Dex turns to face Fitz, eyes fixed on the roof beneath them. “You said that beautiful doesn’t mean perfect, and Petersburg isn’t perfect- it’s dirty and messy and terrifying. But I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’m willing to take the bad for the good that I’ve gotten. The city gave me Biana, and I wouldn’t trade her for the world.” 

He looks up, straight into Fitz’s eyes. “And that’s love, isn’t it? Seeing all the cracks and loving it anyway. Understanding it anyway.”

Something about the way he’s talking makes it clear that he doesn’t just mean Petersburg. But Fitz doesn’t have time to think about that right now. 

“Yeah. That’s love.”

More lights appear in windows below them, glittering into existence. It’s a sign of life, of the people who hide in the shadows and laugh with their families. A sign of home. 

Unconsciously, Fitz pulls the music box out of his coat pocket. 

“What’s that?” Dex asks. Fitz hands it to him, and Dex wrinkles his nose. “Is this a Vacker relic? Where did you-” he fiddles with something inside, some piece of machinery, and music starts to play. “Whoa.”

Tinkling music drifts over the rooftop, a memory tugging in the back of Fitz’s mind; he should know this. He should know this. 

He does know this. 

Slowly, quietly, he starts to hum along as a scene takes shape in his mind. 

A smiling red-haired woman leaning over him, a tiny girl by his side. The very same music box in his lap, emitting a soft tune that Fitz knows by heart. 

“Once upon a December,” he sings quietly as the song ends. Dex gapes at him wordlessly, closing the music box with a silent click. 

“Fitz, what-”

Fitz meets his eyes. “We need to get to Paris.” 

-/-

Dear Mom,

I’m sorry the letter’s short today- I don’t have much time to write. 

We’re leaving the city soon, heading away. I won’t say where, for your safety and ours, but rest assured we’ll be as safe as possible. 

If all goes well, I’ll be home soon. We’ll all be together. 

I love you. 

Dex. 

P.S. I said, in my last letter, that my friend was pretty. That’s not true- or, it is, but he’s more than that. He’s beautiful.

[cakesunflower]

Ineffable [Fighter!Calum] One Shot

Ineffable—Too great to be expressed in words.

Summary: The fear of Calum’s fight made Sylvia run away. Now she was back, and engaging in a fight with her own feelings was not something she was too prepared for.

over 25k words of fighter!Calum. i’m very proud of this one, if i’m being honest, and i hope you guys enjoy reading it and telling me what you think, i always look forward to your comments. happy reading!!

EDIT: there’s a chance if you’re reading this on Safari, then a chunk of the story in different parts is MISSING! idk why tumblr is fucking up, and it’s hella annoying. so to read the WHOLE story, please read on the Tumblr mobile app, or else you won’t understand what’s happening! The first line of the story is “It had been years since she stepped foot in the rambunctious, buzzing underground arena, yet it was still exactly the same.” Make sure that’s what you’re reading, seeing as the entire first part on desktop is missing!! if what you’re reading makes no sense and doesn’t flow, it’s because tumblr just deleted a big chunk of the story from the desktop version!!

READ. FROM. MOBILE!!!!

thank you

--

It had been years since she stepped foot in the rambunctious, buzzing underground arena, yet it was still exactly the same. The familiar stench of stale beer, sweat, along with the dull copper of blood lingered in the air and caused Sylvia to wrinkle her nose in disgust, not used to the intense mixture after her lack of visitation over the past year or so. She looked around, the dim lighting always reminding Sylvia of a creepy back alley, realizing not much had changed in the arena. Or, well, calling it an arena was too professional of a term; it was basically an underground cave—or, at least, that’s what it reminded Sylvia of—large and spacious, with a bar on either side for people to help themselves to and the main spectacle right in the center—a boxing ring.

There had been a time in the past where Sylvia always feared the ceiling would come down on them, collapsing under the weight of the world above them and burying her and everyone else under piles of rocky rubble. But it had been two years since she first stepped foot into the place and it was still standing, so maybe it wasn’t as fragile as Sylvia had thought. The people that frequented it certainly weren’t, that was for sure.

It was a lot more crowded than Sylvia remembered it ever being, breath hitching when someone shouldered past her and she stumbled into her best friend, Luann, who steadied her easily. Sylvia wondered how so many people got to know of the Underground—which, to be fair, was just a name she referred to it by since it technically didn’t even have a name. First rule of Fight Club: You do not talk about Fight Club. So how was it that there were close to a hundred people buzzing around the area, when Sylvia clearly remembered less than half of that showing up when she used to frequent there?

“Told you it’s become big,” Luann told her over the sound of the continuous chatter ringing in their ears. It was obvious everyone was waiting for the next round to start, waiting for the fighters to come out, and the ball of dread Sylvia had been trying to bury all day was once again beginning to tighten in her stomach and stir to make her feel nauseous.

Her small group of friends began moving forward, wanting to get their drinks before making their way to the ring, and Sylvia suddenly grabbed hold of Luann’s arm. Without even looking at her friend, Sylvia’s gaze remained on the empty ring as she stated through a dry throat, “I don’t think I should be here.”

The hesitation was clear as day in Sylvia’s tone over the buzz of the other patrons, the strained voice of someone who didn’t think they belonged there, when in reality at one point, Sylvia had been one of the most frequent goers of the Underground. At the way Luann pursed her lips and tilted her head in disagreement, Sylvia’s lips parted as she began stuttering out excuses, “I mean, I should be with Nana, you know? I moved back for her and it’s so selfish of me to be out here instead of with her and—”

“Hey, keep it together!” At the sound of Luann’s exclaim and her hands grabbing hold of Sylvia's shoulders, the stuttering blonde immediately clamped her mouth shut as she stared into her best friend’s brown eyes. Sylvia’s neck tensed as she tried to calm herself down, feeling her heart beginning to pick up its pace anyways despite Luann’s words. She couldn’t help the preexisting guilt from only intensifying the more time she spent away from home. “Nana’s the one who told you to go out, remember? You’ve been back for weeks and you’ve been home taking care of her like the amazing granddaughter you are. You deserve a night out.”

The sound of someone throwing up in the corner nearest to them could be heard over the gruff chattering of those around them, and both girls saw the disgust flicker across each other’s eyes as they tried to ignore the sound. Licking her lips, Sylvia raised her eyebrows as she responded in a brief flat tone, “I don’t think this is what she had in mind.”

Luann’s lips twitched into a smile, head ducking as the laugh escaped her before letting out a breath and looking back up at a pouting Sylvia who whined, “Why would you bring me here anyway? You know this is the last place I’d want to be.” Sylvia narrowed her blue eyes, her pout prominent. “What kind of best friend are you?”

A defeated breath escaped Luann, dropping her shoulders as well as relinquishing her grip on Sylvia. “It’s a big one, Syl.” Her expression softened, tendrils of dark hair loose from her ponytail framing her heart shaped face. “You don’t wanna miss this.”

The insinuation of Luann’s words had the familiar knot tightening even more in Sylvia’s stomach, breath forming a lump in her throat as a familiar, devastatingly handsome face flashed across her mind’s eye. It was a face she’d never forget, one she hadn’t seen in the past year since she had moved to San Francisco. If Sylvia was being honest, she hadn’t been entirely sure if she planned on seeing him again upon her return to Los Angeles, but with Luann as her best friend, who was constantly dragging her around, she guess she should’ve figured it wasn’t a complete impossibility.

So here she was now, waiting for him to step into the ring.

The humor fell from Sylvia’s face upon Luann’s words, lips thinning as she gave a gentle shake of her head while twisting her lips to the side. Her gaze wandered over the many people surrounding them, mostly men with some women speckled in between, all drinking beers and getting their money out to place their bets, hunger for a fight swimming a bit too brightly in each of their eyes. “You know this was one of the reasons why I left, right?” Sylvia sounded, voice low as her pointed gaze flickered back to Luann. Eyebrows furrowing together, Sylvia shrugged questioningly. “What made you think I’d wanna be back here?”

A soft, sympathetic smile curled at Luann’s lips, gaze momentarily flickering being Sylvia’s shoulder before her eyes locked with hers. “Because he’s always said you’re his good luck charm. And he could use it tonight.” And then she jutted her chin to gesture at something behind Sylvia, and the blonde tried to ignore the hitch in her throat at Luann’s words before turning around.

His good luck charm. Sylvia doubted that was true at this point. Still, the words tugged at her heart almost painfully.

The crowd had started cheering, the gruff sounds of yells making the walls around them and the floor under their feet vibrate in excitement, and Sylvia’s lips parted to let in a sharp breath at the sight of the familiar, breathtakingly handsome man stepping foot into the ring. The same man who, as it turned out in that moment, still made her heart leap in her chest and squeeze every drop of air from her lungs even as she looked at him from a distance.

He always left her breathless. She’d been a fool to think a year away was going to change that.

The world slipped away from Sylvia just then, the sound of those around her muffled in her ears as she watched, over the heads of those gathering around the ring, her ex-boyfriend eat up the cheers being thrown at him. Through the warm lighting of the area, Sylvia could make out the determined, tight glare resting on Calum’s face, a look consisting of his sharp jaw clenched and dark brown eyes sharp and focused on the fight that was about to take place. Even from the distance, Sylvia could feel the air of confidence that circled him; the kind of unperturbed self-assurance she had always admired. How in the most intense, grueling of fights, he never in all of the times Sylvia had seen him fight, ever showed any signs of defeat. Never showed any hints of giving up.

She’s the one that had given up, but Sylvia didn’t want to think of that right now.

“Did he. . .” Her blue eyes narrowed into a squint, trying to figure out if what she was seeing was a trick of the dull lighting or if her eyes weren’t, in fact, deceiving her. Sylvia let out a surprised breath. “Did he dye his hair?”

Luann stepped up next to her, letting out a quiet giggle. “Yup. Think he’s trying to figure out if blondes have more fun.” She bumped her shoulder into Sylvia’s. “You could just as easily answer that for him.”

Sylvia shot her a withering stare, one that had no effect on Luann. Licking her lips nervously, she turned to look back towards the ring, the sound of everyone’s loud yells already becoming accustomed to her ears despite her being away for a year. “Who’s he even fi—” Sylvia cut herself off, because her eyes landed on exactly who Calum’s opponent was going to be as he stepped into the ring in the middle of the racacious yells, and Sylvia’s heart dropped to the very pit of her stomach. “Oh, my G—he’s fighting Danny Preston?” The panic tightened her chest, hand shooting to grip Luann’s wrist tightly. “Why the fuck is he fighting Danny Preston?!”

Luann’s jaw slackened at the harsh grip Sylvia was holding her in, free hand trying to loosen Sylvia’s as Luann let out a high pitched squeak before responding, “This is why I thought you’d wanna come!”

A sharp breath escaped Sylvia, her heart thundering anxiously within her chest, feeling it slam against her ribcage as she watched Calum and Danny eye each other from either side of the ring, waiting for the fight to start so they could make each other bleed. God, she hated this. She hated watching him fight, was one of the reasons why she ran, because seeing Calum get hurt squeezed at Sylvia’s heart until she couldn’t breathe anymore. The overwhelming excitement buzzing around her only served to sit heavily on her, clearly not sharing the enthusiasm with everyone else. She may not have been around for a while, but the last time Sylvia had been there, Danny Preston was the only opponent Calum had lost against—was one of the most ruthless, unforgiving fighters down there. She’d seen him break his opponent’s bones. Hell, she’d seen people barely walk out of that ring alive after a single round with him.

So why the fuck was Calum facing off with him?

Shooting Luann an incredulous look, one coated with panic just as much, Sylvia snapped back, “You thought I’d want to see my ex get his ass kicked by Preston? What the fuck, Luann?”

“Good to know you still have some faith in him.”

The sound of the familiar drawl had Sylvia’s back straightening right before she swiveled around, eyes landing on the familiar face of one of Calum’s best friends, Luke Hemmings. He stood tall, just like Sylvia had remembered, with blonde curls pulled back into a bun and eyebrows raised over bright blue eyes Sylvia had always been jealous of—hers were more of a darker blue. His sometimes appeared to be completely translucent and she wished hers were more like that.

Instead of greeting him like Sylvia was raised to, she gave Luke an incredulous look with her jaw dropped and eyebrows shooting up. “It’s not about me not having faith in Calum,” she was quick to retort, frowning as she quickly shook her head. She didn’t like the judgemental look the tall man in front of her was shooting down, unimpressed by what he overheard. “It’s about Calum going up against that fucking caveman. I’ve seen what he does to his opponents, Luke. How the hell are you not freaking out?”

His lips had been pressed together as he listened to her over the buzzing of those around them, his expression blank. Which, honestly, kind of unnerved Sylvia given that Luke was one of the most animated people she knew. To have him look down at her, expression not at all giving away what he was thinking, made her feel even more out of place in the Underground than she did already. “Because unlike you, I’ve been right here watching Calum progress as a fighter. And I know, for a fact, that he’s gonna drop Preston on his ass because of how much he’s improved.” Luke’s lips curled up into a very uncharacteristically condescending smirk, one that dried Sylvia’s already sandpapery throat. “Save your worries for someone who needs them.”

His words felt like a slap in the face, Sylvia immediately pressing her teeth together because, yeah, she kind of expected a reaction like that. Her reason for leaving was no secret, especially since she had made it clear to Calum before she left. It was only natural for his best friend to not entirely welcome her back with open arms. Especially on a turf that was specifically there.

Sylvia wasn’t even sure what she was going to say as she started, “Luke, I—”

“If you’re not here to show your support, you can leave, Sylvia,” he cut in, his flat tone completely contradicting the harsh look taking over his eyes. “Cal doesn’t need that kind of energy here. Not tonight.”

She averted her gaze from the tall blonde, frowning at the ground as the hurt stung through her veins at Luke’s words. He was right, she figured, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed hearing it.

Sylvia moved aside to let Luke past as he made a move to walk, her gaze lifting and eyes widening when she caught sight of him duck his head and press a brief kiss to Luann’s lips. In that moment, Sylvia wondered if she had just imagined what she just witnessed, though that thought was right out the window as Luke murmured to Luann, “I’ll see you up front,” before giving her another kiss and straightening to his full height.

He walked away without another look towards Sylvia, tall frame easily moving through the thick crowd, leaving a bewildered blonde gaping at a guilty looking Luann who pressed her kissed lips together like she’d just been caught in the act—which, honestly, she had been. When her apprehensive eyes met Sylvia’s questioning, completely incredulous ones, Luann hesitantly began, “I, uh, may have forgotten to mention that we’ve, um, been seeing each other?”

Sylvia’s lungs deflated, shoulders dropping as she continued to gape at her best friend. Her mind was spinning, not entirely sure what had just happened as she ignored her surroundings and focused on the discovery in front of her. When in the goddamn hell had that happened and why hadn’t Luann ever said anything? At least even ever mention that she liked Luke or had been seeing him? Maybe Luann kept it to herself because of the relationship Luke had with her ex, which okay, Sylvia understood. And she wasn’t mad—she had no right to be because who Luann wanted to date wasn’t at all up to her. But Sylvia wished that her past with Calum hadn’t, in any kind of way, affected her friendship with Luann to the point where her best friend didn’t even tell her about her new boyfriend.

Sylvia inhaled sharply. Too much was happening too fast.

“I don’t. . . Even know what just happened,” Sylvia spoke slowly, blinking upwards before a surprised, breathless laugh escaped her. For a moment, everything else slipped out of Sylvia’s mind as she raised an eyebrow at her best friend, who was still smiling nervously. “When did you and Luke eve—”

“Fight!”

The loud shout sounded over the buzz, only causing the crowd to roar viciously and making Sylvia turn around suddenly, heart jumping into her throat once again when she watched Calum and Danny circle each other, sizing one another up. Right then, everything else slipped out of Sylvia’s mind, lips parting in nervous wonder as Danny threw the first punch, one that Calum easily ducked out of the way from. Sylvia would be lying if she said a gasp hadn’t choked in her throat when she saw Danny’s fist fly, only calming down the tiniest bit when Calum moved away. But Sylvia’s been there before, she knew what she was in for. She knew the anxiety and nerves and terror weren’t going to die down until Calum was out of the ring.

Her eyes remained glued to Calum, throat tight and nails absently picking at each other, as she watched him move with an even more precise sense of agility than she remembered watching him fight with. His hands were fisted and elbows tucked in, the glow of the dull lights making his brown, inked skin appear warm and smooth to touch. And Sylvia tried not to let it distract her, tried not to think of if his skin was still as soft as she remembered it being, or if his newly cut and blonde hair felt just the same in between her fingers as his brown curls had.

But there wasn’t a chance of Sylvia feeling those sensations again, she knew. And so she watched him fight, just as apprehensively as she always did, with a weight suffocating her chest and nerves bouncing erratically beneath her skin.

“Come on,” Luann’s voice broke through Sylvia’s mind, though it sounded far away despite them standing right next to each other. “Let’s go to the front.”

“N-No,” Sylvia stammered out, her feet seemingly frozen right where she stood, unable to tear her gaze away from the ring. Her shoulders tensed even more when Calum delivered a successful right hook, knuckles connecting to Danny’s jaw, and Sylvia couldn’t breathe with the thick lump clogging her throat. They were at a distance from the ring, a crowd of faces between her and Calum, and she wanted to keep it that way during the fight. Being up close to the ring wasn’t something Sylvia wanted to experience again, and the last thing she wanted was Calum’s eyes potentially landing on her face during the fight and possibly getting surprised by her presence. A distraction of any kind could cost him, especially against an opponent like Danny. Sylvia swallowed. “I just—can we stay over here? Please.”

Luann had dragged Sylvia here against her will. The least she could do was let Sylvia reluctantly watch, with her heart in her throat, her ex-boyfriend throw and possibly suffer through punches from a distance.

                                                            *****

It was one of the best highs he’d ever experienced.

There had been a moment, a brief moment when Preston had his knee pressed into the area below his chest and sent a concussing punch to his jaw, that had Calum panicking over the thought of losing the fight. The blood in his mouth had been familiarly bitter and his head had felt numbed from the hit, and in a split second haze Calum had wondered if that had been the end for him in that particular fight, wondered if he would be able to pull himself up from it.

But the cheers had been deafening, the gruff and deep roars of the crowd surrounding them fueling the simmering fire in Calum’s veins into an eruption caused by a newfound purpose. Truthfully, it had also been because of the smug, triumphant smirk that had sprouted on Preston’s lips as he stared down at Calum, the arrogance dancing in his dark eyes, as he geared back his right hand to deliver another devastating blow that both he and Calum knew would effectively knock Calum out and cost him the match. And there was no way that Calum was about to let the patronizing son of a bitch win. Especially when Preston was one of the only fighters Calum had lost against. He wasn’t going to give his long standing opponent the satisfaction of defeating him again.

So he fought back. With the blood and sweat literally running down his skin, with the bones of his hands feeling as though they were seconds away from being shattered, and with his heart hammering so roughly against his chest that it was burning him from the inside out, Calum gathered enough energy to punch Preston off. He surprised everyone by standing tall on his own two feet, spitting a mouthful of blood on the stained canvas floor of the ring and craning his head to the side to let the tension crack before throwing himself back into the fight.

And he’d won.

The heaviness in his heart as he caught his breath after the win, standing over Preston’s fallen body, shoulders finally relaxed and hands familiarly sore as he tasted the blood in his mouth. Calum never was one to pay attention to the aches his body was screaming about, the punches and kicks he’d suffered through, and he didn’t do so tonight either. Especially tonight, when the adrenaline was pumping through his veins and mixing in with the overwhelming triumph of finally putting down the one man he’d been yearning to do so for so long. Calum had trained for this. Had spent every waking moment in the gym bettering himself and correcting any mistake that ever caused him to lose any match, and it all fucking worked out.

He won.

Calum looked down at his hands, bloody and bruised and hurting like a pair of motherfuckers, and a smile curled at his lips through the breaths he was trying to even out. But the pain was worth it. It was worth it because it gave him the title of being the undefeated fighter of the ring and gave him a hefty load of money from his cut of the bets that had been placed before the fight. The sweat sticking to his skin didn’t bother him, though it rarely did, most of the blood wiped off, and he didn’t even think of how he was going to be unbearably sore in the morning. He’d fucking won. He was on a high right now and, Calum knew, nothing could bring him down from it.

“You good, man?” Ashton’s excited laugh pulled Calum out of his thoughts.

He opened his eyes, gaze landing on his three best friends surrounding him, all with equally thrilled grins and glimmering eyes. Calum had pressed himself against the wall in the back of the area next to the doorway to the locker room after being patted and cheered on by a number of the spectators. It was clearing out slowly and Calum needed the moment of somewhat calm to relish in the victory he’d just acquired for himself. His heart, after finally relaxing from the adrenaline of the fight, felt weightless in his chest. Calum had an image to maintain down there, but even he couldn’t succeed in keeping the smile off his face, and he was a damn expert in keeping himself unexpressive.

Calum kept his head leaned back against the rocky wall, looking at his friends from down his nose, lips curling upwards in a near blissed out smile. “’M fuckin’ great,” he responded, a laugh passing through him without much choice. “’M bloody fantastic.”

“You’re undefeated,” Michael laughed, green eyes lighting up happily as he shifted to lean against the wall next to him. He nudged Calum’s shoulder with his nose, not too rough despite knowing Calum could take it, hands shoved in his ripped denim jacket. “You gonna treat us out to drinks with the bank you’ve just made?”

Calum’s grin widened, rolling his eyes at Michael before snorting, “Greedy fucker.” The boys laughed and he didn’t acknowledge the dull pain that throbbed through his nose at the action. Lolling his head straight, Calum raised his eyebrows at Luke, trailing his tongue along his lower lip and no longer tasting the copper of the blood that had been there, before asking, “Where’s Luann at?”

Upon hearing his words, Calum noticed the wide, dimpled grin on Luke’s face falter slightly, the dents in his cheeks under the facial hair disappearing as some of the giddiness in his eyes vanished. Calum’s eyebrows twitched into a frown at the sight of his friend not looking entirely pleased over the mention of his girlfriend, a mixture of concern and curiosity making him straighten his head.

He watched as Luke pressed his lips together, jaw tight and broad shoulders lowering tensely. The sudden change in demeanor wasn’t lost on any of them, all looking at Luke with their own levels of concern. But he didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket as he looked away, the muscle in his jaw jumping.

Luke looked at Calum then, blue eyes meeting curious brown, and he let out a breath before stating, “Sylvia’s here.”

Maybe it had been the hits Preston had managed to get in, but Luke’s words had taken a minute too long to register in Calum’s head as both Michael and Ashton reacted immediately, choking out incredulous exclaims at the bomb Luke dropped. But his words echoed in Calum’s mind, hollowed out from the statement that had just been unloaded on him, and Calum couldn’t think. Suddenly the rocky wall he was leaning against was digging too much into the skin of his bare back, his feet seemed too exhausted to support his weight, and the heat that spread throughout his body was a hundred times more intense than whatever he felt during the fight. All because Luke’s words were the harshest punch Calum had received all night, knocking the air right out of his lungs effortlessly.

Sylvia was there. She was there, somewhere amongst the crowd of dispersing patrons, and Calum couldn’t think. His thoughts were no longer on the incredible match he had just won, a match he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about, but one mention of his ex-girlfriend and every train of thought in Calum’s mind had been redirected to her path. He no longer slouched against the wall, back straightening rigidly as his dark eyes began darting around, trying to catch sight of the woman he hadn’t seen in a year‍, of the one who’d clouded his thoughts more often than he let on.

“She’s back?” Ashton questioned, hazel eyes wide as he looked between Luke and Calum, alarmed for the sake of his brown eyed best friend.

Luke’s eyes met Calum’s, biting down into his lower lip before offering a slow, single nod before repeating with a confirming, “She’s back.”

Calum’s heart was in his throat and his gaze, right then, flickered past Luke’s frame and then the beating inside stopped altogether at the sight of the woman, albeit hesitantly, making her way towards him. And as soon as he looked at her, even from the distance, Calum could pick out every feature of Sylvia’s face; of her blue eyes that reminded him of the sea, gentle dimples he’d often poked, the button nose he used to rub his own against, blonde hair that was now up to her shoulders rather than to her waist, and the consistently pink lips he’d kissed so many times.

Everything felt tight, uncomfortably so, as Calum watched Sylvia face Luann as she animatedly spoke to her, all the while nearing where he was. For a moment, Calum truly considered pushing himself off the wall and walking right into the locker room to avoid her altogether. But that thought was thrown out the window as soon as it entered his mind because Calum Hood didn’t run away. Running away was for cowards and Calum would rather get beat senseless than be a fucking coward.

“Shit,” Calum breathed out, despite the way he steeled himself and stood to his full height in preparation for what was about to come.

Their eyes met. Calum felt like he was being thrown against the wall with the air rushing out of his lungs, and he watched as Sylvia’s pace instantly slowed down once their gazes locked. The tension in her neck was obvious, taking a breath through her parted lips as the smile fell from her face upon noticing Calum. There was a halt in the air surrounding them, in that moment, time and reality coming to a stop as they took in the sight of the other, a sight neither had been privy to in about a year.

There was a ringing in Calum’s ears, deafening him to everything else, hearing only the increasing beating of his heart as he stared at the woman just a few feet away from him. His expression may not give it away—Calum was a damn near expert at schooling his features—but the shock was vibrating his nerves and rendering him frozen where he stood. And truthfully, he hated that. Calum never froze in place, never let anyone have that kind of power over him.

Unsurprising—yet just as unnerving—to realize that of course Sylvia was the one capable of doing so.

“Hell,” Ashton breathed out once he followed Calum’s gaze, eyes landing on the blonde girl that had been, at one point, the only thing that kept Calum together. Until she left and he had to find out, the hard way, that the only thing holding him together was himself. “She’s really back.”

“Luann knew and she didn’t tell you?” Calum heard Michael ask, not really caring about who his question was directed to until he heard Luke let out a slow breath.

His voice was dry as he answered, “Kept that bit of information to herself, I guess.”

The next few moments, it seemed, moved in slow motion as Sylvia let Luann lead her to where the boys were standing. Calum had always been able to read her well, a feat that had served him generously when he and Sylvia were dating, and even now with a year’s worth of separation between them, he could still see the waves of hesitation roll off of her as she reluctantly followed Luann. He watched Sylvia’s gaze drop, looking at anything but the men she was nearing, and Calum clenched his jaw tightly at the inevitable confrontation.

Being prepared was one of his strong suits. This, he realized, left the world gaping a hole beneath his feet.

It certainly didn’t help matters that Sylvia was, by every regard, just as beautiful as he remembered.

“It’s comforting to know the other guy looks a lot worse, or else I’d feel bad about your pretty face getting all fucked up.” Leave it to Luann to utter something witty as an attempt of diffusing the thick tension hovering over them like an impending storming cloud. Calum appreciated the effort—though, if he was being honest, he’d have appreciated the knowledge of his ex-girlfriend returning to town even more.

Unfortunately, Luann’s comment didn’t quite entice the laughs she had been hoping for, everyone too distracted by the presence of Calum and Sylvia—together, face to face, after an ending that had left a bitter taste in the two past lovers’ mouths that had yet to fade.

The group was quiet, the only sounds coming from the low hum of their surroundings consisting of still-enthusiastic drunks. It had taken Calum a minute to break away from them, being clapped on the back and congratulated on a fight not many had expected for him to win. It wasn’t like Calum was much of an underdog—he’d earned his place in the food chain of the ring—but against Danny Preston, his win was profound. A win he was so proud of, so ready to celebrate.

What he wasn’t ready for was facing Sylvia once more.

Calum already wasn’t a man of many words, but it had never been that way around her. With Sylvia, he’d always known what to say—hell, sometimes he didn’t even have to say anything for her to understand what he was thinking. The two of them, they knew each other frighteningly well. Were one and the same. The suffocating heaviness Calum felt pressing down on his chest felt harsher as he realized the two of them, right now, stood facing each other like strangers being introduced for the first time. Like the history consisting of dizzying kisses, tender touches, electrifying intimacy never existed in the first place.

That, Calum realized, was more painful than the knee to the gut Preston had delivered earlier in the night. Except a bruise on his skin was more visible than the agony in his heart.

No one tried to break the tension after Luann’s attempt, the silence between them awkward and tight. Until, to everyone’s surprise—even his own—Calum all but blurted, “You cut your hair.”

He noticed the flicker of surprise that flashed across Sylvia’s blue eyes, his own recognition making him feel somewhat relieved that he could read her at least that much, even if it damn well be all he could decipher. Just because Calum hadn’t stopped thinking about Sylvia for the past year, didn’t mean he still knew her.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the dull ache that came with the knowledge that he did know her at one point. Now it all felt like none of that mattered anymore.

Calum watched her throat work, the small diamond pendant of the necklace she never took off resting delicately beneath the hollow of her throat. Sylvia’s gaze flickered up slightly, before her blue eyes met his brown, cautious yet still somehow slightly unguarded. He wondered if he imagined the subtle quirk of her lips, brief and fleeting. “So did you.”  

Silence fell upon them once more, awkward and heavy, with no one quite sure of what to say or do. There had been a time where everything was easy and friendly, where no one was someone else’s ex and one hadn’t left the other. They all were friends, some more than others, yet the tension Sylvia’s surprise arrival brought rendered them all speechless.

“We’ll give you two a minute,” Michael suddenly spoke up, taking it upon himself to allow Calum and Sylvia some space. Or, maybe, he just didn’t want to be around a potential explosion between the two exes. Calum wouldn’t blame him if the latter was true. He watched as Michael pushed himself off the wall, missed the looks he exchanged with Luke and Ashton, as he made his way past Sylvia. Although he stopped for a moment right next to her, offering her a smile that was real and honest as he said, “It’s good to see you again, Syl.”

Calum saw the way her pink lips quirked up at Michael’s words, a flash of relief appearing across her face as Ashton also gave her a quick hug before following Michael. It didn’t go unnoticed by the boxer how Luke merely turned and left, not even bothering to look Sylvia’s way, uncaring of her arrival as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and stalked off.

Luann was the last to go, hesitating as she looked between Calum and Sylvia as she worried her lower lip before her shoulders sank and she let out a sigh. “Don’t kill each other,” she muttered before swiveling on the heel of her boot and jogging to catch up to Luke, whose long legs already granted him some distance.

The silence was back between them and Calum hated how acutely aware he was of his heart drumming within his chest. Truthfully, it was taking him off guard, standing in front of Sylvia right now. They had broken up and she was gone, a new job offer hours away in San Francisco seemingly rescuing her after she ended things with him, and Calum had been left distraught over the loss of a woman he’d spent a year of his life with—a year of his life loving. If Calum was the expressive, dramatic kind he would say that he truly had felt as though everything was over after Sylvia left him with nothing but a shattered heart. But he never said it; he only felt it, quietly and achingly and tiredly. And while his friends knew the breakup with Sylvia is what caused Calum to spend even more time in the gym and in the ring, punching and kicking out his aggression, they never dared say anything.

Heartbreak was a hell of a motivator, as was anger.

In this moment, though, Calum understood that he was frozen. It irritated him, made him berate himself because he was supposed to be better than this. But one look into Sylvia’s pretty blue eyes and it was over. Everything he felt for her came rushing towards the forefront of his still mending heart, eager to break down the delicate walls that had yet to properly rebuild.

“You beat Danny Preston.” Calum was both glad and surprised Sylvia was the one to break the silence, the lump in his throat preventing him from doing so, and the ringing in his ears apparently not loud enough to miss the nervous tint in her voice. At least she was just as overwhelmed by this as he was. He met her gaze, watched her nod along slowly. “That’s—he was someone you really wanted to beat and, uh, it was—congratulations.”

Calum wondered if the lights weren’t so dim if he’d be able to see the heat that would spread across Sylvia’s cheeks, which happened whenever she nervously stumbled over her words. It had been an endearing sight to Calum, always feeling a bit captivated over his effortless ability to make her blush, and it felt like a slap in the face when he discovered the mere thought of it still had his heart leaping—even if it was lodged in his throat.

Her words struck him. She remembered his desire to beat Preston, something he had never been shy about when they dated. Calum had always voiced his ambitions when it came to his goals within the ring, words Sylvia had heard repeatedly, words that eventually drove her away.

“Thank you.” His words felt too formal, too strange falling from his own mouth, yet Calum couldn’t help it. God, after a victorious fight he’d always find Sylvia and kiss her if the blood wasn’t in the way. He’d celebrate with her. But then she left, and Calum hadn’t been in the mood to celebrate for a while, and then eventually just went to get drinks with the guys. That had become a routine, one he had bitterly come to terms with. Now she was in front of him, and it was going to shit. They no longer had a standing, and it was shit. Forcing himself to forgo clearing his throat like he was itching to do so, Calum stated in a too casual, too indifferent tone, “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Sylvia rubbed her lips together, shoulders raising to her ears as she tucked her hands in the back pockets of her shorts. Her entire demeanor was nothing if not guarded, as if she was meeting someone new for the first time and wasn’t sure how to act. Calum would be lying if he said that didn’t sting. “Didn’t expect to be here,” she responded truthfully, letting a breathy, barely-there smile slip. A lock of wavy blonde hair was untucked from behind her ear, the tendril grazing her cheek, and Calum’s fingers itched to push it back. “Luann kind of. . . Ambushed me.” She turned sheepish. “I thought we were going out for drinks.”

Truthfully, a pang of disappointment thudded through his chest at the knowledge of Sylvia being here not out of her own decision making but because she’d basically been dragged without consideration. Seeing Sylvia out in the crowd whenever he had a fight had always been thrilling, never a distraction. When his eyes would land on her, the drive to fight harder would ignite with new purpose, and for a while Calum had to figure out how to keep going when she’d left. His anger and heartbreak had helped, but it wasn’t as strong as the relief and passion that had once been there.

Calum bit the inside of his lower lip, brief and sharp, before releasing a quick breath and responding flatly, “Sorry to disappoint.”

He wondered if he imagined the flinch that had Sylvia shrinking into herself. “No, i-it wasn’t—I didn’t mean—” Sylvia cut herself off, and despite the mixed emotions in Calum’s heart and mind that he didn’t dare entangle himself in at the moment, he did feel the selfish sting of satisfaction at the sight of her getting flustered at his comment. Pressing her lips together, Sylvia let out a deep breath through her nose as she calmed herself down before stating, “You didn’t. That fight. . . It was amazing.” Her throat worked. “You’d always been impressive in the ring.”

That’s why you left, isn’t it?

Keeping the bitter words tamed on his tongue, Calum pressed his lips together as he offered a tight yet somewhat appreciative smile. How ironic that Sylvia was complimenting him on the very thing that had ultimately driven her away.

The smile, if it could even be called that, faltered on Calum’s face as the drum of his heart began increasingly pounding him in his ears. He desperately wished he could focus on anything but the woman in front of him, and it irked him that he couldn’t. Even after being broken up, Sylvia still held a certain grip of power over him that rendered him completely submissive to her. And Calum Hood was anything but submissive.

His adam’s apple bobbed. “What’re you doin’ here, Sylvia?”

Her name rolled off his tongue too deliciously, a shiver running down her spine. But the tone of his voice had Sylvia’s throat working once more, but if his demeanor affected her too much, she didn’t let it show more than that. “Nana’s been sick lately,” she told him truthfully. “Mom had been around to help but she had to get back to work so, uh, I came to stay with her.”

At the mention of her grandmother, Calum’s forehead smoothened out and a shot of worry rushed through his body, accompanied by a weighing guilt. Sylvia’s grandmother, whom they all fondly referred to as Nana as well, was the sweetest woman Calum knew, who always made sure he knew he was welcomed into her home. The knowledge of her being ill tightened Calum’s dried throat, thinking of when he’d seen her last—right before he and Sylvia broke up, with blue eyes as bright as her granddaughter’s and dark brown greying hair always kept at a bob. God, he hadn’t visited her maybe once or twice after his relationship with Sylvia ended, and he felt like shit about it.

Despite whatever he may feel for Sylvia, Calum found himself inquiring, “Is she okay?”

“Just getting old, you know?” she responded with a small, empathetic smile. Blue eyes met brown. “Her heart’s not as strong as it used to be.”

Calum wanted to laugh, bitterly and humorlessly, as he gazed at the woman in front of him. He and Nana had that in common.

                                                          *****

Honestly, Calum was surprised he found himself in front of the house. He stood on the stoned pathway leading up to the one story house, the garden bright and green with colorful rose bushes, well maintained and as beautiful as he remembered them. As he remained in place, the hot Los Angeles sun beating down on him and his leather jacket trapping the heat within his body, Calum wondered if Nana was well enough to maintain the greenery outside or if Sylvia had a hand in doing so. And then, swiftly, he wondered if it was a good idea of him being here.

His and Sylvia’s impromptu reunion had happened day before yesterday and Calum could just. . . Not stop thinking. His mind only consisted of Sylvia and her arrival, and then he thought of Nana and her health, and the guilt squeezed at his heart like a fist reaching into his chest and clenching it tightly. He hadn’t been able to sleep, plagued with thoughts of the pretty blonde who’d made a reappearance in his life, staring at the grey ceiling of his bedroom and remembering, more than usual, the nights he spent with Sylvia entangled in the very sheets he was sleeping under.

And then he thought of Nana, and the guilt returned. Just because things between him and Sylvia hadn’t worked out, didn’t mean he should’ve stopped seeing Nana. Disrespectful, is that what that was.

So, swallowing the dryness that apparently found home in his throat, Calum attempted to clear it as his gaze dropped to his Converse, watching his feet as he walked up the three steps and reached the front door of the landscaped house. He’d definitely had craved a smoke before arriving, but Calum wasn’t about to show up to Nana’s place stinking of cigarettes. God, he wasn’t even sure why he was here in the first place, knowing he was risking running into Sylvia when he just wanted to see Nana.

He vehemently ignored the part of his mind telling him he wanted to run into Sylvia, too. But he told himself he didn’t. He was indifferent.

Calum rubbed his hands down the back of his jeans after ringing the doorbell, faintly hearing it ring throughout the house inside, patiently yet nervously waiting for it to be answered. His shoulders were tense, suddenly wondering what the hell he was supposed to say to Nana, wondering if this impulsive decision was a good one. He couldn’t lie, not to that woman. Shit, this wasn’t well thought—

“Calum!” His head snapped up as the door swung open, and in front of him stood a woman who just barely came up to his chest, small with grey overtaking her dark hair, thinner than he’d remembered, but eyes as bright a blue he recalled. Nana’s lips spread into a smile, wrinkles and smile lines decorating her face as she looked up at him as if this wasn’t the first time in a year he was visiting her. “I almost didn’t recognize you with that hair,” she laughed, looking all too joyous at the sight of him, more than he knew he deserved. “Come here, sweetheart, I missed you!”

He tried desperately not to notice the way her hands, somewhat veiny, shook when she reached up for him, and Calum quickly returned a genuine smile as he bent himself down enough to rest his chin on her shoulder so she could do the same for him. He felt Nana’s arms wrap around his shoulders, his own hugging her frame to his chest as the familiar scent of cinnamon and sugar engulfed him. In his arms, she felt just as small as she looked, and Calum felt his heart tug.

“Missed you too, Nana. Had to come see how you were doin’,” he returned sincerely, gruffly, before they pulled away and returned the smile she was beaming at him. “Beautiful as ever.”

She grinned, patting his chest fondly before shuffling back into the house. “Always a charmer. Come on in, it’s burning up out here.”

He followed her inside, shutting the door behind her before routinely toeing off his shoes. Looking around, nostalgia washed over Calum in waves, taking in the auburn colored walls with picture frames decorating them, all ones Calum had seen before. The wood paneled floors and living room filled with throw pillows and blankets remained the same, a sense of comfort and home hitting Calum the further inside he walked the familiar house. It all still looked the same, down to the wonderful scent of honey he could faintly detect in the air, and it was like he never stopped visiting. But he had, and Calum wanted to make up for it.

“Do you want some tea, sweetheart? I was just about to make some,” Nana offered, making her way to the kitchen connected to the living room.

Calum’s head snapped over to her, averting his gaze from a photograph of Nana and a five year old Sylvia with a wide grin with missing teeth and blonde pigtails, a picture he used to tease her about. Registering what Nana said, Calum clicked his tongue with a shake of his head. “No, no. I’ll be makin’ the tea, Nana.”

He didn’t give her a chance to argue, walking around her and stepping into the kitchen as he caught sight of the kettle and grabbed it to pour some water in. Calum was well aware offering to make the tea didn’t even begin to put him on the path of forgiveness for just abandoning Nana after the break up, but he still wanted to do it. He heard her make a sound of protest before faltering into soft chuckles, feeling her eyes on him as he clicked the stove on and settled the kettle on top before maneuvering around the kitchen with familiarity, grabbing the mugs from the drawer to the right of the sink and the tea bags from the cabinet next to the stove.

“How’ve you been, honey?” Nana inquired once Calum turned to face her, watching as she gestured for him to follow her into the living room. She settled on the couch, a soft sigh of a grunt passing her lips as she sat, before patting the spot next to her as she looked at Calum. As he sat, he saw her blue eyes take in the sight of him, raising a grey eyebrow. “Still fighting, hmm?”

Calum noticed the way her gaze zeroed in on the bruise that had bloomed on his jaw, probably noticing the small cut across the bridge of his nose as well. His fights, illegal as they may be, weren’t a secret to Nana, Calum knew. And while she never judged him, never said anything heinous or offending towards his decision of partaking in those kinds of fights, there was a part of Calum that felt almost ashamed of being a fighter when he was in front of Nana. Despite her being the most open and accepting older woman he’d ever met, despite her congratulating him with happy hugs and encouraging words every time he won a fight, Calum felt a hint of shame for being involved in what he was and Nana knowing about it. He knew it was because she worried about him, knew she always eyed him with maternal concern whenever she saw so much as a scratch on him and he hated that he disquieted her with that.

“Yes, I am,” he answered honestly, lips twitching into a small, almost apologetic smile as he looked at her.

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing,” Nana responded, laughing lightly as Calum linked his ring clad fingers together, knees apart and arms resting on top of them, slouched forward. “It’s something you’re good at. Be proud of it,” she said, patting his leg before adding, “Sylvia told me you won against Danny Preston. Congratulations, honey, I’m sure that was a victory worth the wait.” He couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at his lips at Nana’s words, feeling his heart swell at the knowledge of her recalling his rivalry with Preston. He tried not to think of Sylvia talking to her grandmother about him, the thought lurching his heart. Nana’s smile turned soft, inquiring, “Have you seen Sylvia again since she’s returned?”

Looking back at Nana, Calum saw the glint in her eyes, soft yet knowing, and he ducked his head with a shake of it while letting out a near amused, breathy laugh. “You know I have, Nana,” he said, voice carrying a chuckling rasp as he saw through her faux curiosity. Sylvia and Nana were so close, a fact Calum was well aware of, and had no doubt a discussion about reuniting the other day. Nana’s questioning was just her trying to pry some information out of Calum, gage his reaction, which he truthfully found amusing.

She let out a laugh, not at all apologetic, as she leaned back. “I wanted to be gentle in my questioning. Didn’t want to send you running for the hills again.”

Her words, though they were teasing, had Calum’s heart dropping to the pit of his stomach, a harsh reminder of how much of an asshole he was abandoning Nana when her granddaughter abandoned him. He had so much love for this woman next to him, who never judged his lifestyle the way his own parents did, who was proud of him for what he was doing in the ring and outside of it, which was working odd jobs wherever he could find them when he didn’t have a fight. He did whatever work he could find and made people bleed, and as morbid as the latter was, they all paid the bills and he was happy doing them both. Nana was one of the only people, outside his small group of friends, who understood that. How could he just leave her?

Calum’s gaze dropped, looking down at his linked hands as he squeezed his bruised fingers, feeling the bite of his own rings into his skin as the tension had his veins standing out. He took a deep breath in, deep voice thick with shame and apology as he squeezed his eyes shut and began, “Nana, I’m so sorry for disappearing on you like that. It was disrespectful and fu—really awful of me and I’m s—”

“You were heartbroken.” Nana’s voice was firm yet understanding, and Calum opened his eyes before reluctantly shifting his gaze to her. There wasn’t a smile on her face anymore, but a gentleness in the softness of her aged features and blue of her eyes—he noticed some grey melding into the irises, squashed the thought of wondering if Sylvia’s would do the same as she grew older—as she gazed at him. “You and Sylvia were no longer in a relationship, Calum. It’s understandable that you didn’t want to visit the grandmother of the girl who broke your heart—” She ducked her head, eyeing him knowingly, and Calum could feel the beginnings of his stomach churning, “—especially when the love is still there.”

Calum started, back straightening and he couldn’t control the widening of his eyes, once again realizing where Sylvia was concerned, it was like Calum had no power over even himself. The couch cushion shifted under his weight as he leaned away from Nana, who didn’t at all look perturbed by his reaction, as he began stammering like an idiot, “Nana, I do—”

The shrill whistle of the kettle cut him off and Nana smiled. “Tea’s ready.”

Her grin was far too innocent for someone who drained all the blood from Calum’s face, and he stood up before narrowing his eyes at the older woman. “This isn’t over,” he stated, turning to walk to the kitchen as he willed his head to stop spinning.

Nana chuckled from behind him. “Yes, yes. Get the tea and come back so you can fight a sick elderly woman.”

The teasing in her tone was far too reminiscent of Sylvia’s, always prodding him into innocent and amusing silly arguments they both got laughs out of. Calum understood where she got it from, being mostly raised by the woman in the living room.

He swiftly prepared their cups of tea, remembering how Nana liked hers, his mind busy with thoughts of Sylvia. Being in this house, the childhood home she grew up in, had every aspect of his brain overflowing with the thought of his ex. For a long time, Calum had thought he had moved on from her, that Sylvia and his relationship with her was in the past and he was allowed to find someone else, maybe, or just be happy with how things were with him. He genuinely believed that. Or, maybe, let himself think that way.

But one mere glance at her and Calum was terrifyingly realizing that he hadn’t, in fact moved on. That what he thought was him going forward in life was just a phase of out of sight, out of mind in regards of Sylvia being gone. How idiotic of him to think that the love he had for her would leave when she did.

Returning to the living room, Calum felt himself uncharacteristically and awkwardly stumble between tripping over his own feet and freezing in place at the sight of Sylvia standing in the living room, a single brown bag of groceries in her arms as she immediately and confusedly look at Calum. It was probably a sight, Calum thought, of him standing in the entryway of the kitchen in her grandmother’s house, standing on sock clad feet and holding two steaming mugs of tea in tattooed, ring clad hands. He knew she didn’t expect to see him there, and while Calum knew there was definitely a possibility of him running into Sylvia while visiting Nana, the sight of her standing there in a baby blue sundress with sunglasses atop her head to push her blonde hair away had Calum’s chest tightening almost too suddenly.

“Oh,” Sylvia sounded, gaze flickering between Nana and Calum, the bewilderment and surprise clear on her face as her throat worked. “I didn’t. . . Know you had company.”

The awkward tension was thick in her voice, the bag she held in her arms crackling too loudly as she shifted it. It was enough to have Calum breaking his gaze from her, jaw tight as he moved back to the living room to hand Nana her mug, a too tight grip on his own. “Calum just dropped by to catch up,” Nana informed after taking a sip of her tea, sitting sideways on the couch so she could easily look between Calum standing by her and Sylvia behind the couch. “Why don’t you join us?”

Calum loosened his tight jaw to take a sip of the tea, ignoring the sizzling burn on his tongue as he forced down the hot beverage, eyes involuntarily flickering over the rim of the ceramic mug to look at the blonde. He watched as Sylvia shot her grandmother a look, one he easily read as warning panic, before her eyes met his. In the light of the early afternoon sun pouring through the living room windows, Calum saw the flush in Sylvia’s cheeks at the notion of her being caught by him looking so flustered, immediately looking away.

She tightened the grip on the bag. “I have to put the groceries away,” Sylvia quickly muttered, rushed with the words blending together before swiftly making her way to the kitchen, not meeting anyone else’s gazes as she tried to put as much distance between herself and Calum as she could.

The scent of coconut that Sylvia left in her wake threatened to send a shiver down Calum’s spine before he caught it, not at all physically wanting to be caught in the nostalgia her familiar smell brought.

The sound of Sylvia putting the groceries away could be heard from behind Calum, and he fought the urge every cell in his body was igniting to turn around and watch her. She had a pull on him, like the opposite end of a magnet he was attracted to and was constantly being drawn towards. Of course, those sensations only began taking over him once more when she came back into his life. Calum figured the distance between Los Angeles and San Francisco was too much for her to have the same effect.

Except, Calum knew, that even when Sylvia was gone the overwhelming desire to go after her was suffocating. But she didn’t want him, and he needed to cope.

His gaze met Nana’s, who was still poised on the couch and looking up at him with the knowing glint returned in his light eyes. Calum felt the muscles in his back began to ache at the tension gathered, the sensation not unfamiliar from his time in the ring, slightly uncomfortable against Nana’s gaze.

She lowered her mug, holding it to her lap. “Pretending your relationship didn’t exist isn’t going to help matters.” Nana jutted her chin towards the kitchen. “Talk to her.”

Calum looked down at his own mug, the tea surprisingly nearly finished, though that’s what happened when he kept drinking it to avoid looking at or talking to Sylvia. He wondered if Nana had any idea how difficult her advice would be to follow; to actually go into the kitchen to talk to Sylvia. He wasn’t a coward—God, he wasn’t, and having to tell himself that repeatedly since Sylvia’s arrival was exhausting—but he just did not want to talk to her. He didn’t want to potentially open up old wounds that had yet to heal nor did he want to gain any reasons to be inflicted by new ones.

That girl had broken his heart. Ignoring the acknowledgement that his love for her was still so vehemently present, ignoring the ache it brought to know she most likely didn’t feel the same way, was better for him. For now, he didn’t need to have any kind of conversation. For now, he was fine with acting as if her presence did absolutely nothing for him.

“I can’t, Nana,” Calum finally told her, raspy voice a low mumble as he put the mug down on the coffee table, rubbing his hands down his jeans clad thighs. His eyes, for a moment, gazed around the living room he’d been in so many times before, yet somehow, right now, it felt like he was being smothered. Smothered by Sylvia’s childhood home and the countless days and nights he spent with her here when they weren’t at his apartment, by the memories that had been circling the outskirts of his thoughts like a predator ready to feed off the vulnerability he felt just by being there. Standing in this house made Calum feel like everything he worked hard not to be and, frankly, wasn’t unless Sylvia was in the picture: weak, anxious, unguarded.

Nana sighed. “Calum—”

“I’ll be back soon, yeah?” he gently cut her off, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I promise I’ll visit more,” he added sincerely, raising his eyebrows subtly to let her know he meant it. No more disappearing on a sweet old woman who he adored. Calum could still hear Sylvia shuffling about in the kitchen, and he pressed his lips together before bending down and kissing Nana’s cheek. “Bye, Nana.”

Calum felt her arms raise to give him a hug, still sitting down as he remained crouched to return the embrace. “Things will work out, sweetheart,” she assured him quietly in his ears. A knowing tint took over her voice, as if the wisdom she’s carried with her all these years was being accredited to the reassurance she was offering Calum. “A grandmother knows these things.”

He wanted to smile, to let out a quiet agreeing laugh and tell her he believed it. But Sylvia’s coconut scent was still lingering in his nose despite only being around her for thirty seconds and pictures of her in all stages of life were staring back at Calum, mocking him that he probably wouldn’t get to know her as continue to move forward with their lives.

It felt cruel and it twisted Calum’s heart painfully. He didn’t look back into the kitchen to where Sylvia was as he shoved his feet back into his sneakers and left the home. He didn’t look back, because his tense muscles refused to let him do so and because he’s had to watch her walk away from him. Even if she wasn’t looking at him now, couldn’t do so because it hurt her just as much as it did him, with bright blue eyes he often got lost in, at least it was him walking away this time. No matter how much he felt the pull to go right into the kitchen to where Sylvia was and—

He didn’t know what he was going to do if he went back in there. With Sylvia, he didn’t know what the fuck to do anymore.

                                                           *****

What they had was in the Before. Before—with a capital B, because when everything ended they were living in the After where it felt desolate and confusing and unknown. Because in the After, she wasn’t sure how to live a life that didn’t have him in it. The Before. . . It was perfect, almost. She was happy because she had him. He was there to hold her and kiss her and make her laugh, he made her feel like the most important person in the room, like every word she uttered held a great meaning to him.

Perfect, though, didn’t last forever. Because having to watch him get hurt, having to see him lying in a hospital bed more than once, having to feel so helpless during those occasions, felt as though a bullet was tearing through her heart and ricocheting around her body and sparing nothing to be damaged. It was dramatic, maybe, but loving someone that much shouldn’t have been so painful. It shouldn’t have felt as though she was struggling to keep up with her emotions, it shouldn’t have felt as though she was drowning when she couldn’t do so.

This place. .  . This was in the Before, and being there again was a stupid idea. Sylvia wondered, not for the first time, if Luann had some kind of agenda against her, specifically in regards of dragging Sylvia to places that she didn’t feel like she belonged in. First it was the Underground, bringing her to watch her ex’s match without her knowledge. Tonight, it was a get together. Which would be fine, seeing as it was filled with people she used to socially see all the time and had ultimately reduced to only seeing through social media posts after moving but was now reconnecting with them fully, except for the fact that it was Ashton’s get together in the apartment he shared with Calum. In the very apartment that Sylvia had been in multiple times before, in the very apartment she so clearly remembered being pressed against the wall and spread like a damn meal on the kitchen counter and feeling the air rush out of her through breathless laughter by feeling fingers tickling her body.

Everything was familiar, everything felt so eerily the same with the black leather couch and the records of bands loved by both Ashton and Calum framed on the walls and plants placed in corners and by windows. The people were the same too as Sylvia greeted those she knew, a few faces around the apartment new. It relaxed her a bit, the mixed drink in her cup helping ease her nerves, being able to talk to those she knew who conversed with her as if she had never left.

She and Luann had been getting coffee earlier that morning and ended up running into Ashton, leaving with an iced coffee in hand and red hair hidden under a beanie Sylvia couldn’t help but think it was too hot for. He greeted them with smiles and reminded Luann about a gathering type thing he was having at his place and then invited Sylvia since she was in town and everyone missed her. She had smiled, told him she’d drop by, even though she had planned to not go at all. Because Ashton lived with Calum, and even though his friends were some of hers as well, Sylvia wasn’t entirely sure about going to his apartment to hang out. Even though he’d shown up at her place without her knowing the other day.

But Luann all but dragged her over, insisting that because Sylvia was invited by a friend she had every right to attend despite the presence of her ex. Sylvia had argued but Luann was a stubborn one. Sometimes it was fun because Luann was always bringing Sylvia out of her comfort zone, and she had missed that while in San Francisco. In regards to this situation, though, Sylvia could’ve done without.

However, her drink was tasty and the conversations were easy and Calum. . . Wasn’t around.

Sylvia had arrived to the apartment alongside Luann about an hour ago, getting hugged by Michael and Ashton and then meeting a bunch of friends she hadn’t seen in a while as she tried to ignore the churn of twisting nostalgia she felt entering the familiar home. There were so many memories that she’d gathered during the year she had been dating Calum along with the couple of months prior where she had met him and the rest of the boys. Every single one tried to play through her mind as she wandered into the apartment, and Sylvia desperately tried to distract herself with drinks and mingling so she didn’t lose herself in the sentimentality of the past.

“First the ring and now his own home? You trying to win him back or something?”

The judgemental accusation in Luke’s voice wasn’t lost in the music playing throughout the apartment, prompting Sylvia to turn around from where she was facing the counter to pour herself another drink. Her gaze flickered up from her filled cup, looking ahead at the wall with shoulders tensing before her fingers wrapped around the cup and she slowly turned around with muscles going rigid in an act of defense.

Luke stood in front of her now, tall and blonde with an unimpressed expression peering down at her as he slowly raised his bottle of beer to his lips. “What?” Sylvia laughed out in surprise, eyebrows shooting up at the incredulity his words brought. Not just his words, though, but the way he uttered them; as if the very idea was something he was vehemently against and wasn’t going to hesitate on showing. “Win hi—I’m not trying to win him back?”

Her response came out as a question, eyebrows furrowing together in the middle of her reply because she wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. Especially with Luke standing in front of her, broad shoulders making him look like the most intimidating person she’s ever met and blonde hair not at all assisting in the angelic features he normally had. Right now, he was all judgment and not at all the friend she used to have, expression twisted into a disapproving look as he looked down at her in more than just the physical aspect.

“Then what’re you doing here?” Luke questioned, pulling his lips back and teeth baring briefly after he took a sip, dimples flashing briefly.

“I—” Sylvia hated that she felt an anxious ball of lead settle in her stomach, blinking up at Luke. The unhesitant hostility he was expressing tightened her throat, the initial feeling of not belonging she experienced when she went to the Underground the other day coming back fully. “Ashton invited me.” Straightening her shoulders, Sylvia clenched her jaw briefly as she added more firmly, “And Luann told me to come. If you’ve got an issue, take it up with them because clearly they’re fine with me being here.”

She’d found some courage within herself as she spoke to Luke, tone hardened and lips pursing defiantly after she spoke. Sylvia understood Luke wasn’t her biggest fan, his relationship with her best friend not doing much to allow him to forgive her for what she did to his best friend. God knows Sylvia would probably be acting the same way towards an ex of Luann’s who hurt her the way Sylvia hurt Calum. But it seemed as though Luke was forgetting that Calum wasn’t the only one who had been hurt after what happened, that he wasn’t the only one whose heart had broken after the end of their relationship.

Or, maybe since the break up had been Sylvia’s idea, her feelings after the fact didn’t matter.

She saw the clench of Luke’s jaw under the facial hair he was sporting, one eyebrow twitching to a raise subtly as he maintained the hard, intense eye contact. “Hanging around your ex’s apartment, the same ex who you dumped because you couldn’t bring yourself to be supportive and, you know, didn’t keep in contact with, is kind of a selfish move, Sylvia.”

His words were factual and snippy, but what really stung Sylvia was the casual way he spoke them in, as if this was exactly what Luke expected of Sylvia. Like she was the kind of person who broke hearts and then returned to rub it in the person’s face. And it made her feel nauseous, not at all believing it was the fruity alcoholic drink she was currently nursing, but the notion of her being selfish and the insinuation that she purposefully decided to hurt Calum because she just couldn’t be with him anymore. She loved him. God, she loved him so much and a part of her knew that she still did; so the accusation of her intentionally hurting Calum and the reminder that she did tightened Sylvia’s throat and made her want to throw up all at the same time.

The burning sensation was present in her eyes, but the tears weren’t those of upset or hurt—they were angry and frustrated because while she had been the one to break up with Calum, why was it okay to act as if she hadn’t hurt herself in the process?

“You know damn well why I broke up with him, Luke,” Sylvia hissed after finding her tongue, voice strained through the lump in her throat as her eyebrows drew together, glaring up at the blonde. “You know the fighting was getting too much; you know I couldn’t just stand there and watch him get punched and kicked, or sit there by his bedside after he broke his ribs or got a concussion.” Her words were quick and fierce, the anger seeping into them as well as the frightening reminder of all those moments she had to sit through, had to watch the man she loved get beaten during a particularly rough fight to the point he had to be hospitalized. Calum was an amazing fighter, and through that one fight Sylvia witnessed just recently she could tell he only improved. But there had been times where he had to be carried out of the ring, and if Sylvia didn’t love him anymore, she wouldn’t still be having nightmares about it.

She paused, throat working as she took in a deep breath, looking up at Luke whose expression wasn’t entirely accusatory anymore. His jaw was still tight, but Sylvia swore she saw some sympathy, some understanding, in the blue of his irises. Her body felt hot with the frustration and reminiscent pain of everything that happened, blinking as she reeled back slightly and looked down at her cup. “It wasn’t about not being supportive of Calum��” Sylvia looked up, her blue eyes locking with his. “You know I was, Luke. I think he’s incredible, and I know he’s gotten better.” She shrugged, defeated with a pathetically sad smile. “But it’s ruthless down there and every time he got in the ring I was terrified he wouldn’t get out. And if I had to witness something like that, I honestly don’t think I would be able to live through it.”

Her grip on her cup tightened slightly, her emotions laying heavily on her chest and her mouth dry from speaking. The music playing around her did nothing to drown out the sound of her wildly beating heart as it pounded heavily in her ears, her mind swirling with memories of her and Calum. Of shared kisses and secret smiles full of wordless conversations and tender touches that always left her feeling electric. But with that came the memories of a nervous heart and wringing fingers as she watched him get in the ring, watched fists fly and legs kick, and the utter terror of something horrific happening to the man she loved. Because in a ring like that where basically anything goes, Sylvia was lucky she still got to reunite with Calum in the first place.

With him still fighting, the alternate, she knew, was much more fatal.

“If he had stopped, would you’ve stayed?”

Luke’s question had the tendons in Sylvia’s neck tensing, because this wasn’t the first time she considered something like that. It wasn’t the first time she’d be disappointed by her own answer.

Sylvia liked her lips, tasting the bittersweet alcohol on them before she shrugged half heartedly. Pushing herself away from the counter, Sylvia responded tiredly, “He wouldn’t have stopped. It makes him happy.”

She’d already been walking away from Luke, no longer wanting to be a part of a conversation that only reminded her of the constant heartbreak she was fighting so hard to move past and was failing at doing so repeatedly. Still, over the music as she kept walking, she heard Luke’s response, his words just as factual as before, but this time holding a softness that had Sylvia’s heart lurching.

“You made him happier.”

                                                         *****

The smoke curled out of Calum’s lips, tendrils disappearing into the night sky as the taste of nicotine lingered on his tongue and in his lungs. He kept his eyes shut, blonde head tilted back against the bricked wall as he felt the warmth in his body intensify with every drag he took, washing over him in calming waves relaxing his muscles. Medically speaking, it wasn’t entirely a good idea to have a smoke minutes before he was to go into the ring and face off with someone since it would probably impair his breathing. But Calum wasn’t one for too many good ideas.

Which, as if on cue, could be proved when he opened his eyes and caught sight of the blonde woman stepping out of the bar across the street. Calum’s head straightened, eyebrows drawing together and eyes narrowing so he could see through the semi darkness of the late evening, the only lights being provided by the street lamps and store fronts. Even so, Calum could easily make out Sylvia walking out of the bar, running her fingers through her short blonde hair as she moved with quick purpose, eyebrows furrowing after he blinked in surprise when he recognized her.

The street between them was a one way, narrow with not much space between either side of it, and because of the lack of distance Calum could make out the expression on Sylvia’s face. Could see the controlled panic in her alarmed eyes and quick movements as she clutched her purse in one hand. For a moment, Calum wondered what had her moving so fast, until the door to the bar behind her swung open and out came a man definitely taller and bigger than Sylvia, with meaty hands reaching out to try and grab an obviously unwilling woman.

As he understood what was happening, Calum’s entire body tensed as the blood in his veins instinctively began boiling. He pushed himself away from the wall, cigarette dropping forgotten on the pavement as his sharp eyes assessed the situation from a distance, slowly and cautiously walking closer to the sidewalk with no intention of walking away.

Calum watched, hands clenching, as the guy’s hand wrapped around Sylvia’s arm, heard her exclaim in defiant protest from where she was, and that was enough to have Calum pushing off into a run. He barely glanced down the street to make sure a car wasn’t coming, sneakers thudding against the pavement as he reached the opposite sidewalk. It wasn’t as busy in the alley of a street, most people inside the bars or down in the ring watching whatever fight was taking place. It was eerily empty outside, which made it a horrifyingly perfect place for vile men to try to pull some shit with an unsuspecting woman. It was happening right in front of Calum and the fact that it was happening to Sylvia was only fueling the bloodlust he felt, reserved for his fight in a few minutes.

“Come on—you can’t be sittin’ there lookin’ like that and not expect me to want a taste.”

The repulsive words the guy was laughing out could be heard loud and clear in Calum’s ears as he neared them, both unaware of his threatening, purposeful strides towards them.

Calum saw Sylvia jerk under the guy’s grip, blue eyes widening in a mixture of panic and protesting anger—alarmed at the stronger man’s insistence and absolutely pissed that some guy had put his hands on her. Calum could see the fight or flight struggling for dominance in her eyes, but his own decision had already been made.

“’Ey!” Calum ground out once he was close enough, catching both of their attention with the deep baritone of his growling voice. He didn’t look at Sylvia, glare focused on the fucker who was still holding onto her. Calum clenched his fists; he was two seconds away from ripping the guy’s arm off. “Get your hand off of her before I fuckin’ break it.”

Calum saw the guy open his mouth, probably to add fuel to the fire, until a car drove past and the headlights briefly lit against Calum’s strong, intimidating features. Recognition flashed across the guy’s face as he caught sight of the shadowed, glaring attributes of Calum’s face , and maybe he wasn’t as drunk or as much of an idiot as he seemed because his hand was instantly letting go of Sylvia, taking a step back as he cursed, “Jesus—fuck—you’re Cal—you’re Hood.”

It was no secret that Calum Hood was a well known name on these streets, in this area, due to the reputation he’s accumulated for himself with every fight down below he’s won. No matter how many bruises discolored his skin or how much blood surfaced from his body after a fight, he had been damn near undefeated. And then he won against Danny Preston, effectively knocking him off the unofficial/official title of champion, and the fear Calum’s name brought only increased since then. A king in the ring, Calum was the fighter everyone bet on, that no one particularly wanted to go up against because while there were others who may be taller and even more built than him, it Calum’s focused determination and unforgiving strength that made him the best.

Their makeshift fight club wasn’t something they all went talking about, but its existence wasn’t a secret for those who worked along this street and who frequented it. Calum was, essentially, a household name; a name he worked tirelessly with blood and sweat to build up to be feared. And, when need be, he wasn’t afraid of using it to his own advantage.

“Yeah, I am,” Calum responded, voice tight with bubbling anger as he stalked closer. It was satisfying to watch the shaggy dark haired guy, an inch shorter than Calum yet impressively built, take a few steps back to put some distance. The fear that flashed across his blue eyes was the icing on the cake. Calum never wavered his gaze, strong and intense with dark eyes narrowed in mocking challenge because it was painfully obvious this guy didn’t have the balls to go up against him. Cocking an eyebrow, Calum questioned, “You gonna walk away from her now or am I gonna ’ave to do it myself?”

The guy left without another word, stumbling slightly as he did so, and the cowardice and Calum only having to use his words and not fists would’ve been funny if it weren’t for the circumstance of the situation. Calum watched him go, eyes burning his back until he disappeared around the corner, and Calum’s jaw ached from how tightly he’d been clenching it. He only loosened it when his lips parted, eyes finally landing on the woman standing in front of him, who’d ducked her head as she ran both her hands through her blonde hair.

Calum didn’t even wait for her to speak up when he demanded, “What the hell are you doin’ out here by yourself?”

Sylvia’s head snapped up to look at Calum, blue eyes meeting brown as her glossed lips parted. She looked momentarily surprised at his harsh tone, long lashes framing her blinking eyes before she started, “I was ju—I was having drinks with friends and I—”

“Decided to leave the bar so some drunk asshole could follow you out here where you’re alone?” Calum cut her off, frown deepening at the stupidity of her decision. He knew what had just happened was probably daunting for her, being approached by a persisting stranger, but the sight of it had Calum burning from the inside out. His anger towards the guy was mixed with the sheer panic of something happening to Sylvia. A soft, incredulous scoff escaped Calum as he gave a shake of her head, taking in the berated frown furrowing at her brows. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t been out here, huh?” he continued to question, voice deep and sharp as he tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “What if no one was here and that guy—”

“What do you want me to say, Calum? That I’m sorry?” Sylvia interrupted, her own voice coated with frustration and maybe even annoyance. Calum wanted to laugh; was she seriously getting annoyed with him? She slapped her hands on her legs. “Well, I’m sorry for being an idiot. My friends left and I was panicking and I don’t think when I panic, alright?”

The scoff escaped Calum before he could help it, rolling his eyes and looking away as he muttered, “Yeah, no shit.”

His jaw clenched after he said that, and from his peripheral he saw Sylvia’s tense shoulders drop slightly, her own lips pressing together as she heard his words. It wasn’t lost on her that he was referring to when she ended their relationship, bitterly reminiscing the panic she had felt being in a relationship with an underground, illegal fighter that ultimately brought her to leave him. A decision that hung over both of them to this day.

Silence fell upon the two, distantly hearing the music pumping within the few bars scattered along the street, yet the sounds might as well be falling upon deaf ears. They were trapped in a thick bubble of tension, standing just a couple of feet away from one another while trying to both relax from the situation that just occurred as well as find a way out of the heart pinching discomfort Calum’s three word response brought.

Anger and hurt circled them both at different levels, with Sylvia as the one who’d reluctantly turned her back and Calum left to pick up his own broken pieces. He wondered if she felt the same tightness in her body as he did, one that rendered him frozen as he was struck with memories of a relationship ended against his will. He wondered if Sylvia felt guilty, if she’d shed tears when she left him. He wondered if she still cared.

He hated that he still wondered.

Calum heard her take in a soft breath, his gaze still on the brick wall to his left as Sylvia spoke in a calm, calculated tone that she probably thought didn’t expose any emotion, but Calum could hear the hurt she was trying to mask over a thick layer of indifference. “Thanks for helping me out,” she said after lightly clearing her throat. It was painfully satisfying, Calum realized, to know he still could tell what she was feeling just by her tone of voice. Could tell that she was trying to appear unaffected by his stinging comment and find an escape before things got worse as she added, “I’m gonna call an Uber and be out of here.”

“The fuck you are,” was Calum’s instant response, head turning to look at her again. He didn’t have any control over what she did, Calum knew that, but letting her get into an Uber in this side of town was not going to settle well with him. Ignoring the bewildered expression on her face, Calum added, “I’ll take you home. After the fight.”

Sylvia’s eyes widened, body tensing. “After the—no!” Her voice found some of its stubborn, eyebrows drawing together in protest as she humorlessly laughed out, “I’m not gonna watch you fight, Calum. No. I’ll just call a ride, you don’t have to take me home. I think you’ve met your heroic quota for the day.”

He was getting irritated, her protesting only annoying him more, but getting pissed at Sylvia wasn’t going to do him any favors. But Calum was just so damn frustrated at Sylvia; at her for putting herself in a potentially dangerous situation because he knew she was smarter than that, and because he couldn’t fucking differentiate between his own feelings. The anger was mixing in with the ever-present hurt and the consistent heartbreaking love he felt for the woman in front of him. Her presence fucking hurt and her refusal to stick around long enough to witness his match was a stinging reminder of why she broke up with him. Because that’s all Calum did; think of Sylvia and how she wasn’t his anymore.

All this love still existed, and it was killing Calum for leaving it untouched.

“It’ll be a two minute match, Sylvia.” Calum spoke with a calmed tone, trying to keep the tight aggravation out of his voice in an attempt of allowing his suggestion to sound more appealing. It was a long shot, given Sylvia’s dislike of fights, but it was worth a try if it meant she didn’t go home by herself. Calum gestured towards the building where the ring was underneath of. “You can sit in the locker room with Mike if you don’t wanna watch. ’M sure he won’t mind.”

Sylvia licked her lips, taking a breath as she began shaking her head. “It’s not necessary, Calum. I can—”

“Please, doll.” The term of endearment slipped past Calum’s mouth before he could even think about it, rolling off his tongue effortlessly as he briefly pressed his lips together. His throat worked at the purse of Sylvia’s lips, trying to hide her own subtle surprise at his use of it. A slip of the tongue, she would think it was. Calum wouldn’t tell her how easy it was to call her something he’d always refer to her as when they’d been together. Wouldn’t tell he how natural it felt to do so. The tension in his voice was gone, the use of the term spreading a softness through his muscles Calum hadn’t seen coming, but didn’t try to fight like he did everything else. The way her eyebrows drew together ever so slightly told Calum that his little slip struck some kind of cord inside her, that in some way, he still had some kind of effect on her.

“I’ll skip the fight and take you home right now if you want.” That, if Calum was being honest, wasn’t something he expected himself to say. But the words had been uttered, almost too easily, and his stomach churned with the realization that he’d much rather Sylvia be safe in her home than have her wait underground where dozens of strange people linger while he engaged in a fight. Even if it meant he’d be forfeiting any potential earnings from the night.

He saw the way Sylvia’s eyes widened ever so slightly at his offer, utterly surprised that he would suggest it. Fighting in that ring had always come first for Calum, for the most part, especially because it was how he made his living. Offering to forgo earning anything struck Sylvia, her chest tightening at the knowledge of him doing so just for her. The fact that he looked so genuine, so ready to do so just so she was home safe, had her throat drying. There had been times where Sylvia would look for reasons to keep Calum out of the ring, too scared of him getting hurt, and now here he was, offering to do so on his own accord.

Then it was her turn to surprise them both. “No.” Calum quirked an eyebrow, the shock evident in just his eyes and Sylvia swallowed. “I can wait.”

                                                        *****

It had been guilt that made her want to wait, Sylvia realized later when she watched Calum step into the ring within the underground cave, surrounded by guttural and gruff cheers with the scent of alcohol, blood and sweat lingering heavily in the air. It had been guilt that made Sylvia tell Calum she was fine with waiting, because watching him now, in trainers and athletic shorts and wrapped up hands with a sternly determined expression on his face and brown eyes glinting with focus, had Sylvia remembering that this was where he belonged.

He was a champion up there; with the dim lights of the cave-like area glowing against his inked brown skin and the warm atmosphere readily providing him a thin layer of sweat before the fight even begun. He was a champion with the spectators cheering him on, knowing he was going to kick his opponent’s ass and win both himself and everyone who bet on him some money. He was a champion because he fought with his entire body and had the drive of a winner, and Sylvia didn’t want to take that away from him.

Which was a slap in the face, seeing as she broke his heart because he wouldn’t give up something he excelled at.

She’d been selfish, Sylvia understood as the fight begun, and she stood quietly between Michael and Ashton in the same spot she’d stood several times during the year she and Calum had been together. Right by the ring, with her eyes on the now blonde fighter, praying that he would win.

It was like nothing had changed, but that was a bitter lie. Calum may still be fighting, Sylvia may still be watching him, and the love they shared may still be present with the other being completely oblivious, but they weren’t together. They were two people unknowingly hurting because they loved the other too much, and neither was aware of how to move past it.

If only they knew what the other was feeling more than just what they showed.

Calum’s hits were perfectly timed and agile, his opponent, Allan, struggling to keep up already. Sylvia was deaf to the noise around her, including the shouts emitted by Ashton, Michael and Luke, a muffled ringing in her ears and gaze focused on Calum. It was reminiscent of how it used to be; of how Sylvia would only ever stand and watch Calum with nails absently picking at one another, eyes tracking his every movement and taking note of any injury he was inflicted by. Her heart remained in a tight knot within her chest, breathing tense and strained out of the familiar worry she felt for the blonde in the ring.

His necklace swung around his neck and hit against his chest with every quick movement, light on his feet as the soft ends of his blonde hair stuck with sweat to his forehead. Sylvia hated that she felt an intrigued twisting in her stomach when she watched the muscles in Calum’s back shift when he delivered a right hook, knuckles connecting with Allan’s jaw, not even giving him a second to recover as his left fist flew with an uppercut and collided with Allan’s chin to knock him on his back.

Sylvia was vaguely aware of everyone’s shouts of approval at the sight, though all she could hear was the sharp breath of relief she exhaled through her nose before swallowing the anxious lump in her throat.

The fight continued when Allan got to his feet after Calum loomed over his body for a few moments, and Sylvia couldn’t look away. It was a morbid kind of fascination, she had determined a year ago, because although the sight of Calum drawing blood from someone else or bleeding himself made her nauseous and pierced her heart, she could never look away. It was like witnessing a car accident; you knew the sight before you was about to be horrific, but tearing your eyes away never crosses your mind. You just keep staring, and Sylvia was intimately familiar with that notion when it came to watching Calum fight.

It was only a small relief that he was so damn good at it. Luke had been right; Calum had improved exponentially. Sylvia would be lying if she said her heart didn’t swell with conflicting pride.

And when Calum soon enough knocked out Allan, standing in the middle of the ring with only a slightly out of breath chest and skin glowing with sweat, his eyes met Sylvia’s. She stood there, clapping for him while the crowd roared with cheers, unable to keep the smile from curling at her lips as she did so. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Sylvia saw his own lips shift into a smile of his own as he watched her clap for him.

It felt like nothing had changed and, for that moment, they pretended it hadn’t.

                                                           *****

“I think it’d be better if you stayed the night.”

Sylvia was well aware her words were in reference to the sudden thunderstorm that hit them out of nowhere, but warmth that spread on her cheeks was insistent when Calum glanced over at her. They were sitting in his car, the familiar scent of mint and leather and Calum overwhelming Sylvia’s senses, parked in the driveway of Nana’s house, as the playlist Calum had on played softly in the background, though it was drowned out by the sound of heavy rain falling outside, the harsh droplets thudding with a subtle echo against the car. Every few seconds lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, and after checking the weather on her phone, Sylvia saw this wasn’t letting up until tomorrow.

When Calum didn’t say anything, the heat in Sylvia’s cheeks annoyingly intensified and she pathetically stammered, “You live on the other side of town and I don’t—it might be too dangerous for you to drive back, y’know? It’s safer for you to stay here, I think.”

The way she gracelessly stumbled over her words was but an aching reminder that things between them had changed. In this moment, Sylvia was nervous around Calum, something she had never been even before they had started dating. With him, everything had been easy. They’d been different; he’d never been closed off from her. They’d instantly clicked as friends, that same energy only helping them in falling for each other ultimately. Happy and in love is what they’d been. Now, there was only room for confusion and frustration it seemed.

Calum eyed Sylvia, took in the way her skin glowed and eyes glittered against the blue lighting of his stereo, the shadows of rain droplets against his windshield bouncing off her pretty face. He refused to let his eyes wander any lower, to let his gaze drop to the V-neckline of the red satin with lace trim spaghetti strapped top she was wearing that made him desperately want to press his lips to the skin of her neck, pretty and in his complete view.

Staying the night at her place had, at one time, meant something else. Calum was pathetically unsure if he had it in him to spend the night under different circumstances.

“’S not necessary,” Calum responded, forcing himself to look ahead out the windshield, muscle in his jaw ticking briefly. “The rain probably isn’t as bad as it lo—”

His words were cut off by the sound of a blaring, familiar alarm going off, the unexpected sound prompting both of them to jump in the leather seats of Calum’s car. Realizing it was coming from both of their phones, Sylvia and Calum pulled out the devices, and his grip on his phone tightened when he saw the Emergency Alert informing them of flash flooding taking place, a sign from the universe that it would be impossible for Calum to drive anywhere, much less back home.

Calum pursed his lips as he cleared the alert, hand wrapped around his phone as he locked it and rested it against his lap. He leaned his head against the seat, staring up at the roof of the car as rain continued to pour relentlessly, and let out a breath that sounded too loud in the otherwise quiet of the car. This was definitely the universe, Calum decided, telling him to stay put against his will.

They were quiet for a tense moment until he heard Sylvia ask, “Wanna go in?”

Calum sucked his teeth before straightening, briefly glancing her way as he killed the engine of the car and pulled out his keys. “Yeah. ’M gonna grab my bag from the trunk.”

They both moved quickly, with Calum running towards the trunk, the cold rain instantly soaking him as his clothes stuck to his body and goosebumps raised on his skin. As he popped open the trunk, he watched through the rain with squinting eyes as Sylvia ran towards the door, reaching the protection of the porch of the house, and Calum quickly pulled out his gym bag before shutting the trunk, locking the car and running up to the house, feeling his sneakers squeak as he did so.

Sylvia was already inside the house when Calum reached the porch, entering quietly as he realized all the lights save for a single lamp in the living room were off, telling him Nana was fast asleep, given that it was nearing midnight. He frowned at the floor, not too keen on getting it wet as he dripped from head to toe, only looking up when he heard the flick of a switch and saw Sylvia standing in the doorway of the bathroom to his left.

For the life of him, he tried not to pay any attention to how her clothes stuck to her body as well, how droplets of water trailed down the column of her throat and line of her collarbones, or the impossibly thin material of her top looked like second skin, the sudden cold weather doing the perfect job of making her nipples peak under the material. Of course she wasn’t wearing a bra.

And given that it was Sylvia, the blood rushed through Calum’s veins a bit too harshly, trying so fucking hard not to remember how his lips felt against her skin when he used to have the pleasure of tasting every inch of her.

“You can change in here,” Sylvia told him, pressing her hands against her short hair to slick it back and over her ears. It gave Calum a wonderful view of her gorgeous face, shining because of the onslaught of rain. Her eyes flickered into the bathroom as she added, “Extra towels are—”

“In the closet by the sink,” Calum finished, prompting Sylvia’s gaze to turn back to him, and he offered a nod with the subtlest quirk of his lips. “I remember.”

Her chin lifted slightly, wishing that didn’t affect her as much as it did, before nodding as she gave a closed mouth smile. “Okay. I’ll, uh,” she paused, a nervous laugh breathlessly tumbling past her lips as she took a step back, “I’ll let you get to it.”

Calum watched her turn around to head down the hall to where her bedroom was, her hand coming up to rub at the back of her neck as her rings glittered briefly under the hallway light. He remained where he stood, feeling the water slide down his skin and drip onto the floor, not missing the way Sylvia allowed herself to glance over her shoulder to look at Calum one last time. Their eyes met once more, briefly as the distance between them grew, and it would be a lie to say the electricity that coursed through their veins at the quickest connection of gazes wasn’t as jolting as the lightning outside.

                                                             *****

The blades of the fan were hypnotizing as he watched them spin, their steady rhythm not doing much to help Calum fall asleep. Instead he lay there, in the guest bedroom of Sylvia’s house, right arm folded behind his head as he found himself wondering how the hell he ended up there. The mattress he laid on was soft and comfortable, and the scent of the room reminded him of autumn and Calum was sure it was because of a candle that had probably been lit earlier, knowing of Nana’s adoration and vast collection of Yankee Candles. The rain outside was coming down fast and thudding against the window to his right, but that had little to do with Calum being unable to fall asleep. It had everything to do with him being in Sylvia Westfield’s home.

Rather than losing himself in thoughts of Sylvia, which Calum had been doing for days now ever since she came back into his life, he got up from the bed with a huff after checking his phone to see that it was only one thirty, only an hour and a half since they’d arrived. His throat felt dry, so he opened the door to make his way to the kitchen to get a glass of water, stopping when he emerged into the living room and caught sight of Sylvia sitting in the dark, the room lit up only by the glow of the television opposite of her as it played at a low volume.

He’d been scratching the back of his head as he walked in, Sylvia oblivious to his presence, and his hand dropped to his side when he neared the couch behind her and gazed at the television. “You still watch Ramsay videos before bed?”

The baritone of his deep, slightly hoarse voice sounding right behind her unexpectedly had Sylvia jumping in surprise where she sat, a gasp choking out of her throat as she leaned to the side to look up at Calum. He returned her gaze, apology mixing with amusement, as she blinked up at him with wide blue eyes. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” she exclaimed in a whisper, pressing a hand to her chest as her shoulders relaxed. When his question registered, Sylvia glanced towards the TV before looking back at Calum, wisps of hair that escaped from her lazy half up-do grazing her cheeks and jaw as she answered, “And yeah, I do.” She quirked a brow. “Wanna join?”

It kind of unnerved Calum that he didn’t really think about it, forgetting all about his water as he walked around the couch and settled onto the couch to Sylvia’s left. She sat with her bare legs crossed, and for a moment Calum regretted his decision to join her when he noticed her in nothing but an oversized UCLA shirt that gathered at her lap. He should’ve known better, should’ve recalled that Sylvia only liked to sleep in big shirts and her underwear because it had always fucking driven him crazy catching sight of her like that. Had always pulled her shirt off or torn away her underwear damn near animalistically because the sight of her dressed in just that had been too inviting.

That, he knew, hadn’t changed.

Hoping to distract himself, Calum looked at the TV, leaning back on the couch as he questioned in reference to the video, “Which one is this?”

“One hour of him hating food,” Sylvia responded with an airy chuckle. “It’s almost done. I was gonna watch videos of him insulting asshole chefs and owners next.”

Calum let out a soft laugh, watching as Gordon Ramsay returning a meal because he couldn’t afford a heart attack. “Still so cynical, aren’t you?” he mused, watching the video playing in front of him. “The fact that watching people get reamed on by Ramsay helps you sleep at night is worrying.”

The teasing tone that slipped into his voice had happened so naturally, so effortlessly, that Calum barely noticed it until Sylvia was letting out a soft giggle and gesturing to the TV with her hand. “If they insist their food is excellent when it obviously isn’t, they should be prepared to get shat on by the King of Mean!”

He couldn’t keep in his own laughter, right arm that had been propped on top of the couch bending as he rubbed the back of his head with his hand. Calum’s smile only widened as his giggles, an adorable mixture of raspy and squeaky, intensified when he watched Ramsay blow off parsley that was decorated on his plate before insulting the salmon he was to eat.

That was how they spent the next hour—or maybe more, since Calum was losing track of time as they continued watching more videos. And that’s all that mattered during that time, because this was familiar. This was something they used to do all the time. Before they went to bed, whether it be hers or his, Sylvia would pull out her phone or her laptop and go onto YouTube to watch these Gordon Ramsay videos. At first, Calum had thought it was the strangest thing, thought there were literally millions of other kinds of videos to watch before bed if Sylvia should choose to do so. Watching Ramsay harshly go at restaurant owners and chefs? It was definitely weird.

But then Sylvia would giggle at certain remarks Ramsay would make, would mutter her own colorful comments at the assholes shown in the videos, and eventually Calum found himself rolling over and pressing himself into her side, cheek resting on her arm or chest, and watching the videos with her in the dark of the room. It had become a routine, and when once watching those videos before bed had been only her thing, it soon enough became their thing.

Then they broke up, and Calum reluctantly broke the habit, not allowing himself to do something he used to once do with Sylvia. Until tonight.

“He’s such a dumbass!” Sylvia was laughing, struggling to keep her voice quiet because Nana was asleep right down the hall, one hand covering her mouth. Calum, too, was struggling to keep it down as well, slouching on the couch and pressing himself against it with his left elbow propped on the armrest and fist pressing against his own lips. His chest hurt gloriously as he tried to stay silent, knowing that too much sound traveled in the house and the last thing he wanted to do was wake up Nana. Still, both his and Sylvia’s laughter was muffled against the sound of the rain pelting outside. “I mean,” she began, wheezing through her laughs, “he tells Ramsay he’s been taught by some of Europe’s best chefs and then claims he isn’t a chef because Ramsay’s putting him in his place? The stupidity is unmatched!”

“Shh, shh,” Calum shushed through his own giggles, right hand waving at her quickly. He couldn’t remember the last time his cheeks hurt from smiling, from laughing so much. He didn’t even understand how he could feel so relaxed next to her, after trying to keep his guard up. But then again, it had been too easy for Calum to admit to himself that what he had once felt for Sylvia was still there, had never left. And try as he might to appear indifferent, to act as if his love for her was an idea of the past, he couldn’t lie to himself. He couldn’t disregard the fact that the reason this felt so easy, so effortless, was because he was still so God damn in love with her. “You’re gonna wake up Nana.”

Sylvia kept laughing, though she tried to press her lips together despite the sounds hoping to bubble past her mouth. She closed her eyes, the video they watched far too amusing, shaking her head and laughing as her hand reached up and absently grabbed onto the one he’d been waving. Her body leaned into his as she continued giggling, and Calum’s own softened at the first touch of Sylvia’s skin against his.

His laughter faltered, eyes dragging to the way her fingers had innocently wrapped around his, and suddenly Calum’s heart was in his throat because the touch was so fucking familiar. He was pretty sure she didn’t even realize how she’d grabbed onto his hand, as if it was only to anchor her from the laughter the videos they were watching enticed and she wasn’t at all thinking of what her hand in his would make him feel. And maybe she wasn’t, but that didn’t meant Calum wasn’t feeling a sudden warmth spreading through his body originating from a shock her touch instinctively brought.

The same electrifying, buzzing jolt Calum felt every single fucking time Sylvia touched him when they first dated. The feeling was still there, still ever present, and it had his heart rate picking up almost too fucking fast. His eyes were on their joined hands, on how her nimble fingers contrasted against his bruised ones, on his brown skin standing out against her paler tone. Everything else, in that moment, seemed to melt away as neither the TV still playing or the rain still falling registered in Calum’s head, his only focus on the girl still leaning towards him, her achingly nostalgic fruity scent washing over him, her giggles slowly silencing as she gathered her wits about her and raised her ducking head.

Their eyes met just as she did so, and it was like Sylvia was being thrown back into reality as the smile slowly faltered from her lips when she realized the position she was currently in; so close to Calum, mere inches away, with thighs pressed together and hands still being held. They grew silent, even their soft breaths unheard over the rain, and Calum felt his stomach lurch when he noticed Sylvia’s blue eyes drop down to his lips. Felt slightly betrayed when the urge to kiss her hit him like a truck.

He could feel himself lean forward as his own gaze went to her lips, pink and making him desperately want to kiss them, and felt his chin jut forward gently as he felt his fight weaken and allowed himself to give into the desire of pressing his lips to hers. Just a little bit more, and he’d taste her once again.

It was like a switch went off in Sylvia’s mind, and she was pulling away with a sharp breath and a hasty, shaken statement of, “I’m gonna go to bed.”

She didn’t even bother shutting off the TV, stumbling to her feet as she made her way to her bedroom, not even bothering a glance towards Calum. He remained on the couch, chest tight and mind racing with his heart pounding in his ears. So close, they’d come so close. It was fucking killing him.

He shut the TV off with a sigh and wondered, not for the first time, when she would stop walking away from him. Or, better yet, when he’d stop caring that she did.

                                                         *****

“Oh, look who just walked in—Calum, hello, sweetheart!”

Sylvia’s eyes widened, damn near choking on her drink. “Wha—Nana, no!” she stammered out in a whispered exclaim, lowering her glass and turning around, catching sight of the familiar blonde over the back of the booth she was seated in. When she saw Calum look over to where they sat, she quickly turned back to glare at her smiling grandmother. “What are you doing?”

Nana threw a quick frown at her before smiling. “You two need to move past your issues, baby. He’s finally started coming back around and I won’t have you drive him away.”

Her words had Sylvia’s jaw slackening, unsure if she should feel amused or incredulous at her grandmother’s dismissal. Sylvia wasn’t driving Calum away—she was avoiding him which, she knew, wasn’t any better. But after their almost kiss a few days ago, an almost kiss neither of them had expected to happen and left her stomach in knots and head riddled with memories of his lips against hers, Sylvia wasn’t entirely ready to see Calum again after that fiasco.

God. Nana was worse than Luann, it seemed.

“Hey, Nana,” Calum’s voice had Sylvia sitting up, the smooth baritone running a shiver down her spine as she kept her gaze fixated on her chicken club sandwich in front of her, her blonde hair tickling the skin of her bare shoulders thanks to her halter top. “Sylvia.”

She barely glanced his way, offering a fleeting smile and only being able to see his green and black plaid pants in her peripheral, as Nana looked up at him and patting the booth seat. “Sit with us, honey. Unless you’ve got somewhere to be.”

Sylvia didn’t look at him, instead her eyes flickered up to look at her grandmother with a warning expression coating her features which went ignored. Her tense shoulders only tightened more when she heard Calum said, “Uh, yeah, sure. ’M just gonna grab my food.”

He walked away, footsteps receding over the sound of the light music playing through the speakers of the cafe, and Sylvia finally lifted her head to stare at her grandmother as she folded her arms on the wooden tabletop. “Why?” was all she asked.

Nana clicked her tongue, looking disappointed at Sylvia’s obvious protest of Calum joining them. “Oh, honey, you two used to be so close. We’d always go out and eat together, it made me so happy. I just wanted some more of that.”

The nostalgic tone in Nana’s voice had Sylvia pressing her lips together, feeling a bit guilty for being so adamantly against this. Of course Sylvia had been aware of how close Nana and Calum used to be, remembered how he helped around the house just because he wanted to, because he like taking care of both Sylvia and Nana. God, she couldn’t just take away this rekindling between Calum and her grandmother just because she wasn’t sure of how to deal with her own issues, could she?

“Is that all you’re eating?” Nana questioned incredulously once Calum slid into the booth, sitting directly opposite of Sylvia, with a plate of a near pathetic looking turkey sandwich. When Calum raised his eyebrows at Nana, gaze involuntarily flickering to Sylvia who was paying too much attention to her own sandwich, Nana let out a huff. “That’s going to do nothing for you. You’re a growing man. Here, take some of my salad and fries.”

Calum’s lips parted, sounds of protest escaping him, and this time Sylvia couldn’t help but watch in amusement as Nana pushed her untouched bowl of salad towards Calum before transferring some of her French fries to his plate. He suddenly resembled a child, trying to get her to stop as he watched her with widened eyes and stammered, “What ’bout your lunch?”

“My sandwich is filling enough,” she responded, waving him off. “And I had a big breakfast. Eat up.”

Sylvia rolled her lips into her mouth, watching as Calum huffed out a breath before looking down at his plate. He was never one to not listen to Nana, and Sylvia realized it still endeared her now as it did the first time when Calum listened to her without too much of a fight, aware that he saw her grandmother as a mother figure and had a great amount of respect for her. So he smiled, letting out a short laugh before picking up a fork and pulling the salad towards him.

“So how’s everything with you, honey?” Nana asked Calum, never one for awkward silences which were bound to exist with Calum and Sylvia sitting across from each other. Hopefully Nana could be a buffer. “Are you still playing the guitar?”

He let out a close mouthed chuckle, a forkful of salad in his mouth as he nodded. “Badly, yeah,” Calum responded after swallowing, his gaze on the old woman next to him.

Nana scoffed at his words, very much doubtful of his answer as Sylvia remained silent, listening to them talk as she ate. She was getting such an intense sense of dejá vú, remembering the countless of times she’d be having a meal with her grandmother and Calum, listening to the two of them chatter away like old friends while Sylvia listened along intently, always feeling a wave of comfort at the knowledge of two of her favorite people getting along so damn well. That feeling, warm and fluttering, was still present, Sylvia realized, as she ate her sandwich and watched the two of them across from her.

“You never played the guitar badly,” Nana responded, the reassurance thick in her tone as she shot Calum a look. “I remember you’d play for Sylvia in our backyard all the time and I just loved hearing the sound of your guitar flowing through my house. I often miss it.”

Nana’s words had Sylvia’s heart jumping into her throat, feeling the blood rush behind her ears as she flickered her gaze up. She looked at Calum, caught sight of his profile as he had been looking at Nana, and noticed the subtle falter in his smile as he heard her grandmother’s words, his own gaze lowering slightly. The reminder of him playing his guitar for Sylvia, something he used to do quite often just for her, felt like a bucket of ice water was being poured over both of their heads, freezing them in place.

It was one of Sylvia’s favorite things, Calum playing the guitar for her. When he first started doing it, he’d been nervous, constantly telling her he wasn’t that good at it before playing as a way of keeping her expectations low. It had been endearing, she recalled, to see him so nervous before he played when she was so used to the confident, smug, and damn near arrogant aura she’d see around him before he stepped into the ring. To see him fiddle with his ring clad fingers before settling over the strings of the guitar and anxiously chew on his lower lip before playing had been a drastic change in persona, and it took Sylvia by surprise before she quickly realized that she loved that side of Calum just as much as she did any other. And, God, did she miss all of him.

Sylvia noticed the way Calum’s eyes briefly slid over to her, the action so quick she would’ve missed it had she blinked, because suddenly he was straightening his shoulders and forcing a smile back onto his full lips as he said to Nana, “Guess I’ll have to come by and play just for you, then.”

Nana raised a hand, fondly and affectionately patting Calum’s cheek, and Sylvia’s heart felt light when she saw the utter adoration her grandmother had for Calum. It made her breath catch to see Calum return it. “I look forward to it.”

                                                           *****

“Yay, you’re here! Sit! I’ll be right back, I have to pee.”

Sylvia blinked at Luann’s words as she reached the bar, being able to hang out with her friends since her mom was in town and spending time with Nana, eyebrows raising before she asked her best friend, “Do you want me to go with you?”

Luann waved her off, puckering her lips with a wave of her hand. “No, no. Order your drink. I’ll be back in a minute,” she insisted, hopping off the stool and pressing a chaste kiss to Luke’s lips before she grabbed her purse and headed to the back of the bar where the bathrooms were.

Still standing, Sylvia gripped the strap of her own purse, pressing her red lips together as her gaze slid over to the man sitting with his back against the bar to her left, offering the smallest of smiles to Luke as he sipped his own drink. He looked back at her, blue eyes dancing under the colorful lights of the bar, blonde curls framing his face, and Sylvia tried not to bristle under his stare.

The two of them hadn’t spoken since they were at Ashton’s get together, but Sylvia hadn’t forgotten Luke’s words. Could hear his voice echoing in her head, telling her that Calum was happier with her. It haunted her, especially when she saw Calum after that, with Luke’s comment ever present in the back of her mind.

“What’re you drinking?” His voice pulled her out of her thoughts, gaze meeting his expectant one.

It took a moment for Luke’s question to register in Sylvia’s mind before she finally answered, “Rum and Coke.”

Luke nodded, looking over his shoulder at the bartender and flagging him down, telling him Sylvia’s order and putting it on his tab before the guy nodded and began preparing it. It was ready quickly and Luke handed her the glass, which Sylvia took silently before saying, “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

“Consider it an apology,” Luke responded, his words making Sylvia furrow her eyebrows in confusion, and Luke let out a breath. “I’m sorry for acting like an ass towards you. It wasn’t fair. I was just trying to—”

“Protect Calum?” When Luke nodded with a purse of his lips, dimples appearing briefly, Sylvia offered a small smile, one hand gripping the glass while her fingers played with the thin black straw. “I get it. I’d be the same way if it was Luann.”

“Yeah, she uh,” Luke paused to let out a breathless, almost sheepish laugh. “She figured out my, uh, behavior towards you and she was pissed. Gave me a bit of perspective on your side of the story. I guess I saw past my own anger on behalf of Calum to understand that you were hurting too, you know?” Luke gave a shrug of his broad shoulders, lips quirking. “Calum didn’t really show any anger after you left. I guess I was just projecting for him.”

At that, Sylvia’s eyebrows furrowed together as she took a sip of her drink, the cool beverage tickling her throat as she lowered the glass, head turning ever so slightly questioningly. “He didn’t—he wasn’t mad?”

Luke gave a shake of his head, blonde curls bouncing ever so slightly. “He was. . . Heartbroken and upset, yeah. But I don’t think he ever really was angry with you.” Sitting up, Luke licked his lips as he continued, “Like, I think he was definitely angry that the relationship ended and that you were gone, because I saw him take all of that out in the ring, but angry with you? I don’t think so. He never said a single bad thing about you. I don’t think he ever could, if I’m being honest.”

“I thought. . .” Sylvia trailed off, Luke’s words hitting her harder than she expected, lips parted and eyebrows drawn together. After she ended the relationship, Sylvia had been sure that Calum would never want to see her again, the very thought of it kept her up most nights after she left. But what Luke was telling her, it made her heart lurch and throat tighten exponentially. “I thought he’d hate me.”

At that, Luke let out a breathy, surprised laugh as his eyebrows raised. Sylvia wasn’t sure why that was funny, because it had been a genuine worry of hers. Just because she had been the one to end things, didn’t mean she stopped caring about Calum. She didn’t break up with him because she stopped loving him; she did it because she loved him so damn much and watching him step into a ring where there were no rules and anything could go wrong had been excruciating to witness.

And then Luke really took her breath away when he answered with a genuine, truthful statement of, “He’s not capable of it.”

One would think after hearing Luke say that, Sylvia wouldn’t try to avoid Calum too much as they all hung out at the bar. But she did, instead keeping close to Luann and the rest of the boys as more of their mutual friends showed up at the bar to hang out. Sylvia didn’t plan on drinking too much, despite the fact that she desperately wanted to and was getting jealous of Luann as she progressively got more shit faced as the night went on. But Sylvia was a bit too paranoid of doing something stupid if she ended up drunk—too paranoid of being around Calum while she was wasted.

Eventually, she found herself stepping outside to get a breath of fresh air, the bar beginning to get a bit too stuffy as Sylvia mentally berated herself for wearing a full sleeved top. It may be cropped to show off some skin but, shit, she really hated herself for her choice of tops.

She smiled at the tall bouncer as he opened the door for her to allow her to step out, nodding when he questioned if she would come back inside. The sidewalk outside the bar was somewhat busy, a small queue to get inside as Sylvia took in a breath, running her fingers through her short blonde hair to push it out of her face.

“You’ve got a bad habit of leaving bars by yourself at night.”

Sylvia turned her head to the left at the sound of the familiar voice over the muffled music of the bar, before looking to her right when she didn’t catch sight of him, gaze ultimately landed on Calum leaning against the brick wall next to the club, next to the window of a sandwich shop that was closed for the night. Her heart lurched violently in her chest as she took him in, black jeans and checkered Vans with a simple grey tee and leather jacket on top. A chain was hanging around his neck, and ring clad fingers were gripping a lit cigarette as he bent his left leg at the knee, foot pressed against the wall behind him.

She swallowed at his words, easily remembering the last time they’d encountered one another outside of a bar, crossing her arms over her chest as she faced him. “You’ve got a bad habit in general,” Sylvia responded, nodding to the cancer stick in his hand as she cautiously took a few steps towards him.

He offered a lazy grin, the red sign of the bar above glowing against his skin, bathing him in the tint, a color she’d seen him in too often in the element of blood. The warm Los Angeles air did nothing to quell the goosebumps rising on Sylvia’s skin from being under Calum’s gaze, coming to stand in front of him, a responsible amount of distance between them.

“What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger, eh?” Calum returned, tone husky, as he brought the cigarette up to his lips.

As he took a drag, the end lighting up a flaming ember, Sylvia raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was being serious. Still, she reminded, “Cigarettes can kill you. Lung cancer says hi.”

Calum slid his lips to the side ever so slightly, blowing out a billow of smoke so it didn’t fly back into Sylvia’s face, his brown eyes intense and never leaving her. It was unnerving how the heat of his gaze was still enough to spread a warmth throughout Sylvia’s skin. “Think we both know if there’s anything that can kill me, it’s bein’ in the ring.” His eyes gave her a once over, lazy in the movement of his eyes, quirking a brow as his eyes met hers and he questioned, “That’s why you left me, isn’t it?”

The warmth suddenly vanished, and Sylvia was left feeling cold by Calum’s words as her back tensed, expression falling at the expectant, knowing look on his face. “Calum—”

“Don’t try to talk your way out of this one, Sylvia. We both know it’s true,” he cut in, giving a single shrug of his shoulder as he gestured towards her with his cigarette, the mere act radiating accusation. “You hated that I fought and rather than talkin’ to me ’bout it, you just broke up with me without lettin’ me get a word in and left with that convenient job offer of yours to hold you over. Love ’em and leave ’em, yeah?”

His words felt like a slap in her face, heart stopping in her chest as she stared at him. Sylvia’s surprised, hurt expression matched that of the twisting of her stomach, feeling her nose burn as a call to the tears that were soon going to spring in her eyes. The bitterness in Calum’s voice didn’t go unheard, a simmering fire in his dark eyes that provided no warmth whatsoever, rather made her feel like she was about to be burned alive. In that moment, Sylvia was really questioning Luke’s words of Calum being incapable of hating her because right now, he looked and sounded very capable and very willing of it.

She tried to gather the courage to speak up, averting her gaze to the wall rather than Calum, forcing the words out of a tight throat as she kept her arms crossed over her chest. “If we talked about it, it would just end up with me asking you to walk away from fighting.” Her voice was quiet, somewhat trembling, as she looked back at a stoic Calum. “It wasn’t my place to ask that of you just because I was scared. Especially when you love it so much.”

Her words were a trigger, Sylvia supposed, watching as she blinked in surprise when Calum tossed his nearly finished cigarette off to the side, kicking himself off the wall with his expression twisting into a frustrated frown. He took a couple of steps towards her, thick eyebrows drawn together and lips curled aggravatedly as he practically growled out, “I fucking love you more. If you were that afraid I would’ve at least considered stopping if you talked to me about it. But you didn’t give me a chance, Sylvia, you just left.” He was so close at this point, right in front of her as he stared down into her widened, taken aback eyes as his words registered in her mind. Calum saw the way she processed everything he said, saw the turbulent emotions swirl in the blue of her eyes, and some of the fire in his chest lessened as he let out a breath. When he inhaled, he smelled her fruity scent, and it relaxed his tense shoulders. She was so close, the heat of her body seeping into his, and Calum’s tone turned breathless, near defeated, as he finished, “I’d rather lose the ring than lose you. I’ve fought so many fucking fights and I hate myself for not fighting for you.”

That did it.

Sylvia didn’t think. She didn’t consider the pros and cons or the consequences for her impulsive behavior. Didn’t even consider that this was exactly what she was protecting herself from doing by not drinking throughout the night. But Calum had said the right thing, had made her heart swell and throat tighten and even well up some unexpected tears in her eyes because when he said something that he truly meant, Sylvia could hear it clearly. Could hear it in the thickening tone of his voice and could see it in the desperation of his dark eyes, and she couldn’t keep it together any longer.

She closed the distance, the heels of her shoes providing her some additional height as her hands gripped the lapels of his leather jacket and knowing exactly what she was about to do, because of course he knew her so damn well, Calum ducked his head to meet her halfway until their lips pressed together. And just as their lips touched, it felt like an explosion erupted within Sylvia’s chest, feeling the familiar softness of Calum’s lips as if she’d never been deprived of them for the past year, the taste of cigarettes not one she minded in this moment because, fuck, it felt so wonderful.

It was like everything they’d felt was finally coming to light, pouring every bit of emotion they could into the kiss as Calum sucked on her lower lip, Sylvia’s grip on his jacket tightening as she felt his hands grip her waist, feeling his warm skin and cool rings on her bare skin and pushing herself into him more. All Sylvia could hear was her heart pounding in her ears, could feel the electricity buzzing through her veins as Calum walked backwards so he could press his back against the wall, pulling her as close to him as possible, and she loved the way her body fit against his.

His tongue slid against hers familiarly, and Sylvia’s right hand raised from his jacket and cupped his cheek, feeling the softness of his skin and the sharp line of his jaw against the palm of her hand before it went to the back of his head. It was strange, not feeling the softness of his brown curls, but the shorter blonde felt new and familiar at the same time, and Sylvia unwittingly felt herself smiling against Calum’s lips as she kissed him. She wasn’t anywhere near mad at herself because of her paranoid self’s worries coming true. Not when he felt like this.

Not when he felt like coming home.

                                                          *****

“What happened?”

She had been feeling good. She’d been feeling better than she had in a while. After that kiss with Calum, Sylvia didn’t think there was much that could bring her down. The two of them had returned to the bar after that impromptu kiss—and after sharing a few more—and it wasn’t missed by anyone that the two of them were sitting closely together on the couch for the rest of the night. It didn’t go unnoticed that Calum would whisper something in Sylvia’s ear and she’d laugh, leaning into him as he kept an arm around her shoulders. A couple of kisses and it was like nothing had changed.

But they had, of course, and both Sylvia and Calum had decided to actually sit down and have a proper conversation about what was happening. They’d made it clear, that night, that they both wanted more. That they’d talk and figure things out and take it slowly, because Calum was still very much a prominent fighter and it was still something Sylvia worried about. However this time, she was willing to give it a try, especially given that he’s improved so much since last time. This time, she truly wanted this to work, because she’d had a taste of life without Calum, and it fucking sucked.

Unfortunately, it’s all she could think about now, with her heart racing wildly in her chest while she sat completely still, struggling to keep up with her breathing but making no show of it, refusing to let the tears gathered in her eyes to shed. Her voice was hoarse when she asked the two word question, throat dry as her gaze remained fixated on Calum. Remained fixated on a bruised, bloodied, bandaged Calum laying on the hospital bed.

Her hand remained on the top of his, careful not to touch or press on the bruised knuckles, his warm skin one of the only things reminding Sylvia that he was alive. That, and the consistent beeping of the heart monitor he was hooked up to.

“Danny Preston.” Ashton’s voice was quiet from where he sat on the chair on the other side of the bed, his own hazel eyed gaze on the beaten up face of his best friend. But Ashton’s jaw clenched, having to look away. Who could blame him? The sight of Calum’s busted lips, bruised and swollen jaw, black eyes, bleeding temple and nasal cannula helping with his oxygen flow was too much for anyone to look at. If Sylvia stared for too long, she’d feel her heart collapse and let the tears fall. “Him and a couple of his buddies jumped Cal outside of the cave. Preston knew he would’ve gotten his ass kicked so he made it five against fucking one and put Cal at a disadvantage. Fuck!”

He ended his explanation with a frustrated growl of a shout, slapping his thighs before pushing himself up from the chair, the force of the action pushing the plastic seat back. Sylvia, however, remained in her chair, and even with her lips pressed together she could feel the lower one trembling, eyes hot as her gaze reluctantly slid up to Calum’s face. The sight of him looking so injured, far more than she’s ever seen him before, had a whimper of a sob threatening to escape, free hand coming up as she folded her fingers into her palm and pressed them against her mouth, expression finally scrunching up painfully as she looked at Calum.

Unconscious and so hurt, an additional broken ribs and dislocated shoulder also some of his injuries. Looking at him like this, vulnerable and hurt and worse off than she’d ever seen him, was so much more painful than anything before. Her heart was beating so fast that she couldn’t even feel it anymore, the fear bitter in her mouth, his skin warm against hers, and her ears only picking up the sound of the heart monitor. It’s all she could focus on—an anchor to remind her that he was still alive, even if he didn’t look it.

“The police caught them.” It was Michael who spoke up next, his own tone tired but with hints of controlled anger, glancing at Ashton who was pressing his hands against the wall opposite of Sylvia, head bent between his arms. “We’re gonna make sure to press charges against all those fuckers, alright? This wasn’t some match in the ring, it was fucking assault and they’re gonna pay for it.”

Sylvia felt the wetness on her cheek, a tear she didn’t fight to keep in escaping, numbly listening to Michael’s words as she kept her gaze on her hand on top of his. Her eyes slid to the ALIVE tattoo on his wrist, and Sylvia felt her throat tighten even more, breathing heavy as the urge to cry overwhelmed her. She hated this. She hated this with every fiber of her being. Absolutely fucking loathed that Calum was in this position, was so injured that they had to wait for him to wake up. Her blood burned like poison under her skin, and Sylvia just wanted to cry. Everything she had been afraid of happened and just like she theorized, she had no idea how to handle herself in this situation. The dread had never been preparation enough. 

A hand gripped her shoulder, firm yet comforting, as Luke’s voice spoke up from behind her, “He’ll be okay. He’s a fighter.”

She desperately believed Luke, because what else was she supposed to do? Her and Calum. . . They were finally getting a second chance. They were going to try because both of them knew what they had was worth fighting for. It wouldn’t be right, it wouldn’t be fair, that they finally found their way back to each other and the universe decided to be cruel and rip that chance away from them. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They still had things to figure out. But they loved each other, and it was going to work.

“You said you hated yourself for not fighting for me.” Sylvia’s words were a whisper in the quiet of the room. She was the only one in there, the boys and Luann giving her a few minutes alone with Calum. They’d been there for a few hours now, Calum having yet to wake up, and both Sylvia’s mom and Nana had visited as well. She’d accepted their hugs and words of prayers and reassurement, but all Sylvia wanted right now was to be able to look at Calum’s brown eyes again.

She sat close to the bed, arms resting on the mattress as her hands gently held his hand. She could taste the salt of her tears on her lips, unable to keep them in after the first few escaped, the fear too heavy to control. “But I need you to fight for yourself right now, okay?” Sylvia’s words were trembling and watery, choked out through her tears. She didn’t even know if Calum could hear her, but she needed to say it. She needed the universe to hear it. “Fight harder than you ever have in your life, because I know you can win, Cal. So please, ju-just fight.”

Her pleads kept falling from her lips, ducking her head until her forehead rested on the mattress next to his arm, one hand still holding his while her other rested against his bicep. Sylvia couldn’t hold in her cries if she tried, every single fear she’s ever experienced while watching Calum in the ring personifying in the sight before her, chest and stomach tight with the frozen terror of something terrible happening to Calum. Only now something terrible did happen to him, and Sylvia was losing her fucking mind over it. He needed to wake up. He needed to show her his brown eyes and flash her that boyish grin that always left her breathless. Sylvia needed all of that more than she needed the air to breathe, and the thought of not getting any of it made the nausea stir in the pit of her stomach.

“Don’t cry over me, love. ’M not worth it.”

The sound of Calum’s voice had Sylvia choking on her cries, head snapping up immediately and wide, tearful eyes landing on his face and, oh, his beautiful brown eyes. He met her gaze, tired and beaten, but still managed to lift the corner of his lips in a half smile as Sylvia felt him turn his hand so his palm was pressing against hers.

It took her a moment to realize what just happened, to register the fact that Calum was awake and responsive and smiling for her even though he was in pain, and she almost burst into a new set of tears in that moment. The relief that flooded her was breathtaking, momentarily struggling with pulling him into a hug or running out of the room to tell their friends that Calum was awake.

But he squeezed her hand, the action not as strong as it usually was, but the touch igniting the same butterflies in the pit of Sylvia’s stomach as it always did. She tried to calm her racing heart, feeling more tears fall from her lids as she let out a slow, breathless laugh while leaning towards him. She stood up, free hand coming to rest gently on the top of Calum’s head, looking down at him as his eyes never left her blue ones. She loved him. So fucking much, it was paralyzing. Him being in the hospital hadn’t been what had her acknowledging that, rather than him coming back to her—twice—only reaffirming the fact.

Her response showed just how much she loved him, hoped that he would see it too as she laughed through her tears. “You’re worth it all.”

                                                                  *****

The atmosphere was different than that of the underground, but the energy was the same. The crowd was loud, buzzing with excitement over the match about to take place, the arena echoing with chatter of the hundreds of patrons filling up the seats. It all looked so real, so professional, that it took Sylvia a minute to realize that this was actually happening. They were far away from the the dim lights of the underground cave, now within the walls of an air conditioned arena with concession stands, speakers, bright lighting, and tickets to be purchased to witness any fight about to take place within the ring in the center.

They were a long way, indeed.

“Syl, hey.” Luke’s breathless voice caught her attention, prompting her to turn around from where she stood by her seat, just taking it all in, as the lanyard swung against her chest with her movement. The blonde smiled down at her quickly before nodding his head towards the doors. “He wants to talk to you before he goes on.” His smile widened just a bit, blue eyes bright with excitement, though his dimpled grin showed fondness. “I think he’s a little nervous.”

His words made Sylvia let out a small chuckle before she nodded, allowing Luke to lead her out of the main arena and down the entry hallway where all the boxers emerged from. The sounds of the crowd grew increasingly muffled the further in they walked, turning the corner where people were bustling about, going in and out of rooms, until Luke stopped in front of a door and pushed it open.

Sylvia followed him in, hearing the sound of Nickelback playing throughout the room, eyes immediately landing on the tattooed man pacing in the middle of the room. Calum instinctively looked at Sylvia, like he felt her presence, and she saw the way his tense shoulders relaxed when she walked in.

Everyone else took it as their cue to walk out, Ashton and Michael shooting her smiles and Adam, Calum’s all-in-one manager slash trainer, doing the same as he walked past her and said, “You’ve got five minutes.”

He shut the door behind him, and then it was just Sylvia and Calum, standing with a bit too much distance between them. Her smile widened, raising her eyebrows as she walked further into the room and mused, “Heard you were nervous.”

Calum huffed out a laugh, running his fingers through his blonde hair which had grown out a bit, no longer kept short at a buzz cut. “Can you blame me?” he responded, throwing his arms out to the side, gesturing to the room they were in, an odd yet working mix between a dressing room and a locker room. “I feel like I’m way in over my head.”

“You’re not,” Sylvia instantly argued, approaching him with a firm yet reassuring expression, eyes on his. Truthfully, she was trying not to ogle at him in just his athletic shorts and sneakers, the sight of his bare tattooed chest and arms too damn inviting. Standing in front of him, Sylvia tilted her head to keep the eye contact, hands coming to grip his. “You were recruited, remember? Adam saw something in you when you were just an underground fighter, and now this is your chance to show how amazing you are. You get to prove that you were made for this, Calum, and you’re gonna kill it.”

His gaze dropped to their joined hands, and something in Sylvia’s heart tugged. He’d been nervous about this first match for weeks, and no matter the reassurances from her or the boys or anyone else, Sylvia knew it was just human of Calum to feel jittery. It was kind of adorable, but he didn’t need to hear that now. “What if I lose?”

“Then you fight harder in the next one,” Sylvia told him, ducking her head a bit so she could meet his gaze. She smiled when blue eyes met brown, fighting the urge to press a kiss to his full lips. “I know you feel like you’re out of your element here, but that’ll pass. You’re gonna go out there and you’re gonna blow everyone away with your skills and show that you belong.”

Calum lifted his head a little, looking down at her with a warmth in his eyes reserved only for her. That same look that always made Sylvia feel as though she was so loved. “You really believe that?”

“I do, because I believe in you,” she answered simply, truthfully, with an honest smile that took Calum’s breath away.

Her words were enough to quell all of Calum’s anxieties, smile widening at the blonde in front of him as he ducked his head and pressed his lips to hers, hugging her to him as he poured out his thanks into a dizzying kiss she wholeheartedly returned. “You’re my good luck charm, baby. I love you.”

Sylvia’s heart lurched happily in her chest, butterflies tickling her stomach. She was sure she’d never get tired of hearing that. “I love you, too.”

Minutes later, as she stood towards the front of their seating section next to Luann and the boys, Sylvia reveled in the way she didn’t feel the usual fear clawing at her chest as she used to in the underground. Because this was different. This wasn’t blood thirsty men betting on who got the shit kicked out of them in an unstable, ruleless environment. This was a professional boxing ring, televised, with rules and a referee and everything else that made it starkly different than from what any of them were used to. This, she could support.

Of course she was still worried, watching with proud eyes as Calum’s name was announced by the commentator and he emerged from his entrance with gloves covering his hands for the first time and a boxer’s robe draped around his frame. She clapped along with everyone else, almost everyone excited to see a newcomer make a name for himself in his first fight. And she grinned, cheering, when the worry Calum had shown her was nowhere to be found, replaced with the confidence of a fighter and the glare of a man determined to be the last one standing. Her heart swelled as he stepped into the ring, the robe gracefully being taken off his brown skin as he took in the hundreds of people he was surrounded by, not to mention the professional cameras broadcasting it all. If the presence of all of those affected him in any way, Calum didn’t let it show, chin held high and shoulders squared with the heat of the bright lights making him glow. He looked like a god up there, and Sylvia was ready to watch everyone worship him.

Then, for a brief moment, Calum’s eyes met hers and as they did, she saw the break in his arrogance. She saw the subtle quirk of his lips, a microexpression missed by everyone but her, and Sylvia responded with a wide, deliriously happy grin because she was so proud of him so excited for him. Despite his fears, Sylvia couldn’t help but think he belonged up there, a prideful tightness in her chest as she linked her hands together and rested her chin on top of them as she watched him.

Calum caught the movement of Sylvia’s lips as she mouthed a silent, I love you.

He’d return the sentiment later that night, loudly and proudly, after winning the first of many fights.

--

tags: @crownedbyluke @irwinkitten @glitterprincelu @hotmessmichael @meetashthere @mgcvocals @softforcal @astroashtonio @hereforlukescruff @c-sainthood @saintcalum @flannelpunkcalum @novacanecalum @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @calntynes @calumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @spideyseavey @imfuckin10plybud @livibii123 @pastelpapermoons @malumharmonies @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @neigcthood @ohhmuke @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @heartbreak-5sos @thew0rdneedsmcreyghurt @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @antisocialbandmate @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @sunnysideblog @cocktail-calum @miahelizaaabeth @madelynerin @dramallamawithsparkles @hzi0 @aulxna @mermaiden004 @theagenderwhocriedwolf @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @calsophat @inlovehoodx @calpops @xhaileyreneex @sublimehood @bloodlinecal 

[lov3nerdstuff]

Dark Stars {Part 8}

*Loki x OFC*

Part: 8/10

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: violence, blood, the usual

Summary: ~Loki could just let her die here and now. His problems would be solved and he could go back to his usual ways. But then he would forever be left with an unsolved mystery and he hated the prospect of that even more than the fear of what would happen if she lived.~

A story of what happens when Loki stumbles upon someone who is like him in every way. Only better. Oh, and they just happen save Asgard too.

A.N.: I hope you guys don't kill me for the beginning of this ehehe 😅😂 To celebrate over 1000 people following me (how insane is that?!), I decided to share the newly edited version of the very first Loki fanfiction I ever wrote! Enjoy the mischief 💚

All Parts can be found on my Masterlist!

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Because absolutely nothing happened. Not one part of Loki's body touched her at all, nor did he say anything more, but she could still feel that he was standing right behind her, as the warmth of his body so close to her scorched her skin even though her clothes. A second later, she found herself standing in the middle of a small alleyway in the city. Slightly confused, she turned around to face Loki.

"You said let's go, and I only wanted to help." He smiled innocently, looking down at her in the sweetest feigned calm.

Ivy rolled her eyes, turning towards the nearest crossing of the alley with a busier street. It was around noon, which meant they needed to disguise themselves if they wanted to find out anything at all, without being found in return today. She let out a long breath, crossing her arms over her chest. Her last times in the city hadn't gone too well, and she felt her confidence slowly slipping.

"Ivy…" Loki said quietly and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, making her turn around once more. "You'll be fine. I'm right here with you." He said softly, reassuringly.

Ivy nodded, even if only to convince herself of his words. "Yeah, you're right. I shouldn't worry." She let out a small sigh and shifted her shape into the blonde woman once again.

Loki followed her example, changing into a brunette man with curly and rather short hair.

"Lookin' good!" Ivy commented, smiling at him.

"You look horrible." Loki responded, smirking. "I think you're way more appealing as yourself."

Ivy rolled her eyes and headed towards the busy street with Loki following closely behind.

"So… What are we going to do now?" He asked quietly, once they walked down the streets next to each other.

"We'll see." Ivy replied, tense from the crowds around them. "Let's think… Who has an interest in poisoning a lot of people?"

A few people pushed past them in that moment, forcing Loki and Ivy apart for a few moments too long, and they lost sight of each other. Ivy only saw incredibly tall people around herself, pushing her into every direction, stepping onto her feet and ignoring her presence, as she whined at the pain that followed as someone elbowed her into the ribs.

Suddenly her hand was grabbed by a larger one and she heard Loki's voice closely behind her. "Is it alright if I hold your hand?" He asked softly. "I don't want to lose you in the crowd."

Ivy nodded confidently, interlacing their fingers and pulling him with her through the masses until they reached an emptier street.

"You know, if I were to poison a lot of people with different plants from Midgard, I firstly would have to even get access to all those goods that people will consume." Ivy said, finally, turning to face Loki who was still holding onto her hand tightly. "You know, it has to be someone who has access to the poisons, and also to the things they want to put the poison in."

"Maybe someone working in the palace?" Loki suggested, watching the people around them with the highest attention. He really wasn't up for another surprise.

"Quite possibly… But that still doesn't explain why someone would make all this effort if they merely wanted to harm the royals. You know, there has to be a reason behind it being so incredibly random. Even if the reason is 'just for fun'."

"You think 'just for fun' is a reason to kill people?" Loki laughed under his breath.

"Yeah…?" Ivy answered with a frown, unsure what answer he had expected her to give.

"Oh by the gods, are you even real?" He whispered to himself with a silent sigh.

"You know… I kinda have a theory." Ivy said, and stopped in the middle of an empty street, leaning against the wall of a house.

"Then spill the tea, my dear…" Loki stood in front of her, shielding her from the bypassers, and watching her face while she explained.

"I think something that seems just so random as this must have the most complex pattern behind it. It needs a very specific pattern to create a completely random selection of places where to put the poison. You know what I'm aiming at?"

"To be honest, not really."

"Well there's the places we got our poison, which lie exactly at different ends of the city and then there's the palace in the exact middle, and if you do a little math, well… it seems like all these poison attacks were only… experiments. In the most diverse parts of the city, to test which would have the most reach."

"Do you know where they will go next, if you believe to see a pattern?"

"Well, no, but I know where WE will go next." She mumbled, frowning to herself as she thought of the limited possibilities for a maximum reach. Nope, they would need to walk the extra mile, then.

"Lead the way, my lady…" He smiled, gently pushing a strand of hair out of her face as he simply seemed unable to keep his hands off her.

Ivy smiled back for a short moment, but then she took his hand and brought them out of the city in an instant.

When Loki looked around, he immediately knew where they were... Right at the bifrost. He changed back into himself and so did Ivy.

"My prince, I believe you are searched for." Heimdall spoke up once Loki and Ivy entered the small dome. "But I know why you are here and I must say, I'm surprised at your intentions."

"Well, hello to you too…" Ivy rolled her eyes.

Heimdall looked at Ivy for a long moment before he spoke up. "I'm glad you found him." That's all he said to her, and for some reason Ivy knew that he was talking about Loki.

"Heimdall, I know you have seen what has been going on in the city. We want to put an end to it." Loki said without any emotion. "We need your help."

Heimdall looked at Loki, then at Ivy and back. "I know why you want to find him. But you must be quick, for it is only you who can stop him."

"Please, tell us where we can find him and we will leave you be." Ivy's voice was friendly, yet determined.

"You might want to search in the tunnels…"

"Thank you!" Ivy said in a breath, grabbing Loki's hand and off they were once more.

Once in the city, Ivy held onto Loki and immediately started off towards the center of the city. Even when running, they needed a while to get to their destination and Ivy was quite out of breath once she came to stand in front of a dark, small building.

"What exactly is this?" Loki asked with a deep frown.

"You know, as a prince you should really know your own city…" Ivy commented, earning a glare from Loki.

Ivy went to the front door of the building, entering without even knocking. A few feet into the dark room, there was a ladder down into a dark hole in the ground, leading into a black abyss of uncertain terrain.

"This looks really uninviting…" Loki commented with a sigh, looking to see if Ivy was serious about this.

"This is the entrance to the water supply for the city and also for the palace. If you've never been down there, you'll get lost." Ivy replied, starting to climb down the ladder without any hesitation.

"And I assume you have been here before…?" He followed her without another complaint. "At least you knew what Heimdall meant by 'tunnels'."

"Think about it. I showed it to you." She simply said while descending into the darkness.

Upon her request, Loki went through the pictures of her life he still had stored carefully in his head. He didn't enjoy doing it, for there were mostly negative, painful ones, but he found the right one after a while.

"You used this as a hideout?" He furrowed his brows, looking down at her below him.

"Yeah, for a couple years." She said and reached the bottom at last, jumping down onto a narrow pathway next to the probably knee deep, but luckily clean water. Loki remained quiet, but followed her example.

Once they looked around, they both were quite stunned… An entire garden was blooming down here, and multiple plants Ivy recognized from the book were blossoming around the whole place. Luckily they hadn't touched the water, otherwise they both would be dying right now, most likely.

"I feel obliged to let you know that I am only still here because I couldn't possibly let you go alone." Loki commented with a tense voice. "Be careful, alright? I would rather not have you dying down here. Preferably I wouldn't have you dying at all."

They walked almost a mile in utter darkness, until they found the one dam that, if opened, would lead the heavily poisoned water into the waterway that distributed the water in the city.

"Wow..." Ivy said quietly, looking around. "This is brilliant!"

Loki eyed her curiously. "You're not at all frightened, but rather fascinated by all this, aren't you?"

"Yeah of course!" Ivy was indeed fascinated and kind of impressed, while she knew that she probably should've felt scared to some degree. It was ridiculous, really… she was scared of crowds, but not of things she should really be scared about.

She walked a few more feet, turning around to look back at Loki to talk to him, when suddenly she felt a blade pressing against her throat.

Loki hadn't yet noticed, for he was still looking at one of the plants with too much interest, but also with great alert.

"Loki…" Ivy spoke with a shaky voice. He turned around to her immediately, his face first surprised, but then it darkened and darkened until his expression was utterly furious. If Ivy wouldn't have know him, she would've felt fear indeed at the merr sight of him. He looked beyond dangerous, exactly like the first time they met.

"Hello, Loki…" A raspy voice said, and Ivy could immediately tell it was a man. "I'm glad we finally meet."

"You might want to let her go." Loki said rather calmly, his eyes fixed on Ivy's. She still didn't look frightened… Loki wondered if she trusted him just that much, to be certain that he would safe her. Or if she simply had seen things so much worse than this that it didn't scare her anymore. Considering her memories in his head, he opted for the latter.

"Nah, why would I do that? You two would kill me in an instant. Two of the most powerful beings in the universe, completely at my mercy." The man sighed softly, making Loki's stomach twist.

"Honestly, if that's what you're thinking I am, then you can just kill me right here. I'm not at all powerful." Ivy said and the blade pressed even tighter against her throat, drawing blood as it broke through her delicate skin.

"I'm just keeping you for the fun. But I'm hoping Loki will help me with my plan." The man said, his one hand holding the blade while the other lay on the mechanism to open the dam.

"Why do you need me for your plan?" Loki questioned neutrally, not letting his emotions show.

"I want to kill them. The people in the palace, people in the city… everyone who mistreated me. Everyone who mistreated you, too." The man said, pressing his body against Ivy's. "I have served the allfather for decades. I was part of his council. And yet, nothing was done to repay me for my losses. I was always working… I could never think of myself. I could never live my life, never meet my family. Never enjoy the pleasures life has to offer." He hissed at Ivy's face, moving to holding her arms behind her back tightly.

"But what do you want from me that could compensate what is the allfather's wrongs?" Loki asked, raising his eyebrows at him.

"I need you to be held responsible for this. And I will walk away, living a life with this girl as my servant. You however will need to break the dam, and get rid of the plants afterwards."

"Are you talking about me by any chance? Because that isn't happening. Me as a servant… I think you would starve and drown in dust and ashes. Really, I'm horrible at serving anyone but myself." Ivy commented coldly. She didn't fear for her own life, she had been on the brink of death way too often to care. But she didn't dare using her magic. If it would do what it had done to the bar, the dam might break and all efforts to save the people would be in vain.

"You should just kill him and end this madness here." Ivy then said to Loki, as easily as only she could in a situation like this.

"If you try, then she will die as well!" The man shouted at both of them.

Loki thought for a second. He couldn't risk losing Ivy, but he wouldn't risk losing her to this man either. He didn't know what to do, how to hurt him without hurting her.

"Actually, I don't want to wait…" The man purred into Ivy's ear and began stroking her hair.

"If you continue to do that, I will end your life painfully and slowly until you beg for you death." Loki growled, an icy blade appearing in his hand and he looked ready to strike without another thought.

"If I continue what?" The man laughed. "This?" He groped at Ivy's waist, his hand under her shirt, his grip painful and likely leaving bruises along the way. "If you don't mind, I want to finish this once and for all." He said with a dark laugh.

Ivy had enough of this madness, of this fool of a man seeking personal revenge for wrongs done to him by the god of wrongs honestly. She wouldn't let him get away with this, and she would stop him without harming the dam.

In a mere second, she let a blade appear in her hand like he had done, and held it out in front of herself. For one more moment, she looked into Loki's horrified eyes, before at last she drove the blade through her own body, right into the man behind her. He went still immediately as did she, dropping the sword and the lever as he fell backwards, landing on the ground with a loud thud that echoed through the tunnels.

Ivy stared at him for a second as she still somehow managed to stay on her feet, then she fell forwards onto her knees and let out a pained yelp, before completely collapsing onto the floor. In an instant Loki was at her side, pulling her body against his own as he began to heal her wound as quickly as possible to keep her from bleeding out.

"Why by the norns did you do that?!" He breathed, as he put every energy he had into healing her.

"There was nothing I could do without harming the dam." She hissed through the pain.

"That was fucking stupid!" Loki frowned at her. "We could've found a different way."

"But it worked, didn't it?" Ivy smiled tiredly and closed her eyes with a soft sigh.

"Don't you dare dying now!"

"Calm down… I'll live. You're gonna save me."

"Yes, and you saved the whole kingdom." He smiled at her affectionately. The wound had almost completely closed a couple minutes later, and Ivy could use her own magic to heal the rest of it.

After another few minutes, she sat up carefully and smiled at Loki as if she hadn't just almost died. "Well, that was fun!"

Loki let out a small laugh of relief and stood up, offering her a hand which she gladly took.

"That was pretty brave of you, even if it was stupid." He said quietly, once they made their way towards the ladder up into the city once more.

"Oh, that… It was nothing." Ivy laughed, but he could hear the bitterness in her voice. "We should let someone know how to clean up down here…"

Loki smiled, taking her hand in his. "I know just the right person to report it to." Then, he brought them to the palace. To Thor's bedroom, to be more precise, and the sun was just about to set when they found themselves standing on his balcony.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" Ivy asked, looking around the room with curious eyes. Now that it was still bright outside, she could see way more of the beautiful place.

"I don't. But you wanted to have someone clean up down in the tunnels before anyone gets hurt, and this is the best way to go."

"Since when do you do what I want?" Ivy smirked, coming to stand directly in front of him.

"Since I realized that I want you to be mine." He said with a serious expression. "That is, if you wish to be."

Ivy's lips parted slightly as she watched his eyes turn from tense and cold to intense and longing.

"Yes." She smiled at him. "I would love to be yours and yours only."

Her smile was infectious and soon Loki found himself smiling along. He had known of her feelings and she of his, but he wanted her to say it… he wanted to make sure that this was truly what she wanted too.

"Uhm, I mean that's cute and all, but why are you two on my balcony?" Thor's voice made both of them jump a second later.

Immediately, Loki glared at his brother, letting an ice blade shoot towards him. Thor caught it with one hand, laughing. "I'm glad you're not dead, brother!"

"Be nice to him, he helped saving you after all!" Ivy nudged Loki in the ribs, earning herself a small glare as well.

"You shouldn't tell me what to do…" He grumbled at her. "...just because I'll do it."

"Well, but if it works? I appreciate that you listen to me." Ivy laughed lightly, before smiling at Thor.

"Alright…" Loki murmured and looked at Ivy with a frown, then with a half smile.

"Wow. What did you do to my poor brother? He's so… obedient." Thor laughed out loud, and a second later another ice blade was thrown at him. He could jump out of the way in the last second only, looking at Loki angrily. Loki on the other hand shrugged and pointed at Ivy.

"Careful, thunderbird. I can end you just as easily as Loki could. Maybe even quicker." Ivy mused, rising an eyebrow at Thor. Loki only smirked at that, pride filling his very being. This incredible woman, this strong fighter, this utterly ravishing being was truly his alone, and she adored him just as much as he loved her. What were the odds for that to happen to the unluckiest being in all the worlds?

Thor on the other hand lifted his hands in surrender. "You two are just scary."

"I know, it's awesome!" Ivy laughed in utter contentment. "But we are here because we have news."

"Oh no…" Thor breathed in return, already frowning at what was to come.

_______________________________

Tags:

@vodka-and-some-sass @t-sunnyside @lokis-high-priestess

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@its-remy-not-ratatouille @wegingerangelica @thidls12333 @tomstoobeautiful @dreary-skies-stuff @averyhill4445 @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @kthemarsian @lady-of-lies @sadly-falling-through-wonderland @strawberrysandcream @noplacelikehome77 @theoneanna @mishaandthebrits @mygodisloki @i-am-a-mes @nonsensicalobsessions @exygon @hiddles-lobotomy @rjohnson1280 @annwhojumps @spookycatqueen @salempoe @headoverhiddleston @fanfiction-and-stress @createdfromblue @halszka-potter @thecreatiivecorner @themusingsofmany @inthemarvelvoid @from-hel-i-with-love @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpionchild81 @foodthatsgoodforyoursoul @crystal-28 @adefectivedetective @lokis-girl-in-mischief @booklover2929 @iamafangirl-fightme

I hope you enjoyed this my darlings 😊☺️💗✨ We're getting closer to the end now, woohoo! I'm kinda busy with the real life at the moment, so stories are a bit slow 🙈💗 sorry for that, but I promise it'll be better!

[androgynousblackbox]

A day on the life of your favourite radio host

You woke up before your alarm did it’s job and then turned it off when it did. After putting on your shoes for home, stand up to open up the window and breath the smell of the beatiful flowers around the house. What a lovely morning! The sun was clear, there wasn’t any bird chirping and you could feel optimistic about today. But then again, when weren’t you a ball of sunshine with that bright smile on your face?

You could have greeted your neighborhood good morning, of course, but there was no one left to greet. The houses both at the sides of your own and in the front were empty, waiting for new owners, but it was so hard on the current economy and so funny for you in particular. How many people have sold their own children for one of those houses? Killed for them? Lied, stole? Oh, who knows! But it was entertaining to think about it as you dressed up.

You wear a white shirt you ironed yourself last night after cleaning it up; the closed vest matching the tone of your pants and your shoes, so pleasantly shiny and clean as if they were new. A wonderful way to start any day as you hummed your way down to the kitchen, preparing some toast and tea. You made a recount of your nocturnal activities and mental notes to keep track off for later. Thank goodness you had such a excelent memory, because the things you needed to remember were not things meant for writing on any common language. After cleaning up everything, you stepped outside and looked at your house with a inevitable sigh of nostalgia. It looked almost exactly the same as when your dear beloved mother was there, even the boarded up window of the attic. To think your own mother didn’t believe you when you said you threw the neighbor’s kid from there. It had been a perfectly honest accident. You just opened up for that small little boy to reach the wooden plane that had landed on your roof and then watched with amusement as he tried to balance out over the inclined surfice, only to finally slip out and meet his bitter end against the ground. You would have never harm a child, that is for sure. A man such as yourself might not have a lot of rules to live by, but that was certainly one of them. But watch them do reckless things without moving a finger to prevent it… well, that was another story, isn’t it? He couldn’t control gravity. And who was he to intervene betwen a boy and his new toy? You walked all the way to the radio station you were working, greeting everyone you knew and even some that didn't; they stared at you with such pathetic little admiration that was hard to resist to aknowledge it. Sat down on your chair, rolled up your sleeve  and waited for the signal indicating you were ready to talk. “Good day, my lovely listeners! Isn’t a espectular day today? Our way of living maybe be crushing under our feet and the hope of ever returning to what is normal seems dimmer with every second we are breathing the poison that is our life, but don’t fret, your good friend radio host will always be here for you! Let’s take a look to the news of the day, shall we?” You grabbed on a newspaper an assistant had handed to you and unfolded it, taking care for not to do it over the microphone. “My, it seems like the rate of suicides is rising once again! It seems that everyone’s salary is not the only thing that is dropping, ha! Oh, and it seems so many kids are currently on the streets right now as their parents sold them for their own sake. Better take care of your garbage, listeners, or you might find one of them looking for their lunch as you are listening and then you will have to clean up that mess! Mmm, I guess you could throw away a couple of scraps for the little lads but, between you and me, my friend, do you really want to? But you all know how children are, and unfortunely  their attempts can’t be avoided until are not able to keep looking anymore. It’s a sad, sad situation, indeedy, but that is why we must appreciate still the few delights we have left on this corrupted world, my friend. Like music! Let us hear some more about that lady that has everyone perking up their ears.” You flicked some buttons and put one one of the newest records on the station as you received a few calls on the meantime. Most of the calls were about people talking about their own sad situation. I had to sell the precious chinese porcelain of my grandmother, I lost all my money thanks to some thief, the bread is so expensive that my family is eating paper and blah blah blah Almost the exact same speech from yesterday, too boring to lose too much time on them, and instead concetrated on the people requesting for a new song or talking about their new misfortunes that your dear listeners haven’t heard of yet. Someone had to actually eat their pet dog and that got their entire family a food poisoning! Ha! Hilarious!  You can make up this, folks! You continued the show until midday and you had to say goodbye for now to give place to the next host. You didn’t have to come back until a couple of hours so you had a chance to grab lunch on some of the few restaurants that remained open. There a lady asked you if you were who she thought you were and you said yes, inviting her to take a seat in front of you and engage on a conversation. There was no wedding ring or the usual bags under the eyes of a mother stressing about what to feed her children, so when the route went about talking for a date, you played along to please her by inviting her to come over your house so you could both have a home meal. She blushed and pretended like it was a hard choice. You played as well, convincing her that it would be fine, just a perfectly decent, not at all attention worthy dinner between a pair of new friends, nothing else to see. After a little of back and forth, she finally promised to be there and stood up to continue with her chores. You made another mental note and kept enjoying your food, that you were almost sure it was actually a cat caught on an alley, but at least tasted good. Back to work, you put music, told a few easy jokes that your mother was so fond of and had a little talk with a carpenter who had his entire business burning just last week, a fire in which all his family died during their sleep. It was highly amusing to ask him about if he still dreamt about their faces so peacefully in the night, as if they were sleeping, but knowing they were never going to wake up again and he was, quite frankly, at least somewhat responsable.

Of course with enough jokes that the carpenter just sniffed a little bit and was able to contain from crying until the microphone was off. Then the night came and you had to say goodbye until tomorrow. And they better wished them luck, dear listeners, because he was going to have a date tonight with some lovely lady! You returned back home with your usual high spirit, humming the most popular song today, and prepared everything for the big event. When your new friend appeared, the dinner was already done and ready to be served. Some delicious deer meat that he bought from some local hunters that before were just doing it for the hobby, but now they practically only survived on their meat, whenever they could find it. Unfortunately the population of aceptable prey had diminished so much since so many other people had similar ideas, so it was getting quite hard out there. Well, at least people were being more creative now! Didn’t you noticed some “feline grace” on your meal today? Ha! You were kidding of course. Not really. Anyway, as you both finished, you took her hand to accompany you into the basement, where you had your record player and they could listen to some nice music more comfortable. Why do you have a record player on the basement, she aks? Why, it was initially just not to bother your sweet mother since she prefered a silent environment to read her books, but even after her death, it became just a habit to keep it there. Yes, it is smells terrible, you know, you assured her as you secure the grip on her wrist and closetd the door with a key only you had. It was dark, you know, and you were aware the smell was so intense that was going to make your darling guest to puke on her beautiful dress. What is that smell? Oh, nothing extraodinary, just the stench of rotting corpses you had yet to get rid of. Oh, what a enjoyable moment of silence was that. Did she thought you were joking? Did she assume you meant anything else but exactly what you said? On the darker stairs you could see her face changing, the beautiful and slow metamorphosis from a pleasant but confused smile to an actual realization that you were not joking, not at all, and your smile wasn’t because you were laughing at her incredulity but rather, at her whole life. By the time she turned her head to the door, you had already pulled her down stair and kicked her knees out so she would stumble the rest of the way and crash her head against the concret cube you had precisely for those situation. Ah, it was almost magical when their fall was just right and their lives ended with a clear and satisfying crack. The truly fun part is when they didn’t die right away, just knocked out for the time being, with some unimportant brain damage nobody cared about; then you had the chance to help them stay alive a little longer… and they'd regret the fall didn’t kill them. You were so excited when you discovered she was still breathing despite the blood and the weird shape her head had adquired. So you hummed happily as you dragged to the center of your hard learned symbols and grabbed some of the ritual knifes all over the wall. When you were done with her, you cut out some of her bodyparts and put it on a bag, but it didn’t seem heavy enough and added some other parts of the other guests you had the past week. They weren’t actually rotting, of course. You kinda exagerated it just for the shits and giggles, but you had to start getting rid of them again. They were so much useful outside on the garden, feeding the flowers that you were proud to keep alive, colorful and beautiful against an ugly reality. As usual, once the bag was sufficiently heavy enough, all that was left was put in a suitcase and carried to your car; it was to be buried under the same tree where the powers you were so devoted to would have their feast. They were so glotonous those rascals, but it was a small price to pay for all the things you were promised long ago. Even if the time you were going to receive those rewards wasn't exactly clear, and even if it was a tiny bit frustrating, you didn't mind. The show must go on, as they say! The job was entertaining per se and you wouldn’t have minded to continue doing it for as long as necesary. Besides, it’s not like you could actually do anything even if you did had a problem. Which you don’t, for sure, so who cares? When you came back on the morning, you were surprised to see some people coming and going the house on your left, not just as sometimes curious youngsters would do, but carrying stuff from one place to another and not minding seeing enter your home, a bright disposition on your face despite still needing a shower. New neighbors, finally! How long was it since you took out the last one? Not that long, that you could remember. Oh, you so hope they were fun people.  Or miserable ones, which was almost the same thing as far you were concerned. The last thing you needed in your neighborhood was boredom.

[blackberrywidow]

You’re It

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Fluff and mild language

Summary: College AU. During a game of Humans vs. Zombies, you find yourself falling for the enemy. 

A/N: This is my submission for @spideypeach and @astral-parker‘s writing challenge. I hope everyone likes this! I know everything I've been writing has been super fluffy recently, but I can’t stop myself so here’s some more. 

It was day three.

For three long days, you had been living in this apocalyptic hell, dodging zombies left and right just to make it to the goddamn food court. It was frustrating, always having to have your gun out and ready to fire at any handsy obstacles, but it was also fun. A nice change of pace to break up the dull monotony of university. And you were determined to win—well, at least be the last to lose anyway.

According to the webpage that was tracking the game, there were still about 29 of the original 134 still in the game, including yourself. Zombies were starting to drop out of the game like flies with so few people left to feed on, but you were determined to keep your wits about you and stay in this game until the very end.

Your bandana was tied securely around your arm, the vibrant orange signaling that you were one of the few remaining humans in play to feed on before the 48 hour deadline to “eat” another passed. Yesterday was hard enough—you had barely avoided being tagged 4 times. You knew today was going to be even more challenging.

But you were determined—if you could run away from the star quarterback for a whole block, you could survive anything. You were smart. You were fast. You had a fully loaded nerf gun and an air of ruthlessness that would make anyone hesitate to approach you. You—

A flash of orange appeared in the corner of your eye and you instinctively dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding an outstretched hand.

“Hey,” the owner of the grabby hand shouted in surprise. He rounded on you, smile exuberant and brown curls wild as he laughed. “I really thought I had you for a second there. Great reflexes!”

“Uh… thanks,” you responded dumbly, watching him with cautious eyes. Your cheap plastic gun was clutched tightly in your right hand, but you had yet to raise it. You wanted to attribute your hesitation to his strange reaction to missing you. But if you were being honest, he was quite possibly the cutest boy you had ever seen. He was dressed casually in a band t-shirt and jeans, and the orange bandana that he had tied around his head to signify that he was a zombie didn’t look as ridiculous on him as it did on everyone else. It was his eyes that really drew you in though—they seemed to reflect his smile and happiness. If nothing else, he was certainly the most lively looking zombie you’d ever seen.

“I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand as though they had just met under normal circumstances. But these weren’tnormal circumstances, so you stared pointedly at his hand until he dropped it back to his side with a chuckle. “Oh right. No touching. Well, I mean, I am about to touch you though.”

You raised an eyebrow in response, still resolutely silent as you waited for him to reconsider his words before you really had to hurt him. It only took the space of a heartbeat.

“Oh, no! Sorry, no, not like that. I mean, not that I’m like disgusted by you or anything, just that I, uh… meant for the game. Like I’m gonna tag you.”

Your lips twitched up involuntarily, despite your best efforts to keep a straight face. His rambling was endearing, if a little strange. “Right. Just one small problem with that.”

“Problem?” Peter repeated, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Yes, just a small problem though. If you wanna touch me,” you teased, grinning wickedly when he flushed, “you’ll have to catch me first.”

And with that, you were taking off down the sidewalk.

You weren’t sure why you didn’t just raise your gun and shoot him. If you had managed to hit him with the harmless foam dart, he would have been immobilized for 15 minutes per the rules of the game, which would have given you ample time to get away without all of this physical exertion. Yet there you were, laughing exuberantly while being chased down the street by a practical stranger.

But you could hear his yelled threats of “eating your brains” and “turning you into one of us” from behind you, the amusement clear in his voice, and you knew that you had made the right choice.

You stumbled around a corner, accidentally knocking into a stranger and dropping your only weapon as a result. You didn’t slow down long enough to retrieve it, though you did turn to offer a hurried apology. Once you had made another sharp turn, you finally allowed yourself to slow down minutely. You sucked in greedy gulps of air and hoped (and feared) that you had lost Peter with your evasive turns, before looking up and realizing that you had just cornered yourself in an alley.

“Shit,” you cursed, just as Peter rounded the corner after you with a triumphant “Gotcha!” You closed your eyes, desperately formulating ideas to get you out of this as you slowly turned to face your zombie attacker, completely defenseless and with nowhere to run.

“Okay,” you panted, trying desperately to regain your breath even as your smile widened. “How about we make a deal Peter.”

“What?!” The idea of making a deal seemed completely preposterous too him as he laughed and shook his head, not even the slightest bit out of breath. The jerk. “No way! I’ve got you cornered, completely weaponless. There’s no way you can make it out of this un-zombified. I can’t just let you go, no matter what you offer me. I have some pride you know.”

“Mmmhmm,” you hummed, stalling as you tried desperately to think of something that you could offer him that wouldn’t injure your pride. “Well… if you let me go, I’ll go on a date with you.”

That seemed to catch him off guard. His chocolate eyes widened comically, his mouth dropping open as he tried to sputter out a response. You’d be embarrassed if it weren’t so cute. “I—I can’t just agree to let you go in exchange for a date! That’s—that’s like… well I don’t know! But it seems wrong!”

“Why?” you challenged, an excited gleam in your eye. This game was turning out to be much more fun than you had expected. “Nowhere in the rules does it say that you have to tag me—just let me go and I’ll go on a date with you. It’s as easy as that.”

He raised a skeptical brow in response. “That seems kind of manipulative, doesn’t it? That you’ll only go out with me if I do something for you.”

“Well…” you hesitated, realizing that he was actually kind of right. Dammit. “Okay, fine. I would probably go on a date with you even if you tagged me, because you’re cute.” You were kind enough to ignore the way his face flushed at the praise. “But if you want to go on a date with me, shouldn’t you be willing to sacrifice this one kill to let me live? You’ve got me cornered here. Hardly seems fair.”

He crossed his arms, eyes narrowed in contemplation as he mulled it over, blessedly not pointing out that it was actually more than fair. It was how the game was supposed to be played—you were the one trying to play by different rules.

“Okay,” he finally agreed. “If you go on a date with me tonight, I won’t zombify you… now. This agreement will enact a treaty that lasts from now until the moment I walk you home—not a second later. Then, I can tag you whenever I want.”

“If you can catch me again,” you shot back, a smug smile on your face as you stepped forward to shake his hand in agreement. “I accept your terms, Mr. Parker.”

Peter grinned at you in response before slowly lowering his gaze to your still-outstretched hand.

“Oh.” You blinked down at your hand before slowly lowering it to your side. Now you were the one being obtuse. “Right. No touching then.”

“It’ll make for an interesting first date at least,” Peter offered, though he immediately backtracked when he caught the widening of your eyes. “Not that I was gonna touch you! I mean, it’s not like I’m opposed to it or something, just that I, uh—”

“Relax, Peter,” you laughed, rolling your eyes and taking a step back. “I’ll see you at six, yeah? I live in Teter Hall. You can pick me up there.”

With that, to turned around and strode off down the street, looking to retrieve your gun before heading to your next class. Hopefully you could find some ammo along the way.

“Wait!” Peter called after you, though he made no move to follow now that you had a treaty. “I didn’t catch your name!”

“Oh,” you chuckled, the giddiness of your near-“death” experience and your upcoming date getting to you. “It’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” you yelled back, turning just long enough to flash him a smile and give him an answer before disappearing around the corner.

---

Four hours later and you were descending the stairs leading up to your building to meet a nervous-looking Peter at the bottom.

“You’re early,” you teased, trying for casual despite the tight ball of nerves that had taken over your stomach. It had been so natural this morning—flirting had never come so easy to you. But now you had time to rethink your actions and you had lost all of your confidence. You would at least do your best to pretend though. “Hope you’re not trying to do some recon for after our treaty.”

“I would never,” Peter swore solemnly, holding a hand over his heart. His expression quickly softened into a smile as he drank in your appearance though. “You look amazing, by the way.”

“Thank you,” you said, doing a little twirl as you took the last step down to meet him at the bottom of the stairs. It was your favorite dress, one that you rarely had the opportunity to wear, so you were glad to break it out for the occasion. “So do you,” you noted, taking in his slightly more formal outfit—he had swapped out his t-shirt for a blue sweater over a checkered red button-up, though he was still wearing jeans and looked as disheveled as he had earlier. He seemed like he was always in a state of disarray.

His cheeks flushed at the praise, and he ran a hand through his previously well-styled hair. “Thanks.”

“So, where are we going?” you asked after a beat of silence, wondering what someone like Peter would consider an ideal first date.

“Well, the animal shelter that’s just a few minutes from campus is open for another hour. I uh… thought that maybe we could go there first, then go get dinner at that Italian place across the street from it?”

He seemed nervous, waiting for you to criticize his plan even as your eyes lit up with excitement. “That sounds amazing!” you decided, taking off in the direction of the shelter without further prompting. “I absolutely love animals. I actually volunteered at the local animal shelter back home when I was in high school. And I’ve always wanted to go to Buchetto’s!”

“Yeah,” Peter said with a relieved laugh, easily keeping pace with you. “I know.”

“Oh do you?” you challenged, glancing at him with narrowed eyes and feigning suspicion. “How do you know that? Did you run a background check on me?”

“Yes,” Peter confessed solemnly, expression suddenly serious. “I wanted to be prepared, and luckily the first thing that popped up was ‘loves dogs and pasta.’ My second date idea was to take you to court to pay for all of your speeding tickets.”

Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t contain your laugh at his dry humor. “Speeding tickets, huh? I think you might have found the wrong girl.”

“Ah,” Peter sighed, ducking his head down to try to hide his answering smile. “Good thing I looked you up on Instagram as a backup then.”

“So… you did stalk me on Instagram then?”

Your grin widened as you watched Peter flounder for a response. You considered taking mercy on him, but instead choose to wait a full minute for him to settle on a simple. “Well… basically, yeah.”

“Good,” you answered, moving your gaze to look straight ahead as the shelter came into view. “I’m glad I wasn’t the only one. Having an internship with Stark Industries is amazing, by the way. Kudos to you.”

Peter’s smile was relieved and more than a little grateful. “Thanks. So, shall we pet some puppies?”

He opened the door to the shelter with a flourish that made you giggle. You played along, dropping into a clumsy curtsy before entering. “Yes sir, I believe we shall.”

---

As far as first dates go this one was… well, definitely the best you had ever had. After spending nearly an hour playing with the adorable dogs and cats—all of which you wished you could sneak into your dorm room—you made the short walk across the street to the Italian bistro that Peter had suggested. It exceeded your expectations as well.

The puppies were cute, the food was delicious, but Peter blew them both out of the water.

He was amazing, simply put. You could tell that he was nervous at first—and though you wouldn’t admit it, you were too—but that quickly faded throughout the night. He was funny and charming (but not in a charming way, more like a this dork is hopeless but it’s so endearing I think I may swoon way). He was also smart, which shined through in the things he said and did without him having to brag or draw attention to it. And he wasn’t putting any pressure on you the entire time—the date was casual and relaxed, without any hint of aggression or creepiness on his part. And considering your past dates… that was a major feat.

Most importantly though, he had yet to touch you.

This fact was also one that was becoming increasingly disappointing.

It was great that he appeared to be taking your treaty very seriously. There had been plenty of opportunities for him to hold your hand or place an arm around your shoulders, effectively tagging you and making you a zombie, but he hadn’t. You hoped that it was solely because of the game, but you also had a small fear that he just wasn’t interested after all.

Thanks to your circumstances, you really had no way of knowing short of asking him outright. Which you were not going to do.

“So…” Peter said once you were out of the restaurant and heading back to campus. He tugged subconsciously at the orange headband he wore around his head as he smiled down at you, only reminding you again that this game was effectively the biggest cockblock at the moment.

(Not that you were thinking about that of course! Just that…yeah. No touching.)

“So…” you mimicked, returning his smile and wondering if it would be worth losing the game just to reach out and grab his hand.

“I had a great time,” he finally decided on, meeting your eyes briefly before his gaze darted away. “I’m really glad that you blackmailed me into doing this.”

“Hey!” you protested, barely catching yourself before you playfully hit him in the shoulder. Something he noticed, if his smirk and glint of mischief in his eyes indicated anything. “It wasn’t blackmail. It was… a negotiation.”

“Okay, fine. We negotiated,” Peter acquiesced with a chuckle. “I uh… hope we can negotiate again in the near future?” His voice sounded so unsure and hopeful that any previous doubts you had faded away.

You grinned as you came to a stop in front of your dorm, wishing that this wasn’t the end of the night but glad that you now had the promise of more. “I would love that.”

“Hey!”

The voice made you both jump, and Peter’s gaze snapped somewhere over your left shoulder, his eyes narrowing. You whirled around, more than a little irritated that some jerk was interrupting your nice night, and was surprised to find that it really was just some random dude about twenty feet away from you.

“Do you know him?” you asked, raising a brow. You certainly didn’t recognize him from anywhere and couldn’t come up with a reason that he would be yelling at you—and it had to be at the two of you as there was no one else around at this time of night on a Friday. Everyone was either inside catching up on school work or out socializing elsewhere. Everyone except you and this jerk wearing a—oh.

“No, but he’s a player,” Peter pointed out in a whisper just as you came to the same conclusion. The guy was of average height and build, with shaggy blonde hair held back with an orange bandana that signified his zombie-status. And he was moving steadily toward you, a slow grin forming on his face.

Peter stepped up behind you, closer now but still not touching. Your eyes snapped to the side, gauging the distance between you and your dorm building and your chances of making it there before the guy tagged you.

“Hey,” Peter called back, making an effort to sound friendly but assertive. Unfortunately, assertiveness wasn’t really his strong suit and it came of as weary more than anything. “What’s up man?”

“You do realize that you’re standing next to one of the last fifteen humans in play, right?” the blonde zombie asked, bewilderment coloring his tone as he came to rest only a few feet from you. “Why haven’t you tagged her yet?!”

“We’re… friends,” Peter answered, stepping up beside you and glancing you out of the corner of his eye as though to confirm. You shrugged—you hardly knew what you were, but you knew you hoped it was more than friends. Now just wasn’t a good time to hash that out.

“Well, she isn’t my friend,” the guy responded with a snicker. He took another step forward the same moment you took one back. “And I’ve only got thirty minutes left to tag someone before I’m out of the game. So, sorry sweetheart, but you’re about to be it.”

A tense moment followed his statement, one that seemed to last forever but in reality, only took long enough for Peter to glance back at you to mouth one word: run.

You didn’t hesitate to listen. You spun on your heel, taking off toward your dorm as fast as you could, but the zombie was faster. He lunged after you, hand outstretched, and barely missed your shoulder when Peter tackled him.

You gasped in shock, eye blowing wide at the unexpected save, and froze.

“Go!” Peter called out, rolling off of the guy. You understood that he couldn’t exactly restrain the guy forever—you were just playing a game and at some point, it would become assault—but you wished that he could have bought you just a few more seconds. “I’m right behind you!”

Your feet responded before your mind did, which was great except that they decided to carry you in the opposite direction from your dorm. You suppose it made sense as Peter and the other zombie were blocking your path, but now you were just running aimlessly away. Impulse decisions really just weren’t a strength of yours.

You heard footsteps pounding behind you, and you picked up the pace. Man this guy was fast—even the quarterback from yesterday hadn’t put you through this kind of workout.

“Hey!” a voice you immediately recognized called out, and you stumbled in surprise. Peter’s hand shot out to help you, but he quickly caught himself and let it drop as he came to a stop beside you. “This way!”

He inclined his head in the direction of a gazebo to your right, and it was only then that you realized you had made it all the way to Campus Square. You nodded, taking his advice and dashing over to the gazebo with Peter hot on your heels. You both dove down to find cover in the bushes behind the gazebo and got as close together as you could without touching.

You sat there in silence, listening intently for the arrival of your zombie attacker before you started giggling.

“Uh… What’s so funny? Shouldn’t we be trying to be quiet right now?” Peter whispered, looking down to meet your eyes. You could barely make out his features in the dim lighting of the nearby lampposts, but you saw affection warring with the confusion and it made you smile.

“Yeah, it’s just… isn’t this so ridiculous?”

“Ridiculous?” Peter repeated, clearly still confused though he smiled when you laughed again. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this game,” you explained quietly. “We just spent this entire evening together, not touching once, so that I could stay in as a human. And then as soon as we get back to my dorm and our treaty is technically over, some other guy shows up to tag me. The timing is impeccable, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed with a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I guess it is pretty ridiculous. But it feels wrong to tag you now, even with the treaty, you know? I just hope that we can make it back to your dorm without that guy finding us. He doesn’t really seem like the type to give up.”

You considered that, taking in the truth of his words. The solution seemed obvious.

“Peter.” You whispered his name like a prayer, tone suddenly sober and serious when previously it had been full of mirth.

He noticed the change immediately, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to interpret your meaning. “(Y/N)? What—”

You didn’t give him the chance to finish, deciding that it was now or never. Your hand shot out and grasped peter by the collar of his dress shirt to pull him down into a heated kiss.

His surprise was obvious—he jerked back in surprise and his lips remained frozen under yours. You were just about to accept that you had misread the situation and made a fool of yourself when he finally responded.

Losing the game was definitelyworth it.

His lips were soft and gentle as he brushed them against yours, and his touch was tentative but firm when he raised a hand to hold the back of your head. But it was sweet and loving in the way first kisses should be, and a warmth spread in your chest and stole your breath.

“Oh, come on!”

You both jumped apart, faces flaming red as you turned to find the zombie from earlier staring down at you in horror.  “I was so close to getting you!”

“Sorry man,” Peter replied with a chuckle and a shrug after he got over the initial shock of being caught making out in the bushes. “I got her first.”

“Yeah, I see that.” The guy rolled his eyes but held a fist out for Peter to bump his against. “Good for you dude.”

He left after that, clearly sulking now that he was out of time to stay in the game, and you sighed in relief. “Boys are stupid.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed with a laugh before standing and holding a hand out to help you up. “That we are.”

“Well, at least some are more tolerable than others,” you teased, unable to contain your smile. The only consolation was that Peter seemed to be having the same problem.

“Here,” he said, reaching out with steady hands to untie the orange bandana from around your arm. “We have to make it official.”

Your cheeks heated as he worked on retying the bandana securely around your head, marking you as a zombie. You hoped he didn’t notice. “I was really set on lasting longer you know.”

“Sorry,” Peter said with a sheepish grin, though you got the feeling he really wasn’t. “I guess that’s what you get for going on a date with a zombie.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you sighed heavily, casting your gaze to the ground. He tensed as he finished tying the bandana, and you knew he was seconds away from making a real apology when you said, “Worth it though. There’s no other zombie I’d rather have bite me.”

Peter pulled back, cheeks tinted pink and smile daring as he laughed. “Well, I didn’t bite you. But—”

“Slow down there Zombie Boy,” you laughed, grabbing his hand and leading him in the direction of your dorm. “Walk me home first and we’ll see where it goes.”

“Sounds like plan,” Peter agreed, easily falling into step with you. “Well negotiated as always.”

Taglist: @desir-ae, @sugarplumparker, @tina8009