#I lost count how many posts I've made about this part alone

[angelshizuka]

As much as it hurts that Blitz wasn't able to save Stolas himself in Western Energy, it was the wake up call he needed to understand Stolas isn't as invulnerable as he thought. In other words, that Stolas is someone he can literally lose, not just emotionally, but also physically.

And it will make him go extra hard the next time Stolas' is in danger... which the trailer loved teasing us with. Blitz will be his real knight in shining armor, no more pretend!

I will never shut up about this scene, just try and stop me.

[rin-may-1103]

Badger Day Au (part two)

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"Fourteen?" Aquaman repeats, turning his chair to face Danny. "Fourteen what? Days, weeks, months?"

Flash hissed like he was in pain, "Please don't say it's been fourteen months!"

Danny trailed his eyes away from the ceiling, away from the bothersome crack, and toward the single window in the room. He could just barely make out the Cassiopeia constellation. Its distinct W shape winked and flickered, drawing up a memory from a few loops into this whole mess. Tucker had wanted to comfort him, seeing as Danny had just broken down crying over how frustrated he was with everything.

The Ghost of Cassiopeia. Also known as IC 63, about 550 light years away.

A giant cloud of dust and gas. A nebula. Its ethereal glow reminded people of spirits they would see in haunted houses or fields. So they called it the ghost of Cassiopeia.

But it wasn't a ghost, it's simply hydrogen that's been bombarded with ultraviolet radiation from the nearby star. A blue giant called Gamma Cassiopeiae. It's also known as the center of the constellation. The light from the blue giant makes the majority of the nebula glow a vivid red. The blue around the edges is just light reflected off the dust within.

Tucker had joked that Danny should try and see how far he could get before the loop restarted. See if he could even get past Jupiter. Danny had just snorted and brushed his suggestion off. What was the point when he should be spending his time trying to fix the loop?

About six years in, Danny had given up and tried.

Eight months he had spent flying. He got further and further out into the void, surrounded by darkness and the beautiful stars in the distance to guide him. He never managed to make it past Pluto before he was brought back.

"Years," Danny confessed, his eyes still trained on the faraway stars.

"YEARS!?!" Superman cried, standing up so fast his chair was sent flying into the wall. Danny glanced back up at the crack, watching as it grew just a little larger, plaster dust sprinkling down like freshly fallen snow.

Sighing, Danny sat up and stared at the group. How many times has he had this conversation? How many times was he going to explain what was happening? How many times was he going to wake up in his bed just to restart all over again?

"Years," Danny repeated, "Fourteen years. Like I said, I've tried everything."

They sat in silence for a moment, just digesting his situation. Batman was standing still, his fists clenched tightly. Superman looked faint like he would pass out. Flash looked devastated.

Wonder Woman leaned forward, her brows furled in confusion, "Were you cursed, young one?"

"No, I checked. You checked. Heck, even Zatanna and Constantine have checked. I'm not cursed." Danny grumbled, slumping down to rest his head on the table.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to just curl up and sleep for the next however long. Wanted to hug Jazz and cry about how unfair it all was. Wanted to curl into his mother's side and cling until she made it all better. Hide behind his father until he knew it was safe.

but he couldn't.

Something always happened when he tried. If he stayed home from the very beginning of the day, the league would call him over and over again, convinced he was needed for the case Batman had. They even sent Flash over a few times just to search the city to drag him to the meeting.

(He was happy they hadn't figured out his civilian identity yet, but man was it hard to watch as Flash stuck his face into every nook and cranny around town yelling his name. Danny's lost count of how many times the man got overshadowed.)

If he managed to convince them that he was in a loop, then they found it would be safer for him to stay up on the watchtower. where they could keep an eye on him while searching for a way to break it.

Or, if he managed to convince them he was sick or something and they left him alone, Vlad would start acting up. Jack would call him on the phone to cancel Maddie's meeting with him because Danny was 'sick'. If he convinces Maddie to go and stay home with his dad, then Jack somehow opens the portal long enough for one of his rogues to slip through.

It just never ends. Everything he's tried ends with him having to go ghost and fight. The calmest day he's managed to have ended with Box ghost blasting the portal doors open so he could give him a homemade lunch from his wife, which then led the ghost to find Jack's new weapon box and go ballistic because of his obsession.

after that, he gave up spending time with his parents and focused more on his friends and Jazz. This was equally disastrous.

so, his safest option was to go to the meeting and stay with the league.

Glancing up, Danny watched as the time slowly changed on the clock; six twenty-nine, tick, tick, tick, six thirty.

Sighing, Danny sat up and held his hand out, making eye contact with Batman. He might as well get the day going, no use in wallowing in self-pity. He's done that plenty already.

"I already figured out what the cult wanted to do, we just need to figure out where their next meeting is. I'll fill you guys in on the rest." Danny added, wiggling his fingers in the hope it would make Batman move faster.

Batman sighed and handed him the folder. Once Danny had the folder, Batman sat down to listen to his report intently.

Flipping the file open, Danny grabbed the first page and showed it to the group, ignoring how a copy showed up on the big screen behind Batman. (again, why use paper if he was just going to project it?)

"This is the result of the cult's last meeting, two weeks ago. as you can see, the ground has been scorched and the ritual circle permanently carved into the cement." Tossing the paper and ignoring it as Flash scrambled to catch it, Danny grabbed the next couple of pages.

Holding up the seventy missing person reports, Danny placed them on the table and separated them into four different piles. "After some digging, Batman was able to figure out the pattern between the missing people. This group," Danny pointed to the one on the left, "consists of organ donors who were anemic."

pointing to the pile on the right, Danny continued, "This group is made up of meta-humans who have powers related to the elements. they also all happen to have more than one piercing, though Batman didn't really figure out if that had an impact on whether they were chosen or not..."

Pointing to the northern pile, Danny separated the top seven pages. "while everyone in this pile has some relation to an ancient and powerful witch from the 1500s, these seven are the only ones who still share her 'family' name. I'm not sure exactly how this affects the cult's motives, Batman hadn't shared that with me in all the loops so far."

Danny glared at Batman in annoyance, he didn't care if there was a good reason or not. Without fail, in each loop that Danny's made it through where Batman makes the connection; he would refuse to tell Danny about it.

Rolling his eyes at Batman's unwavering apathy, Danny continued, "The last pile consists of people who have been dead at some point in their lives. whether it be just a few seconds or a few weeks."

passing the reports around, Danny pulled the next page from the file. "Flash and Constantine were able to connect the past locations of the cult gatherings. Constantine figured out there was a specific magic signature that he could follow, so he had Flash drag him around the world to map the locations."

tapping the table, Danny selected the world map. Glancing at the paper he had pulled out, Danny marked the places with a red dot. Then he marked the places Constantine found in blue. Looking up, Danny found the league staring at him.

"What?" Danny huffed, shoving the hologram away from him. Batman grabbed it and started to examine it.

"So, do we need Constantine for this?" Green Lantern asks, scratching his head.

Shrugging, Danny tossed the folder over to Wonder Woman. "You can call him if you want, but he won't get here until noon. He's in the house of mystery dealing with a pixie infestation."

"pixie infestation?" Superman asks, turning to look over to Zatanna. Zatanna reached into her jacket and handed him a pamphlet, not turning away from watching Danny with curious eyes.

"Anyway, like I was saying. the cult's been going around taking all these people and using them in their rituals."

"you said you knew what they were trying to do, what was it?" Batman asked with a noticeable frown.

Sighing, Danny pinched his nose. "they've been trying to summon Pariah Dark."

"The ghost king!?!?" Zatanna squawked, slamming her hands onto the table.

"yeah, that bastard," Danny grumbled, rubbing his face. The cult hadn't been successful for all fourteen years now, so Danny wasn't too worried about it. But still... If something, anything really, changed just the slightest; would they succeed? Would they drag Prariah out of his sarcophagus and let him lose on the living?

Danny's already had to face him once, he didn't know if he could do it again. The Fenton ecto-skeleton suit had been ruined last time, to the point dad hadn't even tried to fix it.

"Bastard?" Aquaman repeated, eyes narrowed, "You speak as if you've met him before."

"I have," Danny admitted, "and I will again if we don't do something about the cult." What if this is the loop the cult succeeded? what if it's the next one, or the one after that? could Danny even do anything to prevent it?

Zatara sat down with a heavy thump, her eyes widening in shock. Danny lifted his brow, wondering what was wrong with her. She hadn't acted like this any other time? what was different? had he said something he hadn't last time? hmm, something to think about later.

"back to the case," Danny shrugged, turning to gesture at the hologram of the world. "we were able to narrow down the cult's next location to about seven hundred places. I was able to check off about six hundred and thirty these last few loops. That leaves about seventy places they could be."

Danny used a yellow dot to select the seventy places he still needed to check.

"um," Flash started, nervously glancing between Danny and the globe. "you just highlighted the whole grand cannon and all of Alaska... and the Himalayas.... and the-"

"Yep," Danny cut in, "Like I said, I checked off all the others. These are the last seventy I still need to check. I haven't before because it's a lot of ground to cover. I was hoping I'd catch a break and find the cult before I had to check all those places, but nope. The fruitloops just had to make it difficult.

"oh," Flash winced, "do, do you want me to check them out?"

sighing, Danny leaned back in his chair, "I would love to have you check them out, but you need a magic user who knows what they're looking for to go with you. it's why we haven't found them yet, it's taking forever."

"Oh," was the only response he got.

"you know what we are looking for?" Zatara asks, finally getting over whatever had surprised her.

"yeah, it's hard to explain. I'll have to bring you or the others to a previous place and show you."

"hmm, alright. after the meeting, why don't you bring me so that at least one more person can help start looking, until, john is freed up at noon?" she suggests, tilting her head to the side.

"sounds good with me," Danny shrugged. it's not like it'll hurt to have her looking around, heck, they might even get lucky and she'll find them.

Next

[familyvideostevie]

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help. 

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable. 

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets.  You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her."  Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

__

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something. 

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[sunvylovebug]

Hanahaki Disease [Part 1/3] 花吐き

↬ Warnings: there are some mentions of blood but that's later, the protagonist doesn't seem to have much self esteem but I'm sure we can work on that. This is mostly comfort content with Xiao because I really love this guy a lot, maybe some angst though? …⁠ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ

↬ Gender Neutral!Reader and first person narration (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

↬ Author Note: English is not my first language, I posted this in 2022, I've corrected some things so I decided to post it again. Likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated <3 If you have any request for a fic let me know!

↬ Word Count: 730 Words

I knew what would happen once I found that person what I was destined to, it was known as Hanahaki Disease, a curse which happened to all the people of my clan. I remember that almost all of my family has been through it.

Once they meet the person with whom they share their soul, a strange infection appears in the lungs, specifically a sakura tree begins to grow in this space, and the only cure is... The love to be reciprocated. Technically it should always be reciprocated, however, I had known some exceptions to the case and I was very afraid from that day would come, I've seen painful deaths in my family due to this curse and I was afraid that the same would happen to me.

After all, I've never considered myself a special person, I don't stand out for anything in particular, music, arts, literature, sewing, nothing really.

I'm very average in everything and I don't feel it's worth being with me either, I'm just a hermit who hardly knows how to socialize with my family and a few other people, nothing out of the ordinary.

But my parents wanted it to be different, after many disputes I was forced to travel to Liyue because of an "errand" that I had to fulfill. I was terrified of the idea of leaving the comfort of my home, the few times I had to do it was cause some important clients had different needs that I had to attend personally, but I had never gone so far by myself...

I had to do it for them, for me, so I decided it, I accepted the proposal they were giving me and I traveled to Liyue to live with a friend. I knew her because she had helped us in the past and now she was a friend of my family, she was part of this city, full of unknown people and with laws that I didn't understand, the contracts were complicated for me at first but after some time I had adapted with her help.

Everything was going good and soon I received an order for which I'd have to leave the pink-haired girl's home for a few days, it was about a wedding dress, a girl who was staying at the Wangshu Inn would soon marry the man of her dreams and she wanted me to make her dress personally. I decided that I would stay there for a while, to make my job easier, so I said goodbye to my friend and went there... At least tried to.

The same day I was moving, I had some major delays, ended up out of town late at night, alone, didn't know how to fight and also a bit lost. I thought the situation couldn't get any worse but it did when some enemies appeared out of nowhere to attack me.

I ran as far as my legs could, hurting myself a lot on the way, then regretted having made that decision and thought I would die right there, however, a turquoise glow appeared and soon my enemies were on the ground just like me.

"Can you get up, human?" a voice spoke to me, somewhat cold, coming from the boy who had saved me.

"Uh... I-"

I felt a sharp pain in my chest, as if something had exploded near my heart, I grimaced and put a hand to the area trying to relieve the pain, which clearly did not work and only served to disconcert the golden-eyed boy. "You're hurt?"

I shook my head cause I couldn't speak, I felt like I was short of breath and my chest was tight… but the moment I felt his touch my heart eased. That boy had me in his strong arms and a second later we were in a completely different place, I was scared. Who is he?

"This is the Wangshu Inn, I think it's where you wanted to go. Didn't you? Treat your wounds and don't be that fool to be alone at night again, humans like you are... very fragile."

He turned around ready to leave, finally I was able to say something. "W-wait, m-may I know who you are?"

He looked at me before disappearing from my sight, his voice murmured something, something that stayed in the back of my mind the rest of the night. "Xiao."

Part Two

[auroracalisto]

no time to waste — the reader is an anxious overthinker, who believes uhtred could never love them back. good thing uhtred is well-versed in sneaking around and keeping quiet when he notices that they are confessing to hild. word count: 1.3k words tw: overthinking, anxiety, gn!reader a/n: i don't post any fanfic for well over a few months and i come back with uhtred of bebbanburg? please excuse me. i love this man. also, don't @ me for disappearing. i'm sorry. life happens and it sucks. k, bye. that's all.

“i love him.”

the words spilled from your lips before you could even think to stop them. hild stopped what she was doing, slowly glancing up at you. she had suspected as much, but she never was for certain. it was one thing she had thought for months. however, it wasn't her place. she wasn't about to tell you how you felt. that was for you to figure out, and maybe at some point, tell her about it.

the nun pursed her lips, but eventually closed her eyes and softly sighed.

“then you must tell him.”

“tell him?”

your eyes were wide at the thought of telling uhtred of bebbanburg that you loved him. how could you?

he had lost so much, because of love and because of the whims of the soul—would the dane even give you a second glance? would he even show a sliver of interest in your saxon heart?

no, he wouldn’t.

you clenched your jaw. anything was possible. uhtred and his warriors had proven that on more than one occasion. but would it be the same with you? could anything happen to you? would he truly believe that you loved him?

most importantly, would he love you back?

hild leaned against the table, reaching out to take ahold of your hand.

“you must. life is too short. the good lord has shown us time and time again. tell him before it is too late for either of you,” she said, a soft smile adorning her features. "our hearts are made for love. we are not made to live life alone. i chose to give my love to god. but you... you should give your love to uhtred. i know you love him dearly. i've seen it for so long."

she was right. you knew it. but a part of you didn’t want to admit it.

life was short. you had lost so many people—neighbors, friends, almost every member in your own family. and you knew that it was the same for uhtred. if anything, he would understand that life was short. he saw warriors die more often than not. warriors that fought alongside him for so long only to die at the hand of a dane, or a saxon, or deadly flu. no one knew their end—no one knew when the love of their life would never wake up, staying asleep in perpetual darkness for the rest of eternity.

“what if he doesn’t feel the same?” you asked, pulling your hand away from the woman as anxiety pitted itself in your stomach.

you often had a problem with overthinking. today was no different for you.

“i think you’d be in for a surprise if you were to just speak to him,” she said. “if anything, it would do you some good to talk to him, even if you didn’t confess. you could find where your heart truly is and see if your head could follow it.”

“i know where my heart is… but… uhtred. he…” you trailed off, not watching as hild’s eyes grew wide. you would have continued, burying your face in your hands with a groan.

“uhtred what?”

that oh-so-familiar voice spoke right beside your ear. you flinched, head shooting in his direction, hands nearly slamming on the table underneath them.

the very man of your conversation stood there with that cheeky grin he always had.

“you’ve been talking about me?” he teased, sitting down beside of you and grabbing your cup of ale. “do tell. i’d love to hear it.”

hild silently excused herself, squeezing your shoulder as she passed by.

“i.. we were just… we were just discussing how you will be leaving again soon,” you said, looking up at him. you could feel your cheeks burn from embarrassment, although you didn’t know what you were truly embarrassed about. he didn’t know what you had really been talking about.

he grinned. “i think you’re lying.”

there’s no way he heard, right?

he downed the rest of your ale before he slammed the cup down on the table, his grin unwavering.

“i think it’s time the two of us talked,” he said. “if that’s what you’d like.”

"what would we even talk about?" you blurted. "there is nothing i need to tell you. is there something you've been needing to tell me?"

he raised an eyebrow, hands raised in mock defense.

"y/n, i am not here to interrogate you. i can tell when you're nervous. do i need to rough someone up?"

"what? do i need—no, i don't need you to rough anyone up," you replied, dejected as he continued to not confess his own feelings. if he confessed that he loved you, that would make everything much easier, right? he just needed to say it. then, you could say, i love you, too. uhtred was a psychic—he could read your mind. surely, he could. that would be so simple.

but when had your life ever been that simple?

it was as if the universe decided to throw you into the mud as soon as you were born. they were not about to let up, either.

you stared down at the table, silence floating thickly between the two of you.

uhtred let out a soft sigh. "i heard you," he said.

you paused for a moment.

you misheard him. yes, that was it.

"what?"

"i heard you," he repeated, this time his voice much softer. he brought a hand up to your chin, tilting your head to face him. "i heard what you said to hild."

your eyes began to burn as tears of embarrassment formed. you pursed your lips, eyes trained on his.

"and you did not think to lead with that?" you said, trying to keep your tears at bay. he did not need to see you cry. he already heard your most vulnerable confession. that was enough for one day.

you pulled away from his grasp, standing up in the process.

"y/n—"

"—i understand, my lord. you do not feel the same. you do not need to humor me."

"y/n."

"i will take my leave. we have a journey, and i need to prepare—"

"—y/n."

he stood up with you, hands cupping your cheeks to keep you from talking any more.

"please allow me just a moment to confess, as well," he said, frustration evident on his features.

you swallowed thickly, eyes not meeting his.

"like you said, life is short. the gods do not allow us any warning. they take. they take, and they never give..." he trailed off, his eyes trailing down to your lips. "but at times, they allow us to find the people we need. the people we love."

you paused, eyes darting up to his.

"uhtred?"

"i love you, too. i had planned on telling you in a more... appropriate manner, but as you can see, i needed to tell you before you believed the opposite."

your eyes widened. you did not mishear, this time. you heard him loud and clear.

he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your lips, restraining himself. he let go of you, giving you a faint smile.

"well, off you go. you do have to prepare for the morning, do you not?"

you froze in your spot, staring up at him in disbelief. without wasting another second, you leaned forward, a hand on the back of his neck. decency be damned—you pressed your lips to his, your lips molding perfectly together as he wrapped an arm around your torso.

your saxon heart had long been taken over by the dane, and you'd never trade it for anything... despite how unsure you were at the beginning of the night. you would have to say something about him eavesdropping, later. but for now, all you could think of was the fact that he was actually kissing you—and it wasn't in your daydreams.

[thevulturesquadron]

Hey remember that post you made a time ago about E9?

I agree with it all, but I wanted to talk especially about the rushed part, i.e Roberto and Rogue immediately going into the "villain guards" roles. It is missing a moment between them joining Magneto and the following fight against X-Men

What would you put as this moment? A dialogue? I've been thinking about this and I even want to write a fic, but my brain can't chose. (I've been leaning on Rogue reassuring Roberto somehow) So?

Many thanks! I love your blog bestie <33

– @unfortunately-obsessed

Hey sweet thing! 🌺 (your tumblr posts always put a smile on my face) Oh! I love this! If you write something I would kill to read it! For E9 I would have loved to see a moment on Asteroid M between the two, either when they set foot inside for the first time or before preparing for the ‘meet and greet’ with the X-Men. I feel like once in space, after the adrenaline wears off Roberto would worry about the choice he made. I like to think Rogue would sense it and maybe look for him. What if she finds him in front of one of the wide panels looking down towards Earth? She would probably start the conversation by saying something like ‘quite a sight from up here, ain’t it sugah?’ Having a moment between the two with a look over the ‘dying’ earth would put things into a certain perspective. I imagine Rogue being reassuring, as much as she could, but there is a fire under her skin as well that she needs to tame - when he shows doubt she’d tell him she’s been following Xavier’s ways for years and that his heart may be in the right place but he’s living in a past version of the fight. Things have changed in his absence and she’s done with putting the idea of peace ahead of mutant lives. She’d tell him that there is no right or wrong way of doing this, that if there’s one thing he can count on is that he’s never going to have to face anything alone. I like to think she’d ask him if he’s scared and when he’d ask her back she would answer honestly - ‘ yes’. She’d admit that after Remy died she was so lost in her anger, thinking she had nothing left to lose, but has since realized that that was not true. She’d look down the hall that leads to Magneto’s ‘throne room’ and she’d tell Roberto that being a mutant is not just about his powers, it’s about something more. And any mutants that are still out there are worth fighting for. Maybe Roberto would confess that the look in Magneto’s eyes scares him even if he stands by his choice. And her face would darken in worry. ‘That’s the other reason why I chose to be here. Erik’s a good man, sugah. But he’s been through a lot. And I refuse to lose him too - not to his pain, not to his anger.’ In Genosha he asked her for help, to be the balancing force that would keep him in check. She was angry with him back then, but seeing him now, seeing how the world treated all of them, she understood how vulnerable he actually allowed himself to be. If she was ready to be by his side at his best - she wasn’t going to abandoned him at his worst. And I would have liked to see one last exchange between them as they are making their way towards the Blackbirld. Maybe Rogue would sense Roberto’s internal conflict and that would strengthen her conviction. ‘They need us. The X-men, Magneto. Things will get nasty, so we need to be strong. Sometimes you gotta punch a fella you love to get them to sit down and listen. A blackened eye heals faster than a broken arm.’ She’d wink and punch in the door key to the hangar. Or something like that! I am terrible with dialogue but I would have loved a tiny moment that shows both the internal conflict they were going through and what stood behind their choices. Even a short reassuring hand on his shoulder and a voiceless exchange before stepping in would have been enough. Taking the mantle of the ‘bad guy’ so that others can fight their good fight with lessened consequences is often times an unsung tale.

[tsarisfanfiction]

A Single Drachma

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rated: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Friendship Characters: Michael, Clarisse, Chris Alone. Injured. Hunted. Michael doesn't know where he is, but he knows he's running out of time, and he's only got one shot at calling for help. He's got to make it count. I'm a bit late posting it here because rl, but this was a fic written for @pod-together and my podficcer partner for the event was once again the amazing @stereden, who I also worked with for this event last year and once again had an absolute blast with! I pushed the boat out rather further this year in terms of length (there is actually a lot more to this story planned, but it became unrealistic to podfic... that being said I am still hoping to finish writing it at some point, for all that this does currently work as a stand-alone). We both had a lot more free time this year, and we definitely made sure we used it! I've lost count of how many times I've listened to Stereden's various takes on the podfic but it's been so much fun to work with her on this again this year! I was in a massive Michael&Clarisse mood when the event first started, and Stereden is a fantastic enabler who was more than willing to let them be the focus of the plot for our project, so here we are, and I hope you all enjoyed reading and listening to this as much as I did creating it! You can find the podfic to listen to here (go, listen to it! It’s amazing!)

After so long in darkness, the light of the sun was blinding.  Michael’s tolerance for bright lights had always been higher than most, just like his siblings, but as he staggered out onto the street, limping heavily and doing his utmost to ignore the various signals of this fucking hurts different parts of his body were sending to his brain in discordant harmony, his eyes narrowed into a blurry squint.  He stumbled, biting back a curse as his leg protested loudly at the bulk of his weight being forced onto it, and raised a dirty, shaking hand to shade his watering eyes from the worst of the glare.

Where was he?

With a wince he couldn’t hold back, he limped a few steps forwards, impatiently waiting for his eyes to adjust to the brightness, until he almost collided with a wall.  Knocking his shoulder - the less-bad one, the one that was only bruised and not taunting him with fears of dislocation - against it, he awkwardly shuffled until he was leaning heavily against the painted brickwork, shifting his weight until it was off of his right leg.

It still had the audacity to fucking hurt, and Michael could feel his left leg trembling from the strain, less injured but no less exhausted than the rest of his body, but there was nothing he could do about it except lean harder on his shoulder, shoving as much of his weight as possible onto the building.

He needed to keep moving; he knew that.  His arm stung, his newest injury still bleeding sluggishly.  Michael could hear the slow yet steady drip, drip, drip of the liquid onto the ground.  He’d run out of useable fabric to tear into makeshift bandages a while back - his clothes were in tatters, and stained with so many things he didn’t want to think about that using them to wrap an open wound was probably begging for a dose of tetanus, as though he needed any more problems on top of everything he had already.

Leaning against the building was the most relief he’d had in days, though, and Michael was at loathe to give it up.  He glanced towards the sun again, still blindingly bright and near-impossible to look at.  Hi, Dad, he thought, his mental tone somewhere between bitterness and despair.  Apollo hadn’t contacted him for a long time, not since the night before they left for Manhattan, and Michael missed his father’s dream visits.  He didn’t understand why they’d stopped - he’d feared, for a while, that Apollo had fallen to Typhon , that despite the lack of Kronos stomping around suggesting that they’d won the war his father had been lost for good.

Deep down, he still feared that - despite the freak saying things to the contrary - because if it wasn’t true, if Apollo hadn’t been destroyed, then that meant his father had been ignoring all of his pleas for help.

Apollo had been answering him reliably since he was a small kid, before he’d even realised the guy he dreamed about frequently was real and his father.  There was no good reason for him to have stopped.

And yet he had.

Where the fuck are you, Dad? he thought at the sun.  And where the fuck am I?

He lowered his hand, squinting against the bright light of the sun as it inflicted a fresh assault on his eyeballs, and took stock of his surroundings.

It was some sort of side street.  Not enclosed enough to be an alley but no major thoroughfare - Michael could see a busier street, if he squinted against the shadows and too-bright sun hard enough, running perpendicular to the end of the street he was in.  People passed through with purpose, none of them batting an eyelid at a messy, injured demigod leaning against the painted bricks and no doubt leaving some crimson stains behind.  Was that the Mist at work, or was he somewhere where no-one even noticed bleeding teens?

Michael didn’t really care.  Both options were far better than where he’d been, where he was running from.

He needed to keep moving, no matter how much his body protested, but first he needed a plan.  Running blindly wouldn’t help; he hadn’t shaken his pursuers despite his best efforts so far, and he wasn’t naive enough to hope he’d shaken them now, either.  But now that he was out, he had a chance.

His hand tightened its grip around his precious prize, the one small shard of hope that had crossed his path amongst the pain and fear.  Firm edges pressed into his palm in a way that would be almost painful, if his body’s resting pain threshold wasn’t currently up around ten out of ten, a reassurance that he hadn’t lost it, hadn’t dropped it as he ran.

Michael had no weapons.  He had no way to fight off his pursuers, no way to make them stop following him for good.  Hand-to-hand had been out of the question even before the injuries started stacking up; he’d never done well enough in that during training to treat it as anything other than a last, desperate, resort.  Here, where defeat meant getting dragged back to the freak, it was even lower on his list of non-existent options than normal.

But what he did have was one, single golden drachma.  A stroke of luck amongst everything else, because drachma meant communication, and communication meant help.  He could call Chiron, ask the old centaur to send someone his way, and warn him about the freak while he was at it.

Once he knew where he was.

He only had one drachma, one chance to make a call.  He had to make it count.

It didn’t take Michael long to come up with a plan, if it could even be called that.  Step one, find out where he was.  Step two, find a rainbow and make the call.

Don’t get caught in the process.

He’d lingered too long.  He knew he had.  With a groan he forced his body upright again, biting back a scream as his right leg buckled and almost collapsed, and shoved himself away from the wall.  The movement pushed him into a run, one leg in front of the other with no pause to think, for all that they both threatened to crumple beneath him as he staggered forwards, each step sending a bolt of pain up his right leg.

Michael stumbled his way towards the busier street.  He didn’t know if it was a major enough street to have helpful signs like “welcome to”, but it was the best shot he had at finding where he was.

Several times, he almost fell, barely catching himself on the building walls, but he made it to the larger street without picking up any more injuries.

It didn’t have a “welcome to” sign, or any other defining characteristics that might have at least given Michael a clue.   Cars drove past him without a second look, not that Michael intended on getting in one, anyway.  It would be infinitely easier than walking, but the freak had a lot of influence.  Michael couldn’t trust anyone not to be part of his many, many circles.  Until he made contact with Chiron, he couldn’t risk talking to anyone.

The street ran east and west, as straight as an arrow, and Michael barely even had to think before he was turning east, glancing up at the sun as he did so and sending yet another silent and rushed prayer his father’s way.

Apollo had guided him to safety before.  Why couldn’t he do it again?

Passing mortals paid him no more attention on the major street than they had on the side street.  Michael still didn't know if that was due to the Mist concealing the various injuries and blood dripping from hastily wrapped (and in some cases unwrapped) wounds, or if they really just didn't care in this place. Not that the why actually mattered; at least no-one was stopping him.

It was only going to be a matter of time before they found him again, and Michael needed to have figured out where he was and called Chiron by then. If they caught up to him here, he didn’t stand a chance.

The thought spurred his protesting body on, legs screaming and lungs hauling in as much air as they could stand. There had to be some sign, somewhere, to tell him where he was. A café name, roadsigns, billboards. Something.

He reached an intersection just as the lights turned green for the cars. A glance behind him didn’t show any obvious pursuit but Michael couldn’t risk it. He dashed forwards, dodging honking vehicles, and felt his leg buckle halfway across, but he snarled and pushed on, refusing to let it surrender to the break just yet.

Not until he was safe.

It was probably more luck than skill that got him across without being knocked down by a irate driver, but Michael didn't pause when his feet met the sidewalk once more, leaving the cacophony of chaos behind him as he kept running.  His lungs were starting to burn; no demigod endurance could keep going forever, and Michael had been fleeing for days, weeks, he didn’t even know.  He’d long since lost track of time.

There were more than a few near-misses with crashing into mortals on the street, his legs not quite up for intense manoeuvrability and reliant mostly on other people getting out of his way, and more side streets crossed - more than one involving a game of chicken with cars and the accompanying soundtrack of blaring horns and swearing drivers - but Michael didn’t let himself stop.  Couldn’t stop.

Where was he?

His eyes scanned the streets as he ran, desperately searching for any sign, a familiar name to latch onto, but his dyslexia kept jumbling anything that might be helpful and he didn’t dare stop long enough to decipher it.  He couldn’t hear any pursuit yet, but he knew with a certainty deep inside his bones that they’d come.  If he hadn’t lost them in there, he wouldn’t lose them here.

Another intersection - complete with more cars and horns, and Michael almost collapsing in the middle of the asphalt as his leg buckled alarmingly - and the buildings sharply receded on the other side of the street, leaving a large lawned area with a broad paved path leading directly up to an impressive building.  People milled about, sitting on the edge of the cacti-infested planter that ran up the middle of the path, signifying it as a public place, and Michael made a snap decision.

It was the first thing he’d seen that seemed like it could tell him where he was, and further down the street he could see a fountain.

He clutched the drachma tighter, certain it had to be leaving jagged red marks in his skin, and ploughed across the street, his run disintegrating into more of a rapid limp as he dragged himself towards the building.  There were words emblazoned above what was clearly the entrance, and flapping banners covering the outside of the second floor windows, more images than words.

When he drew to a stop outside, chest tight with pain and almost all his weight on his left leg, which trembled frantically as it desperately tried to bear it, he blinked at the large words, willing them to arrange themselves in a way that made sense.

AZRINOA STATE MEUSUM

No, that wasn’t right.

Arizona State Museum.

Arizona.

Michael had never been to Arizona before in his life, but the state name triggered an immediate memory of crackling spears and loud, abrasive words.

Clarisse.

He’d had a lot of time to think, while the freak had him.  Time to get angry at the daughter of Ares, time to shout and curse her existence, to blame her for the battle going wrong, for the hellhounds tearing Nathan apart, for the shockwave that had sent half his siblings cascading off the shaking bridge-

But then time to go hollow, time to remember that the Ares cabin was never going to be stationed with the Apollo cabin, that the deaths wouldn’t have been prevented.

Time to realise that it wasn’t Clarisse’s fault.  That in the grand scheme of things, their argument had been petty and inconsequential.

Gods, but the Fates had a sense of humour, dropping him in Arizona, of all places.

Michael didn’t know which city held the state museum, if it was Phoenix or Tucson or somewhere else entirely, but… Clarisse would know.

Clarisse, for all that they’d never got on, had always been a strong leader.  She might hate him, might have told him she hoped he died (and he almost had and that still stung, a little), but she was prepared for trouble and Michael had never seen her without at least two visible weapons on her.

Hades, he’d been on the receiving end of them a few times, when their arguments got too heated.  Lee, and Emily before him, had always told him off whenever he landed in the infirmary again after a fight with her.

The drachma felt heavy in his hand.

Michael turned away from the museum and pushed his body to start moving again, a walk that turned into a jog until he dragged it into a full run again, leg screaming in agony but something almost like hope starting to bloom in his chest.

He just had to reach the fountain.  The Arizonian sun blazed down above him; there had to be a rainbow shimmering in the droplets somewhere, and then he could call for help.

The back of his neck prickled as his staggered run took him out of the museum grounds and back onto the street, and the blooming hope stuttered before it had much of a chance to grow.  He threw a glance down the street, back the way he’d come, even as he pressed forwards towards the fountain, glistening in the sunlight.  No sign of pursuit, but that didn’t mean anything.  Michael hadn’t survived this long by not listening to his instincts, and the sudden tenseness at the top of his spine told him he had to run.

So he ran.

Jagged agony shot up his broken leg as he pushed it further, stumbling but refusing to fall even when tears of pain started leaking from the corners of his eyes and his breathing took on a whine of desperation that rang in his ears.

He almost crashed into the edge of the fountain, hands reaching forwards to brace himself against it and absorbing the impact.  The drachma in his hand dug in deeply enough Michael wouldn’t have been surprised if it had drawn blood, but he’d take that a thousand times over dropping it now, so close to being able to use it.

Exposed and with no cover, if he lost it and the cry for help it afforded him now, it would be over for him.

Dashing away the tears of pain with the back of his hand, and wincing as the salt stung open scratches, he glared at the fountain, desperately searching for the glimmer of colour that had to be there, somewhere.  The sun and the falling droplets of water were present, he just had to find -

There.

It was halfway around the fountain from where he’d stopped, and he clawed his way around the edge, leaning heavily on the white stone rim and letting his right leg abandon his weight.  His left leg, and the arm he was bracing himself with, both trembled angrily, but Michael wouldn’t fall here.  Not now.

The rainbow shimmered in front of him and he forced his fingers to unfurl from their death grip around the drachma, streaked red with angry lines where the coin had imprinted almost every detail onto his palm.

“Oh, Goddess, accept my offering,” he mumbled.  His voice rasped in his ears after however many days it had been since he’d last had a reason to talk out loud, hoarse in his throat - maybe he should’ve taken a drink from the fountain first, but there wasn’t time for that - but hopefully the words came out clearly enough for Iris to understand.  He tossed the drachma into the rainbow with a shaking hand.

“Clarisse La Rue.”

Fuck.

He hadn’t planned on calling Clarisse.

Even if he was in her home state, Chiron would know where things like the state museum was, and crucially, the centaur had never told him to die .

But the drachma was gone, the only one he had, and he’d said the name now.  He dashed more tears - pain, frustration - away and stared at the rainbow, waiting for the call to go through and knowing he wasn’t at all prepared to talk to Clarisse, but that he had to.

Nothing happened.

The rainbow shimmered, glistening in a way that didn’t quite seem natural, and Michael stared at it in horror.

“C’mon,” he muttered, glancing back the way he’d come.  Still no signs of pursuit, but his instincts were screaming at him.  “C’mon, connect, why aren’t you fucking connecting?”

The rainbow pulsed lightly, as though it was still waiting for something, and realisation crashed over Michael.

“Fuck.”  He hadn’t said where Clarisse was - where was Clarisse?  He didn’t know, didn’t know if she was even still alive, let alone if she was at camp or if she’d left camp now, or...  “Fuck.  I don’t-  Where the fuck is Clarisse?  Iris- fuck- Lady Iris, please.”  His hand clenched into a fist as he leaned forwards and rested almost the entirety of his weight on the rim of the fountain.  Breathing was supposed to be easier than that but the air kept getting caught in his throat and distantly he realised he was panicking, sensing his hope slipping away from one slip of the tongue.  “Clarisse La Rue at… fuck, I don’t know.  Camp Half-Blood?”

His right leg buckled and he clamped his mouth shut against the cry of pain as broken bone fragments slipped against each other.  More tears welled in the corners of his eyes and he turned his head, wiping them away frantically in the dirty remains of the fabric on his shoulder.

When he looked back up, Clarisse La Rue was staring at him out of the centre of the rainbow, eyes wide in shock.

She looked older than when he’d last seen her, hair semi-neatly chopped around her cheeks and small scars he didn’t remember peppering across her face.  She was bigger, too, always broad-shouldered but now easily twice his width, and Michael was pretty sure she was even taller.

“Clarisse,” he rasped, too relieved to even care how frantic he sounded.  “Help. ”

“Michael?” she asked.  “You’re dead.”

The bark of laughter that erupted from his mouth wasn’t humorous in the slightest.  Fuck, camp thought him dead?  It made sense, explained why no-one had ever come looking, but-

Fuck.

“Not fucking quite,” he replied hoarsely.  The back of his neck tingled again and he glanced back the way he’d come.  Still no sign, but that didn’t make him feel any safer.  “Not yet.”

Her brown eyes sharpened, narrowing from wide-eyed shock to the assessing daughter of Ares Michael had seen so many times before.  “What happened to you?” she demanded.  “And why are you calling me?”

“Fuck if I know.”  He looked around again, and caught sight of movement in the distance.  Movement that didn’t seem natural for mortals going about their day.  “Fuck.  I’m in Arizona, don’t know where the fuck except the state museum’s just down this road and if I don’t find somewhere safe to hide - or at least some fucking weapons to fight back with - now I’m fucking dead for real.”

“I know where you are,” Clarisse said.  Michael saw her glance away from the IM for a moment, then nod firmly, a familiar stubbornness settling into her expression.  “There’s a big building behind the fountain.”  He looked up and nodded.  “That’s the state university.  Get around the back of it then follow the boulevard east through the campus.  Once you’re out of the campus, keep following the street east for six blocks, then go left, then get to the park on the right.  There’s an unused building in the far corner; mortals think it’s locked but it’s not.  It’s one of my safehouses.  You’ll find weapons there.”

Through the college campus and then another six blocks.  Michael’s leg throbbed in protest but he set his jaw and nodded.  He could do that.

He had to do that.

“Thanks,” he rasped, glancing back again.  The shapes were clearer, bulky individuals that clearly hadn’t figured out exactly where he was yet but were searching.  “Fuck.  Gotta go.”

He slashed an arm through the rainbow, cutting off Clarisse’s “Mi-”, and pushed himself away from the fountain.

Time to run.

Michael knew that his leg shouldn’t be able to keep moving, let alone running.  A mortal could never have managed it, and he was pretty certain most demigods couldn’t, either.  Being the son of Apollo had its perks, but that didn’t stop it sending vicious stabs of pain up through his body with every step, reminding him loudly and furiously that son of Apollo or not, he wasn’t doing it any favours and sooner or later it was going to run out of endurance.

Oblivious college students didn’t even seem to blink as he ran past them, adrenaline flooding his body and pushing him further, further, faster.  Fear of being caught and the hope of safety ahead of him worked in tandem to urge him on, slamming away the pain with extreme prejudice and forcing his legs, both the broken one and the merely exhausted one, to keep going, one foot in front of the other and jarring with every step.  The campus stretched out before him, seeming impossibly long, and in the back of his mind a small voice despaired that he’d never make it.

He told the voice to shut the fuck up and kept going.

The sun beat down as he ran, sweat joining with blood to leave a trail behind that he was painfully aware of but could do nothing about.  All he could do was hope that he had enough of a headstart to outrun them to Clarisse’s safehouse.  And that Clarisse would think to tell Chiron, because fuck, he’d forgotten to tell her to.

The first sounds of active pursuit reached his ears as he passed a set of tennis courts near the end of the campus, lungs burning, chest heaving, legs screaming, and he glanced over his shoulder to see students being pushed out of the way by larger, armed and dangerous, figures.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

His body had nothing left to give but Michael wasn’t going to let it surrender.  Not now, not when he finally had a chance to get away.  He ignored the voice in his head that said that a safehouse wasn’t much good if they saw him go into it, and that he didn’t stand a chance in combat even if he did get his hands on weapons, because it didn’t matter how true it was, it was still all he had.

He accelerated again, finding speed he didn’t know he was capable of even with two intact legs and not on the cusp of exhaustion, and bolted across the last few yards of the campus, hurtling across the street without stopping and forcing cars to swerve to avoid hitting him, and kept going.

One block.

Behind him, more car horns sounded and drivers started shouting.  Something sounded like it hit something hard.

Two blocks.

Something went crunch and the shouting abruptly stopped.

Three blocks.

Michael’s lungs were on fire.  He couldn’t even feel his legs any more, which definitely wasn’t a good thing.

Four blocks.

Fresh shouting started up, low and guttural and undoubtedly aimed at him.

Five blocks.

His lungs transitioned from on fire to non-operational, each breath a constricting choke as he ploughed on.

Six blocks.

Michael skidded around the corner, crossing the intersection to more irate cars and almost toppled over at the change of direction.  He caught himself on a wall and all but bounced off of it, lurching down the sidewalk and knowing it was too much to ask that his pursuers hadn’t seen him make the turn but part of him begging whichever gods might be listening that they’d missed it anyway.

The park on the right, Clarisse had said, and Michael almost stumbled over his own feet as he caught sight of greenery after a moment of desperate running.

A javelin sailed past him, missing only because his leg buckled and listed him to one side for a heartbeat, and Michael’s stomach leapt up into his throat.  Not now, not now he was so close.

He threw himself into the greenery the moment it opened up, using the shrubbery for what little cover it could give him, but it was barely moments before he heard the leaves get brushed aside behind him.  Guttural cursing in a language Michael didn’t know but had got used to hearing was far too close as he frantically scanned the far side of the park for the building Clarisse had mentioned.

Where was it where was it where was it where the fuck was it-

There!

On the far side of the park, sheltered by trees on multiple sides, was a building that looked old and rundown.  Chains and padlocks wrapped around the door, but as Michael focused on it, they shimmered and fell away.

He hadn’t known Clarisse could manipulate the Mist that well, but he wasn’t going to complain.

He didn’t have time to complain.

There was still half the park to cross and he wasn’t going to make it unless he found another burst of speed from Hades-knew-where.  He choked on more air, willing his legs to go faster, but he still couldn’t feel them, not even the pain from the break, and he definitely wasn’t speeding up.

If anything, he was slowing down.

Fuck no.  He wasn’t going to get caught, not here.  Not now .  He leaned forwards, desperate for just a little more speed, and felt something snag his feet.

He landed on his front hard enough to see stars, every part of his body compressing in a way that made him feel sick, or perhaps that was the knowledge that he’d never get up and away in time.  It didn’t stop him trying, pushing himself upright on arms that were shaking almost too much to bear his weight, one shoulder screaming as it reminded him it probably wasn’t in its fucking socket, determined to fucking crawl if he had to.

Electricity crackled.

“Back off!” a female voice roared , footsteps running towards him from where he’d been trying to get to.  Michael’s first thought was that he must have hit his head when he fell, because that was Clarisse’s voice.

He dragged his head up just in time to see a figure jump over him, barely an instant before there was the clash of weapons behind him.

Rolling over was marginally easier than trying to stand up.  It brought with it a reprise of pain from his broken leg that jolted back into awareness so quickly he barely choked down a cry, but more importantly gave him a front row seat to Clarisse La Rue in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt wielding a familiar electric spear with a vengeance against the freak’s employees as they found themselves on the back foot, clearly not expecting to face anything more than a desperate, injured demigod they’d already run into the ground.

A skilled daughter of Ares with a weapon gifted to her by the god of war himself was not a desperate, injured and run into the ground demigod.

Michael had seen the Germani fight before, when the freak wanted entertainment.  They were skilled and powerful, far more so than most demigods - but Clarisse was not most demigods, and had surprise on her side.

He pulled himself backwards with trembling hands, away from the fight, until his back hit something solid.  A panicked glance upwards revealed that it was the trunk of a tree - not a rogue Germani trying to get around Clarisse - and Michael reached up with his less-bad arm for a low-hanging branch to haul himself to his feet with, much to the protest of his entire body.

If one of the Germani did get around Clarisse, he refused to be vulnerable on the ground.  He could still run to the safehouse if he had to, leg be damned .

For the moment, he let the trunk of the tree take most of his weight, keeping his right leg off the ground and gripping the trunk with white knuckles to stay upright while he watched Clarisse fight.

She’d always been an impressive fighter, but the demigod in front of him here was a whole different class to the one he remembered from before Manhattan.  The IM hadn’t deceived him - she was slightly taller and muscular since he’d last seen her - but there was a confidence to her that felt different, almost more natural.

Or maybe he was just so relieved to be saved that his mind had entered delirium.  That was certainly possible.

Whatever it was, Clarisse clearly needed no help in finishing up the fight, her spear whirling around and dispatching the startled Germani in a typically child-of-Ares display of aggression, until the last one disintegrated into dust.

Michael was not ready for Clarisse to turn and face him, towering over him the way she always had done and racking him over with narrowed brown eyes.  There were some bleeding scratches on her front, and a rather more considerably bleeding gash on one arm, but she didn’t seem to notice them as she stepped towards him.  Instinctively, Michael straightened, his weight automatically transferring back to both his legs, and provoking another blinding protest from the right one.

“Clarisse,” he croaked.

“What happened to you?” she demanded, voice sharp and unyielding.  “You died in Manhattan.”

“The fuck I did,” he protested.  “Some fucking emperor-god-wannabe fished me out the river and dragged me off.”  At least, that was what he’d gathered after the fact.  He didn’t remember anything between the bridge collapsing and waking up in the freak’s floating villa, which had taken far too fucking long to escape from.

He didn’t expect Clarisse to believe him, though.  It sounded fantastical, he knew it did, wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t lived it himself.  But it was the truth.

To his surprise, Clarisse’s gaze sharpened.  “Emperor-god?” she demanded, and there was something in her tone that made Michael’s default defensive snap back falter briefly, because it sounded like she did, somehow, believe him.

Still, “that’s what I fucking said,” he retorted after a few seconds, the familiarity of arguing an unlooked-for comfort washing over him even though he didn’t want to argue, still needed Clarisse’s help badly.  “Freak said he was one of the Roman bastards despite the fact they’ve been dead for fucking millennia.  Called himself Caligula.”

The soft shit that slipped out of Clarisse’s mouth seemed like a reflex, and Michael blinked as she set the butt of her spear on the ground.  “Let’s move,” she said, glancing around.  “We can talk once we’re somewhere more secure.”

That, Michael agreed with, and he took a step away from the trunk.

His body did not agree.

Enough, said his leg, at the same time adrenaline drained away, leaving his head lighter than air.

He crumpled.

“Shit!”  Large, warm hands caught his shoulders in a grip of iron.  “Michael!”

Michael snarled weakly and tried to get his leg under him again.  “I’m fine,” he insisted, knowing it was a lie.  He wasn’t fine, but he hadn’t hit his limit yet - he refused.  He dragged his head up to meet Clarisse’s searching gaze.

She snorted.  “Pull the other one, Yew.”

To his surprise, she sank down in front of him, and by the time his brain realised what was going on he was slumped over her shoulders, pinned in place by an arm around his leg and hand clamped around his wrist.

“The fuck, La Rue?” he yelped as she grabbed her spear with the hand not holding him in place and straightened up.  “I can fucking walk!”

“This is faster,” she said.  “Instead of slowing us down, keep an eye out for more of Caligula’s people.”

Michael tried to be offended, but as she broke into an even jog, he had to at least privately concede the point.  The movement jostled his broken leg, thankfully not the one she was using to hold him in place, and he fought back whimpers, but after so long running under his own steam, it was a relief not to have to, anymore.

Even though it meant a fireman carry from Clarisse.

It was easier to let his head hang than try to hold it up, and his matted hair made a curtain that was difficult to see through, but Michael had no desire to be ambushed by more Germani - more of Caligula’s people, and he was starting to wonder how much Clarisse knew about the freak, how she knew anything about him in the first place.  He squinted past his hair, watching the park behind them as Clarisse jogged forwards, and then the street as she passed the safehouse without pausing.

“Where’re we going?” he asked, watching the building get smaller for a moment before flicking his attention back to the street.

“My apartment,” Clarisse said shortly.  “It’s more secure than that.”

Clarisse’s apartment?   “Your mom’s place?”

She snorted.  “No.  My apartment.  You just ran through my college campus.”

It hadn’t occurred to Michael that Clarisse would be in college, now.  Fuck, they were the same age; if she was in college, then if it wasn’t for the freak, he probably would be, too - if he’d ever decided what the Hades he wanted to do.

“Huh,” was the only noise he could summon in response, followed by another muffled whine as his broken leg jarred again.  Fuck, he missed the pain numbing properties of adrenaline.  Clarisse’s grip on his wrist shifted, and he realised that she’d heard it.  She didn’t mention it, though, just kept up with the jog as though he didn’t weigh a thing.

In his current state, he probably didn’t as far as she was concerned.

Wherever Clarisse lived, it felt a long way away.  Maybe it was because she wasn’t running in a flat-out sprint, but the journey seemed to take forever.  More than once, Michael found his eyes starting to slide shut, exhaustion fighting for dominance, and forced them open again, unwilling to risk missing a threat.

Nothing attacked them.  Michael could feel the tension in Clarisse’s shoulders rising the longer they went without being attacked, but she drew to a halt outside an apartment building unchallenged.

“Still awake?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“Good.”  She turned around, looking back the way they’d come for herself and giving Michael a clearer view of the building, complete with the flight of stairs they were no doubt about to go up.  Seemingly satisfied that he hadn’t missed anything, she then turned back and continued towards what was clearly her apartment door.

Michael’s leg did not approve of the stairs.  Clarisse went slower than he expected, the rise and fall of her body minimal, but still his leg complained and more than one hiss forced its way past gritted teeth on the ascent.  Her grip on his wrist tightened, but she still said nothing.  Michael appreciated it.

Eventually, they came to a stop outside a plain door, indistinguishable from the rest of the apartment doors.  Michael wasn’t sure how Clarisse was planning on opening it with her spear in one hand while the other kept hold of him, but he wasn’t expecting for her to call, “it’s him.”

The door was yanked open so fast, Michael half-expected it to fly off the hinges.

“Michael?”

He forced his head to raise, his hair falling mostly out of his face so that he could see over Clarisse’s shoulder.

“Chris,” he rasped, not liking the way the son of Hermes was looking at him in horror.  “Take it you two are still together, then?”

“Yeah,” Clarisse confirmed as she walked past her boyfriend, who shut the door behind them.  At the click of the catch falling into place, Michael let his head sag again.  “Down you go.”

Michael didn’t manage to brace himself before spilling out of Clarisse’s grip, but he didn’t have to as he was gently laid on a throw-covered couch, his limbs limp and boneless as he sank into the fabric.

It felt heavenly.

“Gods,” Chris breathed, kneeling on the floor next to him, dark eyes surveying him from head to toe.  Michael heard the quiet click of a catch opening and his eyes flitted to look at the floor, where Chris had a large plastic box cracked open on the rug.  “Eat.”  A small square of ambrosia was held up in front of him.  Michael forced a shaking hand to take it from him and slipped it into his mouth, instantly feeling the relief that came from eating the godly food.

Hades, how long had it been since he’d last had ambrosia?  The freak certainly hadn’t ever given him any.

He let his arm fall heavily back onto the couch as he savoured the taste.

“Let me treat your wounds,” Chris insisted.  He was already pulling on gloves, and Michael eyed him in surprise.  The son of Hermes huffed.  “I know I’m not an Apollo kid, but my dad is still a patron of medicine, even if he’s not strictly a god of it.  I might not be able to instantly heal you but I can make sure you don’t die of sepsis.”

It wasn’t like Michael could do much more for his own wounds than he had already; he healed fast but not instantly.

“Fine,” he agreed, and Chris broke into a relieved look.  Clarisse shifted her weight.

“I’ll make sure the perimeter is secure,” she said, grabbing a small vial of nectar and taking a sip from it.

“Could you grab Michael something clean to wear before you go?” Chris asked her.  Michael felt him gently take hold of one of his arms, then hissed as he gently dabbed at the exposed cut with antiseptic.  “These clothes are filthy.”

“Fuck you,” Michael muttered, well aware that he was right.  They weren’t clothes he was attached to - the freak had got rid of his clothes after Manhattan and replaced them with some sort of sailor’s outfit, which Michael had had no hesitation about tearing up for makeshift bandages.

He was still furious about the loss of his camp necklace, though.

Clarisse headed further into the apartment without another word as Chris wiped down the skin around the gash before peeling away one of Michael’s makeshift bandaging attempts and getting to work treating the wound underneath it.

“You know I’m right,” Chris replied.  “Those rags need cutting off, anyway.”

Michael bristled.  “I can-”

“I know a broken leg when I see one,” Chris overrode him.  “I don’t even want to think about how much damage you’ve done to it running around - or how the Hades you managed to run around on that - but it won’t thank you for moving it again.”

Clarisse returned before Michael could come up with a retort, dropping a bundle of fabric over the back of the couch.  “I’m securing the perimeter now,” she said.

“Be careful,” Chris replied, and Michael watched as she stalked out the front door, shutting it with a loud click behind her.  “Okay, let’s get these rags out of the way.”

Chris’ hands were gentle as they tended to each cut, scrape, gash or worse.  It wasn’t the same as one of his siblings, but it was enough to make Michael feel halfway human again, if completely helpless.

“I’d run you a bath now but I think you’d fall asleep in it,” the son of Hermes told him as he probed gently at the probably-dislocated shoulder.  As much as Michael hated to admit it, the older demigod was once again right; he was well aware of the exhaustion doggedly gnawing away at him now that the adrenaline had faded away.  “I’ll do that later.”  He frowned at Michael’s shoulder.  “This, on the other hand, I’ve got to deal with now.”

One good thing about the encroaching exhaustion was that Michael’s muscles couldn’t tense up too much, even if they wanted to.  He grit his teeth as Chris carefully manipulated his arm into extending, before slowly starting to rotate it.  The earlier ambrosia was not enough to completely muffle the sensation of the joint grinding back into its socket; some whimpers slipped out past his clenched jaw.  Like Clarisse earlier, Chris had the tact to not mention it.

Even worse than the dislocated shoulder, predictably, was the broken leg.  That was by far the worst part of the treatment as Chris gently poked and prodded at it before resetting the bone.  The ambrosia was no more effective as a painkiller for his leg than it had been for his shoulder, and Michael couldn’t help a short, high-pitched shout as it shifted back into position - thankfully also passing unacknowledged by the son of Hermes.

“No walking on it,” Chris said firmly as he fitted a splint to keep it in place.  Michael grumbled a string of curses under his breath as it was secured.  “It - and the rest of you - needs rest.”  It was obvious that he wanted to ask about what had happened to Michael, much in the same way Clarisse had, but to Michael’s relief, he wasn’t actually broaching the subject.

Then again, Chris knew a lot about traumatic experiences.

Once all his wounds were treated properly, Michael pulled on the spare clothes Clarisse had dug out for him, begrudgingly accepting Chris’ help.  Unsurprisingly, they were all far too big for him - Clarisse was easily twice his size, now, and Chris might have been rather lither than his girlfriend, but he was far taller than Michael.  The only advantage was that it meant they were easy to pull on over the various bandages and even leg splint, which didn’t negate Michael feeling like he was swimming in fabric.

“I’ll get you something that fits better soon,” Chris apologised as Michael flaked back down again, finding the couch far more comfortable than it had any right to be.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

The apartment door opened and Clarisse strode back in, bolting it behind her and propping her spear up beside it.  “Secure,” she reported, heading for them.  “Done with the first aid?”

“Done,” Chris confirmed.  “He won’t be walking on that leg any time soon, but otherwise it’s mostly exhaustion.”

Clarisse sat down on the rug; with Michael laying down on the couch, their heads were at similar heights.  “So what happened after Caligula grabbed you?” she demanded.  Chris’ sharp intake of breath at the name told Michael that they definitely knew something about the freak.  “That was nearly two years ago.”

Michael grimaced.

“Couldn’t get out,” he admitted, glossing over the gloating, the leering Germani and the self-important big-eared pandos, to say nothing of the fucking horse and the freak himself.  They’d found his attempts amusing.  The freak had even dared him to get out, promising him that he couldn’t.

The freak had said a lot of things, and Michael still couldn’t shake the shivers at the promise that he would be the new sun god.  It was delusional - it had to be, Apollo was the sun god and wouldn’t be usurped by some fucking wannabe - but the freak had always sounded deadly serious when he’d said it, like he fully believed he would .  He’d said Michael would help him, too.

Michael’s attempts to escape had always got more frantic whenever he heard that gloat.

He didn’t say any of that, didn’t think he could if he tried.  Neither Clarisse or Chris pressed him for details.

“Had a fucking boat villa.  Never let the thing near land.”  He’d managed to get on one of the boarding boats, once.  Mortal security guards had spotted him and dragged him back, citing some nonsense about the boss’ son not being allowed to leave.  “Took for fucking ever to get off.”

Eventually, one day, the guards had been distracted by something.  Michael still didn’t know what, but it had been enough for him to finally slip past them, onto land for the first time in eighteen fucking months, and run for it.

It almost hadn’t been enough, he’d almost been caught, but a door he’d run through had ended up in tunnels and more tunnels and more and more and more fucking tunnels with monsters with claws and teeth and other appendages they shouldn’t be allowed to fucking have that wanted a piece of demigod flesh and-

“Michael, breathe.”

A hand rested on the couch, not touching him but enough to catch his attention.  His eyes snapped to it, then followed the arm up to a shoulder and up again until he was looking at Chris’ face.  The older demigod’s brow was furrowed in concern, and Michael realised he was breathing too fast, air not actually reaching his lungs.

Fuck.

Michael closed his eyes, only to be assaulted by memories of being tracked, hunted, and snapped them open again, focusing instead on Chris’ face as he tried to wrench his breathing under control.

“Don’t push yourself,” Chris told him gently as air started to reach his lungs again.  “It’s okay if you can’t talk about it.”  Michael glanced at Clarisse, still sat on the rug behind her boyfriend but frowning, face all twisted up.

“No,” he said, hating how thin his voice sounded.  “I- fuck.”  If it was anyone else, he’d take the invitation to stop talking, because they wouldn’t understand, wouldn��t get it.  But these two…

“Fucking Labyrinth.”

Chris’ face paled, and Clarisse moved, putting her hand on the son of Hermes’ shoulder.  Her knuckles were white.

“It got me away,” Michael admitted, because it had; without its twists and turns and traps absolutely everywhere the freak’s men would have caught up to him within a day.

He didn’t know how many days he’d been running through the fucking thing before it finally spat him out in Arizona.

“But- fuck .”  He’d never been in the fucking thing before, but he’d seen what it had done to Chris, how pale and shaken Annabeth had been when she re-emerged alone after her quest.  Had seen the monsters spill out of it into camp, had seen Lee’s head smashed open-

The fucking thing was supposed to be destroyed.  Why was it back?

He could’ve done without experiencing the inside of the fucking living nightmare for himself.

“You made it,” Chris told him, voice shaky but assuring.  “You made it out, Michael.”

“You’re safe,” Clarisse added, tone firm and leaving no room for debate.  Michael looked at her, remembering too many arguments and disagreements and threats from the daughter of Ares but seeing only pure sincerity and stubbornness there now.  “Those shitheads won’t get you, and you’re never going in there again.”

Michael swallowed around a lump in his throat.  “Yeah,” he agreed, voice shaking just as much as Chris’.  “Yeah.”

He was out.  He was safe.

The knowledge settled over him, heavy and warm as it finally sank in, and with it came a looming darkness his battered, aching and exhausted body finally stopped fighting and instead welcomed with open arms.

potentially tbc...

[johnslittlespoon]

20 questions for writers

thank you @triggerlil for the tag!! <3 i'm so late omg but this was FUN, first tag game i've done that's more author than writing snippet/drabble related :-)

tagging @air-exec, @counting0nit, @don-humes-tiny-shorts, @eternallytired17, @hauntingcontradiction

@nicijones, @bucking-mustangs-with-wings, @swifty-fox, @mangokittokatsu, anyone else who wants to! i love reading tag games like these, it's nice to learn more about the ppl behind all the brainrot :')

questions & answers below the cut! x

how many works do you have on ao3?

12!

what's your total ao3 word count? 50,182 wtf i only made my ao3 in january lol

what fandoms do you write for?

i've written for lotssss over the past decade, but my current ao3 is just saltburn and masters of the air fics :-) for the sake of this tag i'm just gonna stick to my mota fics in my answers tho since yk. mota blog lol

top 5 fics by kudos?

i don't wanna be alone tonight – buckbucky breathe me in (exhale slow) – buckbucky you're a dog (i'm your man) – buckbucky you put your arms around me (and i'm home) – buckbucky four–by–four – buckbucky

do you respond to comments?

every single one <33 i take a long while sometimes because i get too lost in the actual writing or i get overwhelmed by the kindness lol but i always always respond eventually :')

what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

definitely i see you in the daytime (i hear you at night), my first fic for masters of the air actually that spawned as a way to vent my feelings after the dreaded third episode lmaoo </3 thought that would get those boys out of my system, and i couldn't be happier to have been more wrong <3

what is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

ruh roh this kinda made me realize all my fics have some sorta melancholy/bittersweet ending even when they're hopeful... yad(iym) is gonna fix me fr (i think). but i guess the fuse to my fire since curt lives and the three of them are curtbuckbuckying indefinitely <3

do you get hate on fics?

i have in past fandoms but not here thankfully bc i am sensitive LOL. i've had weirdo anons that bitch about john bottoming (and i don't think those people realize it makes me inclined to write even more sub and/or bottom john to be petty SJGDK) but i wouldn't consider that hate, just bad fandom etiquette ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

do you write smut?

YEAHHH BABY <3 that's like. 99% of my drabbles/brainrot posts here and it takes serious self control to not just constantly write pwp oneshots, it's too much fun!! finding the balance in my chaptered fic for how much nsfw is too much is such a journey too lol, i wanna cram a spicy scene into every chapter but the part of me that adores slowburn over any other trope reins the gay brain in </3

craziest crossover?

haven't written any as of yet, but i do have my leaving!bikeriders au that i'm hoping to turn into a chaptered fic this summer, and that's exactly what it sounds like– buckbucky, but yank parts of callum's character from the leaving series and parts of austin's character from the bikeriders to create a buckbucky modern au. :-)

have you ever had a fic stolen?

i'm sure back in the wattpad days of the early '10s lol but none that i specifically remember!

have you ever had a fic translated?

in past fandoms!

have you ever co-written a fic before?

perhaps @curtsbigspoon and i cooked up like. 15k words of buckbucky thigh fucking etc months ago that i just need to get around to cutting down/editing >:-)

all time favorite ship?

i mean for me it's always a ship from whatever media i'm fixating on, so right now any variations of curtbuckbucky and cattonquick are everything to me <3 but in terms of ships that'll always have my heart, i can't ever let go of drarry, pricefield, clexa/murphamy, sciles/sterek– any from media i consumed during formative teenage years lol. but i will say i have never created anywhere near as much content for any other fandom as i have for mota :')

what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

for once i actually have none that i see myself abandoning! i would notoriously abandon wips in past fandoms and probably would still, but guess who finally got on adhd meds last month after years of waiting? this guyyyy. i can start projects... and enjoy them the whole way through... and not get frustrated and trash them... who am i

i mean tbf i have at least a dozen wips that i've gotten either a few paras or few thousand words into lol but then a new shiny idea grabs my attention, but i do think i'll end up finishing most if not all of them off eventually! once i've invested enough time/words into a wip, i feel way more motivated to finish it so i'm not 'wasting' my efforts.

what are your writing strengths?

i feel most confident when i'm writing dialogue over anything else. writing conversation–heavy scenes or just straight up porn is when i overthink the least lmaoo

what are your writing weaknesses?

oh god, definitely having to spell out what's going on in a character's mind. like, i know what they're thinking as i'm writing out scenes; i can feel their emotions and all. i just have such a hard time putting it into words in a way that doesn't feel too obvious/overstated, if that makes sense. i very much prefer to show rather than tell their emotions, but sometimes it's hard to get that right, and i agonize over solo scenes the most, when i can't show what a character is feeling by way of verbal conversation with another character.

thoughts on dialogue in another language?

no specific opinion! sometimes it's cool to read/write, mostly i don't really have an opinion one way or another :-)

first fandom you wrote in?

lmfaooo i'm pretty sure it was either for olddd youtube ships or frerard ngl. not sure which came first bc i wrote so much at once

favorite fic you've written?

you're a dog (i'm your man) has been such a labour of love for me because i care so much about doing it justice :') so maybe that one, but if unfinished fics don't count, i actually wrote breathe me in (exhale slow) in one rushed four–ish hour sitting and was kinda neutral on it until i got a completely unexpected burst of kind and beautifully worded responses, and then i felt a tiny bit proud <3

[we-out-here-simping]

Living for the hope of it all (s.h. x desi!fem!reader) [part-2]

Part 1

Mixtape

Summary: Steve Harrington had almost kissed you and you realise your feelings for your recently made friend. The boy makes you feel warm but what happens when he leaves you behind cold again and again? What happens when Steve bumps into someone he's been avoiding? Leading to you finding out about a part of him he doesn't want you to see. And worst of all, what happens when you leave Hawkins?

Word count: 12k+ (this fic is ginomonosaurus)

Warnings/tags: HoH steve; talk of 'king steve' era a lot; steve Harrington being a spaced out king; angst; lovestruck pining idiots; they're both afraid of emotional intimacy just like me frfr; both reader and Steve are 19 in this one (takes place after season 3); alcohol intake; reader has a favourite colour; kissing; mention of shitty parents :(

A/n: *slaps roof of fic* this baby fits so many song references that I've lost count. this is long and i hope my Desi girlies don't mind that the writing is....... well weird cuz I might have rushed it a little I'm sorry. also really restrained a full on angsty ending with no fluff but i think we deserve better and so does stevie.

I will be taking a hiatus for a while from here because life. But I will come back! Don't you worry! Promises series will continue then but until then i might or might not make little posts or reblogs here and there but nothing too much. But just know that when i come back, which I will, the promises series will be just jam packed with angst hehehee ;)

The next day, Steve was once again climbing your window. He would've used the door like a normal person, he really would have, but that meant high chances of coming across Ravi. And we've established why that would not be a good thing.

His heart was battering loudly in his ribcage as he scaled the wall. Okay, technically he wasnt scaling the wall but one slip could be very detrimental to the state of his bones.

He hoped by some miraculous magic you would have forgotten about all that had transpired– or had almost transpired– the night before. He tried not to think of it— your breath fanning over his lashes when he had looked at you in his half sleepy state. How you had looked like an angel looking down at him.

Something had made him feel drunk enough to say those things without a drop of alcohol in his system. It was you, most definitely.

And God, had he wish to kiss you. It seemed like the simplest and easiest thing to do; it could've been, it would've been.

But he knew, he knew what it would lead to.

Because no matter how you feel, by the end of this wedding, you leave and Steve would be alone, once again.

He tried not to think about all that as his feet finally landed on the porch.

He knocked softly at the cold glass pane, the drawn curtains obstructing his view into the room. The tips of his fingers and the apex of his nose were freezing in the chilly night air. When he got no response, he knocked again and again.

The patterned curtains got rapidly pushed aside and through the screen door he was met with your face and another unfamiliar one. Your eyes were widened as you looked at him and then at the woman beside you who seemed to be older than you.

Steve awkwardly waved towards you and the other woman, his features morphing into instant regret because a random lady saw him climbing a window like a creep.

The older girl pushed past you and flung open the door. Anger and annoyance written all over her face.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I– uh– "

"And why the fuck are you climbing into my sister's room like a creep?"

"I'm– I'm not– I'm uh….. sorry?" He stuttered awkwardly.

"You better be! Get the hell out! Or just– just you wait! I'll call everyone so you can never ever. climb. again–", she said with shaking her pointing finger vigorously in his face.

"Kajal wait– I– I know him", you finally spoke up.

"What?"

"I… know him?" You repeated hesitantly before further opening the porch door and then gesturing for him to get in, the boy however refused to budge from his place– not wanting to overstep anymore boundaries.

"How?"

"We're friends", you shrugged awkwardly.

"So, like your boyfriend or something?"

"We're not–", "Well um–", you both spoke up together.

"Because that seems to be the only reasonable reason for him to climb up a window like a creep or maybe he just is a creep–"

"I'm not a creep–"

"(y/n), you forgot to tell me?"

"We're not–", you tried repeating with wide eyes, gaze accidentally locking with Steve's– his big brown almost enchanting ones.

"What's your name anyway?"

"Uh– s- I'm sorry what?" He asked, too caught up in your pupils to pay attention to whatever the lady was asking him.

"Your name?" She repeated, frustrated.

"S– steve"

"Why not use a door to visit your girlfriend Steve?"

"Kajal, we're n–", you tried defending but were stopped when the boy beside you spoke.

"Kajal– you're the..bride?" He said, the gears in his head turning.

"Uhm, uh– yeah. Thats me" She said, lifting up her deep brown stained palms, the shiny ring a contrast against the dark intricate designs on her fingers and hands.

"So, what does your name mean?"

"Do you ask that to everyone?" She asked with squinted eyes.

"Believe me, he does", you chuckled dryly.

"You still haven't answered my question… why the window Romeo?" Kajal repeated again with squinted eyes.

"Because she ignored me"

"Ignored you? I didn't—"

"Oh, really? Why didn't you mention the event that you guys held today." Ok, so you might've forgotten to tell Steve about the mehandi function that was held. But could he really blame you? How could you remember such a small detail after what had almost happened.

"That's because you– because– " Because I kinda forgot because of a certain thing that almost happened between us. "It's a women only thing"

"That's not true", your cousin spoke up beside you with a sceptical look.

"I mean okay, yeah! It's not exclusively women's only but there are little to no guys there so I thought you'd just feel weird"

"Oh c'mon, some guys put on mehandi", Kajal scoffed, "my guy does"

"Again, stop rubbing your fiance in my face"

"Mehandi?" Steve asked, confused.

"Yeah, this", She held her palm up so the boy could see. "We also call it henna", she explained, "it's like a tattoo"

"Except not permanent or painful", you added.

"How do you put it on?" He inquired, curiosity evident in his words.

Kajal's lips turned up into a small smirk before she pulled him by his wrist and you followed them behind to your bed. "Well, this", she said picking up a crumpled up henna cone that you'd hastily thrown on your bed earlier before getting to the window, "is how you put it on", she said before handing the cone to Steve who tried to pipe some into his hand but ended up squirting a giant glob of henna onto his palm.

The boy cursed at the mess, you smiled a little before picking up the scrap piece of clothing and reaching for his hand to wipe the staining substance off. He muttered a 'thanks' into the air at your gesture while trying not to look at you too intently.

"Y'know, it's tradition to hide your partner's name somewhere in the design", Kajal explained.

"You wanna try and find it?" She questioned excitedly, holding up her palm to Steve's face. The boy hesitated a little– the sudden demeanour change from your cousin was honestly startling– before squinting his eyes, looking for the hidden name.

Your cousin couldn't help or hide her smile, her skin a little red. She'd taken every chance to flaunt the mehandi. What she and Ravi had, that was true love, you'd say.

You'd once asked her what it was like and she'd said: when you're together, you're braver, stupider, and calmer– they make you feel like you're the only two to ever exist. But it's a sneaky thing– love, it'll sneak up on you. By the time you realise, it'd be too late. A summon of love can come whenever with no warning.

When you looked at the boy beside her, you couldn't help the corner of your mouth from curling upward. Steve's gaze was fixed in Kajal's palm, eyes going over the deep maroon stained designs, looking for the name. There was a furrow in his brows, one you wished to smooth down. His tongue was slightly sticking out from between his pink lips and your mind wandered back to the night before.

After about a few minutes of squinting his eyes, Steve was able to find it. Kajal grinned at the name as if she didn't already know where the name was. She was so in love.

There was something so special about this all. It felt like two worlds colliding because Steve up until now felt like he was imaginary, like your mind had conjured him up– an imaginary friend or something to keep you company in the cold of hawkins. But now he was there and so was your older cousin-sister and it was like people from your two different lives were meeting one another.

"So, were you putting it on too?" Steve asked, a vague gesture towards your palm that had an unfinished start of mehandi that kajal had started just a minute or two before Steve knocked on your window.

"Yepp", you said looking down at the slightly smudged mehandi before wiping the paste off. "Anyone can put it on"

"Even guys?"

"Totally. If they want to", Kajal said.

"Want me to put some on?" It was more of a request than a question. "I'll make it small and unnoticeable, pleasee", you dragged out the 'please', adding furrowed brows and pleading eyes– a puppy dog expression.

"Okay, okay, fine", and how could Steve say no to you when you looked so damn cute doing it.

"You know maybe we can find a bit about your partner", Kajal spoke up, looking between you two– the ghost of a smirk on her lips.

"About my partner?" Steve asked, confused.

"It's a thing that mother's or grandmothers say– they say that the darker and deeper the shade of mehandi stain, the more loving partner you will have"

"Does it actually work?"

"It sure does for me! I think I got the most loving one"

"ok, thank you for bringing that up.. again", you rolled your eyes again.

"Might as well give it a try", Steve shrugged.

You sighed and laid on your stomach on the bed, placing Steve's hand in front of you– his palm splayed out for you to do your thing. You took a henna cone from your cousin and decided on making a small yet intricate design for the boy's palm. You took his palm in yours, his skin somehow warmer than yours despite him being out in the cold just a minute ago.

Steve was holding his breath, he knew that you could probably sense it so he tried his best to even the breathing. He failed. How could he? With your soft fingers holding his hand, sneakily stealing his warmth. He pretended that you weren't holding his hand because you were doing henna but because you were doing just that– holding his hand, just for the sake of it. The thought made his cheeks pink and hands a little trembly.

"Are you cold?"

"A– a little", he cleared his throat.

You murmured a soft 'here' before placing a fuzzy blanket on his shoulders. Steve thanked you with a shy smile and you returned it. Kajal looked between you two, she seemed to be the only one noticing the intricacies of this interaction.

You continued piping on the henna on Steve's palm. He wasn't sure what was more mesmerising– the detailed henna or you.

You with strands of hair falling from your lazily tied bun, you who was absentmindedly biting your lips as you concentrated, and you with your slightly colder hand holding his.

Steve realised that the henna could never compare to you, nothing could. You would always be more mesmerising than anything. He could just keep watching you, and stopping would never even cross his mind once.

Your gaze was on the boy's palm, never wavering. Holding the hand close to your face, forehead moulded into scrunched lines as your warm breath fanned over Steve's skin. Goosebumps arose in his skin as he realised it but you still didn't, the proximity the two of you had at that moment. It took all of him to avert his eyes from you. Eyes then looking over the mostly clean room that Kajal had helped you clean.

There was a knock at the bedroom door, both your and Steve's eyes shot up at the sound. the boy beside you stilled. Your cousin got up from her place to go towards the door.

"Kaju?" You whispered out, whipping out the nickname to convince kajal. You then gestured with your eyes towards Steve, as the boy looked between the two of you, confused. She nodded once, understanding you wordlessly– you didn't want anyone to see him.

"(Y/n)? Is Kajal in there? I have chai"

"Yes, I'm here, just wait, I'm coming", she responded to the door before turning towards you and the boy beside you, "Want tea?"

"Obviously", you whispered back.

"Was asking the white boy", the said boy nodded.

Kajal turned again and padded towards the door, making sure to barely open the door so Steve wasn't within the view range of her fiance.

"What're you guys doing in there?" Ravi asked Kajal. The man was holding a kettle and some paper cups with him.

"Uh, mehandi?" She said unsurely, "Look at mine!" She held up her pal to his face. He let out a playful huff before pouring two cups of tea.

"You're already shown me like three times… still looks amazing", he said with a small smirk.

"One more please", she said looking at the two cups in his hands.

"That's three cups", Ravi stated.

"Yeah and I love chai ok?" She said with a defensive tone.

"Yeah, trust me I know. But as your fiance", he paused,"I won't allow it. You've already had two cups"

"I'll divorce you if you separate me and my chai", she deadpanned.

"First, we're not married yet so you can't divorce me. Second, I wish you were this possessive over me. Third, You're still getting one cup."

"It's not for me, for (y/n)"

Ravi paused and finally let out a huff and caved. He poured the third cup. Kajal tried holding it but her hands were already full. "Here let me–" before she could say anything he pushed past her into the room to put the cup on the table.

You and Steve had been talking in hushed voices, all of it halted when you saw Ravi standing at the doorway.

"What in the— harrington?" Steve immediately sprung up from the bed, "What is he doing here?" He asked with a pointed finger jumping between you and Kajal.

"I invited him", you spoke up.

"Invited him?" Ravi echoed.

"Ravi.." Steve started.

"Ravi, calm down its fine– he's her boyfriend"

"No, we're not–" you and Steve both interrupted.

"I don't care what they are. I want him out of here", he said with his voice slightly higher than normal.

"You do know that he's just trying to get into your pants right?"

"Ravi-", Kajal tried to calm him down.

"Please Kajal, he's an asshole who would bully everyone just to feel better about himself." It's out of the bag now. Steve had his eyes trained on his shoes. The room was quiet and the air thick with tension.

"....what?" You finally broke the silence with all but a weak whisper. When Steve looked up at you, you were looking right back at him, he turned back to the other man in the room.

"Look, Ravi, I wanna apologise–"

"No man, I don't need your half assed apology. I need you to get out."

Steve gulped before nodding once and walked out the room.

"What the hell was that Ravi?" Kajal said.

"I'm sorry, Kajal. I just– he and his senior friends, they were— I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted. I'm sorry, (y/n) but you know why I moved out of here in the first place, right?"

You nodded after a moment, "I do", you whispered.

"He's an asshole (y/n), school was torture because of him and his friends "

"But what if he's changed now?" You asked.

"I'll have to see it first to believe it."

....

Steve was sitting in his car, the engine turned off. His hands were on the steering wheel, eyes unfocused, staring off into the distance.

He hated himself.

An asshole who would bully others just to feel better about himself. Yep, that was apt.

Steve thought he had changed, he thought he had proved it but he hated that the world still saw him as 'king steve'. The fake persona he had put on so people would like him, something that just wasn't ever there.

Dread filled his heart at the sight of you hearing all of that about him, however true it might've been at some point. Steve had thought maybe he could keep you out of this.

Before he knew it, his feet led him to the door of the house. He paused a beat, deciding then and there that he was going to make things right. He knocked on the door, determined to right his past wrongs.

When the door creaked open, he was met with Ravi''s face.

....

Steve knocked at your bedroom door and when you didn't audibly respond, he slowly creaked the door open. Your room seemed empty, no movement save for the flowing curtain next to the door that opened to the balcony which he had climbed onto earlier.

He ambled further towards the balcony door and that's when he caught a glance of you. You were sitting on the floor, a blanket wrapped around your frame, fingers grasping around the neck of a wine bottle while you stared at the sky.

The moonlight hit your face, gleaming. Stray hair strands flowed with the breeze before you tucked them behind your ear.

Steve quietly opened the door as if he'd ruin the pretty view in front of him if he made a single sound. The door still creaked, however you didn't look at him, only clearing your throat as an acknowledgement.

"Are you gonna drink that entire bottle all alone?"

"No, I was waiting for you, actually", you said while still not looking at him. Steve sat on the cold floor beside you, an involuntary shiver ran down his spine.

You lifted the blanket on your shoulder, an offer for the boy beside you— an indirect warm hug. Your shoulders brushed and tried your best to keep an even breathing. Steve tightly wrapped the blanket around the two of you, cocooning you both. Your gaze was still on anything but Steve.

"I apologised to Ravi", he finally broke the silence.

"I know", you went to try to open the bottle, struggling, "What did he say?"

"Says he accepts my apology but doesn't forgive me yet", Steve offered you a hand, you gladly handed him the bottle. His arm muscles flexed as he struggled a little with the cork.

You managed to steal a glance of his face before he could notice and saw his eyebrows knitted together, hair a little flatter and you wished to run your hands through the coffee coloured strands like you did the night before. You clenched your fist and quickly averted your gaze before you could do anything like that.

The bottle opened with a pop, he flashed a grin when you finally looked him in the eyes. He paused in his movements before you gave him a soft smile and took the bottle back.

You took a swig of the bottle, you hummed at the unfamiliar taste– you weren't sure if you liked it so you took another swig. You weren't a big fan of it.

You once again turned your head back to the sky. "He'll get around. All those years here and all the shit he went through, its ought to affect a person, doesn't it?", You tilted the bottle towards the boy, another offer.

"… yeah", he whispered before taking the bottle from you.

"The funny thing is when he shifted out of here, the bullying never stopped. Because to the kids there, he was too American– he could never win. And he was so, so scared. The first friend he ever made there was Kajal and they just fit. But that took him almost a year. When he first came there, he was so quiet, so scared, like he'd broken the part of his brain that allowed him to make friends."

Silence. A beat.

"I know what it does to people. These past couple years, I'm trying to right all the shit I did. Trying to be better, trying to change", Steve explained.

"That's good", you nodded curtly.

"But I know I've still got a long way to go"

"You do."

You stayed quiet for a while. The only sounds that were audible were distant cars and the chill wind rustling against the curtain by the balcony.

"What're you thinking?" Steve once again broke the quiet.

"Uh, nothing— I just— I realised that we've been friends for a week now and I don't really know anything about you. Who knows what else you're hiding from me", you joked a little trying to lighten the mood.

"It has been just a week, though"

"But I'll just be here for a few more"

"I…guess you're right", he sighed.

"So tell me something about yourself", you said.

"Um….. like what?" You let out a playful scoff, taking the halfway empty bottle from his hand and then holding a palm out for a handshake.

"Hi, I'm (y/n) (l/n)." You stated with a smile.

"Hi…I'm Steve Harrington", he returned it.

"What's your favourite colour, Steve Harrington?"

".. really?" He questioned with quizzical eyebrows.

"Just answer the question", you rolled your eyes.

"Um…. I don't think I have one."

"Decide one now"

"Oh, um– ok. I mean, blue is pretty nice, but then this red you're wearing is also good– it's also the colour of my car, but also yellow…?"

"Yellow?"

"Yeah, not fluorescent yellow, but golden yellow– like sunflowers and stuff. I have a sweatshirt that colour and I think it's my favourite one"

"It's settled then, Steve Harrington– yellow"

"What's yours?"

"Maroon, same as my sweater— my grandma made this because it's my favourite colour"

"It looks great"

"Thank you"

Talk of favourite musicians led to talk of your favourite movies (both Steve and you struggled to find a common ground in it). Talk of favourite movies led to talk of each other's past, then favourite subjects in school and then future plans.

"Ok, my turn– who's your favourite singer?"

Steve had gotten rejected from his dream college, and you were preparing to get into medical school.

You talked more and drank more and somehow all this talk led to Steve (in his drunken state) sharing confidential knowledge– that the boy had signed an NDA for.

"You know, I fought an interdimensional monster…. Multiple times actually"

"..what?" You asked with squinted eyes.

"Yeah, and there were Russians too"

".. Russians?"

"Yeah and then there was this…. flesh monster"

"Is that a euphemism?"

"No, no– it was a literal flesh monster", he explained with a chuckle, "And honestly I don't remember much– but yeah, it was pretty strange"

"Please I've seen stranger things"

"I doubt it"

"I have."

"I literally told you about a flesh monster. What else is stranger than that?"

"You expect me to believe that? Like, really? A flesh monster? You can't handle your alcohol", you chuckled. if only you knew how true it was. "Did you know that this is my first time drinking? And look at me, I'm handling it sooooo well!"

"Wow, you handle your alcohol pretty good", he snorted.

"Hopefully you're not too hungoverrr tomorrow for the Sangeet "

"Sangeet?" He echoed with a tilt of his head.

"Yeah, everyone sings songss and daances– it's great and funnnn", you said a little bit too loud, dragging out words while swaying a little.

"Am I invited?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't come, actually"

"Wouldn't want to do that", he stated while laughing a little. His eyes glanced over to his wrist watch, "Oh Jesus, the time– you need to go to bed"

"Oh c'mon it was starting to get interestinggg", you complained.

"It got plenty interesting", he chided like a parent.

"Well, I'm not moving", you whined with a pout, arms crossed dramatically over your chest.

"Oh, come on (y/n)", he said with his hands to his hips. when you showed no signs of moving, "well then I'll just have to do this". he sighed before bending down and picking you up bridal style, you giggled while wrapping your arms around his neck, a wide grin plastered on your features as he carried you to the bed.

"You're so dramatic, you know that?" Steve said with a lazy smile.

You giggled again, tightening your arms around his, slightly nuzzling your face in the junction of his neck and shoulder. "No, you're dramatic! I'm justtt… well seasoned", you mumbled into his sweater that smelled like faded cologne, mint gum and a hint of vanilla.

"You sure are", he chuckled and then carefully placed you among the pillows and fuzzy blankets. He was about to stand straight up but your hands were still tightly wrapped around his neck, restricting him to move away.

"(Y/n)..." He all but whispered into the still air of the room.

"Steve?" After a pause, you mumbled in your half asleep state, fist grasping the fabric of his sweater— refusing to let go. And as you looked into his coffee brown eyes, a silent question hung in the air– a wordless request– a plea to stay. You wanted to say it out loud, maybe you had. It was hard to remember when your mind was so hazy.

You had said it. You probably didn't even know. You definitely didn't know how to handle your alcohol.

God, did Steve want to stay. He wanted to stay and keep watching you– not in a creepy way of course. Steve could just keep watching you, he could keep laughing at your jokes, keep telling you stories and jokes– just to hear your laugh, he could make himself go insane just staring at you. All he wanted was to be near you and never leave.

All in all, he wanted to stay. But he couldn't. He knew what it meant. And stupidly so, Steve had made a self-imposed rule to be friends with you and nothing more, that is why he'd pulled away the previous night and that is why he was pulling away now.

Steve had always been a hopeless romantic, but with you, falling in love seemed like the easiest– the most natural. And he already had.

She'll leave soon.

Steve let out a breath and then unwounded your arms from around his neck, placing them on either of your side.

Now, just turn and leave….. to your empty house.

You looked up at him, big pleading yet sleepy eyes and eyebrows scrunched together in anticipation of what the boy would do.

No. Don't.

Steve bent down again, placing a chaste kiss on the top of your head. You let out a soft sigh, eyes closing at the warm breath on your temple.

"Good night (y/n)", he murmured into your hair. When he stood straight up, he was met with the slow rise and fall of your chest, indicating that you were asleep.

He smiled a little, then pulled the blanket over your frame and finally he left for his empty house.

....

Steve was wearing a baby pink kurta that actually fit him, courtesy of Ravi. You couldn't help but look at him. His sleeves were rolled up, forehead a little sweaty despite the cold climate as he carried trays of rooh-afza to the guests. Steve had offered to help around to prove himself to Ravi and the older boy had let him do so while providing him with clothes that actually fit him.

That was Ravi's olive branch to Steve.

The brown eyed boy walked over to the group you were sitting with. He held the tray between the two of you, offering you a glass. A small and shy smile grew on your face before you reached for a glass, mumbling a little 'thank you'. Steve nodded with a boyish grin and your eyes followed him as he moved to give the beverage to others there.

"Enough with the longing glances", Kajal spoke up beside you, making you jump a little as your cousin broke you out of your Steve induced trance.

"There are no longing glances"

"Sure, and I'm not getting married", she commented sarcastically, "the way you look at each other, it's the textbook definition of longing glances"

You rolled your eyes, "he doesn't look at me like that. Plus, I'm pretty sure he has a girlfriend"

"And who's that?"

"The girl he came with, he works with her", you explained curtly, "And why would he ever want to be with someone like me?"

"So are you implying that you have feelings?"

"I don't know"

"I mean, you drank with the man– that has to mean something", you glared at her, "What? i noticed you stealing sneaking away with that bottle and who else would you have drunk an entire bottle of wine with?" Kajal giggled, "Plus you also said he kissed you in your dream-- that very much means feelings"

"On my forehead", you mumbled so no one could eavesdrop.

"How scandalous", she deadpanned.

"but in the dream he also told me that he fought monsters– do you think that means something?" You asked with raised eyebrows.

"Look, all I'm saying is", she sighed, "give it a shot. You'll be leaving in a few weeks anyway. Worst case scenario, he doesn't feel the same."

"I can think of worse scenarios."

"Of Course you can– tell me when you figure it out. I'll go and show up my fiance on the fucking dance floor"

You smirked as she said so. And she did so. Kajal had always been extremely energetic. Like a small ball of electricity.

Soon she started to pull in other family members into the group, including you.

Steve watched you in the crowd with the empty tray and a glass of the beverage for himself. You looked so fucking pretty.

You had a pastel pink dress with golden yellow details on– and you looked like a princess.

Your hair was put into an intricate braid with flowers in it. Your mehandi was a deep maroon, the shade matching the small unfinished henna design on his own palm. Your eyes were twinkling like the stars, and your face, the moon–and the only word that came to mind was beautiful.

Your brows were up in delight. A wide grin was spread across your face and crinkles around your eyes. A glint of mischief in your sparkling eyes.

You beckoned him to join the crowd. But before he could do so, raindrops started falling out of nowhere. He was sure he hadn't noticed any clouds the entire day, or maybe you had distracted him. You were a good distraction afterall.

Steve asked himself why. Why did you have that effect on him? You barely knew each other, you'd met like a couple weeks ago. But he was happier than he had ever been. Even though he spent his nights in his empty house, evenings were a little lighter after talking to you.

What was it about you and this situation between you two– of teetering on the line of friends or something else. All of it had to mean something, right? Or was he just making this all up in his head?

Steve almost wanted to ask you, whisper the question into your ears, whether your sunsets were colourful as his were recently.

He wondered how you would respond. He seems to dream more during the day than at night. maybe you'd feel the same– he hoped. And you might have no clue or maybe you were completely aware, playing with his poor innocent heart.

Steve was staring at you again and you wondered if he even heard the speakers and music turning off or if he even noticed that all the other people had scrambled to seek shelter. You quickly grabbed his wrist and pulled him into shade.

"Are you okay?" You asked through a heaving chest. His eyes were trained on your face that had droplets of water rolling down your lashes, cheeks and then lips.

She'll leave soon.

He let out a "yeah" with a breath. You turned to wring your hair and dress a little. Steve's fingers carded through his dripping hair.

No. Don't.

The summon of love can come whenever, with no warning. And right at this moment, a call for Steve Harrington's name was echoing through the cold Hawkins air. Reverbing through the rainfall.

He called out your name, his hand held out– the henna design you'd made on his palm a deep brown– golden flakes swimming in his brown expecting eyes. You flashed him a quizzical look at his gesture. He silently posed like he was ball dancing with an invisible person, he swayed a couple times– eyes still asking a silent question.

You mouthed "no music", a weak excuse.

"Who needs music", Steve spoke with a wide smirk over thunder and the constant pitter-patter of raindrops. He held his hand out again.

You didn't care if anyone was looking.

you didn't realise how cold you'd been before you placed your hand into his larger and warmer one. Steve immediately pulled you into his broad chest, your breath hitched, faces just mere inches away.

Stop it, Steve. Stop.

Steve was just the right person to offer you some heat. Your face became too hot at the proximity. You felt a warmth spread across the small of your back– your lehenga giving him access directly to your skin there. Steve's palm splayed across your colder skin. Surely, you had melted as any and all stiffness disappeared from your muscles.

Stop. Before you fuck this up.

Your arms moved to wrap around the back of his neck.

Pull away, Harrington—

And before you knew it, you were moving. Steve was leading you, making you follow a beat that didn't exist. And you were just getting used to the movements when–

"I'm gonna spin you", he muttered, lips turned into a slight smirk.

"What?--"

As promised, the boy spun you, the movement dizzying. Then you were once again pulled into his chest, his hands once again on your waist, yours around his neck.

"You okay?" he asked. You nodded, quickly letting out the breath you'd been holding.

And you danced, you weren't sure how long, but you danced and through it all Steve Harrington made you feel like you were the only one that mattered. He spun you, he went as far as to dip you, pulling you back up as a fit of giggles erupted from your throat.

It all felt a little unreal. The golden rays of the sunset filtered through the rain clouds. The raindrops felt like specs of the golden sun falling down on you. And maybe if you looked up, you'd see a rainbow, but you couldn't. Not when there was Steve Harrington in front of you.

It was in that moment did you realise that Steve Harrington was someone important, someone who'll matter so much more, someone who'd be a recurring character in your life. Someone who'd steal a part of you and you'd simply let him.

At that moment you realised that Steve Harrington felt like home.

You had found home on the other side of the planet from your real one, in a boy you'd known for very little time.

Soon your movements slowed down, reduced to the two of you just swaying. Once again, a question hung in the air. an invisible line washed off by the rain. And as the two of you looked at each other, only one thing remained: anticipation for what's to come next.

Your eyes locked into Steve's, waiting with bated breath. It was like you were magnets– an invisible force pulling you two. You were sure you weren't imagining it yet you didn't shut your eyes, afraid that it'll all disappear into thin air when you do so. Deciding to only close them when it actually happens, but it never did.

"..Steve?" A raspy voice popped your bubble.

The boy in question quickly sprung away from you, carding his fingers through his wet locks. The person who'd interrupted the two of you was Steve's co-worker. Beside her was a younger boy with curly hair (who had a huge grin on his face) and behind them were a few other young teens (who had a smirk on their faces). You shifted uncomfortably on your feet, stepping a little further away from steve.

"Robin?" He quickly turned to the girl, "what happened?"

"I was gonna say that– that we should leave and drop the kids off but if you wanna stay–"

"No, no", he interrupted her, shaking his head, "it's okay", he mumbled before he started to move out of the bubble you two had been in.

"Bye", you whispered just to him but you didn't get a response or acknowledgement whether the boy had ever heard you.

The cold air started to finally seep in and no longer was there a certain brown haired boy to heat you up.

....

Steve didn't show up that night, neither the next night, or the one after it.

And as much as you'd come to know Steve Harrington in the past days is that he's clingy– enough to climb up your window if you didn't talk for one day.

So that made you believe that you had in fact done something wrong. Maybe, you'd made him uncomfortable and he hadn't leaned in, maybe your stupid mind had imagined that too, like how it prefers to imagine that the boy stared at your lips because he wants to and not because he has a hearing disability.

So, yeah, you hadn't seen Steve for three days. And you were worried. So you asked Kajal to drive you over to Family Video.

When you walked in, you weren't greeted with Steve's face instead with the same girl who'd interrupted you and the boy.

'Hi… Steve gave me these. Is he–?'

"No shift today"

"Oh, okay"

"I can help with movies too, you know– I'm actually better at them", she said while leaning on the counter, "I'm Robin by the way", she said while pointing at her name tag on her vest.

"(Y/n)"

"I know", she said as her mouth curved into a smirk– considering that Steve never shuts up about you.

"I– I'm actually here for some– American movies", you said like it was more of a question than a statement, "since I am in America"

"Well, then– then I've got some classics for you. If you'll allow me"

"Sure"

The blonde girl led you through the aisles and the different genres and different movies that she recommended while you nodded along– trying to keep up with her fast rambling. You came to know that Robin knew a lot about movies.

After some consultation and considering that lasted ten to fifteen minutes, you decided on one movie. Which Robin was now ringing up.

"Look– I know you're not actually here for the tapes– you're here for Steve", she broke the silence before clearing her throat and asking, "D'you… both have something going on?"

"Um– no, we're– you don't have to worry"

"Why would I worry?" She wondered aloud with a tilt of her head.

"Because…you seem– you're…. Together?"

"Ew. No. We're not. Under any circumstances. He's my best friend, yes. But that's like it. It entirely, completely, utterly, absolutely, fully, wholly, in every which way, in all respects platonic. With a capital P"

"Okay"

"That day….", Robin's voice trailed off, " I– I interrupted, didn't i?"

"Um, no no!" You said with a shake of your head, "He was going to pull away anyway and I shouldn't have done that. Maybe he's angry with me– i don't know"

"He's not– trust me. He just needs some sense knocked into him. Steve– he has this thing– he sometimes….. disappears?"

"Disappears?"

"Sometimes, he just doesn't talk to anyone– doesn't pick up phone calls, doesn't respond, scares the shit out of me– to be honest it's a problem and I've tried talking to him but he's just so shut off those days and then he'll show up next day absolutely normal– like he didn't just scare the living hell out of me the previous day"

".. why?"

"I..", she trailed off, " i don't know– i never got past him." You shoulders sagged, fingers fidgeting with the fraying yarn of your sweater.

"(Y/n)", she called your name out before nudging the tape you had chosen towards you."You have to return the movie by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?", You echoed with knitted eyebrows, "I thought it was next week"

"No, you watch the movie today and return it tomorrow. Please." She spoke with determinance.

"Robin", you said with another shake of your head.

"I know you want to"

"Would he want me to?"

"Why don't you come by and find out."

....

The next day you walked through the chilly autumn breeze to go to the video store.

And there he was, in all his messy brown-haired glory. The boy didn't turn at the sound of the door bell, too concentrated in arranging the tapes in an alphabetical order– surely singing the abc's under his breath to remember what comes after j.

Robin's face, who was standing next to him, lit up at seeing you. She tapped Steve's shoulder, pointing with her eyes towards you.

When your gaze met, it was like your first meeting all over again. All fast heart palpitations, hitched breaths and warm cheeks.

The way Steve's face dropped a little didn't go unnoticed by you but you were determined to….. you weren't sure what. But you were determined. Maybe to interrogate him as to why he almost kissed you when he first climbed up the window, maybe to ask him why he almost kissed you at the Sangeet, maybe you just wanted to talk to him because in all honesty, you missed him and you also needed answers as to why the boy had been ignoring you for seemingly no reason.

Robin clapped her hand against Steve's shoulder and walked over to the counter to maybe give the two of you some privacy. However much to her surprise and Steve's, you didn't walk up to the brown eyed boy, instead padded to the counter, "here to return this", you muttered.

"Um– ok!"

Steve walked up to the counter, beside you. He awkwardly cleared his throat as to let you know of his presence, as if you weren't already aware. When your eyes stayed averted, fixed on the cover of the movie tape you had rented, he finally spoke up "(Y/n)..."

"Hey, Steve", you responded curtly.

"Hey..", he cleared his throat, communicating with Robin almost telepathically. She turned and made her way to the comedy aisle after handing your tapes to Steve. He started to ring up the movie tapes, not uttering a single word. The air was thick, and the store was silent.

"Steve," you reckoned it was easier to just rip the bandaid off, "why didn't you pick up my calls?" You finally broke the silence.

"I–"

I almost did it again. Even though I'm not supposed to.

Because you scare me. You and your pretty face, you and your eyes, the way you smell, the way you do everything.

You scare me. But everytime I look into your eyes, I'm suddenly not scared. I'm suddenly brave and stupid. Stupid enough to do shit that I'll probably end up regretting.

"I'm…. Stupid"

You broke into a smile that you didn't want to let on to the boy infront of you, "you really are." You had probably let the boy off the hook too easily, but you missed him.

"I'm really sorry"

"It's fine steve. I promise", you said with a small smile.

The boy grinned before moving behind the counter, "Y'know I tried to watch one of those bollywood movies– I didn't understand anything", he said changing the subject.

"Well naturally. They aren't dubbed or subtitled."

"Yeah, I realised so", he said before his smiled dropped, "I'm really sorry, (y/n)", he started with an earnest look in his golden eyes, "I just–"

"Just what?"

Got scared.

"I just–" he hesitated again, "I wanna make it up to you"

You paused, thinking for a moment. You then took the tapes from the counter, "Are you free after work today?"

Steve nodded.

"D'you like kids steve?"

"Um.. y-yeah, love 'em"

You hummed, "come by at the house. Don't use the windows, please"

....

The sun had just set, and Steve had turned the open sign to a close sign before leaving for your home. everything had a golden hue to it, as he drove through Hawkins street. The air was quiet when he stopped at the gift shop near melvalds, picking up a bouquet as perhaps an apology– how does one apologize for almost kissing someone and ghosting the same person for days on end?

You had been very cryptic with your invitation. As he drove through the chill autumn air, he wondered why you had asked him if he "liked kids"? He reckoned he'd come to find out soon. That's one thing he'd noticed in the little time he'd come to know you– you weren't much of a talker. Like yeah, you talked but you didn't talk. You're pretty selective with words and how many you say. Perhaps it was because of the language barrier or perhaps that's just how you were.

He rang the bell, he chuckled internally when he realised that he hadn't used the bell at your house up until now because he wa too busy climbing up windows.

A few seconds later, the door swung open. And there you were, hair in a loose braid, a baggy tshirt hung on your frame and a baby bouncing on your hip.

"Hi", you smiled widely.

"Hi", he smiled back while holding up the flowers. The baby in your arms babbled at the sight of the colourful flowers. "Hello to you too", he cooed at the baby girl with a lopsided grin. The baby was practically jumping in your arms to reach out for the steel rimmed glasses that rested on Steve's nose. And that when you noticed that he was wearing glasses– you didn't even know he wore glasses as you'd never seen him with them before. That would explain why he sometimes squints when looking at things up close. It also didn't go unnoticed by you that he looked incredible with the added glasses. Lo and behold, your cheeks were warming up again.

"You're wearing glasses", you stated the obvious.

"Yeah, doctor prescribed but they feel weird to wear– I kinda look like a nerd."

You were about to tell the boy that there's nothing wrong with wearing glasses and that he should but before you could do so– A shriek rang out behind you in the house. "I'm sorry", you apologised, "I'm babysitting all the kids, all adults are out"

You shouted back into the house at what he assumed were the kids— your cousins. He wasn't sure what you shouted exactly but it sounded similar to himself when around the party.

You turned back to him, smiled and told him to get inside. The boy thanked you as he took his shoes off by the door and followed behind you through the house.

"It suits you actually", you declared. The boy scrunched his brows. "Your glasses– I mean"

Steve pushed them further up his nose before murmuring a shy "thanks".

You then led Steve to the living room, which had the TV. You then tried to watch a movie but one of your cousins interuppted you two and stole the remote saying that he wanted to watch his cartoons. You rolled your eyes and sighed before leading Steve into another room.

With nothing else to entertain you, you settled on playing some carrom and then some Ludo. The brown haired boy beside you told you that he had never played the games before, so you gave him a little crash course all the while the toddler in your lap tried to put the pieces in her mouth. Every now and then, a random and different cousin would come and make the astute observation that there was a boy with you while wiggling their brows and leaving for whatever they were doing before.

You won a game of Ludo while Steve actually managed to beat you at a game of carrom.

Steve was holding your sister now while you walked towards the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets to hopefully find a hidden snack.

"Chai?" You offered when you found nothing of your interest.

"Sure", he whispered so as to not disturb the toddler who was resting her chin on his shoulder– her eyes droopy as she was nearly pulled to sleep. You and me both, sister, you thought.

The baby in Steve's arms let out a soft barely audible yet adorable snore, a smile broke out both your faces at the sound.

"I think you should put her to bed", you whispered.

"Yes ma'am", he saluted you jokingly before turning to put the baby in her bed. You smiled to yourself at the domesticity of it all.

By the time Steve came back, you had already set up a pot and milk. You then proceeded to add the ingredients that your mother had taught you– tea leaves, ginger, black pepper, and sugar.

The boy beside you hummed while leaning against the counter, "smells amazing"

"Thank you", you said while taking the pot off the heat, "Get the cups?"

Steve looked through a couple cupboards before finding the cups, he then took two cups out and placed them on the counter in front of you. You poured the aromatic and piping hot tea through a sieve into the cups.

You both blew on the steaming tea and finally took a sip and Steve did the same. You drew your eyebrows up as a silent question of how it was.

Steve's brows flew up, eyes widened, he blinked while nodding, "oh, wow. That's good." You smiled shyly, tucking a stray hair strand behind your ears.

He took more sips and while he did so, you took your own, appreciating how he looked. He looked so pretty. You wanted to say it– out loud, to him. you actually wanted to say a lot more to him actually. How many times your heart might've said it, and how many times did you listen? If you tried, you could even find happiness in his no, you knew that much. But if he said yes, that would be something else.

You placed your cup back on the counter, still looking at him, entranced by the freckles and moles on his skin, how his hair cascaded down to his forehead. His eyes met yours– his chestnut pupils glistening with the same golden flecks, his mahogany strands still on his forehead and you wished to run your fingers through the hair. His eyebrows pulled slightly together.

There was a magnetic pull between you two– there always had been. And you just hoped that he somewhat felt the same. Your eyes closed and your nose touched his, his warm breath on your skin, warming it up. Something you realised, Steve hadn't pulled away…. Yet.

"Are you sure?" Steve asked in the faintest whisper. You looked up at him, wishing to somehow communicate all that you wished to tell him, all you felt for him. But you didn't, instead you just nodded and crashed your lips together.

You weren't sure where this courage was coming from. Recently, you'd realised, you were more restless, more impulsive, braver.

Your chest warmed up when Steve brought his one hand to your waist to hold you steady and his other to hold your cheek. His calloused fingers rubbing the soft skin. You could taste chai he had just had on his tongue. He hummed into the kiss and when you pulled away, there was a small smile on your face.

Your chests were heaving, "Are you ok–" Steve was interrupted by your lips meeting once again. He let out a sigh into the kiss and kissed you back as his hands went up to delicately hold either side of your face as yours did the same. You pulled away again.

"I am", you whispered, "Are you?"

He nodded slightly before leaning down to peck your lips again. But before he could pull away, you wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss.

It was as if you were floating. Warmth spread throughout your skin as butterflies erupted in your chest. This was the warmest you'd even been, your skin buzzed as your lips moved in tandem.

Suddenly, a shriek rang in the house. You and Steve immediately pulled away, breathing heavily. The shriek morphed into a continuous cry of a baby– it was your sister, she had woken up.

You cursed under breath and then made way to the room steve had put your sister in. Steve arrived a few moments later, both your tea cups in hand, and a pink hue brushed over his cheeks. You let your sister cling to your shoulder. You swayed your body to lull her back to sleep, all the while looking at Steve.

You hummed a tune to your sister, who soon quieted down. And Steve wished he could kiss you again. Were you the dream he saw? The one he's been looking for? 'cause you felt unreal. A mystery he wanted to discover but keep it all to himself.

You put your sister in her crib and then pulled Steve to your room.

There was change in the air between the two of you but it wasn't a bad one.

You wanted to ask him whether what you did was okay. But he already had his lips on yours and that was enough of an answer.

That night, you kissed, looked at each other, held each others hand and traced the deep hued mehandi in his palm. And when it got late, you still held his hand– not wanting to let go. So he stayed. He stayed and you put oil in his hair again. Then he kissed you again.

That night as you watched the rise and fall of his chest as he lay in your bed, you wondered whether you'd even see him the next day. Whether Ravi was right of him just wanting to get into your pants. For him to just get a notch under his belt. Sure you hadn't slept together. But you had kissed and that was big for you. As you drifted off to sleep, you hoped for one thing that you found him there the next day.

You did.

The next day Steve took you out to a diner. And the day after, he gave you a tour of the town.

The day after that, he decided to host a pool party as it was a relatively warmer day. He had also invited Robin and the 'kids'-- as Robin had called them earlier.

Steve introduced you to them, told you their names and a little about them. Dustin, the curly haired boy with a wide grin who always had a cap on his head. Mike, a tall boy with raven hair. Max, the girl with fiery red hair who mostly kept to herself. And Lucas, a dark skinned boy who kept stealing glances towards Max every now and then. The group also mentioned other people who weren't there– Will and El.

The way Steve interacted with the kids, was reminiscent of how you were with your cousins. It warmed your heart when he pulled out snacks for you, Robin and the kids.

No one really jumped in the pool– the water being too cold. At one point it got warm enough that Steve and a couple of the boys took their shirts off. You then spended most of your time, just staring at Steve. And you did everything in your power to restrain yourself to trace your fingers over the moles and freckles on his back to write your name on it.

He then laid in the sun beside you, talked to you, told you stories and little snippets about the kids. Your heart would swell whenever he would laugh at his own jokes and you wished that you could play that sound on repeat.

The party ended when Steve playfully pushed you into the pool and jumped in after you. And you were laughing, no inkling of anger or annoyance because despite the cold water and air, you were warm– cocooned by Steve's arms. It all felt like home. A warm cosy home and Steve was starting to let you in. Maybe you could start to do the same.

....

You hadn't seen Steve in almost a week now. You didn't know why, you had thought everything was going great between you two. The previous night, he had taken you to lovers lake and you two had stargazed and had a picnic. He had dropped you back home. He had kissed you before leaving.

It all had seemed fine. So why had you not seen him for a week?

Kajal and your cousins kept inviting you to got out and have some fun with them but you kept cancelling those plans and kept waiting by the telephone, waiting for his call. But it never came. whenever you tried to call him, you were met with nothing but the same voicemail.

This particular night you were doing just the same, waiting.

You were jolted awake from your half asleep state. There was a knock at your window, your heart skipped a beat at the sound– knowing full well who would visit you at such an hour through the window.

You very quickly sprang out of the bed and made way to the door. When you opened the door you were met with the same amber eyes, dishevelled brown hair and boyish grin.

Before you could say anything, his lips were on yours as he let both of you in, closing the door behind him without ever disconnecting your lips. His hand gripped your waist while the other held the back of your head.

"Steve–", you mumbled against his lips, palm on his chest so as to break away from the kiss, "steve– stop"

"Baby? W–" he pulled back, a frown in his lips, eyebrows scrunched together.

"Where were you last week?" You interrogated.

"I– I–", he stuttered, "I was busy"

"Busy? With what?"

"My parents needed my help–"

"I thought you told me that they weren't going to be here for three more weeks"

"I– well, I–"

"If you were so busy then how did you manage time with Robin?"

"'cause I work with her!"

"Yet you were always not there when I came or called you"

"That's not true!"

"It's been a week, Steve! You've been ignoring me for a week! For no reason. You don't even show me your face for a week and then a week later you immediately start just kissing me?!"

"So, what, you expect me to always follow you around like a puppy?" He said a little too loudly.

"..is that what you feel about us?"

"What do you feel about us, then?" It wasn't like Steve never noticed it. You weren't much of a speaker, especially personal things.

"....i– i– we're–"

"'cause you wouldn't fucking tell me!"

"What are we? Huh? Friends who kiss? Boyfriend-girlfriend? What are we? Or do you expect me to always walk behind you like a clueless puppy who doesn't know anything till you leave?" He looked down at you, eyes a little glassy. "You'll leave and go back to your own life and I'll be here with nothing! God forbid, I actually have my own life"

"Because that's how you want it, right? You want me to follow you but the second you have to follow me suddenly I'm the bad guy!"

You couldn't stop the tears thg had sprung up in your eyes. You wanted to apologise to him and hold him for the rest of the night, instead-- "you should leave now, Steve", you tried your best to hide the quiver in your voice, but you failed.

"(Y/n)--" he started while moving towards you but you stepped back.

"Go…. Please", you refused to show him your glassy eyes. and just like that you closed the door on his face.

You held the door knob, staring at the wood grain– realising what you'd just done.

You flung the door open and it was empty.

What was this selfishness of both of you? Why was it so hard to pick a side?

Steve, the boy who was the physical manifestation of a warm day in winter, a warm patch of sunlight in a cold room. Yes, he provided you with warmth, more than anyone ever had. But then he would leave you cold, for days on end, with no warning or explanation.

You, the girl who bought colour, the girl with the shiniest eyes and the most pretty grin. Yes, you were the one who pushed to kiss him first, but that was the only time you did so. The girl who wouldn't shut up about a movie or food she likes but would never speak her mind.

Both of you could neither choose warmth nor the cold. Neither the sweet or the salt. Why was it so hard to pick a side?

....

It was soon going to be almost a week since steve had seen you. Sure, he had seen you but there had been no conversation.

You weren't necessarily angry at him, more like indifferent. You were ignoring him. And the span of wait for you to come around seemed to be longer than any callousness or rage he could suffer from you. Indifference was always worse than rage.

It was killing him– your indignation. During that one week away from you, he realised that it wasn't his love that'll kill him, nor his stupidity. Your resentment could kill him more than any death or monster ever could.

Ravi and Rohan had invited Steve for a chai. Kajal was also there. It felt a little weird without you there-- the link that connected them to him.

Steve and Ravi were… what he would consider, friends now. He reckoned the older boy had finally forgiven him.

"I don't see you and (y/n) hanging out", Rohan pointed out.

"Yeah.. uh", Steve scratched the back of his neck, "I guess we had a– an argument "

"An argument? With (y/n)?" Kajal wondered aloud.

"Are you sure we are talking about the same person?", Ravi chuckled.

"What?"

"She's a quiet person– you might've noticed. Not that much of a talker", your brother said.

"But recently she's… quieter– more than normal, at least." Kajal continued.

You were hiding your own thoughts from yourself, these days. You wondered. All this thinking, opening your heart like this; is it truly necessary to convey something by saying it out loud? If it's real and if it's meant to be then wouldn't they just know?

"Yeah, I've never seen her argue with anyone", Ravi added.

"Well we did", Steve shrugged with a shake of his head.

"You might've really fucked up then."

"I did",he said with his head hung low.

"What happened?"

"Y'know, I just said something stupid. Like I always do"

"Can I tell you something steve?" Ravi said. "(Y/n) asked me what if you had changed and I said that I'd have to see if to believe it." He stated with a reassuring hand on the younger boys shoulder. "I have seen it and I do believe it."

The corners of Steve's mouth curled up into a smile, "Thanks man. It just feels like she doesn't feel the same. She doesn't say much as you said" everyone nodded at that.

"You do know that you're her first, right?" Kajal spoke up.

"What?"

"She hasn't ever had something like this, y'know? Sure crushes, here and there but those go away in like a month. This is big for her"

"yeah, and we don't have the best parents who've ever taught us to communicate feelings", Rohan articulated.

"What do I do?" He turned to the three people with pleading eyes, "How do I fix this?"

....

Kajal was standing near the foot of your bed. She called out your name to which let out a groan to acknowledge her.

"Why aren't you ready yet?"

"I'm not coming, I told you."

"So you're just going to wallow in self pity on my bachelor's party just because of Steve?"

"I don't feel well, Kajal."

She rolled her eyes, and sighed before pulling the blanket from above your body. You whined in response and curled up into yourself. The older girl immediately pulled you up, "(Y/n) please come.. for me– I'm begging you. It's my last night as a bachelor and then I'll be under the shackles of marriage", she said theatrically.

You stared at her for a bit and then finally caved with a groan, "Okay, fine. But only because of you"

She let out a squeal before hugging you so tight that you didn't need a chiropractor to crack your spine anymore.

"Get ready?"

You nodded.

....

Your sister was dancing with her soon-to-be husband. You were nursing a glass of alcohol, of which you hadn't taken more than two sips because it reminded you of a certain boy with golden eyes. You didn't want to do it, wallow in your self pity as Kajal had put it, you'd didn't want to do it– especially today. Because it was your sister's special day, and she deserved it.

You were just thinking of finally joining your cousin when you heard your name called out. And you didn't need to turn your head to recognise who it was. Your name always sounded better when it came from his lips.

You turned around and there he was. Wearing a black kurta, sleeves rolled up, hair perfectly set, cheeks a little rosy. "Hi", he said softly.

"Hey", you couldn't help but smile a little.

"You look really pretty", he complimented before pausing for a second before continuing, "And I'm sorry for all the shit I said"

"It's okay"

"I really am. I'm stupid and say shit sometimes that I don't mean and I'm just so so sorry–"

"You're wasting your time, steve"

"...What?"

"You're wasting your time. On me. I thought about it and you were right. I won't be here forever."

"(Y/n)--"

"You're wasting your time, Steve. It won't work out"

"That's not true–"

"It is, Steve. I don't want to keep fighting– I… "I don't want to argue in my last week here, please", you said, fingers fiddling with the fabric of your lehenga. "I don't want to argue. I see enough of that with my parents", you averted your eyes from him– mumbling the last part.

Steve's eyes were fixed on you and if you looked up at him, you'd be met with the biggest puppy dog eyes. But you didn't look up, suddenly the hem of your dupatta was very interesting.

"So I…. Guess that's it for us." You said it more to maybe convince yourself. There was a finality to your words, one that Steve thought he wasn't allowed to deny– despite how much he wanted to.

"Okay", he whispered, "Can we…", he trailed off, trying to arrange his thoughts, "can we..still be friends?"

You smiled at that, the boy would never forget to make you warm. You finally looked at him, his big brown eyes with gold flecks swimming in them. And despite the circumstances and the topic of the conversation, warmth spread through your chest. Whenever you see him, it feels like home– he feels like home. Even though you were across the world from your real one. But despite all that, why did you feel scared?

"We can", you finally said.

....

This was it. This was the day.

Your cousin was finally getting married. And she looked so pretty with her beautiful lehenga, extravagant jewellery, perfect hair and a glittering wide grin that was plastered on her face.

You were supposed to do a little performance with a few of your other cousins– everyone had to do something. So, you had picked a dance, where they stood you in the corner because dancing really wasn't your forte.

But the only person Steve looked at was you. If he thought that your dress on the Sangeet was like that of a princess, this was even more grand and shiny. The dress was perfect, the hair was perfect, you were perfect.

But you two were just friends now. That's the most that you wanted.

As he watched you come off the stage, he felt a pang in his chest because the wedding was close to being done. Which meant you were close to leaving. And although you two were now just friends, it hurt.

He threw a thumbs up your way when you spared him a glance. His heart nearly melted when you mouthed a 'thank you' with a smile.

The rest of the ceremony started, Steve sat beside you but didn't say a thing through it.

When everything was said and done, and your sister was now a married woman, you hugged her. And she wept. You'd never seen her cry before, in all the years you'd known her, but the tears on the edge of falling down her cheeks were there. Before you knew it, your own eyes were stinging with unshed tears.

"Why are you crying?" Kajal asked.

"Why are you crying?" You echoed.

"I'm just very happy!" She wailed before hugging you again.

You stayed that way for a bit before the bride was pulled away from you by other relatives.

Steve watched the entire exchange. He then watched as you retreating out the hallway door. When he followed you, he was met with a sight of you standing on a porch by the lovers lake-- they had rented the place around the lake for the event.

The wooden floor creaked a little as his feet moved towards you.

"Hey, you okay?"

"I am. Just– I've known her all my life, I've grown up with her and now… I'm going to miss her, you know?" you sniffled.

"You're gonna be fine", he said, putting his hand over yours on the railing, squeezing it to give you comfort. "And you can always visit her?" Visit me, he wanted to add.

You nodded. A silence settled over both of you.

"(Y/n)?" You hummed before looking at him, "I know what you said about us but just hear me out– heart me out. I wanna make things right"

"I like you. Like really, really like you. I like you so much it scares me. And it's crazy 'cause you're so fucking adorable and pretty and beautiful and perfect and I–"

I love you.

He once again squeezed your hand but this time to get some comfort himself, "I want us to work out"

"...Me too."

"You do?"

You nodded, "I do."

"Then let's fucking do it", he said, taking both your hands in his.

"... I– I'm scared", how you said it, it broke Steve's heart.

"So am I", he stepped a little closer to you, hands still holding yours, "But you know what scares me more?"

"Letting you leave without giving it all a try."

"But how Steve?", You said with glassy eyes, "How? My parents live in the same house and they don't even communicate. How will we do that when we're going to be across the world?"

"We are not your parents, (y/n). We're not mine either", he stepped even closer, raising his right hand to brush out the hair out of your eyes and the to hold your cheek, "We are us and we're nothing like them."

"Tell me that you want this too and I'll prove it to you that we're going to work out"

"I do."

That's all it took for Steve to connect his lips to yours. You gasped in the kiss, as the boy's hand move to its place on your waist and the other on your cheek. Your skin buzzed and your heart swelled. Your hand moved up his chest and grasped the fabric of his kurta in your fist while the other hand held his cheek.

Your lips moved in tandem as Steve pulled you even close rand kissed you even deeper. A giggle erupted from your throat when he dipped you a little. You could feel him smiling into the kiss. His nose rubbed over your cheek and his over yours, warm breath spreading across the skin.

You both pulled away with heaving chests at the sound of the door opening. When you turned towards the source of the sound, you were met with your cousin sister's face. "Okay, you both are stealing my thunder– it's supposed to be my wedding", Kajal said.

....

"Everything packed up?" Steve asked put the the final bag into the car.

You nodded with a melancholy expression over your features, "I'll miss you so much."

"Me too." He tucked a strand behind your ear, and then held your face. You reached up your hand to put your palm over his, leaning into his warm touch. "but it's okay. We'll talk. Write"

You nodded once again before leaning in, and he did the same-- connecting your lips in a soft and long goodbye kiss. You wanted to live in it forever. At the very least memorize the feeling of his lips on yours. Of his thumb drawing small circles over your cheeks. Of his warmth.

You pulled away after a few seconds, looking into his big brown eyes that your were going to miss so much. Oh, how you wished to steal him and take him with you. "Oh, I almost forgot..", you started while turning to take something out of your bag and hand it over to Steve.

"What's this?" He looked with his eyebrows pulled together at the piece of paper.

"Wedding invitation…. Remember my brother and his girlfriend? Well, he managed to tell our parents a couple weeks ago and now here it is." You chuckled.

"It's not the official invitation, that'll take some time but you better come man", your brother added, appearing out of nowhere and then once again leaving.

"You better", you said it as a non threatening threat.

"I will", he said squeezing your hand.

"We're ready to leave", your brother called out again.

"Yeah I'm coming", you shouted back before turning to the boy infront of you and softly saying, "I really wish I could stay."

"It's okay" He wished he could hide you, all for himself. But he couldn't, so he let go of your hand. You turned to leave and get into the car but then run back and tackled his torso, wrapping your arms around his frame tightly, "I love you", you mumbled into his sweater. Your voice, so quiet and so small.

"I love you too", he said while rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head.

"All right", your brother's voice rang behind you and Steve loosened his grip on you, "that's enough. I'm suddenly very compelled to make you two break up", he joked.

A/n: Here it is people! I love this series so much and seeing ur responses on the previous part made my desi heart soar :))

That ending was kinda bleh :((

for the love of God tell me how you felt about this story c'mon give me validation and constructive criticism pls I'm begging

Taglist:

@555stargirl555 @luvsersi @angelulls @bitch-biblioklept @1derfulzxyn @avianawrites @lauenderhaze @cicaspair418 @pl4ybhaicarti

[chickensarentcheap]

20 Questions for Writers

Thank you so much for the tag @darknightfrombeyond! ❤️

How many works do you have on AO3?

Eight

What is your total AO3 word count?

2,477,347 (Holy shit balls)

What fandoms do you write for?

Currently, I write for Extraction and John Wick. Those are posted here and on Ao3. But I do have fics that are still considered 'open' on Mibba and ff.net under different pen names. CSI, CSI:NY, and RPF (NHL and MLB)

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Best Part of Me, Never Gonna Be Alone, I Found, Sanctuary, Lost and Found

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try my best too! My regulars I'll talk to through messaging and newcomers I'll just respond on AO3

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I wouldn't consider any of their ending angsty, but I Found had the potential to be. That is the first story in my main series and my original plan was to kill off my OC at the end of the fic. Just a 'one and done'. But then people started really enjoying the main canon character and her together and I ended up changing my mind. Honestly, sometimes I regret not going with my original plan.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'm going to go with Best Part of Me

Do you get hate on your fic?

Not on my fics, but hate send by anons to OTHER people, blogs made to shit talk my stuff. Oh yeah, it's been wild.

Do you write smut?

Absolutely

Do you write crossovers?

I do! I am working on an Extraction/John Wick crossover now

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Way too many times. Fics and characters. My OC has been poached by repeat offenders, even.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No

Have you ever co-written a fic?

No. That's just not my thing.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

I actually don't have one. I've been in a handful of fandoms and never really liked any canon ships. I guess I'll go with my own couple. Tyler Rake (canon) and Esme Rake (OFC)

What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Definitely a CSI:NY fic. Together We Fall.

What are your writing strengths?

Keeping the main canon character in character and not writing him OOC. I'm very anal about how he's portrayed. He's my precious baby boy. He deserves to be treated right lol. Descriptions I think I'm pretty good at.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue and action scenes. SMDH.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've done it a couple of times over the years. Most recently, I included some Bengali that I had someone check over for me before I posted the chapter.

First fandom you wrote for?

CSI

Favorite fic you've ever written?

I love them all pretty equally, but I guess I'll give it to Lost and Found. The current fic.

Tagging: @munstysmind @themaradwrites @thebejeweledwatercat @asirensrage

[lola-andheruniverse]

⭐ Your Turn Sunday ⭐

I'd like to recommend It Takes An Ocean Not To Break by carolthequeen.

"Perhaps Daryl should care, perhaps he should feel self conscious about being so obvious, but honestly he’s done pretending that he doesn’t want to keep her close. To be as close to her as she’ll allow."

carolthequeen is one of the archive's hidden treasures 👑 Every upload is a gem 💎

I've chosen this fic specifically because I wanted Daryl to throw caution to the wind when Carol invited him to go on the boat. I knew why he couldn't say yes, but still. Carol asking Daryl to run away *with her*? That's huge!

Like last week's rec, this another very grounded and introspective fic. I feel like so many of my gripes with the show could have been solved if tptb had slowed things down, giving their characters space to breathe and letting Carol and Daryl spend meaningful time with each other. This fic does all of those things in an authentic and engaging way. Being on the boat doesn't solve Caryl's problems, but it does give them some much needed breathing space and the opportunity to say things which need to be said.

I think the way that Carol's vulnerability is depicted is spot on - how she'll hide behind a smile and trick people into thinking she's doing better than she really is. But she can't hide from Daryl, he sees through her every time. They have a conversation which should have taken place in the show and there's a beautiful parallel with an iconic Caryl moment.

Enjoy!

Hi, @notalkingbusiness! Two in a roll, dear! Thank you so much for participating one more time and sharing another fic with us! I can't express how happy you made me!

It Takes An Ocean Not to Break, one-shot written by @bloodlnthemoonlight, known as carolthequeen | kataurah is available both on 9Lives and AO3. Oh, and I totally agree, this author is hidden treasure indeed (I have How Rare and Beautiful lined up to rec on late october).

Summary:

He’d already known this whole sailing thing wasn’t for him before he’d even taken a step off dry land - had said as much after all - and being out on the water hasn’t changed his mind. But damned if he could ever really refuse Carol anything if she wanted it bad enough.

Post-10x01 fic in which Daryl takes Carol up on her offer to take a trip out on the boat with her.

Rating: G / General Audiences Word count: 2077 Published: December 03, 2019

I love this type of stories, that are a mix of 'fix it' and 'what if', because we can dive into these little moments, sadly lost on canon, and explore all their possibilities on fanon - we all know how things would be different if Daryl and Carol had been given the opportunity to talk, just talk, and give in onto their vulnerability, right?. nottalkingbusiness gave us a 5-star review, so I'll leave you with one of my favorite parts of this fic just to give you the final push to read it: "“I know you’re running…” He begins, and it’s only because he’s so in tune with her that he feels Carol tense ever so slightly. “That you don’t wanna feel any of it. And I get it, I do. But you told me once that I had to. Feel it. And you were right.” He closes his eyes and feels the phantom press of her lips on his forehead and so turns his head to return the gesture, brushing a kiss to her hairline and whispering words of affirmation into her skin. “You don’t have to do it alone. Wherever you are, I’ll be there too.” 

And on this heartbreaking/heartwarming note, week two of caryl fic recs is over! Hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did. Tomorrow we start all over again! Caryl on!

[apple-stims80]

So is this Love? (6/?)

Frank smiled to himself playing with the paper butterflies as he sat across from Julie, she squealed smiling ear to ear after reading the letter. "Are you finished" Frank said handing his hand out for his letter back "one moment" Julie said squinting her eyes at it as if there was something hidden "I know I've seen this handwriting before" she mumbled making Frank's ears perk up "you know who it is!" He exclaimed eagerly slamming his hands down on the small garden table "I might, I just can't remember where I've seen it" she said looking closer at the letter her eyeballs were practically touching it leaving Frank confused and concerned.

The two decided to go around the neighborhood again, this time they made everyone, who would, write something down. They'd gotten a hand full the ones missing were Wally's, Barnaby's, and Eddie's. Julie knew not to mess with Wally and Home's personal time, she never knew what they did but last time she got in the way Wally just stared at her with voids no longer his calm, smooth, welcoming eyes but black voids that seemed to swallow her, she never got in the way again. Barnaby just wasn't home and from judging the amount of mail pouring out his mailbox he'd been gone for awhile making Frank and Julie grow concerned but brushed it off as "he's just sick". As for Eddie they couldn't find him, they went to the post office. The lights were turned off singling he was most likely on a run but after walking around for a bit they didn't run into him not hear him falling down, he wasn't the most careful nor graceful when it came to delivers Howdy had lost count at the many times Eddie came in just to be patched up.

The two sighed giving up after a few hours of searching "ugh why does this have to be so difficult! " Julie groaned waving her hand in the air, they had decided to sit down in her garden well Frank was and Julie laid next to him. "We should just give it time" Frank said "They'll reveal themselves when or if they want to in time" he said but soft said the last part obviously upset, what if they never reveal themselves and he goes insane trying to figure it out, what if he has to be taken away, what if the person moves or something happens to them. (Foreshadowing 👀)

Julie huffed crossing her arms sitting up "it isn't fair" "to me or to you" Frank teased knowing she was as frustrated as he was at the moment. "Hey!" She said looking at him making him scoff at her in a friendly way "well it should be soon don't you think? " she asked he looked at her confused "I mean we've narrowed it down to three maybe two people, Wally and Eddie were too busy and didn't even get to see them today and Barnaby, if he is sick, hasn't been active enough to write a letter let alone walk to Eddie and give it to him I mean he can't even check his mailbox." Frank pondered for a moment 'do I even like Wally enough to return the feelings if it's him, and Eddie am I willingly to let my guard down enough for him' Julie noticed his face go to a more sad expression "hey, I'm pretty sure no matter who it is you'll make the right decision. No one's going to force you to like them" she said placing a hand on Frank's shoulder giving him a soft smile "how about we have a sleepover, like the ones we used to have" after saying that Frank looked at her and for the first time gave her a small soft smile "that'd be nice."

The two spent the night watching bad dramas and romance films they made Frank cringe at the bad script and made Julie awe at every kiss scene. They told scary stories and no matter how hard Julie tried she just couldn't make one up good enough making Frank laugh at her poor attempt making her huff and cross her arms. Their last activity was taking a walk in the forest once the clock hit midnight, the air was so much better and no matter how cold the nightly breezes were it always felt nice.

"We need do these more often" Julie said as Frank roll out an old sleeping, he left it there since they used to have so many sleepovers it just made sense to, Frank looked her she was laying upside down letting her front half hang off the bed smiling at him. He turned away from her taking his robe off "yeah take it off" Julie said pretending to throw money at him making him roll his eyes, he forgot she did that. "Goodnight sleep tight don't let the bed bugs bite but knowing you, you'd like that" when said teasingly once they had laid down making Frank groaned in response rolling on his side away from her bed "goodnight."

Eddie hummed walking down the pathway that led to Barnaby's, Frank's, and Julie's house smiling as he placed Franks mail into his mailbox before turning away but stopped humming once he saw Frank walking out of Julie's house, she gave him a big hug and and Returned it! Frank had never returned one a hug let alone Julie's what was different now were they 'are they together? ' Eddie wondered feeling his big felt heart break no they couldn't be could they? Hugs were something all neighbors gave each other but they were something Frank never liked not even from his best friend. Eddie bit his lip turning away direction he wanted to take the letter out of Frank's mailbox but that would've given him away "oh, Eddie! " he heard the grey man behind him say he gulped turning back around not looking into the others eyes if he did he would've broken down. "Are you alright? you seem upset" Frank said worried placing a hand on the others shoulder "oh, yes I'm fine" Eddie said smiling trying his best to sound uplifting and happy "well I better get going the mail won't deliver itself" he said trying to make a joke tipping his hat before walking away "oh before you go, do you know who wrote those letters the love ones? " Frank asked making Eddie stop in his tracks he gulped biting his lip gripping the strap on his bag shaking 'I should just say it' he thought turning back around.

[sabakos]

.

So the mountain dew thing I posted the other day is um. Hm. I'm going to turn reblogs off on that actually. It's very good I posted it and got to see people's reactions and I think I made some people laugh with how I presented it, don't feel bad if you reblogged it. but uh. yeah. Not only is it unfortunately true, if anything I downplayed it a bit and left out the parts that weren't funny. Which I now realize I don't really want to think about every time I check my notes tab for the next few weeks. I never kept count but I'm pretty sure I spent more than just a few nights in high school curled up in pain in front of the toilet. I lost over 50 pounds in a year from that.

Kind of maybe also some not-so-unintentional self-harm was going on there I think. It fits in a pattern with some other past habits of mine that I don't post much about because, well, I don't want to turn this into a trauma blog. If you really wanna know, I was a high-functioning alcoholic until age 26. Like, rarely sober outside working hours, most of my calories from alcohol level. End-stage. Due to other personal issues ("wait sabi, weren't you in a serious LTR then?" yes and also my mom was in a psych ward, we don't have time to unpack any of that), I quit drinking cold turkey in 2019 and realized looking through old pictures on my phone that I barely remembered most of what happened in college, let alone anything before that. I don't even know if it's technically amnesia, so much as dissociating so severely from my past. I had a "bit" of a major mental collapse in fall 2019 after quitting drinking as my mind slowly remembered how to have emotions, real clutch scheduling that right before a global pandemic.

Thankfully due to doing nothing for two and a half years, I remember most of college now, and I've been able to recover almost 3 full years of high school from basically fragments in the past year alone. My liver doesn't hurt anymore. I'm also physically repulsed by alcohol as a result of the withdrawal. But it's starting to get back far enough to start reminding me of the previous mental breakdown that I had in middle school that made me almost get held back in 8th grade. I... might decide I don't need to know about anything before that for a little while. Not sure I actually have the ability to make that decision though. It will work itself out nonetheless, it will just be less pleasant.

I've actually almost never actually been suicidal or intentionally thought "oh I'm doing this to hurt myself." But I'm not just shitposting about the whole body dysphoria thing, beyond any gender stuff I just also would prefer not to deal with being a body. I hate every photograph of me as soon as I take it, I can only bear to look at any of them once enough time has gone by that I can trick my brain into thinking it's not me. I believe I drank alcohol for the same reason I drank horrifying concoctions in high school and still sometime make too spicy food or eat so many sour patch kids and takis my mouth bleeds. I only hated the stomach cramps in high school because I didn't know why I had them, but when I finally vomited so hard I puked blood and burst blood vessels in my face, it felt good. I enjoy pain, I like the feeling that my body has been hurt when I'm the one directly causing it. I'm punishing it for existing. I know a couple mutuals of mine probably know exactly what I'm talking about based on their own posts. I also know now that I'm doing this, and that I need to stop doing it. I'm not too worried now that I've figured this out.

But also I think for the first time I can remember, I actively want to continue to exist. I know on some level that I need to accept that that will include my body and not just living out my social life on the internet. I... like other people, not just in a flirty way, and I know I'm saying this on Tumblr of all places but I promise if I ever meet any of you I'm one of the weirdest fucking interesting people you'll ever meet because it's what people are telling me all the time. I'm really shy and don't know how to initiate an interaction with a stranger, but if you can get me to say anything at all, I talk endlessly in my (apparently, strange) voice, I hold my body wrong in distracting ways, I abruptly change topics when I'm not supposed to. None of this occurs to me at the time I'm doing it, and I do know how to act correctly in any situation, I'm just wholly incapable of doing so. But somehow this reads as charming and eccentric rather than horribly rude to most people I meet? People tell me I'm the strangest person they've ever met as a complement. I don't really know why.

All the memories I've recovered have contradicted my past beliefs that I've always struggled to make friends. I think I just... didn't notice? But dozens of my peers consistently made the decision to go out of their way to spend time with me almost the whole time I knew them. I don't think that was out of sympathy, I sure wasn't the Special Ed kid. So I think I actually had close friends almost my whole life from age 10 onward, many of them even? all despite the fact that I wasn't really capable of consciously reciprocating a lot of the time, and that I totally forgot in the years since that some of them even existed until later. So I want to do that again somehow, have a bunch of people I know in real life that I'm close friends with. And actually realize it this time. And I hope I'm not deluding myself with what I remember, though I've been able to independently corroborate enough that I don't think so.

Anyway if anyone was curious, that's... most of my whole brain problems deal from the parts of my life I remember. Or as much as I can condense into a post anyway. Much of it was in fact rather happy and I usually present things in a much more positive light. This post was just not about that.

[xx-jazzilla]

⚠️ Long emotionally draining post to vent ⚠️

I love my kids and family with every single part of me.... but I cannot help feeling my pregnancy has been stolen from me.

After the miscarried I couldn't think straight or do anything but feel helpless for our loss, for what I lost. With PCOS it already took so long and was so hard to get pregnant that we were nearly a year into discussing and talking about our 2nd baby. When I got a positive test it was so great, and when I sat in a waiting room for 2 hours after my 12 weeks ultrasound I couldn't help but fear the worst happened. When they confirmed it I couldn't even finish the appointment, I pulled over repeatedly on the drive home crying too much to see and went straight to Ben. I spent weeks unable to imagine a worse feeling - until I got a 3rd positive test 7 weeks later and the doctor said they could have missed something because we weren't even sure id had a period.

I spent my 1dt trimester constantly terrified, terrified of another loss and how I couldn't mentally handle it a 2nd time. Then at 12 weeks again I started bleeding... so much blood I was terrified because I didn't bleed last time so something had to be really wrong. I was thankful to hear her heartbeat in the ER but nobody told me why I was bleeding for nearly 2 weeks, I just bled and stressed until they said it was a hemorrhage but we were okay. I still bled for 2 months, and nothing made me feel better until it stopped at 19 weeks.

I got 3 weeks of relief. We were in the 2nd trimester, we were finally "safe". Then at 21 weeks, more blood and discharge and I really thought it was nothing. But it was Saturday so I couldn't go to my doctor, and better safe than sorry. Until it wasn't safe. Again.

I had 3 mm of cervix left, I was "silently dilating" from contractions I just thought were pregnancy pain in my back, and my waters were bulging. The doctors said I had an "insufficient cervix" because incompetent cervix was no longer a nice term. I signed and acknowledged the risks of my D&C and thought that couldn't possibly happen to me. But if I didn't I could die because my body wasn't aware I was miscarrying.

We weren't safe, again. Our children and I were at risk, again. And for the 3rd time in a year I felt entirely helpless as a mom, even though I've worked so freaking hard to be a better parent. To be a consistent mom and DO better than what I knew.

It has been 2 months since then, and I feel like I've lost nearly every joy of pregnancy. I have no friends and family with me, even though they call and text and check in regularly im still thousands of miles from a hug when I'm having a hard day. I can't do things by myself, even though I worked until my water broke with Austin and enjoyed our life together still. I sit, and worry and think about what I've done wrong to be here. About all the people I know that take their kids for granted, that weren't parents and yet how easy it seemed for them and how unfair that is. How stressful every little pain is, especially the last few days of being in constant pain -because I don't know how bad it could end up being.

I'm thankful for Ben, he has taken on everything and more for us. The house, the stress of bills from none of us working, being full time dad and the worry for his daughter. I've never felt so much love, and commitment and like I could count on 1 person so much.

I also appreciate everyone reaching out, and your thoughts and good wishes for our safety. I don't want anyone to think that I do not see all the love we are given and aren't thankful.

But this is draining, I feel like I've lost my pregnancy and myself. Like my body is incapable and I don't understand why this is happening to us. As though I'm alone in so many ways, but can't express that because I "have to be grateful" nd so many people are "praying for us" and I feel so hateful because sometimes I just want to scream IM FREAKING ATHEIST PLEASE HELP ME IN A WAY THATS GEARED TOWARDS ME AND MY HEALING NOT TO APPEASE YOUR OWN EGO.

[off-duty-rmt]

The curse of being an only child with anxiety

I honestly do not know where to start. If you're reading this and you're in you late twenties like me, then say hello to childhood trauma. I've made this into a list to keep everything organized. I think the key here is to arrange each one in numerals and then add more. Whatever. No one is gonna read this blog post anyway. Be grammar Nazi if you want to. It doesn't matter anyway.

1. Wanting to be alone, CONSTANLY.

Because we're used to doing things alone. I would constantly beg to spend a lot of time by myself doing things that I like. Most of us are introverts. I have a plethora of hobbies and would always find time to learn more. One day, I want to be an interior designer, and then the next day, I'd want to be a music producer. And I tell you what, it is costing me a lot of money. There's just too many things to do whilst being alone and non of it (in most cases) includes socializing. Maybe I need to find a different that's actually gonna help me pay my ever increasing credit card bills lol.

2. Wanting to be alone while also craving human interaction and strong friendships.

Now I'm not saying I don't have friends because I do. I really do. But you can only count them by hand because trust me, even with social media and all, I really don't have a lot. Actually, I struggle with this one. It's as if I don't know how to be friendly. It's as if I feel that no body really wants to be friends with me. I would have these thoughts. Maybe I'm not friendly enough. Maybe it's my RBF. Maybe I'm not cool enough or maybe I am too cool that I become too intimidating. That, or I'm just a horrible person. I don't know.

3. Then the anxiety comes in.

I feel that nobody really wants me there (a lot of times). I don't feel this way around my closest friends, whom by the way are thousands of miles away from me. I feel hurt when I'm not included, parties, group chats, dine outs, etc. This has got to be one of my darkest ghosts. This drags me down all the time, the feeling of not being in the circle, the feeling of being left behind. Whenever there's an event wherein this happens, I would just crumble. All my demons suddenly becomes alive, and suddenly I'm this 4 year old child again, pushed to play with kids who treats me differently, who doesn't want me there because I'm not part of the family.

4. I feel alone with my demons.

It feels like I'm trapped with my thoughts and my demons when it becomes too quiet, or after I get triggered. And I have learned the hard way to never let people around me know about me feeling this because people can easily use this weakness against me and I wouldn't even know how to get out once I'm in that hole again. As a child I would just go into hiding whenever they would bully me, child or adult, I would always hide. My parents weren't really around most of the time because of work and so I have learned to go into defense mode all the time when people would threaten to hurt me. And so I would be in my own little box where I could escape them and feel safe. My only companions were my toys, the TV, and my grandma.

5. Saying goodbye.

I didn't have a lot of nice things whilst growing up, when I do, I protect them and treasure them. Same with people. That's why I would feel a sense of grief after losing something, or someone. I did not take it easy when my grandma died because that's where the depression started back when I was in my second year of college. I was around 17 at that time and boy was I depressed. I was in my lowest that I started to fail my classes and had to transfer to a different university. I had to say goodbye to my closest friends in at uni. And when I finally got transferred to a different university, that was one of the moments wherein I felt so lost and indifferent to almost everyone. I did not fail my subjects but I wasn't doing great. The only good thing about transferring was that I escaped from distraction by overly surrounding my self with a lot of people.

[ethan-torchio-angelo]

Oh, love

Summary: It takes a year of trial and error, of love and heartbreak, for the two to finally realize there's no one else they'd rather be with. Or in which she becomes they're photographer for a summer tour and falls in love with the dark haired drummer.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: swearing, angst, sexual content

A/N: I just want to say a huge thank you to @ethanesimp for proofreading and hyping this fic up, thank you so much amore! This is the first piece I've written for any of the members of maneskin, and also the longest thing I've ever written! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

January

It’s a call in the middle of the day that begins it all. She’s been in a shoot all morning, running around snapping photos of a wanna-be teen idol. She’s been here many times, being hired to do promo shots for someone who never makes it farther than this. But this call, she knows it’s different. She’s heard the name, seen some videos, she knows this won’t be like the rest. She’s instructed to clear her schedule for the week and to be in Rome by the end of the day.

The cold air hits her as she leaves the building, suitcase and camera bag in hand. This is the moment she’s been waiting for since joining the company, the chance to become a permanent fixture instead of hopping from gig to gig. She’s told that they requested her specifically, that one of the band members saw her collection from a festival last summer and was dead set on booking her for their summer tour. It’s all new to her, the feeling of being the first choice and not second best. She barely hears anything that’s said on the plane by their manager, too busy trying not to freak out.

It’s only a few hours plane ride, but it feels like a lifetime. Thoughts run wild in her head as the seconds tick by, she can’t remember the last time she’d been this excited, or nervous, for something. She’s greeted by more people from their team as she steps off the plane, and is quickly ushered to the villa they’ve been staying in. She barely has time to process the beautiful new city she’s in before she’s hidden by walls of an even more beautiful place.

They give her time to relax and unpack, but clear instructions to not leave the property without security. Things have been crazy, she’s told, since their winning last year fans have become more clever with their tactics. She laughs at some of the stories, but heeds the warning all the same. She’s seen quite a few things that have shaken her to her core, so she knows to be careful and wary.

Music floats through the halls and into her room, the band practicing on the other side of the villa. The music fills her veins with a feeling she can’t quite place, but it’s a welcome humming that gets her blood pumping. She grabs her camera and follows the melodies, laughing at the jokes thrown around in english whenever someone messes up. She angles herself behind a corner just right where she can take pictures while still being hidden from the band.

Her heart races at the scene in front of her. It’s a family like she’s never seen. They all seem to orbit around each other, pushing and pulling each other into their atmospheres. She watches Victoria dance around the room, bass in hand, strumming the lines to an old song. Thomas lays on the floor with a notebook reading off words, Damiano repeating them as he draws on eyeliner. And Ethan, who sits at his drum set, twirling the drumsticks in his hand as he observes the scene before him.

She captures picture after picture of their dynamic, taking the most of Ethan, who seems to have a magnetic pull to him. She only pulls herself from the moment when she’s spotted. “Sai, qualcuno chiamerebbe questo strano comportamento.”

The words are warm against her ear, and she jumps at the unexpected presence. She turns around, laughing to hide her embarrassment, trying to translate the words in her head. She freezes when she sees it’s Ethan, trying to figure out when he slipped away from the rest of the group.

“Ah, niente italiano. Er, it’s unusual, what you are doing.”

Another nervous laugh leaves her lips, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be creepy. There’s something about the way the group is when no one is watching, it’s hard to ignore, it needed to be captured.”

He smiles at that. It’s soft and warm and she feels as if the world has stopped spinning. A song plays between their hearts as a silence falls over them. There’s a beauty about him that makes it hard to focus on anything but him.

A series of crashes followed by loud curses in Italian breaks the spell that they were under and Ethan pulls himself away from her to go and manage his friends. She uses this moment as an excuse to slip away and tour the rest of the house, ending in the kitchen where dinner is being prepared. She snaps a few photos of the chefs cooking, already envisioning the blog post they’ll go along with.

When everyone has made their way to the dining room a toast is made; to new adventures, to new friends, and to family. Sweet wine and light rain makes the time pass faster and the evening flows into night easily. The group parts only moments after midnight, long days ahead calling them to catch up on sleep now.

The month flows by with days and nights blurring together. It seems the studio is really the only place they call home, spending every waking moment in the room that houses their instruments. She stays with them through the long hours, snapping photos of the weird things they get themselves up to. Her hard drive slowly fills with collections of each band member, ones for the public eye and ones she sends to them to make them laugh.

The end of the month brings a party, something small to celebrate sold out tour dates. A night out to a local bar and far too many drinks. She dances with Victoria, who has become her best friend in the few weeks she’s been with them. Damiano and his girlfriend are not far away, but much more caught up in their own world. Thomas has disappeared somewhere, no doubt warming someone's bed for the night. But through all the commotion, she can’t stop watching Ethan.

He’s sitting at a table nursing the only drink he’s had that night, planning to take on the role of babysitter at the end of the night once everyones had too much to drink. He drums his fingers on the table, following the beat of each song that plays. He seems lost in his own world, content with being by himself. She moves away from Victoria, who easily finds another partner, and makes her way to the table.

“Sembri solo,” the words fall from her lips quietly as she takes a seat beside him.

He smiles at her, “Seems your little lessons are paying off.”

She blushes at that, not realizing he’d picked up on her daily lessons with their English tutor. “Only enough to not seem like a tourist.”

A small chuckle escapes his lips, and she wishes she could bottle the sound.

“But don’t change the subject. Tonight was about having fun, celebrating a big accomplishment. Yet you’re sitting here alone.”

He sighs at her insistence, “Sometimes we don’t need to celebrate everything so publicly.”

Something pulls at her heart. She can’t imagine having such a public life, but she understands how it must feel to never have anything to yourself. Before she knows what she’s doing, she places a hand on his arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze, a light tingle shooting between the two of them.

She pulls her hand away quickly, a small blush forming on both their cheeks. He offers her a small smile to make the moment less awkward, and she returns it.

The night ends not too much later, the rest of the crew having decided that warm beds would be much more comfortable than the crowded bar. She helps Ethan herd their friends home, laughing along with him at their drunken antics. Victoria jokingly calls them mom and dad as they help her to bed, and the blush that was plastered on her face earlier that night makes a second appearance.

It’s almost morning by the time she makes it to her own room. Ethan isn’t far behind her, realizing for the first time tonight that they share the same hallway. “Buona notte,” comes his voice from down the hall.

She turns to face him, catching herself stuck in his stare. She can’t quite place the look in his eyes, but it gives her butterflies all the same.

“Buona notte.”

February

February brings more time in the studio and less time outside the walls of the Villa. While winter in Rome is not like the ones you’d experience in colder places, it still brings a chill to her bones. She steals one of Victoria's sweaters after a night spent lounging under the stars, a small break from a busy schedule.

A fire had been lit and a bottle of sweet wine was making its way around the group. She’d set her camera aside for the evening, planning on enjoying a night without the calls of work. She doesn’t know when it happens, but suddenly she’s swaying to a drunken beat in the arms of Damiano who can’t stop giggling at her two left feet. The man had not believed her when she said she couldn’t dance, but was now biting his tongue as they moved around the courtyard.

As the night seemed to come to a lull, a game of truth or dare was proposed and all were in agreement. She finds herself sitting beside Thomas on the floor as Victoria begins the game, a stupid dare aimed towards Damiano that earns him a new haircut. The night drags on in a flurry of laughter and silly dares. By midnight half the group is wearing someone else’s clothes, and the others have barely any on.

She’s moved to be sitting by Ethan, who has an arm casually draped across her shoulder. It shouldn’t feel so electric, his skin touching hers, but it does and it’s the only thing she can focus on. Her heart feels like it’s almost beating out of her chest and the blush on her face isn’t caused by the alcohol in her system.

Damiano is the first to notice her situation, and starts poking fun at her whenever it was his turn to ask her something. It started off innocent enough, small questions aimed towards her love life, but it soon caught the attention of Thomas who was the first one to issue a dare towards the girl. This was how she’d ended up sitting beside Ethan, cuddled into his side. Ethan was oblivious to the things going on around them, until Victoria dared her to kiss him.

It seems as though time stops, the laughter fades and the silence becomes deafening. She turns towards Ethan, a mixture of panic and excitement painted on her face. He smiles at her, “We don’t have to, amore.”

“A dares a dare.” She shrugs at him.

A round of cheers raises up around them as the two lean in. It’s meant to be only a small peck, something good enough to count in the eyes of those around them. But as she goes to pull away his hand reaches up to tangle in her hair and he pulls her closer. Their lips meet again without any hesitation and it’s like the world lights up around them. Blame it on the alcohol, but if she were to die right now she’d be happy.

They pull away a second later, a small laugh leaving both of them, chests rising at an unsteady rhythm.

“Awe, they’re blushing! How cute!” Comes the voice of Damiano, further pulling a blush from the girl.

She grabs one of the pillows beside her and aims it at his head, laughing when she misses terribly.

The night fades into morning and they all climb to the roof to watch the sunrise. It’s a moment she wants tattooed in her memories forever. She’s got her arms wrapped around Victoria and the three boys huddle around them, alcohol still flows through their veins and they’re all singing different versions of the same song.

March

The beginning of spring in Rome is magical. Flowers start to bloom, mornings are coated in a light dusting of rain, and clothing starts to become less of a necessity. She takes photos of the band trapezing the streets. The Villa studio has become too familiar, moving instead to a studio in the city.

By now, a routine has been put in place. Mornings sipping coffee and eating fresh pastries while she laughs at the varying states of wake the band is in. Afternoons in the studio, recording their new album while she collects photos and videos for their ‘making of’. Evenings spent in restaurants and bars, eating some of the best food she’s ever had, and she swears she’ll never eat anything better.

She’s never fallen in love with a city like this before. Maybe it’s the city, or maybe it’s the people she’s with, but she swears she never wants to leave. It suffocates her in the best way possible, the feeling of being home. She hopes that when the tours over and her contracts up, that she’ll move here, maybe even keep these people she’s grown so close to in the past few months.

She’s thrown out of the daydream by Thomas yelling at her in a mix of italian and english for not paying attention. It’s the middle of the afternoon, they’ve taken a lunch break at a restaurant down the block, and Thomas is expressively telling a story. His hands are in the air and he’s almost knocked his wine glass over too many times to count.

Damiano sits across from her, fiddling with her camera, snapping his own photos that he presents to her proudly. She laughs at every one, but never discourages his actions. Victoria is on her left, Ethan on her right, both vying for her approval as they argue over something. She’s overwhelmed by the different directions her brain is being tugged, but the hand that snakes its way into hers calms her.

She looks down to see Ethan rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand, a soft smile grazing his lips as they make eye contact. She returns it, whispering a small thank you to the boy.

That night, she lays in bed, in the room she’s begun to finally call hers, thinking of the boy with stars in his eyes. She doesn’t know if it’s feeling like she finally belongs somewhere, or the wine that still coats her veins, but there’s something about him that she wishes she could become a part of. She wants to wrap herself in it and never leave. She’s falling for him, hard. Vaffanculo.

April

It is Victoria's birthday and everyone has decided that she must be princess for the day. Ethan and Damiano have been up since dawn making an extravagant breakfast, something that should be put in a five star restaurant. Her and Thomas had disappeared shortly after waking, returning with a stack of presents that was almost as tall as him, and the best bouquet of flowers she could find.

After decorating the patio with anything and everything they could find, it was a mad dash to Victoria's room to wake her up. She protested, claiming that sleep was more important than being awake, but at the mention of presents she was the first one out of the room.

It was a morning of happiness, and a much needed break from their hectic schedule. She recorded the entire day, from the dramatic wake up call to the celebratory sparklers that were set off that night, it was all captured.

After breakfast the princess requested a trip to the beach, and no one would dare refuse her. They found something private, a little hidden oasis an hour's drive from the villa. They spend hours there, switching between swimming and laying in the sun. She finds herself alone on the sand with Ethan at one point, watching the others like proud parents.

She tries not to think about how close his body feels to her, how she can feel the heat his body is radiating seeping into her, the smell of his body wash. He’s invading all of her senses and she’s trying so hard to focus on anything but him. “Let’s go on a walk?”

His voice is warm as the question escapes his lips. She turns to look at him and she’s thankful to be able to blame the sun for the blush on her cheeks. She nods and gets up to follow him, brushing off the sand that’s clinging to her bathing suit and wrapping a towel around her shoulders.

They disappear down the beach, walking side by side, a comfortable silence enveloping them. It’s not till they’re halfway down the beach that either of them speaks. “Are you enjoying your time?”

She doesn’t miss the hint of worry that laces his voice, and she’s quick to reassure him that she is. “Yes, very much. This is probably the best job I’ve had in years.”

He softly chuckles at her words, “Good. Good. We’re trying to make you feel like one of us, don’t want you running away.”

She’s grateful for the confession, glad that they don’t see her as just another person that works for them. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

He bumps her shoulder with his, a small smile forming on his face, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They head back to the group soon after, realizing they’ve let the day slip away and need to leave soon if they want to make their dinner reservations.

A small vineyard hidden in the valley, they’ve booked the place so it’s just them, and ordered every bottle of wine on the menu to taste. They laugh away the night, enjoying plates of delicious food and letting their minds wander. A gorgeous cake is brought out at the end, half of which ends up destroyed thanks to an impromptu food fight. More presents are opened and Victoria starts tearing up, blubbering about how much she loves the idiots she’s surrounded with.

They walk through the dark streets of Rome, singing happy birthday loudly in every language they know. It’s unusually cold, but she’s somehow been wrapped in Ethan’s jacket, his arm slung over her shoulder. She’s holding Vic’s hand, Damiano and Thomas taking turns with her camera.

The air surrounding them is electrified, she looks up into the sky and thanks the stars for the life she’s living.

May

The summer tour is fast approaching, and nerves are starting to set in. The already high energy group somehow is bouncing off the walls even more, making for an interesting collection of photos. Nerves are starting to get the better of them, and she often finds one of them wandering around the Villa at odd hours of the night. She’s good at being able to channel her nerves into something else, focusing all of the energy on a new project.

One night though, it gets the better of her. She tosses and turns in her bed for hours before she decides that sleep isn’t coming. Instead of lying in bed willing her brain to shut off, she throws on a pair of shoes and heads for the front door, thinking a walk in the warm spring air will do her some good. What she doesn’t expect to find is Ethan sitting out on the terrace, cigarette in one hand and a book in the other, lost in his own world.

She doesn’t mean to catch his attention, hoping to allow him this little bit of uninterrupted peace, but he spots her anyway. “Buona serata,” He rasps, voice laced with the quietness of the night.

“Buona serata, Ethan.” She returns the greeting.

He motions for her to sit down in the chair beside him, closing the book and placing it on the table. “What’s troubling your mind tonight?”

She’s not used to the way someone can read her so well, but there’s something about Ethan that brings her comfort in the fact that he can. “Nerves, I guess. I’ve never done a gig this big, never spent so much time with one group. I’m used to being moved around a lot, still getting used to being a permanent fixture I guess.”

The words are heavy on her tongue, never having voiced her worries out loud before. He takes a long drag of the cigarette hanging from his lips, “La vita ci dà solo ciò che sa che possiamo gestire.”

“Some would think you were a poet in a past life.”

A small laugh escapes his lips, and he shakes his head. A comfortable silence falls over them and she wishes she could bottle this feeling to keep with her forever. He turns to look at her, and it’s hard to put into words the feeling that washes over him. He’s not sure where it comes from, the urge to kiss her, but it sends him spiralling.

He reaches his hand up to brush a few strands of hair out of her face, “Le stelle brillano più luminose nei tuoi occhi, amore.”

The words and his actions cause her heart to raise and her breath to hitch. They’re close now, the closest they’ve been since that night in February, and all she can think about is that kiss that they shared.

Neither knows who leaned in first, but suddenly their lips are touching and it is everything and nothing like they remembered. While the other kiss had been hesitant and brief, this one was full of purpose. Their noses brush and their breaths tangle together, he bits her lip for a moment and a small moan escapes her. He swears it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

He grabs at her hips, lifting her from the chair and placing her so she’s straddling his lap. She tangles her fingers in his hair and tugs softly, earning a groan from the man. The sound sends shockwaves through her and she rocks her hips against his almost involuntarily. His lips move from hers to the side of her neck, pulling small whimpers from her as he nips and sucks at the skin. It’s everything she’s ever imagined and more. The feeling of his body pressed to hers, the pleasure he can so easily give to her.

She moves her hands down to fumble with the hem of his shirt and that’s when he pulls away. “While I would normally love to do that here, how about we continue this somewhere more private?”

She nods eagerly and removes herself from his lap. He all but drags her inside the villa and towards his room. She trips over her own feet and they both laugh at her clumsiness, falling into each other as he tries to catch her but trips over his own feet in turn. He leans in to kiss her again as their bodies collide, this one sweeter and softer than the previous one.

The moment passes quickly and soon she’s being dragged through the halls again, only to be met with a half asleep Damiano standing in the doorway of his room. They stop in their tracks, jumping apart, trying to act like nothing was happening. “It’s rude to have a party and not invite everyone, you know.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, glad that he didn’t know what had been happening moments prior. Ethan is quick to explain that they were just having a cup of tea on the terrace and were now heading to bed, and thankfully the lie is believed. Damiano wishes them a goodnight, heading back into his room, and the two are left in silence in the hallway.

“Maybe we should go to bed,” he whispers to her.

Her heart sinks, but she nods her head in agreement and turns to walk back down the hall to her room. She’s not really sure how the night was going to end, but this was definitely not how she wanted it to; walking in silence next to someone her heart aches for, pretending that nothing had happened between them.

He walks her up to her door, still ever the gentleman, and places a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Buona notte, amore.”

The words should not sound as sad as they do, and she tries her hardest to keep the tears welling up in her eyes at bay as she watches him turn and walk away.

June

How do you go back to being just friends after making out with someone? Well, you don’t. At least, not fully. They dance around each other without knowing it, avoiding any contact that could lead to something more or allude to something else, but there are still moments where the world seems to slip away and it’s just the two of them.

The tour kicks off at a festival in Amsterdam. Blue skies and sunny days greet them as they get off the plane. They have a day to explore before their first show, and no one can decide how to spend it. In the end, Victoria drags Thomas off to do some shopping, Damiano plans a trip to a few museums with his girlfriend, and she is left with Ethan.

She’s not truly stuck with him, but she doesn’t feel like wandering a forgein city all by herself. Since the night in the Villa, they haven’t spent longer than a few minutes alone together, both refusing to acknowledge what had happened.

A trip to the beach seems like the best place to be, and within the hour she’s lounging in the sun listening to Ethan read a book. It’s peaceful, the sound of the waves and his voice lulling her into a half sleep. She’s got a drink in her hands, something sweet and fruity, and she’s sharing a cigarette with Ethan. It’s a scene she thinks one would find in a movie.

She rolls herself over so she’s laying on her back, staring up at Ethan who sits beside her. She places her hand on his leg and traces random shapes into his skin. Goosebumps rise in the wake of her fingertips, and he tries to stay focused on the book in his hands but finds it hard to do so. “You are very distracting, amore.”

She looks up at him innocently and she can’t help but admire him. His hair is tucked away in a bun, but a few pieces have fallen out and are flying in the gentle breeze. He’s only wearing a pair of swim trunks, broad chest on full display. He catches her roaming eyes as they make their way back to his face, a smirk slowly forming on his face. “Or maybe I’m the one distracting you, no?”

She smiles shyly and looks away from him, because yes, he is distracting her, and she’s finding it very hard to not kiss him right now. He chuckles at her, reaching his hand towards her face and turning it back towards him. He leans down towards her, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

All she can do is nod, and a second later his lips are on hers. It’s sweet and slow, she can taste the tobacco on his lips and it’s intoxicating. She moves so she’s sitting up, leaning into him more, the world around them fading out until all that is left is them.

A few days later they find themselves in a hotel room in Munich. There’s music playing and everyone’s laughing. Her camera hasn’t left her hands all night, every moment needing to be captured as they ride the after show high.

She’s in the middle of recording Thomas’ one man act when a pair of arms wrap themselves around her waist. She knows exactly who it is by the scent that invades her nostrils and sends her brain into overdrive. She lets out a sudden, loud laugh, as his fingers trace themselves up and down her sides, collapsing into his chest as she struggles to breath.

He picks her up and spins her around, letting out an equally loud laugh at her protests. He’s happy, and it’s something that looks better on him than any designer outfit he could ever buy.

He falls onto one of the beds, pulling her down with him. She lands beside him tangled in his arms, he’s looking at her with a goofy grin on his face. The world seems to silence around them as their eyes lock. Her smile softens and she reaches her hand over to brush an eyelash off his cheek, he catches her hand before she can pull it away and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently.

He looks ethereal in this moment, hair strewn all over the place, a wild look in his eyes. She reaches for her camera and brings it up to capture him, never wanting to forget this moment.

The streets of Prague are empty, save for the two of them walking hand in hand down them. It’s early, almost too early to be considered an acceptable time to be awake, but they continue on nonetheless. A wild craving for something sweet had brought upon their adventure, and with the look she was giving him, he couldn’t say no to accompanying her.

They had been sitting on the balcony of her hotel room, watching the sun starting to peak out over the horizon and sharing a cigarette when she had turned to him with a mischievous look in her eyes. “I want something sweet.”

The comment had earned her an offer to order room service, but she shakes her head at the idea, standing up and walking back into the room. “No. Something real, maybe a coffee too.”

He follows her in, watching her pull on a shirt to cover the bralette she had been sitting in. “È presto, amore. Let’s go to bed. We can order something when the sun is awake also.”

She smiles at his words, but makes no move to stop dressing. She grabs her wallet and room key before heading to the door, stopping to turn and look at him, a question in her eyes.

“Fine, I’ll come with you.” He says after a moment, throwing on his jacket and walking over to her.

It’s 7:30 in the morning, the sun is starting to make it’s daily appearance, and they are happy. The small bakery they stumble into is just opening for the day and they’re greeted by the owner, an older lady with the sweetest smile. She speaks in broken English, an obvious language barrier between the group of them, but no one seems to mind.

She orders herself a poppy strudel and a coffee, Ethan ordering a croissant and an espresso, before sitting down at one of the small tables. He sits beside her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his side. He presses a soft kiss into the crown of her head and she sighs in content.

Moments like this are what she lives for. She might only be here because she works for them, but somewhere along the way she’s become part of their little family. She looks over to Ethan who’s lost in conversation with the owner, and she whispers to herself, “Penso di essermi innamorato di te.”

She doesn’t know that he hears her, his smile spreading wider across his face.

July

The turnover from June to July happens mid concert in Stockholm. She swears she can feel it, the sudden shift, a slight change in the air. She’s running around in front of the stage capturing pictures of the band in what she’s come to call their ‘natural habitat’. There’s an indescribable buzz in the air as they perform, the crowd becoming louder and louder with each song.

She keeps catching Ethans eye and there’s something primal in the way he looks at her. During a song switch, while Damiano rambles to the crowd, he motions her on stage. He tells her to get closer to everyone, promising that they won’t bite, and she giggles at him. She does what he says nonetheless, capturing some up close photos of the band and a few great shots of the crowd.

All too soon the show is ending and everyone’s piling into the car, a small party taking place in the backseat. Damiano has music blasting from his phone, Victoria and Thomas are dancing along to the beat, and Ethan is belting out the lyrics. She watches the group of them, laughing so hard her sides hurt, and she’s never felt more at home.

When they get to the hotel he’s quick to pull her towards his room, thankfully void of a roommate for the night. The second they get into the room, his lips are on hers. He pulls her close to his body and her hands tangle themselves in his hair. It’s nothing like any of their previous kisses, it’s heated and fast, every thought trying to be conveyed by the fever of it. She pulls back slightly to catch her breath and he leans in to whisper in her ear, “Join me in the shower?”

It’s not so much a question as a statement, but she nods her head eagerly, quick to follow him into the bathroom. He strips himself of the few clothes he’s wearing (most having been thrown off during the show), before turning to her. He reaches his arms out towards her, pulling her close to him and tugging on her shirt. She barely registers him pulling off her clothes, too focused on his body in front of her.

She’s never seen him so bare, and she’s having a hard time focussing on anything else. It’s not until her body hits the warm water that she snaps back to reality. He looks wild, eyes blown with lust, a wicked smile on his face. She firmly plants her lips on his, moaning into the kiss as he grabs at her. His hands are skilled and know every way to pull those delicious sounds from her lips.

It’s quick and dirty, and it is everything she has ever imagined it would be.

An hour later, she’s tangled up in the sheets of his bed, his entire being engulfing her as they watch the stars outside the window. She wonders if they are watching them too.

Paris is the city of lights, a statement she’s never been more sure of. The streets are lit with every light, shining brighter than the stars. She’s in a permanent state of bliss, after the night she shared with Ethan. Their relationship is hidden from the public, living in stolen moments and nights in hotel rooms, but she’s never been happier to be someone's dirty secret.

The band is electric on stage, something about the city they’re in taking their performance to a whole new level. The show goes on longer than it should have, but none of them even care when their manager comes over to reprimand them. They hang around to greet fans and take photos with anyone and everyone, and it’s not until security has to kick them out that they finally leave.

They find themselves in a bar, not sure what part of the city they’re in, but no one cares when the night feels like this. They drink expensive drinks that they can’t pronounce the name of, dance to songs they don’t know the words to, and feel more alive than they’ve ever felt. It’s like the world turned itself up to 11 just for them.

She dances with Ethan, not caring who sees because the night is theirs and no one cares. She kisses him in the middle of the dance floor and he pulls her into a vacant bathroom. It’s hot and heavy and the smell of alcohol envelopes them, but they couldn’t care less. Is this love? They don’t care. They’re young and dumb, and well, you only live once.

Back at the hotel they spend the night wrapped in bedsheets on the balcony, a bottle of champagne and a pack of cigarettes shared between the two of them. He points to the stars, a stupid grin on his face, “Le stelle brillano solo per noi.”

She snorts, throwing an abandoned pillow at him. He grabs her arm and pulls her into him, tickling her sides until she’s begging him to stop, tears staining her cheeks but a laugh like no other leaving her lips.

As the night bleeds into morning, and both are hazy with sleep, he whispers to her, “Sei il mio universo.”

They walk down the streets of London, his arm slung over her shoulders as she rambles away, both blissfully unaware of the few fans snapping photos down the street. They don’t notice the group of girls following them, cameras and phones in hand, capturing picture after picture of the couple.

By the time they reach the shop, the photos are already out into the world.

As they order, reposts and comments start flowing, and their phones start lighting up with notifications.

Before they can pay, she’s crying.

Rule number one of being in the public eye; never look at the comments, distance yourself from social media as much as possible, it will never end well.

The final stop in Rome was supposed to be a welcome home. A big celebration was to occur after their last concert, but now, it’s nothing more than finding the quickest way back home. She sits in one of the dressing rooms the entire show, waiting for it to end, scrolling through her social media.

She knows she shouldn’t be, that’ll all it’s doing is hurting her, making her feel worse. But she can’t stop. The comments aimed towards her and the drummer are terrible, and she wishes she could just delete herself from existence. They aren’t even dating, at least not officially, but she’s been deemed the girlfriend from hell. She’s unknowingly stolen something that never belonged to anyone to begin with.

Damianos girlfriend is in the room with her, telling her of her own horror stories dealing with fans, and she knows she’s just trying to help, but she really wishes she would just shut up. She loves the girl to death, she’s been a blessing this entire time, but she feels her mind is too far gone to be saved from the madness.

It’s only a few minutes later that the band wanders in, the usual after show high replaced with a sudden heaviness. Ethan comes to stand by her after putting his things away and pulls her into a tight hug. “Amore mio.”

He’s sweaty and could definitely use a shower, but the hug is comforting. She rubs his back soothingly, knowing this is just as hard on him as it is on her. Their management team has told everyone to remain quiet about it, disappearing from the internet until further notice while they figure out how to manage the situation. It’s maddening, the inability to speak out and protect her. He wishes he could snap his fingers and everything would be fixed, but he knows nothing is ever that easy.

They make their way back to the villa in silence, the car filled with a strangeness. She’s sandwiched between Victoria and Ethan, leaning on the bassist's shoulder, watching her play a game on her phone. It’s not how anyone wanted to end the tour, but the world is a strange and cruel place. Everything good always comes burning down.

August

There’s a party at the villa one night. Things have calmed down enough that she doesn’t spiral every time she looks at her phone, but there’s something in the way Ethan acts around her that makes her uneasy. She’s standing out on the patio, trying to avoid the questioning eyes from everyone in the house. She hasn’t spoken to Ethan all day, and the alcohol coursing through her veins makes her even angrier than she knows she should be.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him walk out the door beside her, a small scoff leaving her lips as he tries to speak to her.

“Couldn’t be bothered to talk to me all day, what’s changed that you’ve decided to grace me with your presence?”

He looks at her, stunned. “I don’t get what you mean.”

She scoffs again, placing her glass on the table across from her. “Since London you’ve done nothing but ignore me. I get that this wasn’t easy for you, but it wasn’t exactly a cake walk for me. I needed you, Ethan, and you left me.” Her voice is raw and scratchy, the feeling of wanting to cry tickling the back of her throat.

“I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how Dami does it, how he can deal with the comments and messages. My brain won’t shut off, I can’t stop thinking about how if I had been more careful, I could’ve protected you and none of this would’ve happened. I feel stupid for thinking I could have. I hate seeing you like this, I wish I could take you away from all of this.” His voice slowly lowers, till it’s nothing more than a whisper, words meant only for her.

“I was never what you wanted, was I? This was just all some stupid game to you. I was just someone you could use to get off.” Her voice is laced with pain, a small crack coming out as she speaks.

He shakes his head, laughing slightly, and turns to look away from her. He walks a few steps before turning to face her again, “No. No, you were exactly what I wanted. You were everything to me. We were the same type of crazy.”

“I don’t understand Ethan, then what was the problem? This feels like a confession and a break up all in one.” She crosses her arms and leans against the wall, watching as he pulls a cigarette out from his pocket and lights it.

The familiar sight creates something warm in her chest, memories of summer nights like this flash through her mind. Spending the evening sitting on the balcony of different hotel rooms, sharing a cigarette between the two of them while they let the events of the day soak in. She’d give anything to go back to one of those moments. He blows a breath of smoke out and starts to speak again, “I don’t know, amore. I don’t. I want to tell you I love you, to hold you and call you mine. But I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t.” It’s not a question, but a statement.

“No, don’t do that. Don’t turn this into something it’s not. I want to, believe me, I do.” He steps towards her and reaches out his arms, “But we both know we can’t.”

She doesn’t know where the tears come from, but they’re there, pooling in her eyes. It’s only been a few months since they’ve met, there were no promises to be anything more than a summer adventure, but this doesn’t feel right. Her heart should not be breaking at the thought of losing someone she barely even knows.

He stops when he notices her state, reaching out to wipe the tears falling down her cheeks. “Merda. Merda! This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

She looks up at him through clouded eyes, “Then how was this supposed to go, Ethan? Breaking my heart wasn’t supposed to hurt me this bad? I was supposed to smile and tell you that I'm not madly in love with you and these past few months meant nothing to me?”

His heart breaks slowly at her words. He never meant for the night to go this way, and he wishes he could just pull her into his arms and tell her he loved her, that everything could be okay. But he can’t, so he pulls away from her, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

They’re the only words he can manage to get out without breaking down. He takes a second to watch her, memorize all the features of her face, before turning around and walking away. It’s a sight that rips her heart out, watching his form disappear back into the house. She knows this is it, the goodbye she’d been preparing for these past few weeks, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

Before she can help herself, she’s calling after him. “Being in love isn’t a weakness, you know!” But the words fall upon deaf ears.

Vic finds her standing in the same spot an hour later. She’s got a smoke lit in her hand, the third one from the pack. She hasn’t touched her lips to any of them, but the smell and the feeling of holding it brings her comfort. She was never really one to smoke, but she found it entrancing to watch Ethan do it, and right now, it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. It’s silly, how something so small can mean so much.

Her heart aches in the most unbearable way, but she can’t bring herself to do anything about it. Vic doesn’t speak, just stands beside her. She doesn’t need to ask to know that she is well aware of the events that have just unfolded, she’s just grateful for the company.

September

It’s stupidly hot in London for the time of year, but mother nature loves her unexpected heat waves. She’s home now, having left Rome shortly after the fight with Ethan, assuring their manager that she would be able to edit and upload all of the photos and videos from the comfort of her own flat.

Vic and Thomas had driven her to the airport, had walked her all the way to security and hugged her tightly before letting her go. She’d promised to keep in touch and Victoria had made her pinky swear that if she was ever in Rome again, she’d come visit. The flight was short, and she was glad the time difference was only an hour.

Her sister had picked her up and dropped her off at her flat, and she’d immediately collapsed into bed. That was three days ago, she’d barely moved since. Someone had caught her at the airport and the photos were everywhere, articles upon articles had been released, she’d had non stop messages from everyone, but all she could bring herself to do was turn her phone off.

Her photos make it to the front of magazines, her articles getting featured all over the globe, she’s made a name for herself. She gets emails from prospective clients wanting to book her in at shows, her boss sending her information for more high end gigs, but all she can think about is her drummer boy.

Her phone still sits turned off on her desk, she refuses to turn it on for anything, resorting to using only her email, but she knows everything that’s going on with the band. She’d been asked to join them again in a few months, to become a permanent part of their team. She hasn’t been able to reply.

She gets panicky thinking about seeing him again, about the things people will say if she’s caught in the same country as him. She’s stopped receiving death threats, but there’s still comments that creep in, fans thanking whatever gods made them seperate.

Victoria tries to reach out every few days, worried about the state of person she’s become, but she can’t even manage to type out an I’m okay. The world seems to be too fast and too slow, too bright and too dark, too much and not enough. Her heart aches and it’s a pain so deep she thinks she’ll never be okay again. Love is a cruel, cruel creature.

October

She finally brings herself to go back to work at the beginning of the month. She books herself in for a small band, someone no one really knows but she hopes they will one day. She’s in Amsterdam now, trying hard not to think of the memories the place brings. The band is good, the music heavy and the beat strong. They find a way to tell a story that leaves everyone with a soul searching question by the end of the night. Do you know who you are?

She’s only with them for a few nights, a short gig, but something she needed to get the ball rolling, to remember why she was doing this in the first place. After submitting the photos and writing an article that sends another wave of offers her way, she takes a few days to explore the city. It was wonderful before, when the air was warm and it felt like there was magic enveloping the city. But now, with the change of seasons, it’s even more beautiful than she remembers.

She walks the empty streets one night, huddled in the safety of her hoodie, camera in hand, and captures moments. A couple standing under a street light, a cafe closing for the night, kids running. It’s not until she hears a laugh she’s all too familiar with that her heart stops and her blood turns cold. She turns, ever so carefully, hidden behind the side of a building, and sees him.

He’s beautiful, even more than she remembers, and he looks happy. He’s walking with two girls, the resemblance making her sure it’s his sisters, but in this light she can’t be sure. She’s never met them, but he talked about them often, and she felt a pang in her chest for the homesickness he must have felt.

She tries to run, tries her hardest to get away, but she’s in an alley that leads nowhere and he’ll for sure be able to see her no matter what. The voices of the three get closer and she starts to panic, but there’s nowhere to go and she knows she’ll have to pull on her big girl pants and face him. But her heart won’t stop beating so loudly and she’s afraid she’ll break if he looks at her.

She pretends to be busy with her camera, focusing all of her attention on settings she knows are perfect, but a voice carries it’s way to her ears. “Hey stranger.”

It’s soft and it makes her knees weak and she hates herself for it. She looks up at him and his expecting eyes and her heart breaks all over again. She can’t help it, but suddenly there are tears running down her face and she can’t breathe. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

He places a hand on her shoulder but she pushes it away, “No it’s not.” She says between breaths.

“I shouldn’t be here, I should not be here. I have to go.”

She turns to leave, but one of his sisters stops her, “Let us walk you home, please. My brother may be a dumbass, but we have good genes. Let us make sure you get back safe.”

She doesn’t know why the words calm her, but she nods her head and lets the girls lead her in the direction of her hotel. The twins, Eleanora and Lucrezia, talk to her in fits of italian and english, trying to keep her brain occupied. But her whole body is on high alert, too aware of the man trailing behind them and how much of a fool she must look like. She feels like a mess, like someone drowning in a foot of water, but she can’t help it.

They walk her into the lobby of her hotel, the girls wish her a goodnight before shoving Ethan towards her. She doesn’t want to talk to him, and he must see it in her eyes because he tries to leave. But his sisters won’t let him, they stand tall and he looks like a child being scolded by his parents.

“Can we sit?” He asks, pointing to a couch.

She doesn’t want to, she wants to run up to her room and cry, but she nods. They sit and it is silent. Her stomach is in her throat, her eyes hurt from trying not to cry, but she sits and she waits. She studies his face, the crease in between his eyebrows that only forms when he’s confused or thinking, she wants to reach over and smooth it out. He turns towards her and catches her staring, a small smile forming on his lips.

He takes her in, allowing himself to really look at her for the first time in months, and something in his heart breaks. How did he ever let her go? Why was he so stupid to ruin something so beautiful?

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. “I’m so sorry, amore. I know I can’t say it enough, I know it’s not as easy as that, but I’m sorry and I love you. So much it hurts.”

The words hit her like a truck, they knock the air out of her lungs and the tears she was trying so hard to keep at bay start falling down her cheeks. She stands up so fast she gets light headed, “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

She turns and starts walking towards the elevators. He calls after her, but she’s determined to leave, to get away. He runs after her, catching her right before the doors of the elevator close, and he wishes she didn’t look so broken. The doors slip close and she is gone and he feels like he could break something.

Her room is cold and she wishes she was home in her flat. She throws herself into the shower, the water burning her skin, and she sobs. She sobs so hard her body shakes, she screams and hopes no one can hear her.

He’s still standing by the elevator, crying now, too. His body aches in a way he’s never felt before and he hates that he isn’t holding her right now. He knows he messed up, he beats himself up for it everyday, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. He can’t just say sorry and expect everything to be okay, but he has to do something.

November

The ground is covered in snow. It is peaceful and quiet. He’s not used to this, the cold and the snow, but he understands the appeal. He’s standing outside her flat, or at least what he hopes is her flat, Victoria wasn’t exactly sure which one was hers. He’s bought her favourite flowers and he’s prepared to pour his soul out to her.

He paces outside her door for what feels like hours, trying to get himself to knock, but before he can, she opens the door. “Ethan?”

Her voice is soft, his heart sings at the sound of it. He turns to face her and the sight before him takes his breath away. She’s wearing a dress that shows off everything he loved about her, a coat thrown over her arm, she looks like an angel on earth. “Do you have a moment?”

She’s running late for dinner with her sister, but she’s afraid if she says no to him, she’ll never see him again. She hasn’t forgotten that night in Amsterdam, wishes she would have been brave enough to stay and talk, but she can’t change the past. “Yes, yes. Come in.”

She lets him into her flat, taking the flowers he hands her, and brings him over to her couch. “So.”

The script he’d had prepared in his head is suddenly gone from his memories. “I’ve thought this through a thousand times, planned this out a million different ways, but I can’t figure out the right words to say. I’m sorry, amore mio. I can’t say that enough. I never should have left you, shouldn’t have let things happen the way they did. Loving you was easy, and I think that scared me.”

She takes a deep breath, not sure what to say. She feels tears bubbling in the back of her throat and she hates that this is her response to everything revolving around him. He notices the shift in her, can tell she’s about to cry, “Amore mio, please don’t cry. I’ll start and then neither of us will be able to do anything else.”

She laughs quietly at his words, “I don’t think there are any tears left inside of me. I cried them all for you.”

His heart breaks at her confession. He moves closer to her and wraps himself around her. She hates how easy it is for her to melt into his touch, but she enjoys the comfort of it. “Tell me how to fix this. Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me. I’m yours amore.”

“Please, don’t leave me again.” The words are barely more than a whisper, but he hears them.

He pulls her tight to his chest and holds her. She doesn’t care about anything else but this moment and him.

She wakes up the next morning in her bed. The sun is streaming in through the windows and she can smell Ethans body wash laced in the fibres of her bed sheets. She rolls over, expecting to see him beside her, but is met with an empty bed. Her heart sinks, afraid that everything he’d said was too good to be true, that he’d left her, again. But the sounds coming from her kitchen prove her wrong.

She gets up, quickly changing out of the dress she was wearing the night before, and follows the sound of clinking dishes. She’s greeted by the sight of a shirtless Ethan, back turned to her, hunched over her stove. There’s the smell of coffee brewing and something soft playing from the radio. If she doesn’t think too hard, she can almost imagine this being a daily occurrence.

He turns around when he hears the floorboards creak, a smile on his face, “Buongiorno amore mio.”

“Buongiorno.”

He hands her a cup of coffee and plates the pancakes he’s made. She smiles at the domesticality of it all. He sits down beside her on the couch and they eat in silence, leaning against one another. Afterwards, she washes the dishes and he dries them. Neither one of them says anything until the sun is high in the sky and they are laying in bed together. “I love you.”

It is the first time she’s said it in such a permanent way, she recites it like it is a fact written in history books. He looks down at her, she’s curled up on his chest, a hazy look on her face. He reaches down to tuck her hair behind her ear and leans his head towards her, “Ti voglio bene.” He seals the statement with a soft kiss.

It’s light and barley there, she chases after his lips as he pulls away, and he chuckles in a way that sends butterflies into her stomach. She places herself on his lap, weaving her fingers into his hair as his tether to her waist. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He stares at her, memorizing all of the features of her face. He loses himself in thoughts of days spent exactly like this, of a life he hopes isn’t just a dream. He flips them over carefully, laying her down on the bed. He hovers over her, arms on either side of her head, “I’m going to show you how much I love you.”

December

“Move in with me.”

It’s early in the morning and they’re sitting in bed sharing a pot of coffee and a pack of cigarettes. His arm is wrapped around her shoulders, she’s leaned into his side, and he whispers those words.

She hasn’t yet told him about the offer from the band's manager, to become their permanent photographer, but it seems like the perfect moment to. “Yes.”

“Really?”

She laughs at his shock, “I was offered to come and work for the band full time, I haven’t replied yet. But I want to take the job.”

A goofy grin makes its way onto his face, “Do it! Right now. Tell them yes, come and stay with us. Be my girlfriend?”

He’s rambling and he doesn’t care. She smiles at him, her heart bursting with love for the man. “Okay, yes! Absolutely!”

Christmas is celebrated in their apartment in Rome. The band is there, her sister flies out and his family comes too. It is a day filled with love and laughter. They eat a grand lunch that they spent the previous day cooking, his mom brings a homemade panettone. They exchange gifts in the evening, and it is everything she’d dreamed of.

On New Year's Eve they make a trip to the villa. They sing songs and drink expensive wine. Fireworks light up the sky brighter than the stars. They sit out on the porch and tell stories of things that seem so far away. He’s sitting beside her, hands intertwined. He tells her about all of the things he wants to do in the new year and she is mesmerized by the way he talks.

There will be a moment in time when the world stops spinning and everything goes quiet, and she thinks that if that were to happen now, it would be the perfect way to go. Surrounded by the people she now calls family and the person she loves most in the world.

Fireworks go off in the distance, someone shouts out a drunken happy new year! and as time flows from one year to the next, she realizes that this is all that will ever matter.