#I mean it’s appropriate that he’d look that plastic but it was also just Ugly

[garnetcoloredsky]

well I spent all day on Cain’s portrait only for it to look like a LinkedIn profile pic, so……..have a wip instead

[mrsrcbinscn]

Mother Mayhem || bdrptask

Word count: 6241

Description: Different moments between Franny and her mother, Sophea, featuring a common thread.

CW: Nothing triggering is discussed in detail but I wanna put some content warnings for the following; violence, implied slurs, slut-shaming, violence, mentions of what you’d expect from broaching the topic of Khm*r R*uge

Sophea Sor was never one to hide things from her daughter. Many survivors of war and the like shielded their children from their stories but Sophea was always straightforward about why she had to leave Cambodia. 

 Age appropriate, of course. 

 She didn’t whip out words like killing fields and genocide when her daughter was small, but she did explain that some very bad people caused some bad things to happen. She explained that people were very sick, very sad, and very hungry but couldn’t find food, so that was why she had to come to America.

 As her daughter grew older, she filled in the gaps.

Five years old…

 Mak had to leave Cambodia because people were fighting and hurting each other, and people they weren’t even fighting with got hurt too.

“Mak, I’m sleepy,” five year old Darareaksmey complained, crawling into her mother’s lap the second her mother sat down for probably the first time that day. 

 Without taking a sip of water from the plastic cup she’d just filled, a woman ran her hands, the color of the spiky balls that fall from sweetgum trees through the little girl’s hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She pulled the hair tie out of her own hair and began to work her daughter’s hair into a braid.

 “You’ll be even sleepier after we finish cleaning the restaurant, baby. Then you can go straight to bed instead of tossing and turning until you do fall asleep.”

 “I want to go to bed nooooow.” The little girl pouted, crossing her arms across her chest and letting out an indignant huff. “Why do I have to clean, I’m five. Jobs are for adults.”

 “It’s not a job if I’m not paying you, silly.” Sophea Sor said, tying the ponytail holder around the braid. “It’s just chores. Kids don’t get paid for chores. Be lucky yours are inside and we don’t have a farm.”

 “Ew, farm cows are smelly.”

 “That’s right, now do you think you can mop the floor while I finish the dishes in the back?”

 “Mhm. Can I sit down a minute first?”

 “We can start after we finish this water.”

Six years old…

 A lot of people died, that’s why Mak doesn’t have a daddy, and she got separated from her own mak. None of her family could come to her wedding because she wasn’t sure if any of them were still alive and where in the world they might be. That was why little Darareaksmey being supportive of her mother marrying Adrien was so important.

 “Let go of my hair, Art! Or I’ll beat you up!” Darareaksmey shouted at her soon-to-be brother as he pulled on her braid, making her flail her arms wildly in her attempts to wallop him. “I’m gonna break your face!”

 Gaston groaned as he flicked a fuzz off of his wedding clothes, realizing he was going to have to step in if they kept this up. He did not want to step in! Dara might be younger than him and Art both but she could punch! But if he teamed up with her and hit Art, then Art would get mad and say he betrayed his brother for their step-sister, and Dara would cry because she can stay ‘step-brother’ all she wants but the second the boys say ‘step-sister’ she throws a fit, and then she and Art would just start a new fight.

 Being the big brother was exhausting sometimes.

 Luckily, Gaston didn’t have to choose whose side to fight on, because Sophie glided into the room to pry the youngest two apart.

 “Dara, be nice to your brother,” Sophie muttered, gently tugging her hair out of the braid to re-do it.

 “He started it! And he’s not my brother, he’s just Adrien’s son!”

 Sophie sighed and with one hand continued to unbraid her daughter’s hair, and with the other, beckoned Art to come closer. “That’s not what you were saying a few days ago, when we tried on your dress for the wedding. You said you were excited to have two big brothers.”

 “That was before I realized Art was mean!” Dara stuck her tongue out at him.

 “Brothers and sisters are mean to each other. Sometimes. Other times, they play together. But all of the time they don’t let anybody else be mean to each other.” Sophie explained as she started to fix Dara’s hair. “But. Art should apologize for pulling your hair.”

 Sophie stared at Art with disapproving mom eyes until he shuffled his feet and looked down at them sheepishly. “I’m sorry I pulled your hair, Dara. And called you ugly. And said I didn’t want an ugly sister. And said your flowers smelled like butt. They don’t smell like butt.”

 “Am I ugly?”

 “You’re not ugly, I was just being mean. You’re a perfectly not ugly sister I’m excited to have after my daddy marries your mommy!”

Twelve years old…

 About a quarter of the population of her mother’s home country died during the Khmer Rouge regime. Franny was lucky to have been born at all, and she should be very proud her mother taught her their language and culture.

 Franny couldn’t remember the last time someone other than her mother used her given name except to make fun of it. Even her brothers called her Franny by then.

 It was the start of a new school year and Franny dreaded the first day; not because of having to wake up early, not because of having to do homework again soon, but because new school years meant new teachers and new teachers. And new teachers for Franny and the handful of other children of Southeast Asian refugees in town meant a horrid butchering of their names at roll call.

 It was the same song and dance every year.

 Inevitably, one teacher would get to Phuc Kieu’s name and say something that sounded like “fuck you” and the class would laugh while Phuc meekly raised his hand and said, “You can just call me James.”

 Serey Mam was lucky, it wasn’t hard to correct ‘Siri’ or ‘Sare-ee’ or ‘Sar-ee’ to ‘Sa-rey.’

 It was the Lao kids that Franny felt most sorry for. Franny could only pronounce and spell Chanthanouvong, Douangphachanh, Nanthavongdouangsy, and Sibounheuang because she was also Southeast Asian so she bothered to learn. But at least with Serey’s name, teachers tried. With the Lao names they took one look at them and said ‘time to butcher it in the most egregious way possible.’ 

 She had mad respect for Chitpasong Nanthavongdouangsy, who refused to go by an “American name” and forced teachers to learn to say Chitpasong. “I was born here,” Chitpasong said one time. “Chitpasong is an American name because I’m an American person.” Franny wished that six year old Darareaksmey had had that resolve, and wished twelve year old Franny could summon it, but she didn’t. She’d rather only hear Darareaksmey from her mother because at least she said it right.

 “You look a bit glum.”

 Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

 “Hi, Mak.” Franny said, waving as she grabbed the last of the dishes from the soapy water to rinse it.

 “What’s wrong? Don’t want summer to end?”

 Franny shook her head. “No, I kind of miss all my friends. You know, the ones not in bicycling distance. I just don’t like the first day.”

 Sophie let her daughter rinse and dry the final dish before she pulled one of the dining chairs out and snapped her fingers, manicured nail pointing down at it. Franny sat down as her mother grabbed the brush from her purse resting open on the table.

 “Were girls mean to you last year?” Sophie asked as she got to brushing the knots out of Franny’s hair.

 “Not really, I just punch them if they are.”

 “Darareaksmey, we don’t resort to violence.”

 “It’s my last resort, I promise, but it’s on the table.”

 “So what’s wrong?” Sophie grabbed the hair tie from around her wrist and held it between her teeth as she started to braid from the top of Franny’s head. “You let me get this far, so you’re trapped now.”

 “It’s the teachers. I hate roll calls on the first day.” She admitted. “I feel embarrassed.”

 “About?”

 “My name.”

 That gave Sophie pause but her hands quickly got back to work on Franny’s hair. “Why?”

 “They...say it wrong. Nobody can say Darareaksmey.”

 “It’s not a name from their language, I’m sure it is difficult.”

 “They don’t even try, it’s why everyone calls me Franny, nobody has ever tried. And it makes me feel embarrassed and sorry that I have such a weird name.”

 Sophie was quiet for a long moment, her deft hands working at her daughter’s hair, until she spoke up again. “Are you embarrassed? To be Cambodian. About your name.”

 “No...it just feels bad when they get it wrong. So I let them call me Franny. Is that bad?”

 “No. I let them call me Sophie, don’t I? As long as you know how powerful your name is and why it's so special.”

 Franny turned her head toward her mother but Sophie clicked her tongue and angled her head back forward, muttering something about her hair looking lopsided if she did that again. “Heeeeey, I was paying attention to you.”

 “You’re trapped in this seat, you have to pay attention even with your back turned.”

 “Fair.  Why’s my name special?”

 “Because you are. I thought very hard about your name. Darareaksmey means ‘bright, shiny star’. I know you remember I was raising you alone before I married your father. You remember, right?”

 Franny, truthfully, sometimes forgot that Adrien Framagucci wasn’t always in her life. It was easy to forget that he wasn’t her biological father because she had never known any other man to be her father. She didn’t know her biological father’s name. Did she want to? Maybe. She hadn’t ever thought about it enough to decide anything; or to consider there was anything to decide.

 Adrien raised Franny. Not only raised her, but he’d wooed her by proving what a great dad he’d be at the same time he was courting her mother. When he came to Mr. Tran’s home to pick Sophie up for dates, he’d bring Franny some amaryllis flowers he’d grown himself. A thanks for letting me borrow your mother today, he’d say. When Franny won Kindergarten student of the month at her elementary school, Adrien asked Sophie if he could treat Franny to a celebration dinner. When Franny mentioned the memory offhand a few years later Sophie said he did that to audition to be Franny’s dad.

 Your father always knew that if he wanted me to believe he loved me, he’d have to love you, too. You were always part of the deal. He wanted to be your dad so he got to proving it to you.

 If her original dad didn’t even stick around long enough for her to remember him but the dad she had put as much effort into wooing her as he did with her mother...then was it worth knowing about him? At twelve, Franny didn’t think it was.

 “Yeah, I remember living in Mr. Tran’s shed with you.” Franny said.

 “It used to be a shed. Mr. Tran fixed it up to be a tiny little house, we had a tiny little kitchen and air conditioning! Right, so you remember it was just me and you...we aren’t the only Cambodians in Clayton County, are we?”

 Franny shook her head. “There’s some at my school. And some that live in Lovejoy, Riverdale, and Jonesboro that work at the restaurant.”

 “Mhm. Are any of them your Aunties and Uncles? I know we call everyone Auntie and Uncle, but are they my brothers and sisters?”

 “...y...yes? Yes, right?”

 Sophie shook her head. “Not one. You’ve heard me talk about my brothers and sisters in Cambodia, right? The ones I climbed trees with or who helped me sneak back into the house at night, I talk about them sometimes. I had eleven of them.”

 “...had?”

 “I’m not sure how many are still living. Or where they might be.”

 “Don’t you have their phone numbers, Mak?”

 Sophie chuckled, the warmth in it seeming out of place to Franny even at that age. It seemed like her mother was broaching a very sad and difficult topic. Cambodia was always a toss-up. It was either sad or so happy it sounded like heaven or nirvana. This did not seem like the setup to one of her mother’s rose-colored talks about Cambodia.

 “Or can you write letters?”

 “I don’t know anything, my love.” Sophie admitted. This was the first time Franny had heard her mother say ‘I don’t know anything’ since she’d been alive! “I know some of the ones who died early on during the Khmer Rouge. Because I was there when they did. But eventually we became separated, and by the time I escaped to Thailand I didn’t know where they were. My brothers, sisters, my cousins. My own mak.”

 “What about your dad?”

 “Dead. That one, I know for sure.”

 “...what happened?”

 “That part, I’ll tell you when you’re older. You’re still a child, dear. I’m only telling you some of the basics today.” She cleared her throat and continued. “I escaped across the border into Thailand and accepted I’d never see my family again. I decided it would be an insult to them to not keep living though, so I waited to be resettled to a safer country as a refugee. First I was in Thailand. Then at a re-education center in The Philippines. And then I found out I was going to America. I wasn’t here very long when I got pregnant with you.”

 “You weren’t married or anything?”

 “I was not. And I had to stop working where I was working, and then I didn’t have any more money. That’s when I walked into Mr. Tran’s restaurant and tried to trick him into thinking I was Vietnamese. He picked up my Cambodian accent right away and told me that we are united by the wars waged by the West in our countries and by our struggles in America. Mr. Tran gave me a job, right away, and even let me move in with his family. Until he converted the shed into a little house, we lived in the main house with his family. We shared a room with his youngest daughter.”

 “Leah?”

 “That’s right. So. I was alone. I was unmarried. I barely spoke English at the time; I knew French and Vietnamese from Cambodia, of course Khmer is my native tongue, but my English was embarrassing. Still is.”

 “No way, Mak! You speak English better than anybody who says that about you!” Franny argued, whirling her head around to face her mother now that she felt her hands move from her hair. “Who says that about you? I’ll cook them into soup!”

“Not. The. Point.” Sophie chastised bonking Franny on the nose with the pad of her index finger to emphasize each word. “The point is. It was a scary time for me when I first came to this country. And then when I found out I was pregnant with you it was even scarier. I wondered if I should give you up so a family with more money could raise you. Mr. Tran isn’t wealthy himself, you know, it was a situation where the poor were helping the beggar. Sometimes I still think you would have been better off...but I couldn’t do it. Maybe it was selfish to keep you, but I was so alone. I knew I’d probably still be lonely after I had you. Babies don’t learn to talk for years and even then, you’re my child, not my friend. But I could raise you to love Cambodian culture. I could teach you my language. I could make sure you knew the beautiful parts about where you came from. After everyone I ever knew was either dead or scattered who knew where around the world, I decided that raising you to be a proud Cambodian would be worth all of that loneliness.”

 Franny, had she been a couple years older, would have cried. At fourteen she might have had the emotional depth to fully comprehend what she meant to her mother. At twelve, she understood a great deal, but it did not quite move her to tears. Though, she instinctively reached for her mother’s hand, and gave it a squeeze.

 For a moment, she thought she saw the ghost of fear in her mother’s eyes, or the closest thing to it she could place at that age when her biggest fear was wasps.

 “Do you miss Cambodia, Mak?” Franny asked quietly.

 “Every day. It is a beautiful country. But it is one I will never see again so there is no use dwelling on it.”

 “Don’t say that, we can go someday.” Franny said, pouting.

 Sophie clicked her tongue at her daughter, shaking her head. “It’s too expensive. No go to your room and finish your homework. I don’t want to hear a single guitar chord until you finish.”

Twenty years old...

 The purging of intellectuals included doctors, students, artists, and musicians. The grandfather Franny never got to meet was a doctor and he died because of it. Her mother had been a university student, studying to be a doctor herself, and lied that she was a seamstress to survive. One of brothers she knew did not survive had been a musician. Sophea had more reasons than financial stability to worry about her daughter insisting on doing music.

 Franny supposed she was lucky.

 Unlike some of her first-generation friends, her mother didn’t put that much pressure on her to marry a Cambodian man. There was never any matchmaking, any suggestions of an arranged marriage meeting, nothing like that. However, the first question Sophie asked when Franny told her mother that she had joined NYU’s Southeast Asian Student Association was “are there any nice Cambodian boys, Darareaksmey?”

 It was then that Franny understood that her mother hoped for a Cambodian son-in-law even if she would not pressure her to select one.  It was also clear to her that while her mother accepted her bisexuality, she did tend to assume she’d end up married to a man, perhaps even wished she would. In the 90s and early 2000s though, Franny took that as a blessing.

 Franny did intentionally go on dates with a few Cambodian guys. She’d even had a third date planned with one.

 Enter Cornelius Robinson. Mega-genius. Absolute nerd. Hair you just wanna run your hands through. Mild-mannered. Kind. Actually interested in what she had to say. And very Not Cambodian.

 It was frankly embarrassing how quickly she was all in for that man. She didn’t have to spend all that much time with him for her to understand how her mother must have felt when she began seeing her father.

 Christmas break rolled around and she figured she should introduce her boyfriend to her family. Franny’s jaw fell right between her feet on the ground at how suspiciously well it went. 

 Hours later, she was positively mortified when, instead of telling Cornelius he could sleep in one of her brothers’ rooms, her mother followed up ‘just follow Darareaksmey to her room’ with ‘and keep it down if you get naked.’ Franny covered her face with her pillow, muttering, ‘Neil, just press down. Smother me now.’

 “Do you like him?” Franny asked her mother while they folded the laundry one afternoon.

 “Your boyfriend?”

 “No, Mak. Daddy. Of course I mean my boyfriend. So, do you like Cornelius or n-- ow!”

 Sophie withdrew the dish towel she’d just whipped Franny’s arm with and her warm laugh filled the room. “Don’t sass me, girl. I do. He’s a very rich man you’ve got wrapped around your finger, and he isn’t even old enough to be your father.”

 “Mak!” Franny’s turn to wack an arm with a dish towel. “I’m not with him for his money...okay, it’s nice that he takes me grocery shopping sometimes so I can eat decent food. But other than that I don’t care about his money.”

 Well...maybe she did a little. It wasn’t the or even a reason she began seeing him, but it was a perk she was now enjoying just like her cooking was a perk he got to enjoy. But money could only entertain her for so long. If Cornelius didn’t make her soul feel at home the way he did not even his bank account could have kept her.

 “Cornelius makes me very happy. I actually - I actually miss him when I don’t get to see him for more than like a day. I never thought I was clingy with guys or girls I dated. Guess I am.’

 “Oh, Dara. You’re just in love.”

 “Yeah, I guess I am. Are you angry?”

 Sophie stopped folding the pair of jeans in her hands and let them crumple into her lap. “Why would I be angry?”

 “He’s not Cambodian? I don’t know. You wanted me to date the Cambodian boys in the Southeast Asian Student Association.”

 “Honey,” Sophie cooed, reaching for Franny’s hand. “Only if you wanted to. I’ll admit a part of me hoped you would find a nice proud Cambodian boy. It would be wonderful if you had a husband who would help teach your children Khmer-”

 Franny bit her tongue, holding back a reminder that they’d hadn’t been dating long enough to consider marriage and kids, and that she was only twenty. Nevermind that Franny had been thinking about those things privately. Oh, not in detail. She didn’t have their future children named or anything, though, she had come to the realization that if she tried to picture herself married one day then it was to Cornelius Robinson. The idea of being a mother kind of freaked her out...but if she added ‘mother to Cornelius Robinson’s children someday’ to it, she got all giggly thinking about it.

 It was still a little early to say the M-word or the K-word to Cornelius but it wasn’t like it hadn’t crossed her mind. Franny was in love, after all.

 “- because a part of me does worry about our culture going away with your childrens’ generation if you don’t. But this is America, where there’s all types of people, not just Khmer, Chinese, Cham, or Vietnamese people. You can marry anybody you want. I speak English now anyway.”

 “Mak, I’d teach my kids Khmer.” Franny said.

 “You will?”

 “How else will we gossip about all the snobby rich families at the country club right in front of them?”

 Sophie bursted into laughter, shoving Franny over onto her side on the floor. “Oh, don’t be a gossip! Now sit up, we'll finish the laundry later. Let me do your hair so I can tell you all about the Inthavongs’ divorce.”

Twenty-three years old…

 Her mother’s life even after coming to America had been harder than Franny fully understood for most of her life up until around the time she was married. She thought she knew all about her mother’s struggle because it happened right in front of her, but there were so many parts Franny was missing.

 “Look at my handsome son-in-law! Oh, come, come, let me take some pictures to email to my brothers and sisters.”

 “Mak, they were at the wedding, they know what Cornelius looks like,” Franny whined, clinging onto his arm. “He flew them in, remember?”

 “You’re supposed to be wiping down the tables, Darareaksmey.” Sophie reminded her, gesturing around the restaurant. “Here, I’ll get that server apron off you. Thank you for helping out with dinner Cornelius. So generous with your time when you’re visiting, such a good man.”

 “He’s married, Mak.” Franny deadpanned. Sophie grabbed a mint from the bowl by the door and before she even threw it at Franny her daughter ducked for cover. “You’re getting her in the divorce!”

 It might have been the couple’s first visit to Georgia since they married a few months ago, but Cornelius knew this routine by now. In about four minutes the play-fighting would be long since over and his wife would be hanging onto her mother telling her how much she loooooved her, or how much she wanted them to treat her to a nice meal out tomorrow, or mention how priceless the look on the blonde sales lady’s face would be if two women who looked like them bought a much too expensive dress with her husband’s black card. 

 After knowing Sophie, it was clear where Franny got her...well, a lot of things from. Of course a woman like that raised Franny. Of course.

 The jangling of the bell attached to the front door interrupted Cornelius’ admiration of his wife and mother-in-law.

 Franny lifted her head up from cleaning a table. “I’m sorry, we’re closed for the nigh--”

 “YOU WHORE!” Screeched the woman who had walked in the door.

 “Hey!” Cornelius exclaimed, the scary, unfamiliar feeling of anger bubbling in his chest. “That is my w-”

 When Sophie was the one struck by the woman’s backhand, it was clear it was not Franny who was the target of that slur.

 “Did you expect me to be in the dark forever? How dare you hang around this town! How dare you show your face here!” The woman, blonde hair greying and pale skin beginning to show age, berated Sophie as she continued her assault. “You and my husband’s bastard child, right under my nose!”

 Cornelius blinked in surprise; he would have thought that his wife’s sperm donor of a biological father would have confessed to his wife about his infidelity much sooner than now, almost twenty-four years later. She must have just found out. Why else would she come to the restaurant that late at night breathing fire out her nose -- good god, he was starting to think in Franny’s folksy sayings.

 He was frozen in shock and a tinge of fear (he never was one for physical fights, see) just long enough for Franny to be the first to act. Sophie seemed fully aware of what was happening and also fully able to defend herself, yet for some reason unwilling to.

 Franny lunged forward and grabbed the oldest of the three women by the hair and tugged her away from Sophie. “Paws off my mother! She did nothing wrong!”

 The woman (if Cornelius remembered correctly, Franny’s biological father was named Peter Boyd), Mrs. Boyd, shrieked and flailed her arms until one connected with Franny hard enough to stun her into losing her grip. Mrs. Boyd turned on Franny immediately.

 “Ha! Nothing wrong? Nothing wrong? Your mother opened her legs to a married man, that’s why you’re even here! Lying like a Persian rug. I should lay you out like one.”

 “Fucking try! I’ll lay your ass out and step all over it, you wanna talk about Persian rugs.” Franny challenged, stepping around Mrs. Boyd to block her from her mother. 

 Mrs. Boyd lunged at Franny, but Franny had been in more fights that the genteel politician’s wife could have ever been in. It took her an embarrassing number of tries to land a punch on Franny and when she did, she didn’t miss her shot. While Franny was stunned, Mrs. Boyd grabbed Franny by her hair and threw her against the wall.

 It felt like hours to him that he was frozen in place, but it couldn’t have actually been more than a full minute between Sophie first being slapped and when Mrs. Boyd landed her punch on Franny. That one action finally connected Cornelius’ eyes to the rest of his body. Mrs. Boyd drew back her fist and in a display of speed and athleticism that he could never repeat again, Cornelius crossed the room and wedged himself between Mrs. Boyd and his wife.

 Lucky for him, she wasn’t a very strong puncher.

 Unlucky for him, she was wearing her ring and his cheek sliced right open.

 “You just punched my husband.” Franny snarled, reaching for a chair. “You. Just punched. My husband.”

 If Cornelius thought Franny looked scarily pissed off when a man put his hands on her at a bar, he ain’t seen nothin’ back then. If they were in a cartoon, smoke would have billowed from her nose and ears as she shoved him behind her.

 “He got in the way, that’s his fault!”

 “He has nothing to do with your cheating husband preying on and manipulating a refugee who barely spoke English into thinking he cared about her and would take care of her. Your shitty husband is the one you should be beating up right now!” Franny hissed, her grip on the chair tightening.

 “Shut up, [slur I won’t type]!”

 It was dead silent. Not one of the four of them moved. Cornelius could have sworn he heard a heartbeat that’s how quiet it was.

 Franny was the first to break the silence.

 “I’ll count to three. If you aren’t out of my mother’s restaurant when I get to three, what happens next is your fault.” 

 Mrs. Boyd scoffed. “Like I’m afraid of some gold-digging musical theatre major.”

 “One.”

 “You aren’t really going to hit me with a chair, are--”

 “Two.”

 “I’ll have you arrest--”

 “Three. GAH!” Franny only had to fake her out for her to run out the door shrieking. The chair was already back on the ground before the door had even shut. “I’ll lock the door. Mak, can we put a dish towel on his face?”

 ---

“Franny ow,” Cornelius protested as, back at her parents’ house, Franny landed a light-but-strategically-painful punch on Cornelius' arm. “Why are you mad?”

 “Because you got hurt!” She snapped, folding her arms across her chest, her eyes watering. “Why would you do that?”

 “I didn’t want her to hurt you or Sophie…”

 Franny whined. “Baby, you name your robots. You can’t take or throw punches. I’m the badass in this marriage, you’re the sweet, gentle one. I hate that you got hurt because my sperm donor’s wife would rather blame a poor lady and her daughter instead of her shitty husband.” “Honey, she slammed your head into the wall.”

 “And?” Franny knocked on her skull. “Sounds hollow to me. I don’t think there’s any brain cells left there to kill.”

 Cornelius gave a huff of a laugh through his nose, reaching for Franny’s hand to play with her fingers. He didn’t say anything, just held her hand and waited for her.

 “I’m sorry you had to see my family’s dirty laundry. Not like you didn’t already know, but.” Franny said, staring down at their hands. “I thought his wife knew. The worst part is, I can understand her. I’d hate my mom and I too if you-- not that you would -- I don’t think you’d-- I just mean--”

 “I know.” Cornelius said, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

 Sophie glided into the living room, her hair kit in hand, and gestured for Franny to sit up straight. Franny opened her mouth to protest that she didn’t feel like getting her hair messed with right now, but snapped her jaw shut as quick as she’d opened it. Just let Mak do her little ritual, it wouldn’t hurt no one.

 “I’m sorry this happened, Mak. I should’ve been quicker to fight for you.” Franny said, looking down at her hand in Cornelius’.

 Sophie tsk tsked and tugged the hairbrush a little hard, Franny swore it was on purpose. “It was overdue karma, my love. I slept with a married man whether I knew it or not at the time. Not knowing doesn’t make it any less wrong.”

 “It does too! He was the one married and lying to you! And the one tried to force you into an abortion when that wasn’t the right choice for you. How are you near as responsible as him?” Franny argued.

 “Humans see grey areas. Not everything in the universe does, dear.  Besides, I won anyway. Even after today.”

 “How? All three of us look like the school bully took our lunch money. I mean, look at him! He and Lucille have a press thing after we get back to New York, he’s gonna look like I shanked him during a domestic!” Franny looked over at Cornelius and pouted at his bandage.

 “I’ll tell the press I fought valiantly, honey. You were a worthy opponent.” Cornelius teased. Franny hissed, exactly like her cat, then immediately kissed his temple.

 “I win in the end because I get to have you as my daughter.” Sophie explained, starting on the actual braid. “I don’t regret any part about my path crossing with Peter Boyd’s because I had to go through it to get you.”

 Franny was silent a long moment, her eyes watered in lieu of her finding her words. She only squeezed Cornelius’ hand tighter, and when she had words again only managed so squeak out, “Maaaaaak, you can’t say things that nice while you’re doing my hair. It’ll be all lopsided if I move to hug you.”

 “That’s why I said it when I did.”

Thirty-five years old…

 Franny was coming to understand that she would never truly be able to understand everything about her mother’s life in Cambodia. The more she knew, the more she didn’t know.

 Franny sat behind her mother, brushing out her hair, as the recording device captured their conversation. At the moment, all it was capturing was Franny’s stunned silence as she sat there, mouth agape, hairbrush frozen mid-brush in her mother’s salt and pepper hair.

 What do you say to your mother recounting in gruesome detail her father’s death?

 She spoke like all she was recalling was the serial killer’s M.O. in the last Criminal Minds, her tone calm, detached, there was even a nervous laugh in there.

 “Mak…” Franny whispered. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

 “The book was my idea, Darareaksmey. I want you to help me talk about what happened to my country and our family before I’m an old woman and can’t remember things. The world deserves to know what it let happen.”

 “It can’t be easy for you. How do you just...live after that?”

 “It isn’t easy. Keep brushing.” Sophie waited until Franny’s hands were once again busy with her hair to continue. “A lot of people don’t, I imagine. Surviving must eat some people alive. It got to me, at first.”

 Franny set the brush down and started on the braiding. “Did it?”

 “Why was my escape successful but the woman who suggested the method I used get caught when she tried it, why was I able to survive the student purge but my friends weren’t, why did the cut on my foot eventually heal but my sister’s infection kill her, and do I even deserve to be alive...things like that, I thought about those things every day in the refugee camp. Once I was able to actually think about anything but being hungry, anyway.” Sophie explained. 

 While Franny braided her mother’s hair it occurred to her that this was the most honest that her mother had been with her about her feelings (re: living through the Khmer Rouge) in all of her thirty-five years on the planet. Regarding the straight facts, Sophea Sor Framagucci was a straightforward woman. She would tell you in detail how any and every traumatic event went down but never once had she talked about how she felt or what it all did to her.

 Though, she couldn’t imagine detailing every single trauma in her life and how it affected her for Wilbur either.

 Perhaps it felt strange to Franny because her mother’s trauma was a major historical event that numerous books, movies, documentaries, and articles talked about. She knew so much about the event itself but the raw, human, emotional aspect of it was all new.

 “It’s funny because deciding not to live was never an option for me. Even before I had you. I just kept thinking about how I didn’t want to let the people who did this to me win, and I can only do that by living. So I existed. For a long time, it was just existing. I learned to be alive again. Especially once you started talking and having a personality that wasn’t just ‘Being A Baby. That’s when being a mother goes from being just a responsibility to a responsibility that makes you smile and laugh.”

 “Mm, it’s a good thing you told me that part at thirty-five and not fourteen. As a mother, I understand what you mean. As a teenager that would have killed my self-esteem.”

 “Impossible, your ego was much too big at that age. It almost could’ve used a beating.”

 “Don’t you know that was the classic pretend you’re better than God because you actually feel like trash act?” Franny said, tying the hair tie around the braid.

 “Can’t say I’m familiar. It’s never been an act for me.”

 “Mak!” Franny laughed, playfully nudging her mother. “No wonder I have a god complex on Tuesdays.” A beat. “We can stop. If you need to.”

 “I’ll tell you when I need a break, my love. I’m okay.”

[snowflake-of-destruction]

Imagine Roxas and Axel babysitting for Sora and Riku

Teamwork

"I like adding spontaneous, fun extra challenges to the day as much as the next guy, provided the next guy is you, but I have to say, I think Floor is Lava Tuesdays is a better idea than weird plastic puzzle locks on the cabinets."

Roxas glanced up from where he knelt on the floor, fixing covers and bars on the under the sink cabinets in the kitchen to see his husband framed in the doorway, looking the casual print ad model, chiseled lines under soft sweats, hands curled around a mug of steaming liquid that smelled almost as delicious as the holder (of course the mug was emblazoned with the word SLUT in bold letters which would probably have to be censored out of the ad), bun with just enough flyaways to seem careless but pulled to the perfect angle.  "I'm baby proofing."

"As the baby, I resent that remark," Axel tutted before setting his coffee next to the sink and crouching down beside Roxas. "What brought this on? You have some news to tell me?"

Axel expected an eye roll from his husband, but Roxas set the angry looking plastic finger trap he was holding down and ran a hand through his hair nervously, a mild pink tinge crawling up his neck and Axel felt his smile freeze in the middle of forming.  "Well, actually, I do have some news..."

"You're kidding." Axel felt his blood run cold and then super heated through his veins in quick succession as time slowed down.

Roxas's frown at the interruption morphed to a furrowed brow of confusion and then annoyance. "Axel, I told you already. Replica bodies don't work that way. I'm not going to 'go seahorse'"

"Xion can..."

"Xion is a special case. You are stuck with me with no alterations."

"Eh, I still have the much better end of the deal."

"Yeah, you do."

A shared smile and a quick kiss distracted Axel a moment longer from asking, "So what's the news?"

"I told Sora and Riku we'd babysit for them tonight." Roxas ripped the bandage off quickly. He braced for a less than enthusiastic response, though actually receiving one was still disappointing.

"Listen, I'm sorry about the acknowledgements. Every book I write is dedicated to 'my heart, my love, my Roxas.' I thought that was a given by now, and I just had to write what other dedications would come after it. It was the publisher's fault, and I should not be punished."

"I'm not punishing you," Roxas felt his face wilt as he picked back up the baby proofing supplies to finish what he had started. "I thought it would be fun. Riku and Sora really need a night out, and it gives us a chance to, you know, see what it's like."

It wasn't that Axel missed Roxas's hurt tone or his latter words and their meaning, even if they had been mumbled. It was more a combination of not wanting to be lured toward a slippery slope of manipulation or ready to revisit the conversation of whether he felt they should start seriously thinking about adding to their family soon rather than a general "some day" they'd always said before. Roxas had brought it up last week, and Axel appreciated that he had, but it hadn't exactly gone well when he'd been taken by surprise and his gut instinct response was less enthusiastic than Roxas had seemed to want. He was letting the idea soak in now, and it needed a little more time to marinate before he could give a response. If Roxas was going to push, it would probably need even more time. So it was better not to toe too closely to the sensitive, personal part of baby discussion and do what they both had the inclination to always go back to, deflection with a joke. "To let a Babynort into the house?"

"Ripan is not a Nort." Roxas hissed defense of his other's son since Sora and Ripan couldn't defend themselves.

"Then how come he has white hair? Answer me that," Axel challenged.

"He has silver hair. Like Riku. Riku's genes are the only inherited evil Ripan has and I don't think we should hold that against him. He's just a baby."

"No, no, babies are adorable balls for holding and cooing at and then handing back to their parents. Terrifying because their heads are squishy and they can't hold them up, but otherwise not dangerous at all. This thing is mobile. I've seen it." Axel lent the revelation the appropriate air of horror, though he neglected to mention he'd seen Ripan crawling up a wall, imitating either one of his fathers or the younger Incredible boy, which rendered his warning easily mistaken for his typical melodrama.

"That's why I'm baby proofing."

"Did you get the upstairs?"

"It's not going to be able to climb the stairs by itself...Is it?"

Axel thought it over since the stair thing seemed to alarm Roxas. "Probably more easily than it could get to the ceiling. I'm just going to feed it ice cream and hope that appeases it."

"I don't think it..he can have ice cream yet. Sora said he was going to write us a list of rules."

Axel's attitude toward the night ahead of them turned on a dime when the suggestion that someone else thought he was less than capable intruded to punch at his ego.  "Rules like what? We know what to do."

"Damn straight." Roxas stood, dusted off his hands, and stole Axel's coffee off the counter.

"We'd be great with kids," Axel insisted, reaching out to take the coffee back, taking a sip, and returning it to Roxas.

"That's right," Roxas encouraged.

"We take care of Demyx!" Axel could honestly say that he'd fed, bathed, and rocked Demyx to sleep under different circumstances. Luckily, no diapers had ever been involved. "We're Turkey's dads!"

"And he's the most demanding little baby of all!" Roxas championed Axel's logic even while being reminded that he'd forgotten to feed Turkey before starting his project with the cabinets. He'd have to rectify that now. It was a miracle Turkey wasn't already dramatically expressing the utter betrayal of being left to starve.

"Next to me," Axel provided the punchline at his expense.

"Next to you." Roxas leaned up on tiptoe to steal a kiss and pressed the coffee cup with its last sips at the bottom into his husband's hands for him to finish off. "Now go put on something more suitable for tonight."

"What's more suitable than sweats for babysitting a baby? A tarp?" Axel drained the coffee.

"Put on something nice."

"Is Ripan conducting a formal interview before storytime?"

"No, but his dads might."

Roxas's instincts turned out to be right. Sora and Riku not only had a list of rules but a pop quiz on protocol and babysitting readiness that needed to be passed before they would leave, despite the fact that Roxas and Axel, already had the job, were doing it as a favor, were only taking Ripan for a few hours and not permanently adopting him and taking him into the heart of Deep Jungle, and Riku and Sora's normal babysitter was a fifteen year old girl (though Violet had warned them that she might have to cut back even more than she had. Ripan and her brother Jack Jack tended to be "a little challenging" in her words, when she had to watch both of them).

Ripan's part of the testing was to sit on the floor sucking on his giraffe pacifier and rolling an alphabet block between his hands, occasionally looking up with large, liquid blue eyes either to question why he was sitting on a strange floor or to ask why his dads were still there. Or maybe to ask why the other baby curled in the entertainment center next to the cable box was so ugly and meowed.

"I promise you. Ripan is going to have so much fun tonight he's never going to want to leave...but he's also going to be asleep by nine and I won't forget to rub the cream on his arms before I put on his sleepytime shirt," Roxas swore, crossing his heart over the I like coffee and maybe three people shirt he'd neglected to change out of despite telling Axel to look nice.

"Okay, I believe in you," Sora assured him before selling out his husband. "But Riku sincerely does not. So can you please promise me you will take extra good care of our little angel? I know he's kind of a handful, but-"

"Are you kidding?" Axel chuckled, unperturbed. "You're talking to the best babysitters in the business. There is no one more qualified for this job."

"You've literally never done this before," Riku groused, hands clenching in his pockets as he regressed to his old nervous tick.

"We are totally capable of taking care of your precious angel, okay? It's not like we don't have kids too." Roxas gestured to the entertainment center where Turkey sat, eyeing the miniature human. It had eyes like His Boy, so Turkey thought he might be able to trust it, but the threat of someone else Heat Giver and His Boy might want to snuggle that was not Turkey was hard to face.

"That's why I'm concerned," Riku concentrated on breathing evenly through his nose and not sounding too snappish. "That is not a child. That is a cat in a knit sweater."

"We'll be fine," Roxas insisted, ignoring Riku's slight, when defending Turkey's status as first child would make Sora and Riku miss their reservation. "We have your list and everything he needs. You two just enjoy yourselves!"

"See, it's fine, Riku." Sora nudged Riku toward the door. "Bye Ripan! Behave yourself for your uncles!"

Ripan gurgled solemnly, swearing to be nothing but the perfect child.

"Have fun guys! We'll be back around eleven!" Sora nudged Riku a bit harder, recognizing him for the immoveable object he was. "Riku stop glaring and walk."

Roxas opened the door for them, Axel waved to them as they retreated, Roxas closed the door. It was a total of maybe fifteen seconds they didn't have eyes on Ripan. The first fifteen seconds they were in charge of the vulnerable life of the baby that had been sitting near motionless and content in the living room for fifteen minutes. The baby that was still sitting content after those fifteen seconds and still near motionless, just with his pacifier out of his mouth and on the floor beside him and his mouth working as if he were chewing.

Axel and Roxas shared a glance and dove at the same time. Ripan shrieked, which should have proved his mouth was empty, but Axel used the opportunity to sweep a finger inside the child's mouth to make sure. Ripan employed natural defenses. Namely, biting down as hard as he could with his four impressive teeth.

Axel howled. Ripan laughed which allowed the red head to withdraw his injured hand. Roxas comforted Axel, for a moment, then warned him not to take his eyes off Ripan again because they might not get lucky again, and went to wash floor germs from the pacifier for the first, but, by no means, last time of the night. Minute one drew to a close with everyone still unscathed.

Minute fifteen gave birth to everyone's least favorite game, Turkey Chase and Smack, though Crawl Behind Couch gave it a difficult battle for the title.

At the end of the first hour, a nice balance had been found and everyone was getting along until Axel tried to heat up a bottle by summoning fire in his hand and subsequently scalded his wrist while testing results, as well as putting the idea of fire into Ripan's head. Sora had been right. Ripan was very smart and liked to try and mimic what the big people did. The living room couch suffered.

The next hurdles were The Incident of the Second Bottle Being Too Cold, The Great Despair of not Being Able to Have Both Bottle and Pacifier at the Same Time, Bottle Gone Too Quick, The Pukening, Second Washing of the Pacifier and Trial of Separation Anxiety, The Changing of the Onesies with Ripan Super Spleen Kicking Action, and The Pukening Part Two: Roxas's Shirt Looks Absorbent.

It was all minor stuff. Normal stuff. Expected, other than perhaps setting fire to the couch.

The real trouble didn't begin until the pacifier was lost.

[out-of-jams]

Stranger Things || Chapter 01 || kth

 Part of my Bangtan Netflix series!

Summary: When your younger brother, Jungkook, goes missing, you have no other choice but to reunite your old friend group to find him. But with government conspiracies, supernatural happenings, and a mysterious boy named V, things won’t be as easy as you’d hoped.

Word Count: 7.4k.

Warnings/Genre: Thriller. Mystery. Fluff. Angst. Friends to lovers. Smut. Supernatural. High School au. Explicit language.

All of my works are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission.

                   | Next | Masterlist |

Chapter 01: The Vanishing of Jeon Jungkook

“No, no, no! Go left!”

A shout accompanied by the sounds of gunshots filled the dark living room. And soft, blue light illuminated the space around the television showing two pixelated characters rushing across the screen.

“We went left last time and died. So no, we’re going right this time!” High pitched, eerie music flowed out of the speakers on the television box. And the click-click-click of fingers tilting joysticks and mashing buttons lingered in the tense, anxious atmosphere.

“We only died last time because you go us killed.” The voice was male: not quite deep, yet not high either, it fell somewhere in the middle.

“Don’t you dare blame that on me, Jungkook! You’re the one who didn’t listen when I told you to hide.” A feminine voice this time was followed by a grunt of irritation. “We’re going right.”

“Whatever.” With an annoyed click of his tongue, Jungkook leaned forward on the ugly, plaid printed couch and braced his elbows on his knees.

An Atari game controller was clutched tightly in his slender hands, fingers tilting the joystick and mashing the single button blindly. His brow was pinched in concentration and his lips were slightly parted, two prominant front teeth visable even in the near darkness. Though his mouth-breathing tendancy was most likely drying his mouth out more than helping him to actually focus.

On screen, both of your characters rushed through the room they’d just cleared of enemies and turned right at the end of the corridor. Jungkook’s character, a pixelated mass of orange, followed reluctantly behind yours as they both reached the door at the end of the hall.

“Maybe we should actually go in with a strategy this time--or not.” With a roll of your eyes, you huffed and leaned forward to unconsiously mimic your brother’s posture.

The stench of pizza grease from the empty boxes on the coffee table filtered through your nose as you grabbed up your half-drank bottle of coke. Carbonation was sweet on your tungue as light from the loading screen reflected in the pupils of your narrowed eyes. Your heart was beating so fast due to the game that you were almost positive Jungkook could hear it.

“We gotta beat it this time. I’m tired of replaying the same level over and over.” Jungkook licked at his lips, leaning forward more intensly the split second the game finished loading and dropped both of your characters into the boss battle. “Let’s get this bread.”

“The hell does that even mean?” Your question was rhetorical, attention captured by the battle music that suddenly burst from the television’s tiny speakers.

The screen zoomed in to show a blotch of green that looked more like a small plant than anything else. But as the music started to hit its cresendo, the plant slowly transformed into a humanoid like plant man with sharp teeth, claw-like fingers and no eyes. Right underneath its wiggling, twitching animated body was the word: Demogorgon.

“Here we go!” With a nod of determination, Jungkook’s fingers tightened on his joystick. “We’re gonna win this time.”

It took all of sixy seconds for both of your characters to die in a violent explosion of pixelated smoke and flames. The screen zoomed in to show the demogorgon wriggling victoriously and the game over music could barely be heard over the screams of both you and Jungkook.

“Dude!” You dropped your controller to the couch in annoyance and turned to glare over at your brother. “I told you to hide again and you still didn’t listen. And now we’re dead. Again.”

Jungkook just threw his head back and sunk lower in his seat. Even in the barely lit room you could see him tonguing his cheek in irritation. “Let’s take a break.”

You hummed, “Snack break?”

That seemed to perk him right up. Just the mention of food could light a fire under Jungkook’s ass quicker than your mother when she yelled. Until he glanced down at the table and deflated. “We’re out, though. I think we ate everything.”

You grimaced at the mess littered all over the coffee table. Empty containers of snacks and glass soda bottles covered every inch of the wooden surface. You and Jungkook had been gaming literally all day. Ever since he stumbled in earlier that morning with a brand new Atari clutched in his hands. Apparently he’d been lucky enough to borrow it from one of the boys down the street. And he’d busted into your room at 10 AM sharp to wake you up from your Sunday morning nap to goad you into playing.

Furtunately, your mother had left to visit her sister in Florida on Friday. Something about your aunt getting a divorce and your mother needing to comfort her. Or whatever. Not that it really bothered you to be left home alone with your younger brother for however long it took to console your grieving aunt. Because that just meant that you could do whatever the hell you wanted.

Like stay up late on a school night.

“Now what?” You questioned through a yawn, taking a second to glance at the clock on the VCR. 11:24 PM.

Jungkook was already standing with his arms stretched overhead to relieve his stiff muscles. “I’ll run out and get some more.”

“It’s late, Kook.” Your words seemed to have no effect on the sixteen year old boy because he’s already crossed the room to the front door.

Jungkook’s fingers fumbled with his shoes as he slipped them on, the hood of his black AC/DC hoodie flopping forward onto his head. Looking up as he tied his laces, he sent you a reasurring smile. His doe-eyed stare and large two front teeth gave him an aura of innocence that could make even the grumpy old man across the street soften like putty.

“Don’t worry, the store is just three streets down. I’ll take my bike and be there in like, fifteen minutes.” There it was again, that flash of bunny teeth as he stood up fully.

You groaned and threw your head back in defeat. “Fine. But hurry up.”

Jungkook grinned in victory, his dark eyes scrunching up into half-moons. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Better be.” Your words were punctuated by the slamming of the front door. Jungkook never learned how to shut doors with appropriate force.

Now the only sound in the house came from the game over still flashing on the television screen. You took a moment to eye it before flipping the remote into your hands and hitting the mute button. The living room plunged into silence as you streched out across the couch and threw an arm over your eyes. You’d just take a short nap while Jungkook was out in order to regain your strength to beat the game.

Yeah, just a short nap.

Jungkook should have been scared by the darkness creeping at the edge of the light beam from the flashlight attached to the front of his bike. He should have been frightened at the sheer fact that the streets of his neighborhood were completely empty. But he wasn’t.

The quiet offered him solace in a way that most things couldn’t. Sure, Jungkook was loud at times, but he also liked the comfort of his own company. Of the sound of crickets chirping in the trees lining the road he biked down. It mixed with the flap-flap-flap of the baseball card still stuck in-between the spokes of his rear bike wheel. And the crinkle of the plastic bag hanging from the left handle bar so low that it occasionally brushed against his thigh.

Jungkook’s breath came out in pants as his legs pedaled hard enough to carry him up the steep hill. He was almost home, only two streets away when the street lamps overhead started to dim. That wasn’t unusual. The powerlines in town were finicky, afterall.

Though it wasn’t until he passed underneath one that the bulb blinked one, twice, three times, before blowing out completely. And that wouldn’t have caused panic to rise in his chest if it weren’t for the fact that every single street lamp went out at the same time. And if it weren’t for the flashlight on the front of his bike, Jungkook would’ve been veiled inside a curtain of absolute darkness.

“What the..?” The words slipped from his mouth and filled the quiet street with a sense of foreboding. Jungkook didn’t know what was happening. But what he did know was that his instincts were screaming at him to get the hell out of dodge.

He pedaled faster, trying his best to ignore his heartbeat thrumming in his eardrums. And he would have succeeded if the flashlight on his bike didn’t start to flicker too. Jungkook glanced down, reaching out a hand to tap against the plastic lens in hopes of keeping it alive.

It blinked once more in a final threat before stilling and he let out a breath of relief.

And looked up just in time to see the silhouette of something-something-something standing in the middle of the empty road.

Jungkook startled so badly that he jerked the handlebars to the right sharply, sending him veering straight into a ditch on the side of the road. The front tire of his bike caught and the momentum flipped Junkook through the air in a dizzying whirlwhind. He hit the hard packed ground with a thud, grass tickling the now exposed skin of his arms. But he didn’t have time to register the pain.

Because he heard it, intermingled with the tick-tick-tick of the abandoned bike wheels spinning round and round.

A growling hiss pierced through the foilage of the trees around him, seemingly coming from anyhere and everywhere all at once. Jungkook stumbled to his feet, the knees of his jeans catching on a fallen branch and tearing. But he didn’t have time to process that either.

Through the darkness he could just make out a figure standing a few feet away, hunched over in the shadows.

Jungkook’s shoes slid across the dirt as he cut to the right and burst through the trees without a second thought. He could barely see more than five feet ahead, eyes blown wide to let in as much light as possible. As his footfalls pounded the earth, Jungkook’s beath left his body in loud exhales that he did his best to silence.

A quick glance behind him showed nothing. He couldn’t see whether or not whatever the hell that thing was, was following him. But just because he couldn’t see it didn’t mean that it wasn’t.

It took only a minute of reckless running for the familiar sourroundings to register in Jungkook’s mind. The town of Hawkins, Indiana was a rural area, filled with more trees than people. And the woods served as a maze for any who weren’t familiar with its paths. But Jungkook had lived there all his life, therefore he knew the darkened outline high up in the branches was there way before he reached the base of the tree.

He didn’t take a moment to pause, to catch his breath before he jumped, hands flying overhead to grab onto the wooden ladder. It didn’t reach all the way to the ground, having been broken off years ago. But luckily, Jungkook was tall.

His fingers wrapped around the splintered wood and he heaved himself upwards. The bottoms of his shoes slammed against the rungs of the makeshift ladder as he ascended further into the tree. Within seconds, the palm of his hand pushed against a catch in the wood above and he threw the trapdoor upwards. It gave way without a fight and Jungkook swung himself inside with adrenaline pumping vicioulsy through his veins.

The floor of the treehouse creaked underfoot as he quickly shut the door and locked it with the rusted metal latch. If Jungkook thought it was dark outside, it was even darker inside the cramped space. His hands shot out, palms forward, as he shuffled along blindly. Fingers shaking, Jungkook managed to grab onto the thin string dangling in the center of the room. And with a sharp tug, the lightbulb overhead came to life.

It was just as he remembered inside.

The air was stale from the lack of filtration, but Jungkook paid no mind as he stumbled over to one of the glass windows. Though his foot caught on the edge of a stool and almost sent him topling over. “Shit!”

Jungkook hit the wall palms first and he could feel the splinters enter his skin. But he brushed off the stinging pain and pressed his face against the glass window so close that it started to fog from his panicked breath. His eyes scanned the ground outside with a quickness only born from fear. At first he saw nothing, only his own face reflected back at him.

Until, there!

A silhouette amongst the shadows.

It stood there, unmoving, just staring at him like he was staring at it.

Until it wasn’t.

The sole lightbulb in the room flickered with familiarity as Jungkook pushed as far away from the window as possible. His stood in the center of the room turning rapidly, neck straining to glance out all four windows on each wall at once. It was then that he heard it again.

Whispered growls that caressed his eardrums with a silent promise.

Jungkook’s chest tightened. Why couldn’t he breathe?

Bump-bump. His heart pounded against his ribcage as the light overhead blinked once, twice.

Bump-bump. Three times. Bump-bump. A shadow brushed past the window pane to his right.

Bump-bump. Metal sliding against metal as the latch slowly unlocked.

Bump-bump. The light blew out. Bump-bump.

It was inside.

Jungkook turned slowly, scream caught somewhere halfway up his throat. Bump-bump.

The light flickered back on.

And Jungkook was gone.

Sunlight broke through the thin curtains hanging above the living room window, drifting across your face to shine right on your closed eyelids. A groan left your drool stained mouth, hand flying up in an attempt to beat back the light by sheer force of will.

With a sigh, your eyes squinted open and the memories of the night before rushed in. It was a surprise that you were still on the couch, seeing as how Jungkook should have woken you up by how unessicarily loud he usually was. Especially after having gone out of his way last night to be on snack retrieval duty. There was no way that he’d pass up on an opportunity to wake you up by beaming a pack of doritos right at your face.

You wiped at the dry drool on your chin and threw an uninterested glance at the clock on the VCR. 9:45 AM.

It took a moment for the importance of the time to register in your sleep clouded brain. But when it did--

“Shit! I’m late for school.” You flew off the couch, one bare foot landing on a depleted, crumpled box of Dunkaroos. Just looking at it twisted your stomach. How you and Jungkook managed to clear out your whole pantry of snacks in one day was sad.

Ignoring the mess on the coffee table, you scrambled out of the room and flew up the stairs. Your clothes fell in a heap on the floor the second the door to your room closed and you raced over to your closet. Blindly, you picked out an outfit for the day and threw it on while simultaniously attempting to brush the knots out of your hair.

Teeth brushed and Love’s Baby Soft perfume spritzed, you raced down the hall to Jungkook’s closed bedroom door. You didn’t bother to knock, instead just sending up a short prayer that he was decent before throwing the door open. It hit the wall with a crack that made you flinch. But you paid it no mind as you glared at the messy, unmade, empty bed.

That jerk went to school without you!

“I’m gonna kill him.” You growled and turned to run back down the stairs, socked feet sliding against the linoleum floor and almost carrying you past the foyer.

Skidding to a stop, you slipped on your shoes, grabbed your house keys and backpack, and flew out the front door.

The second the lock weaved through the front tire of your bike clicked into place, you hurried through the front doors of the school. Luckily (or unluckily), the halls were empty. So the obnoxious sqeaking of your shoes was heard by no one as you apprached the closed door to your English class.

With a grimace painting your face, you turned down the door handle and slipped in the classroom.

“Ah, Ms Jeon, how wonderful of you to finally decide to grace us with your presence.”

The sarcastic words from your teacher halted your steps mid-stride as all eyes in the room turned to you. You should have been embarassed at the way you’d been caught red-handed trying to slink into the room unoticed. But all you could do was give a hasty “sorry” and retreat to your empty desk in the back. Too bad your teacher wouldn’t let you go without a fight.

“First your brother, and now you? Do I need to make a phone call to your mother?”

Your hands stilled on the zipper of your half-open backpack as your head snapped up in surprised confusion. “My brother?”

The teacher merely raised an eyebrow and gave you a look over the rim of her square specticals. Her mouth was pinched in annoyance, stray wisps of hair escaping the sharp confines of her tight bun. “Yes, your brother. He wasn’t here for homeroom this morning. Any particular reason why?”

“He wasn’t here?” All you could do was pathetically repeat her words like some kind of human sized parrot. But you weren’t paying attention to the snickers from your classmates. No, you were too busy trying to stave off the feeling of dread that sunk low in your stomach.

“Need I repeat myself all day, Ms Jeon?” Your teacher rolled her eyes in exhasperation, though you were sure there must have been some annoyance in there too.

Mind clouding in barely concealed worry, you leaned forward, chest digging into the cold desk. “Jungkook didn’t show up this morning at all?”

Oh yeah, that was definitally annoyance. “Enough of this back-and-forth. Now, either pay attention or go to the principal’s office.”

Your back hit the chair. Maybe Jungkook decided to ditch homeroom? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. With your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you tried to ignore the unease that drifted through your veins like poison.

It was loud. A cacaphony of voices belonging to students as they all tried to speak over one another at once. And it was crowded, the room filled with the unmistakable stench of high school cafeteria food.

Plastic luch tray held between your hands, you slipped between lunch tables full of students until you reached the back of the room. It hit the surface of the table along with your backpack as you tossed them down and effectively scared the absolute crap out of Park Jimin. His head snapped up from where he’d been filling out his homework for his next class, startled.

“Y/n?” Your name slipped from his plush pink lips in a voice that you could only call hypnotic. Jimin dropped the pencil in his hand and ran his fingers through his soft blond hair. “What’s up?”

“Have you seen my brother?” You cut straight to the chase and leaned forward to brace yourself on your elbows, lunch forgotton.

It’d been hours and you still hadn’t managed to catch even a single glance of your brother in the hallways. Usually you’d see each other at least three times before lunch. Hawkins High wasn’t a big school after all.

“Jungkook?” Jimin licked his lips and dipped a tater tot in ketchup until it was more tomato than potato. He may as well have just dipped a spoon in.

“No. Santa Clause.” You rolled your eyes and reached out to steal one of his tots, ignoring his ‘hey, you have your own!’ “Yes, Jungkook. You see him?”

Park Jimin looked confused. “No. Should I have?”

Your eyebrows shot up into your hairline as your gaze caught his warm brown eyes. Jimin had been a part of your childhood friend group. And while everyone else had grown apart throughout the years, you, Jimin, and Jungkook stayed together. Even though he was only a few months younger, you still looked at Jimin as another little brother of sorts.

“What do you mean, should you have?” That feeling of dread was back. Not that it’d really gone away in the first place. “You and Jungkook both have photography class in the mornings. Was he there?”

Jimin still looked confused as he ran a hand through his hair once again in a nervous habit that he’d never seemed able to kick. “No. Why? Is he sick or something?”

“You didn’t see him? At all?” You knew you were starting to sound like a broken record, but you couldn’t help it. Something was wrong. You just didn’t know what.

“No?”

He stilled at the sudden serious expression that overtook your face. And Jimin’s brows knit together as he leaned forward across the table. “What’s wrong, Y/n?”

Your mouth opened and closed while you fumbled, not quite sure how to phrase what you were thinking without sounding like you were going crazy. Eyes flickering around at your surroundings, you leaned closer to Jimin and ignored the sweet scent of the cologne you knew he stole from his dad.

“Look...I,” You paused before shaking your head. “I think something’s wrong. Jungkook left late last night and never came back.”

Jimin’s lips parted in surprise. “What--”

“I don’t have time to explain, but I have a really bad feeling, okay?” Voice hushed, you waited until Jimin nodded his head before you leaned back, mind made up. “I’m going to go to the police station and report him as a missing person.”

“Y/n.” Jimin reached out to cover one of your hands on the table. He hesitated for a moment, likely in preparation for what he was about to say. “Maybe he’s just skipping school or something. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

You were shaking your head before he even finished his last sentence. “No, Jimin. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

The sound of your chair scraping across the floor drowned out whatever it was that Jimin said in response. Reaching across the table, you scooped up your backpack and flung it over your shoulder. “Look, I’m going to the cops. Let me know if you see him, okay?”

“Wait, Y/n!” Jimin’s shout followed you all the way out of the cafeteria doors.

“I’ve been waiting here for over an hour, Mr. Hopper.”

Detective Sejin Hopper looked up at you from over the top of the typewriter on his cluttered desk. His dark eyes were narrowed behind the round lenses of his eyeglasses in a way that should have stopped the words from leaving your mouth. But not even the intimidating aura of Hawkins’ lead detective could stop you at that point.

“Couldn’t you, I don’t know.” You were sure that the heels of your converse were wearing a hole into the rug of his office, but you didn’t care. Hand waving through the air, you muttered, “Work a little faster?”

Hopper simply raised his eyebrows at you. The man was tall and bulky and filled the space in his office without even trying. He leaned back in his rolling chair, the springs protesting with age. “Shouldn’t you be in school, kid?”

Your feet foze and you stared down at him incrediously, hands on hips. “My brother is missing!”

With a sigh, Hopped pushed the typewritter aside and clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. “Look kid, he’s probably just playing hookie--”

“No.” You interrupted with a shake of your head, ignoring the irritation that flashed in his eyes. “He wouldn’t do that without at least telling me first.”

“You never know.” He simply shrugged. “Maybe he got a girlfriend or something and just didn’t want to come clean to his older sister out of embarassment. Happened to me when I was about his age. Then again, I did date my older sister’s best friend, so that may have had something to do with it.”

You threw your hands up in exhasperation. “My brother doesn’t have a girlfriend! He can’t even talk to girls without, like, throwing up!”

“You sure it’s girls he’s into, then? Maybe he got a boyfriend and that’s why he didn’t want to tell you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Your jaw was hanging open at the sheer audacity of what just came from Detective Hopper’s mouth. “I know why you’re not taking me seriously right now, but please, I’m not pulling another prank on you this time. My brother is gone and I don’t know what else to do.”

Hopper paused, letting the silence in the room fester for a moment before he let out a deep, bone weary sigh. “What about your dad?”

You blinked, taken aback by the question that had absolutely nothing to do with the situation. “What about him?”

His voice softened from the harsh way he’d been speaking to you before. “Listen kid, ninety-nine percent of the time if a kid from a divorced home goes missing, they’re with their other parent.”

A scoff left you before you could think to stop it. “Jungkook hates our dad. There’s no way he would just up and leave in the middle of the night and travel to another state to see him. That doesn’t even make sense!”

Hopper opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. “What about the other one percent?”

“The what?”

“You said ninety-nine percent. What about the other one percent?”

“Kid.” Hopper leaned forward against his desk once more, making sure to hold your wide-eyed stare with his serious one. “This is Hawkins. Do you know how many years I’ve been working here? Do you want to know the worst thing that’s ever happened? It was when an owl attacked Jackson Wang’s head, because it thought his hair was a nest.”

You pressed the tip of your tongue against the inside of your cheek in pure rage. Bending down, you scopped up your backpack that you’d abandoned on the floor and threw it over your shoulder. “You know what? I’ll find him myself. Thanks for all your help, Detective.”

He tried calling out to you, but you ignored him in favor of slamming the door to his office hard enough to rattle the stupid action figurines on the shelf perched above his head.

It was dusk by the time you made it to the treehouse.

If you were being honest with yourself, you were getting desperate because you knew for certain that Jungkook hadn’t been there in years. In fact, neither had you. But you’d searched everywhere, had gone to every single one of your brother’s usual haunts. And you’d tried to call your aunt, but the number listed for her landline was out of service. Typical. You’d even stopped by your house every hour just to check in case he’d decided to finally show his face.

But he hadn’t.

And now you were forced to do the one thing that you’d sworn you’d never do again.

Staring up at the treehouse high up in the branches, your eyes narrowed on the light shining through the window facing towards you. Which would have been suspicious enough if it weren’t for the trap door on the bottom of the structure hanging wide open. The only people who knew about the treehouse were you, your brother, and the rest of your abandoned friend group. And you didn’t think that any of them would bother going back to it.

Except maybe Jimin, but you knew he always hated going to the treehouse by himself. “It’s creepy out there.” He’d say. “You wouldn’t catch me dead out there by myself.”

It was quiet in the middle of the woods. Too quiet.

The only sound came from the leaves crunching underfoot as you trudged up to the ladder broken off halfway down the tree. You eyed it, bottom lip caught in your teeth as you tried to strategize how to best reach it. Until finally, with a sigh, you grabbed onto the lowest tree branch and started to climb.

You hated heights. Always had and always would. And as your shoes dug into the rungs of the ladder, you tried your best not to let the sense of vertigo overtake you.

“Hello?” You shouted into the open hatch, not quite confident enough in it being empty to go through it yet. But when all you got in return was silence, you lifted yourself up the rest of the way and climbed inside.

It was exactly as you remembered. Just with more dust.

Every single surface, from the half-rotten stools to the wooden box that’d been used as a makeshift table, to the faded pictures and posters tacked onto the walls, were covered in layers of dust. A wave of nostalgia hit you in a way that you were completely unprepared for. It’d been a while.

The sound of your shoes tapping on the floor reached your ears as you made your way over to a partially opened box in the far corner. It was buried underneath what was once a white sheet, but was now grey with age and dirt. Dust spread into the air as you ripped it off and your hands came up to shield your nose from the onslaught.

Dropping to the floor, you ignored the cold press of wood on your exposed kneecaps. Luckily it was still spring, so you didn’t have to worry about the cold weather just yet. But the opened tabs of the cardboard box was cold to the touch.

Inside, you dug through all of the items that’d been abandoned, untouched by time, until you reached what lay at the bottom. With careful hands, you extracted a heavy, black and grey hand radio and cradled it between your fingers. You wiped off the dirt with the bottom of your shirt, lips pulled up into a small, wistful smile.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. I wonder if you still work.” Taking a deep breath, you let your thumb hover over the “on” switch. You hadn’t used it in years. Not since you’d dropped it into the box that fateful day, never to be seen again.

“Now’s not the time to reminisce, Y/n.” You shook your head in an attempt to rid yourself of the memories that threatened to drown you in nostalgia. A shaky exhale, and then you pressed the button.

It took a moment too long in which you lost hope, before the radio sputtered to life with static. The “on” light lit up a bright red and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Luckily, the settings were still set to exactly where they’d been before. Although it wasn’t like you didn’t still have them memorized.

“Okay.” You murmured, voice trembling. Not because you were afraid per se, but because you didn’t even know if they’d answer. You fingers pressed the “talk” button and held it down.

“Guys?” Hesitating, you cleared your throat before speaking again. “I don’t know if you’re listening. Or if you even still have one of these things. But um...I hope you do. Because I’m calling a code red.”

You paused. “I need you. Wherever you are.”

The silence inside the treehouse was stifling. And the sun had long gone down, leaving you to sit under the light of a single lightbulb.

You didn’t know why you were still there. Still waiting despite the numerous hours that’d passed you by. Maybe it was a sliver of hope that you dared to hold on to that kept you rooted to the floor, cross-legged and leaning back against one of the walls. Whatever it was, you were running out of time.

To find your brother, to figure out what the hell was going on, to formulate a plan. But, you supposed, there was no better way to brainstorm than being left on your own for hours on end. Which was why your backpack lay open, discarded somewhere beside you as your attention lay focused on the papers scattered across the floor.

Jungkook had left your house at appoximately 11:26 PM. It would take him about fifteen minutes to bike his way down to the store. Add in another five or so minutes to purchase snacks and exit the store. And then another fifteen minutes to bike home.

That left a window of thirty-five minutes total for him to go missing. Which meant that he had to have dissappeared somewhere between 11:26 PM and 12:01 AM.

You’d already paid the convinience store a visit earlier in the afternoon, only to have them inform you that the person who’d been on shift last night was on vacation. And they’d refused to give out the phone number of where their employee was staying. Typical. Convienent.

Suspect.

There was--

The sound of voices hit your eardums and you paused with your pencil hovered above a sheet of paper. Leaning forward in a useless attempt at hearing better, your ears strained to listen over the noise of crickets.

“--knows.”

You knew that voice. Would recognize it even though it’d been years since you last held a conversation. Your bare legs scratched against the floor as you scrambled to your feet, hands already brushing the back of your shorts to rid yourself of any possible dirt. The voices were getting louder. As well as the accompanying footsteps

“--be good.” That was definitely Namjoon’s raspy voice. “Had to ditch practice for this.”

“I’m sure it is.” Hoseok’s low vocal fry.

“How the hell are we supposed to get up there?” Yoongi’s deep, lazy drawl.

The pencil fell from your hand at the sound of someone scrambling up the treehouse ladder. You’d closed the door not too long after entering, though you’d made sure to keep it unlatched just in case.

“Can I get a leg up?” Jimin.

“Aren’t you supposed to grow taller as you age?” Seokjin’s windshield wiper laugh. God, it’d been so long since you’d heard it. “Or have you not been drinking your milk?”

You could hear Jimin scoff through the floorboards. “I’m lactose intollerant. You know this.”

Before you could make a sound, the trapdoor swung upwards and in popped a familiar head of red hair. Golden skin and cherub cheekbones: Hoseok. He jerked a little in surprise at seeing you standing there, but then the tiny dimples between the corner of his lips and the edge of his cheeks came out of hiding with a smile.

“Hey, Y/n.” He greeted you casually, like you’d seen each other less than an hour ago. Like he hadn’t abandoned the rest of you the second he landed a spot on the school dance team. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.” Namjoon’s voice interrupted before you could speak past the lump in your throat. “Now move before I fall down this stupid thing.”

“Sorry.” With a chuckle, Hoseok climbed the rest of the way inside, followed by the even brighter red hair of Namjoon. You would have thought they’d planned having the same colored hair, but based on the sheer fact that they hadn’t hung out in years, it was an accident.

“Y/n.” Namjoon jerked his head in a stiff nod.

As he emerged from the door, you noticed that he was wearing Hawkins High’s varsity football uniform. Like he’d rushed right over from practice. While he both acted and dressed differently than what he used to, Namjoon was still all deep dimples and plump lips and intelligent eyes.

Not all things were possible to change, afterall.

“Namjoon.” You crossed your arms across your chest and flashed Hoseok a quick, closed mouth smile. “Hoseok.”

Next to pop their way into the treehouse was Jimin, who stepped to your side with arms already outstretched to envelop you a hug of greeting. His familiar scent washed over you and you felt your tense muscles relax just a little. “Any luck?”

Jimin pulled back at the shake of your head to shoot you a sad smile. “We’ll find him, I’m sure.”

“Find who?”

Your head shot up as Seokjin entered with Yoongi trailing close behind. The eldest stood tall, his broad shoulders taking up more space than they used to. Seokjin wasn’t even in high school anymore. He’d graduated just last year, but still stayed in Hawkins to attend the community college in the next town over. Most likely so he could help take care of his mother since he his father died a few years back.

A flash of blue caught your attention when Yoongi stepped out from behind the taller man. His once blond locks had been dyed a vibrant shade of cotton candy blue. And you would have raised an eyebrow at him if it weren’t for the sheer fact that Yoongi was known for not giving a shit about other people’s opinions.

You’d been close once. So close that you used to know every single detail about his life. From the way he dreamed about moving to New York City to study music. Or that he hated pineapple on pizza. Or that he used to harbor the biggest crush on Hoseok.

But now he was a stranger.

They all were.

Except Jimin, but that was beside the point.

“Why are we here?” Namjoon spoke up over the tense silence lingering in the air. The treehouse was cramped now, filled to the brim with bodies that once used to fit together so easily.

Seokjin nodded slowly, eyes finding yours as he brushed a strand of dark hair off of his tanned forehead. “Good question.”

All attention was on you and you almost wilted under their heavy stares. “I’m surprised you came, to be honest.”

Yoongi shifted in place, a look of something that you weren’t quite quick enough to catch flashing in his feline-like eyes. With hands stuffed into the front pouch of his hoodie, he sucked in air through his teeth in a habit that used to bring you comfort. “You called a code red.”

You had to actively stop the corners of your mouth from twitching up into a smile. “Yeah, I did. Still surprised that you even heard the call though.”

“Namjoon was the only one who did, actually.” Jimin nodded his head at a now uncomfortable looking football player. “He came and grabbed the rest of us. That’s why we took so long to get here.”

Namjoon just shrugged one shoulder casually, like it was no big deal. “Mom was making me go through all of my old stuff before practice. So it was pure luck that I happened to be doing it at the same time you radioed in.”

“Convienent.” Hoseok raised an eyebrow at the other artificial redhead, who just gave another shrug in response.

“We’re getting away from the point here.” Seokjin took control of the conversation. “Why are we here?”

A pause filled the small space as everyone turned to you yet again. Jimin’s body heat sinking into your side from where he stood right beside you filled you with a confidence that you wouldn’t normally possess.

“Jungkook is missing.”

“Missing.” Yoongi stated, head tilting to the side and hair shifting to expose the pale skin of his forehead.

You nodded. “Yes. Missing.”

From his place standing across from you, Namjoon crossed his arms. “Explain.”

“Well, he left late last night to get some snacks at around 11:26.” Your tongue wet your lips as you mentally prepared for them to call you crazy. “And never came back.”

“Did you go to the police?” The question came from Seokjin as he knit his brows with what looked like worry, but you couldn’t be too sure. He was good at acting, afterall.  

“I tried.” You fidgeted nervously with the necklace dangling from your neck, fingers twisting it to-and-fro anxiously.

Jimin’s hand came up to rest on your shoulder comfortingly. “And?”

All you could do was scoff. “Detective Hopper basically told me to fuck off.”

Out of the corner of your eye, every single eyebrow raised to the ceiling. A huff of laughter passed Hoseok’s lips. “She cusses now. You guys hear that?”

You sent him the nastiest glare you could muster and watched as his eyes widened in surprise. “You’d know that if you cared enough to stick around.”

Hoseok’s flinch was impossible to go unnoticed. But you didn’t care if he was hurt by your comment because there were more important matters at hand.

“So you need our help to look for him?” Yoongi’s voice softened around the hard edge he normally carried. And at your nod, his hand lifted to finger one of his pierced earlobes in thought. “What about your mom?”

“On vacation in Florida and I have no way to reach her.” You sighed. “The phone number she left us was a dud.”

Namjoon hummed, lips pursed as he racked his brain. “Well maybe if we--”

Crack!

All seven of you jumped at the loud echo of a tree branch snapping.

“What was that?” Hoseok’s voice was hushed as he took an unconsious step closer towards the center of the circle.

“An animal?” Jimin was equally as quiet. “It could have--”

Crack!

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think that’s an animal.”

Your own eyes widened at the statement. “Jungkook!”

“Wait, Y/n. It might not be him.” Seokjin’s warning went unheard as you rushed to the still open hatch.

“Or it could be.”

The protests from all six men followed you down the ladder and all the way to the ground. Though they weren’t too far behind you. You turned on your heel to search the darkness around you, looking for Jungkook’s long black hair. Or his tall frame. Or his wide shoulders. Anything.

A hand clamping down on your shoulder tore a scream of surprise from your throat. Your head snapped around to greet the sharp jawline of Hoseok’s profile. His narrowed eyes were fixed past you on something that you couldn’t see. “What is that?”

You turned to look at what he was pointing at, everyone else stepping closer to do the same. At first you didn’t see it, couldn’t make out anything at all. Until, there! A flash of silver caught your eye.

“Hello?” Seokjin’s obnoxiously loud voice boomed across the tiny clearing and echoed far bayond the treeline.

“Don’t call it over here, idiot!” Hoseok hissed through his teeth, fingers unconsiously tightening their hold on your shoulder.

But his warning came too late. Because whetever was out there hidden in the darkness of the trees came closer. And if you strained your ears, you could just barely make out the sound of footfalls brushing against the grass.

“What the…” Jimin’s voice came from your other side, but you were too busy focused on whatever that thing was to care. “Wait…I think that’s a person.”

A beam of light flashed from Namjoon’s hand, temporarily startling everyone at the sudden appearance of a flashlight. At least he’d been smart enough to grab it. And shine it right in the eyes of the being that emerged from the shadows like a wraith. Hoseok’s high-pitched scream threatened to deafen you, but you couldn’t look away.

Because standing on the other side of the clearing was a boy, a stranger. Everyone knew everyone in Hawkins and you would have remembered seeing him around. Never would you have forgotten a face that breathtakingly beautiful. With golden skin and large brown eyes, he stared at the seven of you like he’d never seen another human being before.

Wavy silver hair framed his face, and his lips--the top a perfect cupid’s bow--were slightly parted in something that you couldn’t discern. But it wasn’t just his entrancing face or slim build that caught your attention. No, it was the dried blood stained on the front of his sunshine yellow, oversized dirty t-shirt.

“Who the hell are you?”

[the-captains-ayebrows]

Deck the Halls - CSSS 2K19

Getting in just under the wire (it’s still Christmas in my time zone anyway!), but here I am with a fluffy little enemies-to-lovers (ish) one-shot for the amazing and delightful @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ It sounded like you had a rough start to your holidays, dear, but I hope your Christmas has been the merriest! I’m a bit rusty at this writing business, but I do hope you enjoy your gift. 

Rated: G; Word Count: ~2700

~~~~~CSSS2K19~~~~~

“He made cookies, Mary Margaret. Homemade. From scratch. How could I possibly not hate him?”  

Emma glared across the teacher’s lounge at the man in question. Killian Jones. Music teacher, expert classroom decorator and apparently on the short list for the next Great British Bake-off. As she looked back to her best friend for moral support, it occurred to Emma that she’d never before realized a person could sip tea sarcastically.

“You’re right,” Mary Margaret replied. “I mean what next? Caroling through the corridors? Oh wait! He already did that with my Kindergartners, didn’t he?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the reminder.” Yes, Killian Jones had in fact led the Storybrooke Prep kindergartners singing merrily through the halls. And yes, it had been absolutely freaking adorable. 

She dunked an admittedly delicious homemade gingerbread man into her coffee, then bit its head off. “I don’t see why he has to be such a show off. It’s not like he can actually win the contest. He doesn’t have his own class, you know? Not really.”

“Maybe he’s just really into Christmas?” Mary Margaret shrugged. “Honestly, I think you may be taking this whole ‘Deck the Halls’ contest a bit too seriously.” 

“Says last year’s winner.”

“Or maybe there’s more to your fixation on Mr. Jones than just this contest?”

“Don’t start. It’s only about the contest. I wanna know what his evil plan is, that’s all.”

Ah, the annual Deck the Halls contest. Every homeroom teacher at Storybrooke was enthusiastically encouraged by the school principal to decorate their classroom door and hallway in festive winter style. The winning teacher’s class got some kind of prize, usually a special field trip. This year, students would be treated to a Polar Express themed ride on Storybrooke’s fully restored historic steam train. The kids could wear their pajamas and drink hot chocolate while they watched the snowy town pass by, and at the end of the ride, they’d get a chance to meet “Santa”. Emma’s fifth graders all seemed to think themselves too grown up for such a thing, but still… A little Christmas magic never hurt anyone.

Mary Margaret finished her tea and gave Emma’s shoulder a maternal pat. “Time to go pick up my little guys from the cafeteria.”

After her friend left, Emma let her gaze drift back to the object of her ire. Mary Margaret was right. Emma was definitely taking the contest too seriously, but that Killian Jones was just so damn infuriating. Ever since he’d transferred - no, swaggered - in from Misthaven Prep, he’d been the bane of her existence. He and his stupidly perfect hair. And his ridiculous flirty comments. And his stupid, ridiculous, unreasonably attractive face. The man may as well have had a banner over his head that read, “I’m sexy and I know it.” 

That was bad enough, but then came the first day of school after Thanksgiving break. Emma walked her class to Mr. Jones’s room for their music lesson to find he’d decorated the entire fine arts hallway to look like a giant gingerbread house with lights, human-sized gingerbread people and enough craft glitter to choke a reindeer. Between that and the caroling and the freaking cookies, how was anyone supposed to compete? 

And Emma really, really wanted to win. She had a competitive streak, sure, but it was more than that. It was-

Oh, crap. He caught her looking. And there he went with the eyes and the smile, and oh god he’s walking over to her. 

“Swan! I noticed you’ve been sampling my goodies. Fancy the flavor?”

Emma bristled. Killian Jones had a unique ability to say perfectly innocent things and somehow make them sound dirty. And also vaguely appealing, but that was beside the point.

“A little bland for my taste,” she lied. “They needed more cinnamon.”

“So the lady likes things a bit spicy. Duly noted.” He grinned at her, eyes alight with mischief. That smile of his was infectious - like the plague, Emma told herself - and she fought against the instinct to return it.

“My spice preferences are none of your business, Jones.” 

“Quite right, Swan.” He glanced downward, seeming appropriately chastised, but it only lasted an instant. He flashed those devilish blue eyes at her again with a wicked smirk to match. “Spicing up your life would be my pleasure, not business at all.”

Emma felt the blush begin to rise up from the back of her neck. It was bad enough that he could make her blush. She sure as heck didn’t want him knowing that.

She managed an unimpressed lift of her eyebrows and muttered something vague about picking up her class, before turning on her heel and exiting the lounge. At a perfectly calm and casual pace, thank you very much. 

—-

Later that afternoon, Emma sat at her desk grading papers. Or rather, sat behind a stack of papers that needed to be graded while staring around her classroom in an attempt to visualize a masterful decorating theme. Ugly Christmas sweater? No, that’d be a hot mess. Frozen? No, Ms. Arendelle the art teacher was already doing that. The Nutcracker? Nope. Mary Margaret won with that one last year. 

A knock on her door shook Emma out of her Grinchy brooding. “Ms. Swan? Can I come in?” Without waiting for a reply, Henry Mills barged in with an anxious smile on his face and a stack of printer paper clutched in his hand. “You said you’d read over my writing sample, remember?”

Emma pushed aside her grading and took the proffered essay. “How’s the scholarship application coming along?”

“The Sisters are doing most of the paperwork for me,” Henry answered. “I just need one more recommendation letter from a teacher and then my essay.”

The “Sisters” meant the nuns who ran the group home where Henry lived. It wasn’t the posh life that most of Henry’s classmates at Storybrooke Prep enjoyed, but the nuns cared deeply for the children in their charge. A better situation at least than Emma ever had during her years in the foster system. 

Emma read through the essay, all about the power of storytelling and how Henry aspired to be an author someday. He was capable of great things, that kid, but he needed the scholarship to pay his tuition so he could continue on at Storybrooke. 

“This is wonderful, Henry. I’m sure the scholarship board will approve you.” 

“Thanks, Ms. Swan.” Henry beamed at her for a moment, then glanced back toward her undecorated door. “Are you going to enter Deck the Halls this year? The judging is on Monday, right?”

Emma narrowed her eyes and leaned toward him as if confiding a secret. “Sure am. I’m just waiting until Monday morning so it’s a surprise.” Yeah, that sounded plausible, right?

Henry nodded, unconvinced. “It’s just that, well, I was really hoping our class could win this year. I’ve never been in a class that won before.” His focus shifted to a chipped spot on the edge of her desk. “I know it’s more for the little kids. I mean, it’s not like I believe in Santa anymore or anything, it’s just…” he picked at the chip making it worse. “The Sisters can’t really afford to take us anywhere, you know? And I thought it might be kind of fun to ride a real steam train and meet Santa just like in The Polar Express.”

He met Emma’s eyes finally. She knew that look. The I-want-to-be-a-part-of-something look. The I-want-to-be-a-regular-kid look. Her heart twinged with the familiarity. That. That right there was why she needed to win this year.

“Don’t worry, Henry. I’ll get you that train ride.”

—-

That Friday after school, Emma hit the local craft store. She bought tinsel and bows, little strings of lights and fake snow spray, garlands and non-breakable plastic ornaments. She even bought a sprig of freeze dried mistletoe for good measure. Come Monday morning, she had every intention of turning her hallway into a winter wonderland. 

As she and Mary Margaret walked to Emma’s classroom Monday morning, their arms laden with shopping bags, it quickly became clear that they were too late. Someone had beaten them to it.

Emma nearly dropped her parcels. “What the hell is this?” 

Wide-eyed, Mary Margaret took a hesitant step toward Emma’s classroom door. “I’d say it’s a train.”

Emma took in the sight before her, the initial shock slowly morphing into anger. Her classroom door had transformed into the front of a huge black steam engine, featuring a smoke stack that nearly reached the ceiling and a cardboard cow catcher protruding out at the bottom. Black duct tape train tracks laid neatly from the door clear to the end of the hallway. Blue butcher paper covered the walls on either side of the door setting a backdrop for a winter forest scene, complete with three dimensional evergreens made from layers upon layers of construction paper and fluffy white batting for snow drifts. Delicate tissue paper snowflakes had been hung painstakingly from the ceiling.

The Polar Express. Someone had turned her classroom - hell, half her hallway - into the Polar Express. It was beautiful. Perfectly executed. Emma hated it. 

She hated it because she didn’t need anyone’s help. She had it under control. Okay, so maybe her craft skills were not in the same league, but she had determination, damn it. Not to mention six bags of tinsel which she now had to shove into her supply closet for next year.

She hated it even more because she had a pretty good idea who the perpetrator was. There were only two teachers in the school capable of that level of Pinterest-worthy crafting, and since Mary Margaret looked as stunned as Emma, that only left Killian Jones. The one thing she couldn’t figure out was why he’d done it. 

“Looks like someone is trying to impress you, Emma,” Mary Margaret said with a sly smile. 

Emma shook her head. She couldn’t deal with her friend’s needling right now. She wanted to storm over to the music room right away and interrogate him, but she knew she needed to cool down first. Rationally, she told herself that the whole reason she became so invested in this silly contest was for Henry’s sake, and these decorations were sure to win. Irrationally, she simply did not want to deal with Killian’s smug, perfect face and whatever double entendre he was sure to throw her way. 

But it bugged her all day. 

Was Jones trying to be some kind of white knight swooping in to save her ass? Well too bad, mister. No one saved Emma but Emma. Did he want two chances to win? That didn’t make sense. As music teacher, he didn’t have a homeroom class so the prize didn’t apply to him. Maybe it was just the bragging rights? That could be. That was way more likely than Mary Margaret’s suggestive suggestion. Wasn’t it? 

She had to stop that train of thought right away before she devolved into the ten year-old mentality of her students and sent him a note: “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” Not that she thought he actually did. Not that she would want him to. It was only a point of curiosity. 

—-

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Emma’s classroom won the Deck the Halls contest. She waved sheepishly at her students as she walked to the front of the school assembly to accept the prize tickets from Principal Hopper, but one look at Henry’s bright smile had her grinning for real. 

As she scanned the crowd, her eyes locked onto another face. Jones’s bright blue eyes met hers with an unreadable expression. Wasn’t this his moment of triumph? Wasn’t he going to claim the glory? She raised her brows in question at him. Was it you? He gave a small nod. Yes. She subtly bobbed her head to the side. Meet me outside. The whole silent conversation only took a couple of seconds. 

After the assembly ended, the students were dismissed for the day. A small group of teachers herded them outside to the bus lanes, but Emma noticed Jones wasn’t among them. Her stomach began to flutter as she ducked out a side door from the cafeteria. She shivered when the crisp December air touched her face and shrugged on her coat, thankful she’d remember to bring it to the assembly with her. Why did she feel nervous? No, she wasn’t nervous, she just wanted answers. Right.

Emma heard the door creak open again, and Jones stepped out clad in a black leather jacket  that couldn’t have been much insulation against the winter chill, but did a marvelous job of framing his broad shoulders and lean torso. He looked… wait, did he look nervous, too? She needed to say something. Anything. Right now.

“What the hell, Jones?” Okay. Solid start. “You hijack my classroom, but you don’t take credit for it. I don’t get it. Did I seem like I needed saving? Because I’ve got news for you, buddy-”

“I didn’t do it for you, Swan,” he interrupted. 

“Then why?”

“I did it for Henry Mills.”

For Henry? Her student? Emma blinked at him, trying to formulate a response to this twist, but all that came out was. “What?”

“I happened to overhear your conversation with him last week. I had written him a letter of recommendation for his scholarship application, and I was bringing it to him when I noticed him going into your classroom. I figured I would wait outside your door until he finished talking to you. I wasn’t eavesdropping exactly, but the door was open.”

“So you heard him talk about why he hoped our class would win. And just what? Took it upon yourself to make that happen?” 

“Aye.” He ducked his head, looking almost shy. “I suppose the lad reminds me a bit of myself. I shan’t go into detail, but suffice to say my childhood was less than idyllic.”

Emma huffed a laugh. “I know the feeling.”

A tiny smile tilted the corner of Killian’s lips. “I thought you might. At any rate, the thing that made my young life bearable was my brother, specifically his insistence that no matter what, we would have a special Christmas. I simply wanted to be able to do the same for young Henry. I apologize if I overstepped, but a bit of Christmas magic never hurt anyone, did it?”

He reached up a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, and that right there did it. The vulnerability of that simple gesture shifted something into place in Emma’s heart. She regarded him for a second longer, looking for any trace that this was an act, but could find none. So, she raised up on her toes, placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed him softly on the lips.

Killian froze at the contact, and Emma was sure she’d made a terrible mistake, but then his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. He returned her kiss with exuberance, smiling against her mouth. Oh, god she’d never in her life been kissed like this. For all the sin his lips usually promised, this kiss held more joy than lust and an almost unbearable sweetness. His smile lingered even as they separated again.

Emma shook her head in a bit of a daze. “Wow, that was…” He seemed to stop breathing, waiting for her to finish the sentence. “-really unprofessional of me. Sorry.” Emma cleared her throat, but saw Killian’s expression droop. He took a step back.

“Of course. You’re right, Swan. That will ne-”

She reached out and touched his arm, halting his retreat.  “No, what I meant to say was, would you maybe want to get a cup of coffee with me sometime?”

No display of Christmas lights could have been brighter than the way his eyes lit up for her, and Emma thought fleetingly that she could get used to basking in that glow.

“Aye, Swan. I’d love to have coffee with you.”

----

On the day of the Polar Express trip, Emma’s class had an extra chaperone along for the ride. Emma served hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and cinnamon, while Killian passed out homemade cookies, and soon even the most blasé fifth graders were filled with Christmas spirit. A little Christmas magic never hurt after all. 

[adams]

there’s snow coming down (i’m watching it fall) // stenbrough // ao3

Working at the mall isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. At least, not for Bill Denbrough, college sophomore extraordinaire and current elf to Santa Claus at the Derry strip mall.

Until now, of course. Now, there’s a boy.

Bill has a crush on a boy working at the mall, doesn't talk to him, and still expects to end up happily-ever-after. Denbrough logic.

Working at the mall isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. At least, not for Bill Denbrough, college sophomore extraordinaire and current elf to Santa Claus at the Derry strip mall.

When his best friend Richie told him that he had found them jobs for their winter break from school at the mall, Bill was excited, giddy, even. His thoughts were full of fantasies about the discounts at the Gap, or eating leftover fries in the food court. But alas, the job was not only a temporary position, but a humiliating one at that. They made him wear a hat with ears on it, for Christ’s sake, and leggings! And ever since Richie had been fired for trying to get his boyfriend Eddie to “sit on Santa’s lap” while the real Santa was on lunch break, the only upside came when Bill’s younger brother Georgie visited. He was too old to tell Santa what he wanted for Christmas, but he was just old enough to bring his brother a much needed cup of coffee from the kiosk down the hall and to listen to Bill complain about the hoards of screaming children.

Until now, of course. Now, there’s a boy.

Where the North Pole set up is located in between the two corridors of stores and the food court, Bill has a pretty good view into nearly every storefront in the mall. After Richie was fired, management shifted Bill’s position from Santa’s left-hand man (similar to his right-hand man, but with less speaking) to the front of the sleigh to avoid anymore Richie-related incidents. The front of the sleigh was home to a big bag of warehouse candy that all came in plastic bags that Bill is in charge of handing out, but it was also where the stereo was housed. One of Bill’s new responsibilities was to maintain holiday cheer by queueing up as many classic Christmas tunes as he could. He had full control over what songs played and when, although he was highly encouraged to only pick the ones from the corporate approved list of appropriate artists, meaning Mariah Carey was played more than a few times a day.

When Richie found out about Bill’s great new job, he had practically cried, falling dramatically from his feet to the carpet in Bill’s bedroom with a hand against his forehead.

“How could they do this to me? Don’t they know I would have been the greatest elf DJ in the history of elf DJing? What a waste!” 

Bill had just laughed and nudged him with the tip of his shoe, telling Richie to be grateful that he wasn’t, or that he’d probably be banned for life from the mall for scarring some children with Marilyn Manson or something. Bill was probably right.

From his new perch at the front of the sleigh, Bill has a direct view of the store diagonal to Santa’s Workshop, which happened to be one of the most quiet in the entire mall. It was a small corporate run bookstore called The Bookbag, one with a wide selection of fiction and a wall of toys near the front register. Local teens often made it a game to run to the back wall labelled Romance/Erotica and read the dirtiest passage they could find out loud before the cashier could catch them and kick them out.

Bill hates the store for their corporate agenda- there were two of them in Derry alone, let alone dozens across the coast, and they seemed to be pushing to replace libraries and small independent bookstores like the little hole-in-the-wall cafe-slash-bookstore that Bill liked to go downtown to write in. His feelings change quickly and drastically, though, when he notices that the usual cashier, a sweet looking blond boy, is replaced by someone who, even at this distance, Bill recognizes as the single prettiest and most attractive man he had ever seen before.

The Boy was almost severe looking, with narrowed eyes and a sharp jawline. There’s something soft about him, though, in the way that his blond hair curls around his face, framing it in a way that drew attention to his eyes. Bill desperately wants to reach out and run his fingers through his hair. The Boy looks disinterested, flipping errantly through a book, until a customer approaches the counter with an arm full of books to be read and the Boy looks up with a kind smile, the soft sort of smile that melts Bill’s heart and leaves him weak-kneed on the floor.

At first, Bill figures that it’s a fluke, just a friend filling in for the usual cashier’s shift for the night, but as the weekend drags on, the Boy is sitting behind the counter more often than not. Bill ends up staring through the window at him more often than not, as well, eyes darting away as soon as the Boy looks up, cheeks red as he continues to pass out candy canes to eager first graders.

And then, their eyes meet. Bill can’t glance away fast enough and he finds himself making eye contact with the prettiest boy in the mall, who smiles that soft smile at him, and his heart skips a beat. He, of course, immediately embarrases himself when he raises a hand to wave and accidentally throws a handful of candy at the children nearest the sleigh. Bill darts his eyes away too quickly to see the Boy laugh, a hand over his mouth and smile wide as could be. It’s probably for the best, too. Bill’s crush wouldn’t be able to handle seeing that.

“You should ask him out,” Richie says, lying on the floor of Bill’s room (as usual), tossing a hacky sack into the air repeatedly.

“Or at least go into the store and talk to him,” Eddie adds, unhelpful as ever.

Bill buries his face into his pillow and lets out a groan.

“I can’t do that,” he whines when he finally comes back up for air, “He’s hot and he’s seen me wearing a fucking elf hat. Richie, you of all people know how humiliating it is to be seen in that thing.”

“Maybe he’ll think it’s hot! He does look over at you a lot, right? Maybe it’s a kink thing; ask him if he wants to take a ride on Santa’s sleigh.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Bill scowls and reaches a hand out, catching the bag midair before Richie could.

“Fine,” Richie sighs, exasperated, “But don’t come crying to me when someone snatched that hot nerd out from under you and breaks your heart.”

The holidays approach faster now, especially with his job keeping him busy, and Bill does indeed find his heart broken.

It’s the fifth week of Santa’s Workshop, nearly the week of Christmas, when Bill works up enough courage to go into The Bookbag and finally talk to the Boy. He has a whole plan to smile and wave when they make eye contact, end his shift at six pm as usual, go change out of his stupid elf costume, and then go into the store to introduce himself, sans hat.

Richie tries to tell him to just ask the Boy out again, but just asking for the Boy’s name feels like an insurmountable task as is.

However, all that falls away when Bill arrives at work and looks through the glass only to see that the Boy isn’t behind the counter at all. The only person in the store is a tall, broad-shouldered man rearranging a shelf of novels. He smiles as a customer approaches with a question, and his smile is sweet, but not the same. Bill feels his heart sink.

Still, he manages to drag himself over to the sleigh and pass out candy to ungrateful children, playing Wham! on the stereo loud enough to deafen himself beside the speaker through the entirety of his grueling shift that seemed to drag on forever.

He drags himself to the employees only bathroom in the mall that everyone still uses anyway to pull his hat off, change into jeans, and pull a red flannel on over his ugly striped elf shirt. While that only takes him a minute to do, it takes him much more time to work up the nerve to even leave the bathroom.

Twenty minutes pass by quickly, and Bill finds the courage to shake out his arms, smile in the mirror, and tell himself, “You’ve got th-this.” He makes his way to the bookstore.

Bill still doesn’t see the Boy immediately when he reaches the store, but he doesn’t let that stop him, he spent too much time working up the nerve to get here to turn back now. He approaches the counter where the same boy as earlier leans against the register. Bill briefly wonders how they’re hiring all of the prettiest people out of Derry.

“H-hi,” Bill says, the boy’s attention zeroing in on him.

“Hey there,” Mike, as his nametag proclaims, says, “Anything I can help you with today?”

“Uh, yeah, actually. I’m, uhh…” Bill trails off, losing his courage, “Looking for a book about, uh, birds?”

“Right this way!” Mike begins to lead him away from the front of the store as he shakes his head at himself, disappointed in his stupid cop-out. He takes a deep breath and steels himself for embarrassment to actually ask what he came here to ask. 

“Where, uh, where’s the usual cuh-cashier? Isn’t the b-blond b--buh-boy usually here?” He says, grazing a finger over the paperback spines on the shelves as they make their way to the non-fiction section.

“Oh, he’s moving to Portland this weekend, so I’m the new guy,” Mike grins and pulls a book off of a shelf labelled Animal/Nature Interest. “Will this one work for you?”

Bill looks down at the book titled A Beginner’s Guide to Ornithology, and despite the feeling that his heart had been cut a thousand times, he gives Mike a weak smile back and nods. Now that the holidays are ending and his dreams of the Boy are dashed, Bill figures he should pick up a new hobby.

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” Richie rolls his eyes, “He was just a boy at the mall; go look now and they’ll be twelve of them in the Gap right this second. Go get over the boy by getting under one of them.”

“I’ll go get under one of them if you don’t learn how to keep a job,” Eddie pushes Richie’s long legs off of his lap. Richie’s new job at the Sunglasses Hut has already brought the news that, unfortunately, due to an incident with a beagle and a pair of Raybans, he has been let go.

“Give Bill a break, melodrama is in his blood,” Beverly says, laughing as she sits on the floor between Eddie’s legs and the coffee table, “Remember when he dedicated his fiction piece to me in ninth grade creative writing?”

“That was a dark time for me!” Bill throws a pillow across the room at her from his position on the couch.

“I just really thought that the Boy and I had this…. connection.” Bill sulks.

And sulks. And sulks. And sulks a little bit more.

In fact, Bill sulks for so long, and so intensely, that even his workplace begins to take notice.

“What do you mean I’m fired? It’s the week of Christmas! There has to be some rule against that.”

“We don’t want to be firing you right now either, Bill. It’s literally the busiest week of the year, but we’ve had more than a couple of complaints from parents about you, and I can’t say I disagree with them.”

“What are you even talking about? I’m great with the kids!”

“Usually, yeah, but whatever kind of a mood you’ve been in this past week has kept you from smiling, and you’ve played some mightily inappropriate songs over the speaker.”

“They’re all Christmas songs, though!”

“The Ramones ‘Baby, Please Come Home’ is not a Christmas song for four year olds, Bill.”

And so now Bill doesn’t have his shitty temporary, seasonal job as an elf anymore. Fucking Doug, his annoying bald manager, hands him his last check and tells him to turn in his uniform after he washes it, as if Bill is actually going to do that. He just rolls his eyes and leaves, keeping his head down after he tears the dumb elf hat off as he walks towards the front door of the mall. He doesn’t spare a second glance back towards the Santa’s Workshop, or even one for The Bookbag.

Bill does look up, though, when he runs straight into someone walking briskly in the opposite direction. He looks up to either apologize or yell at the person, but his words die in his throat when he sees who it is that ran into him.

“Book Boy?”

“Book Boy? Good to know I left an impression, then.” The Boy chuckles good-naturedly, a dimple forming beside his smile. Bill feels his heart beating significantly faster and he grins back, unable to help himself. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your ears.” The Boy gestures to the hat still gripped in Bill’s hand.

“Yeah, well,” Bill used his other hand to rub the back of his neck, “That’s n-not going to be a puh-problem anymore. I got f-f-fired for p-playing the Ramones.” The Boy raises an eyebrow and when he replies, Bill swears that he sees hearts.

“Well, if they don’t like the Ramones, then they’re definitely not worth you.”

Bill’s grin nearly doubles in size before faltering when he remembers why he was playing the Ramones in the first place. “Wait, I th-thought your coworker said you muh-moved to Portland? What are you doing b-back huh-here?”

“To Portland? I would never set foot in Portland if I could help it,” the Boy scoffed, “No, that’s Ben, the other cashier.”

“Oh. Th-then why have you been g-gone all week?”

“This past week was Hanakkuh, I’ve been celebrating with my family.” The Boy says slowly, smile fading a little. “Why, is that a problem?”

“N-no!” Bill assures him, voice high and a little loud. He knew he would fuck it up, but Richie’s voice in the back of his mind telling him that he’s just a boy in the mall kept him from falling apart, ironically enough. “My n-name is Bill.”

“Um, okay. I’m Stan,” Stan. Bill could get really used to saying that.

“Okay, Stan. Will you g-go out to dinner with me?”

“Like on a date?” Stan’s smile returns, along with his dimple. Bill really, really wants to kiss that dimple.

“Like a d-date.”

“I would love to.”

[thedistantstorm]

First Aid

Steelponcho + Actual First Aid + Zavala is afraid of needles + Suraya is best unofficial medic + Part 1 of maybe 2 or 3 or 7? I have a lot of ideas, ok?

For the prompt: “I don’t know why I bother patching you up when it takes you all of five minutes to get hurt again.” from @bump-of-whump

-----+++++-----

It starts with him bleeding on her freaking table, on her scouting reports. FOTC worked hard on those, and it isn't like she has copies lying around. Suraya wonders if he notices, until she sees him wince.

“Would you like some help with that?”

Zavala looks at her, startled and just a touch apologetic. “I'm fine.”

She raises an eyebrow and steps around him so she's on his right. The blood has saturated his clothes, pooling in the crook of his elbow, to the point where it's dripping from the tip of the joint below.

“I'm sure you are, tough guy. Surely that's what triage told you, too.”

“Triage?”

“Y'know,” She says, talking slowly as he studies the reports, reaching for the strap of his pauldron - of course, it's the huge one, “The place where the injured go to have a professional evaluate their injuries.”

“This,” He uses his left arm to motion to his right as he allows the clearly damaged limb drop so that it's straight and not dripping blood on her reports, “Is hardly an injury.”

“Maybe not,” She concedes, bracing his large shoulder guard with nimble, unnoticed fingers, “But it will be if you continue to let it fester under that heavy armor.” As she says the words, the last buckle falls away and he hisses when she pulls the the red, white, and silver piece of gear from his arm and drops it to the table with a clatter.

“Hawthorne!” He bites out, meaning to admonish but it comes out a bit more strangled and surprised.

She hushes him, looking at the stain on his arm. “This is an old wound, isn't it?” And, suddenly, without asking, she's pulling away the fabric from his skin and slashing it with a small, sharp knife pulled seemingly from nowhere. It burns.

He attempts to step away from her, but she's managed to put one of her legs between his. If he moves, she's primed for a takedown. Not that he couldn't take her, but certainly someone will hear and come running, especially since the animals in the stable have already fidgeted nervously at his sharp tones.

“How long have you been here again?” She asks, almost idly, as she peels away the fabric from his arm.

The Commander tenses, looks down at his arm. That's going to require serious patching. The fabric is mottled copper and black. It smells of methane and grime. He has not stopped since he arrived...

“Four days,” He answers, sound barely passing his lips.

She frowns. “You didn't have anyone look at this on Titan, did you?”

“There were more… pressing matters,” Namely setting up a command center overrun by the Hive, and losing more than half their forces to the worm-worshiping bastards.

“I'm sure.” She doesn't sound like she's placating him, either. “You need to get this cleaned up,” She finally says, after an uncomfortable few moments looking at his skin. His responding harrumph is an expected protest. “It looks infected.”

“The Hive is an infection,” He replies tersely.

Her tongue peeks out from behind her lips as she pushes on it, and he bites his lip to keep from hissing aloud again.

“I'll make you a deal,” She tells him, stepping back and withdrawing her hand from his arm. “I won't make a fuss about sending you to Triage for patching,” He looks at her like she's crazy if she thinks he's going, “If you let me look at it instead. I kind of think you need stitches.”

The lights that dance under his skin bleed away, making him look exceptionally pale. He shakes his head. “That will not be-”

She squeezes his arm, right above the ugly injury. He clamps his mouth shut, jaws all but grinding together to prevent the startled howl that tries to escape.

She smiles a smile so saccharine it makes him feel nauseous.

“Fine.”

Hawthorne hands him back his ridiculously sized pauldron. “Go to the Farmhouse and shower. I'll get supplies and something for you to wear while this,” She gestures to his battle-mucked undersuit, “Gets laundered.”

-/

Nearly an hour later, he sits on a bed in a room that he's never seen before in the tired farmhouse, feeling like a new Titan in the Vanguard Barracks. His arm is bleeding though he's tied some gauze around it to try and keep this new shirt clean - how the woman has managed to size him up is both concerning and impressive. The shirt and utility pants are standard issue, and hardly appropriate for wear under his armor stacked carefully in the corner between his scout and sniper rifles.

She enters the room with a gentle knock, her grubby poncho absent as well. She looks very small without it, all lean curves from the waist up. He can see her collarbones, the swell of... For some reason his cheeks feel warm.

She sets the white metal kit on the bed beside him and looks at the wound he'd cleaned gently moments before.

“Okay tough guy,” She says with a look that's strangely gentle, “Before I get to work here, how bad was it, before?”

He scrunches his brows. “What do you mean?”

She sifts through the large box of equipment. “Did your ghost heal it at all, or are we starting from scratch?”

He looks away.

“I'm sorry,” She says, turning so she's in his line of sight. “I was told to ask. I know it's a sore subject.”

“She could barely phase into me or maintain a neural link by the time we left the city. The others-”

“Got it,” She replies, hand on his good shoulder. “Say no more.” She opens a plastic container and pulls out a syringe of liquid.

He immediately tenses.

She looks down at her hand and then back. Then once more. “I’m gonna take a shot in the dark here and say you do not like needles.”

“Is it absolutely necessary?”

Suraya nods. “If your ghost is unable to completely heal you, you're open to a ton of diseases. We've been vaccinating the survivors as they come in. Lots of people in a small space is a paradise for disease.” She shrugs. “Better me doing it than some of those medics.”

“Aren't they trained professionals?” He looks exasperated.

“Well, yeah. But they'll also say things like 'okay, you're gonna feel a pinch,’ and 'almost done, you're doing so great.’” She holds the vaccine in front of him, the syringe empty. “But, I just gave it to you and you didn't notice.” She smiles. “Could be worse.”

“Aren’t you supposed to prep the site beforehand?”

She nods, but doesn’t look back at him, instead continuing to rifle through the white metal kit. Gestures to a small pad of alcohol prep on which the used syringe now lies. “I did. You were too busy asking me if this whole thing were necessary.”

He blanches again as she pulls out a sealed suture kit. “I truly do not believe this needs stitches, Hawthorne. It looks fine. Surely a bandage can hold it in place.”

“Not as well as stitches, especially since you’re not going to walk around without your armor on.” She hands him the bottle of peroxide. “You want to do it or should I?”

He grits his teeth and takes the bottle from her while she grabs a pair of gloves and opens the kit anyway. He doesn’t make a sound as he splatters a gratuitous amount of hydrogen peroxide onto the ugly wound. The slash is actually pretty deep, and it froths and burns.

Suraya sighs, and dabs at it with a clean flannel. The skin is torn, and the tissue underneath as well. It’s deep enough that she actually should look to make sure there’s nothing underneath, and she does just that, peeking under the loose skin while he grimaces. “I’m sorry,” She says. “Just don’t want anything bad to happen because I’m a shitty nurse.” She douses the wound in something else that almost makes it sting less but then it’s back to angry and burning when she rubs a different flannel across the majority of the slash.

This time, when she pierces his skin, she positions herself so that she’s standing beside where he’s sitting on the bed, her torso blocking his view. She offers his pain killers but he refuses. Stubborn Titan, she thinks, as he flinches when she makes contact with the skin begins to stitch it back together.

“You aren’t going to pass out, are you?” She asks, when he’s sweating and she’s only gotten two of the estimated twelve to sixteen stitches it’s going to take to patch him up. His arm is huge. “We’re like maybe twenty-percent done.”

He inhales and it’s a wet sound. “No.”

“Breathe, Commander,” She says, stopping to tilt her head over her shoulder and look at him. “This isn’t that scary. The needle isn’t that big.” It’s actually kind of big, and hooked too, but that’s why she’s not letting him see it.  “Want to know what is actually scary?” He doesn’t look up at her but she tells him anyway, as she arcs the needle through tough, blue skin.

“Bears.”

He inhales sharply, a laugh mixed with discomfort. “How so?”

“One, they’re huge. Two, they’re stinky.”

“Those aren’t - erhm,” She ties a knot and cuts the thread of another stitch. “How is that frightening?”

“Well, I suppose it’s not. I’m sure you probably could fight a bear and win, Light or not.” The compliment doesn’t light his ego as it might have in the past. “But I think they’re positively terrifying. Used to try to sleep in trees to avoid them when I travelled. But the little ones,” She looks over her shoulder again, he’s listening intently. “They can freaking climb. Not okay.”

Something about the tone of her voice is soothing. The pain becomes duller as she tells him a story about how one time, she managed to be followed by a brown bear cub, with their mother close behind. She had been alone in the wilds for days, and ended up breaking into some random cabin she came across trying to get them off her trail. Her saving grace had been that the cub was too short to see into the tiny port windows and eventually lost interest. And the whole thing would’ve been fine too, if there weren’t two survivors in the cabin she’d let herself into, thinking she was some wayward bandit trying to rob them. By the time she’s done telling her tale of woe, the wound is almost completely mended, and the Commander is more relaxed than she’s ever seen him. She snips down the last of the stitches, wraps him up so that he won’t inevitably pull one of them out when he puts on his armor later, and smooths his shirt back down his arm.

“Your clothes will be ready in a bit,” She says softly, de-gloving, and throwing the used supplies into a wastebasket. “If you want to crash here until they’re done, feel free. I’d rather you not rip them out wrestling Shaxx or whatever it is you Guardians do for fun.”

“Actually,” He says, deadpan, “We wrestle bears.” She throws an unused roll of gauze at his face. Which he catches, with his big, dumb hand. His eyes are practically glittering they’re so bright. She makes sure to look away, lest she continue to feel their pull. Which, when did that start happening? Wasn’t he some stoic commander? What the shanks was this?

“Ugh! I’m going to find a big needle to chase you around with,” She says back. “You are absolutely the worst!”

-----+++++-----

She more sees his face than she hears the sound of his agonized half-swallowed yelp. Hidden behind him, the Shipwright - Amanda, she tells herself - is curled up into the smallest ball in which she can make herself, and Zavala is using a very questionable pipe to thwart some Fallen scalvagers who are trying to make off with the Shipwright’s very meager workshop. How in the world they’ve managed to get into their base this far is unknown, but it’s a definitive problem.

In the seconds it’s taken her to analyze this problem, they turn toward her. It’s for the best, anyway, because she’s already got her rifle in hand, and the first one goes down easily. The second, however, manages to thump Zavala hard in the side with the butt of its weapon and knock him down before Suraya can end him.

He’s grunting as he gets to his feet, ignoring his own injuries in lieu of making sure Amanda is alright.

She is, just terrified. There isn’t a scratch on her. But the wheeze when he breathes is a new sound the blonde is used to hearing from her beloved Commander. She gasps and begins looking him over, exclaiming that he must go get checked out. The look on his face says that is the literal last thing he would like to do.

She wonders why he’s so adverse to that. Ah well, she reasons. It isn’t her problem, really.

“Amanda, go tell the FOTC guys what’s going on, have them come check the perimeter,” Hawthorne hears herself say. “I’ll get the Commander checked out.”

The Shipwright looks thankful as she runs off and Suraya sidles up to him. “So, you find yourself on the ground a lot or is this new?” He glares at her as she continues, “Seriously. I don’t know why I bother patching you up when it takes you all of five minutes to get hurt again.”

“It was several days.”

The corner of her mouth pulls up in a little smile before she can help herself. “Same thing. C’mon, let’s go get you looked at.”

“Do we have-”

Placatingly, she quips, “I’ll take you back to the Farmhouse. No need to waste Triage’s time with the worst patient, ever.” When he sighs in relief, she chuckles. “You’re a mess, you know that right?”

The real mess is the fact that the good commander decides to forego changing before he allows her to address his wounds, instead peeling off the top half of his armor and standing there, decidedly nude from the waist up. She gulps as her eyes take in what seems like miles of musculature and sinew.

“Do you strip for every woman who patches you up? Or am I just special?”

He raises his eyebrows and looks at her pointedly, as if to ask if she were really going to start this. Then flexes.

She almost - but doesn’t - ‘eep’s on the spot. Ridiculous bastard.

“To be fair, Hawthorne,” He intones cooly as she trails her fingers down his right arm to evaluate the damage, “There is no way for me to possibly allow you to look at my arm or side without devesting this much of my attire.” He cocks his head at her. “Watching you squirm is just an added bonus.”

She growls, digging her fingers in just a little too tight over his reopened wound. “You’re rather small without your armor.”

He straightens, smirks. Doesn’t make that hissing sound she’d hoped to get out of him. “Feel free to insult me to make yourself feel more in control of this situation.”

She’s shaking her head, but the laughter is bubbling up in her chest no matter what she thinks otherwise, so she plays it off with another half-smile and looks at the wound. “So, I think you’ll need at least another ten stitches.”

He jolts, and swings his arm around to evaluate it. It’s barely bleeding. He scoffs. “How so?”

The laughter brims and overflows as she snorts out, “I’m messing with you. I can just put a little bandage onto the end of it where you ripped the stitch. No needles required. It looks pretty good, actually.” Unable to resist, she adds, “You must’ve had a pretty incredible person patch you up.”

Zavala chuckles at that. “If by incredible you mean someone incredibly infuriating.”

“I’m sure you’re a real pain in her ass, too.” She sticks her tongue out, and retrieves the bandage he needs, a little butterfly one that adheres quick and easily. He watches her all the while, and when she’s done, she looks up into bemused eyes. His lips are set into a straight line, but his eyes are something else entirely, all glow and spark and smile. The patterns on his face swirl in somekind of contented hum that she almost wants to touch.

And just like that, she slams on the metaphorical brakes.

This is not the time.

And he cannot be the one.

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, mcgregorswench!

September 25 - ShieldShock for @mcgregorswench

As fluffy and sweet as you can make it. Where both are clueless as to the other's connections with the Avengers, like Steve doesn't know that Darcy works with Jane and is best buds with Thor (and also happens to be Tony's sister or daughter), and Darcy doesn't realize her Steve Rogers is actually THE Steve Rogers aka Captain America.

AN: Set between The Avengers and CA:TWS. Not compliant to any canon whatsoever. Big thanks to CatrinaSL for cheerleading, some fantastic ideas when I hit a block, and betaing for me.

Written by @ibelieveinturtles 

 When he looked back on everything, Steve found it completely amazing—miraculous, even—that he and Darcy had known each other for so long, without knowing who the other really was.

Two days after the battle in New York, he signed a confidential contract with S.H.I.E.L.D., including clauses covering secrecy, confidentiality, and anonymity. In other words, don't tell anyone anything, up to and including, who you really are.

When they offered him a new identity, however, he turned it down.

“I've lost everything else already—you can't have that,” he told Fury, in no uncertain terms.

Fury offered a compromise: “You can keep everything except your year of birth. The council wants everyone's identities kept secret—well, as much as we can—but if anyone does get curious or recognise you, tell ‘em you're a distant cousin. Families throw up look alikes all the time. I’m the spitting image of my great granddaddy on my mother’s side, so ‘Captain America’s third cousin twice removed’ shouldn’t be a hard sell, even for you.”

Deal done, Steven Grant Rogers, born 4th July 1988, headed off to Culver University, where he enrolled in summer classes, studying Modern History, and a unit of independent learning, custom-designed to ease him into the new century before he took up his new position at S.H.I.E.L.D.’s Washington DC headquarters.

He met Darcy on the first day. Overwhelmed by the crowds of people, the noise, and already wondering if he'd made a mistake, he ran straight into her.

They collided with the force of a thousand supernovas… Well, the bump was hard enough to knock her off balance, and Steve barely managed to catch her before she hit the ground.

“Woah, I got ya,” Steve said, as he carefully set her back on her feet.

“Thanks for the save, dude,” the young woman said a little breathlessly. “Sorry about that. Serves me right for texting and walking, I guess.” She waved her phone at him, and he couldn’t help noticing the stylised drawing of Thor on the case. It matched the t-shirt she was wearing, and the messenger bag slung across her body.

“No, it was entirely my fault,” Steve protested. “I wasn't paying attention. I'm the one who should be sorry.”

“First time here?” she asked.

“Um, yeah. It's a little overwhelming,” he looked around at the crowded, noisy courtyard. “I've never actually done anything like this before.”

“You’ll get used to it in no time,” she assured him, adding a welcoming smile. “Welcome to Culver! I'm Darcy,” she said, holding her hand out.

“Steve,” he said, taking her hand. “I hope you're right. I have no idea what I'm doing.”

She studied him for a moment. “Gimme one second.” She did something with her phone, and then looked up again. “Look, I don’t have to be anywhere for a couple of hours, and I know from experience how overwhelming it can be. How about I give you some tips about getting around over coffee?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I don't want to inconvenience you,” he hedged.

“Hey, no sweat, dude. I'm in desperate need of coffee anyway, so you'd be doing me a favour.”

Steve smiled, deciding right there and then that there was no way he was going to turn her down. “Well, in that case, I could definitely use the help.”

Ten minutes later they were seated in a small cafe with food and coffee, and she was giving him a brief history of the college.

“And then a few years ago, The Hulk showed up and wrecked half the school. Thank God, I wasn't here for that! Apparently it was a super clusterfuck.”

“The Hulk was here?” Steve made the appropriate noises of shock and surprise, even though Bruce had told him all about the incident when suggesting Culver as something to do for a few months.

Darcy nodded, shoving some fries into her mouth. “There’s a rumour that he used to teach here. I mean, I don’t know if it’s true or not, but the STEM departments have kind of adopted him as their unofficial mascot.” She leaned closer to him, as if about to impart a secret. “Personally, I think he’s pretty awesome, especially after what happened in New York—I mean, he saved Iron Man's life! A raging, mindless monster wouldn't have done that.“

“No… no, you’re right about that,” Steve said, and then angled for a change of subject. “So, what are you studying?”

“Well, I’ve already got a degree in Political Science, and now I’m working on my Masters in International Relations. You know, diplomacy, public relations, negotiation, that sort of thing.”

“Wow, that’s impressive. What will you be able to do with that?”

“A lot of different things! I’ve already got a couple of options, but I’m gonna stick with my current boss for now; she’s my best friend, and we’ve been through a lot together. I don’t really need to make a decision yet, so I won’t.” She punctuated the remark by snapping her teeth on the last fry, and grinning at him. “So, I’m actually thinking that this might be easiest if I give you a guided tour. What do you think?”

After all this time, Steve still thought that accepting her offer of a guided tour was the best decision he’d ever made.

~*~

As luck would have it, Darcy’s boss was currently based in Washington DC, and they soon settled into a completely random, not-routine of seeing each other whenever they were both in the city. Between his "job” in International Search and Rescue, and her frequent field trips with the Boss Lady, it was impossible to keep to a set schedule.

On one sad, Steveless day, Darcy arrived home from a long day of Jane-herding and was staring into her fridge debating between cooking or ordering pizza, when Steve texted her. He was home— pizza it was!

She could feel the goofy grin paste itself across her face as she hit send on her reply. Steve had only been away for a week, but she'd been surprised by how much she missed him.

The pizza arrived first, but she'd barely set the boxes down before her intercom chimed again. She buzzed Steve in, and finished setting the table.

There was a knock on the door.

“Hi,” Steve said, kissing her on the cheek and presenting her with flowers he bought on his way over.

“Oh, they're beautiful. Thank you.” She stepped aside to let him in, then led him to the kitchen.

“How was your trip?” she asked as she hunted through her cupboards for something vase-like.

“Well, it was a slow week,” he said, remembering how they'd spent four days tracking a giant space slug in the Amazon jungle. “But we got the job done. What about you? How was yours?”

“Same old, same old,” Darcy replied, giving up on her quest to find a vase. She turned back to Steve. “Boss Lady had a breakthrough, and is determined to give the entire scientific community the proverbial finger.” (She carefully didn't mention that the breakthrough was actually to another dimension. They'd been lucky to get it closed before it caused any problems.)

“Well, I can't wait to see that,” Steve said.

“It'll be a good memory, I guarantee it,” she agreed. She tilted her head to one side as an idea popped into her head. “Do you have any objections to these flowers living in a jug?”

“Not at all.”

“Good. We'll go vase shopping tomorrow.”

She dumped the flowers in an ugly old plastic jug, filled it with water, and set it on the counter.

“Perfect,” Steve said, taking her in his arms and planting a firm kiss on her mouth.

They spent the whole of the following afternoon scouring the city for the perfect vase. As it turned out, there were three perfect vases in the city of Washington DC, so Steve bought her two more bouquets. After helping her arrange them throughout her apartment, it hit him that he'd rather be here than anywhere else. The only time he stayed at his own apartment was when Darcy was away on a field trip with the woman he still only knew as Boss Lady. More than half of his wardrobe had taken up residence in her cupboards, and other random belongings are scattered throughout.

It got him thinking.

~*~

The first time he asked Darcy to marry him, they'd been officially dating for about a year. It didn’t seem like it had been that long, but he'd fallen head over heels, and wanted to tell her everything.

They were coiled together in a post-orgasmic haze, and it just kind of… slipped out. She laughed. Actually laughed. “Fantastic sex, a good marriage does not make,” she said. “I love you, but I'm not ready to get married just yet.”

She didn't say yes, but it wasn't an outright no, either.

He managed to wait a couple of months before asking again, but once again it was a spur of the moment thing. Boss Lady had decided to go to London for a few months, and he was petrified that she’d forget him, or not come back, or that they’d drift apart, or… he’s not sure about that last ‘or’.

She sighed, but it was a loving sigh, not a ‘what the hell’ sigh. “Steeeve. Honey.” She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and stared into his eyes. “You know I love you, right? But marriage isn’t a spur of the moment thing. Now, kiss me—I’m not going to see you for the next three months, and I need something to get me through!”

He kissed her thoroughly, and once again took heart from the fact that she didn’t actually say no.

He didn’t hear about the Dark Elves until well after the fact—blackout missions didn’t happen very often, but this one had lasted a month, and he felt every second of it by the time they got back. He’d left his civilian, Darcy-only phone in his locker, but Fury had insisted on an immediate debrief before they even had a chance to shower, so the first he heard of it was from a fragment of conversation that drifted out of a break room as he walked along the corridor towards the changerooms.

He headed straight for his locker and his Darcy phone.

The first message was ‘Shit, I’ve lost the Boss Lady,’ followed by, ‘Why won’t anyone answer their goddam phone today?’ and ‘IT’S OKAY I’M ALIVE!!’ and finally ending with, ‘Boss Lady’s boyfriend is back!! Staying in London for now, but will be back in DC soon. Call me when you can.’

He hadn’t even known that Boss Lady had a boyfriend.

He called straight away.

“I just got back,” he said. “What in seven hells happened?”

“Steve! I was starting to worry about you!”

“Sorry, we lost all our communication in a storm.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was close enough, he decided.

“Well, to make a long story super short, evil elves invaded London, and Thor saved us all,” Darcy said.

“What? Evil elves? Thor? You mean, like the Avengers Thor? I didn’t think anyone had seen him since New York!” Steve was flabbergasted. No one had said anything to him about Thor returning.

“They hadn’t, but he just showed up out of nowhere! Look it up on YouTube; there’s so many videos, even the jack-booted thugs couldn’t keep up. They gave up trying to take them down about three days after it happened.”

“Can I come and see you?” Steve asked. “My boss owes me a few days—”

“YES!” Darcy shouted down the phone. “But I’ll book us a hotel, okay? Trust me, you do not want to stay with us now that The Boyfriend is back.”

“Okay, I’m gonna go home, pack a bag, and jump on the first plane I can,” he said. “I’ll let you know all the details, and I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Darcy replied. “I miss you so much. Oh god, I’m so excited now, Steve! Hurry up!”

“Okay, okay. I’m hurrying. I’ll call you from the airport.”

He wrangled a whole week’s worth of leave out of Fury (on the condition that he touched base with Thor while he was there) and proposed for the third time at the top of the London Eye. Darcy said he was affected by the view, but once again didn’t say yes, but didn’t say no either. In fact, she didn’t even say “not yet."

~*~

Darcy glanced at the clock and checked her appearance in the mirror one last time. Steve’s boss had called him earlier in the day, and asked him to check in with a client while he was in London. Even though he was on vacation, and they had a dinner reservation, he’d agreed to run the errand. He’d rung her half an hour ago to say that the meeting had gone much longer than he’d expected, and that he would meet her there.

She grabbed her purse and phone, opened the door, and standing there with a hand raised, ready to knock, was her father.

“Oh,” she gasped. “Jesus, Tony. You almost scared me half to death. What are you doing here? And how did you find me?”

“I’m here for a thing, so I thought I'd drop by,” Tony replied with a self satisfied grin. “Foster told me where you were.”

“Why were you talking to Jane?” she asked, suspicion hijacking her brain and refusing to let go. “Are you trying to convince her to sign with SI again?”

“I came to see Thor,” Tony said, “and then Capsicle showed up too—I wasn't expecting that. We had an extra long lunch, it was nice. But to answer your question, of course I am; how else am I going to get you to come home?”

“Even if she does agree to work with you, I’m not living in the Tower, Tony. I like my independence.”

“So you keep saying. Anyway, I didn’t actually come here to debate your residence in the Tower. Would you like to have dinner with me? I'll invite Cap as well.”

“You can't do that. Anyway, I have a date,” Darcy blurted out.

“Ah, I see. Everyone's turning me down tonight. Even Spangles turned me down! What could he have to do that's better than spending time with me?”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “I can think of a few things.”

“You wound me!” Tiny gasped in mock offense. “So your date tonight. Still the same guy? The one from DC?”

“Yes,” she replied, stepping out the door and pulling it closed behind her.

"When do I get to meet him?” Tony asked, following her to the elevator.

Darcy pushed the button, then turned and gave him a stern look. “Tony—Dad—I love you, but you're still you. And you're Iron Man. Remember those new security protocols Fury put in place last year? I literally need to marry the guy before I can introduce him to my own father, but how can I marry someone when I'm hiding such a big thing from them?”

Tony kissed Darcy in the middle of her forehead.

“The whole world already knows I'm Iron Man,” he shrugged. “That rule should not apply to me. If your guy can't handle that, you're better off without him.”

Darcy smiled. “And then you can introduce me to Captain America, right?”

Tony grinned. “My Steve is way better than your Steve,” he declared.

“Oh my god, Tony! You know you shouldn't even be telling me his name!” Darcy protested as the elevator arrived. “Just because I'm already associated with you and Thor, DOES NOT mean I automatically get to know any other Avengers!”

“I can change that!” Tony said, following her onto the lift. “The Avengers could use someone like you. I get you on the payroll, and everything would be perfect.”

Darcy frowned. There was a reason she’d chosen International Relations for her Masters, even if she hadn’t really acknowledged it at the time. “I’ll think about it,” she said at last. “But I still need to finish my thesis, and since the convergence Jane’s gotten enthused again. She’s got a lot to study over here.”

Tony nodded. “I understand. Also—and I shouldn’t be telling you this by the way—S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to be asking Thor to help them out occasionally. They’ll probably lean on him and Foster to come back to the States sooner, rather than later.”

“Hah!” Darcy snapped. “When they didn’t even answer my phone calls when Jane went missing, and then didn’t show up until after everything was all over? Not if I have anything to do with it, Tony. No. Fucking. Way. I'd rather she work for you!”

Tony threw his arm around her shoulder and hugged her tightly. “That’s my girl.”

They exited the elevator, and made their way outside.

“How are you getting to your date?” Tony asked, handing his valet slip to the attendant. “Can I give you a ride?”

“Well, I was gonna take a cab, but yeah, I'd like that.”

The ride to the restaurant wasn't a long one, and halfway there Darcy gathered her courage.

“I'm thinking that when I get back to DC I might ask Steve to move in with me ,” she said.

“Again: when do I get to meet him?”

“Tony! He keeps asking me to marry him. Three times in six months... and I want to say yes, but I'm scared about what might happen when he finds out about you, and Jane, and Thor. I thought, maybe living together first would be a good way to see if we'll really work or not.”

“That sounds reasonable to me,” Tony said. “But you have to tell him about me first, and I want to be behind the door as exhibit A when it happens.”

Darcy laughed as her father pulled into the curb half a block down from her destination. “You're incorrigible.”

“It's one of my better talents,” Tony quipped. “Come and see me when you get home. I'll be waiting!”

~*~

Darcy, Boss Lady, and The Boyfriend returned to DC on Christmas Eve. Steve was already at her apartment, having let himself in with the key she'd given him before he left London. He tidied and dusted, then went out and found what was possibly the last decent Christmas tree in the city.

By the time she arrived home, the tree was decorated, dinner was in the oven, and Steve was watching the cheesiest Christmas movie he could find.

“Oh my God, could you get any more perfect?” Darcy asked once she'd recovered from his welcome home kiss.

“I didn't actually cook,” he admitted. “It's from a restaurant a friend recommended.”

“I don't care—it smells amazing.”

They ate in front of the movie, then Steve insisted Darcy shower while he cleaned up.

“You know, I could get used to this,” Darcy said later, curled around him as they lay in bed. “Coming home to dinner, and a homey apartment… and you.” She lifted her head to look at him. “I think you should move in with me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. You practically live here already, why not make it official?”

Steve could think of plenty of reasons why he should say no; the main ones being S.H.I.E.L.D. and not being able to tell her who he really was.

“You don't have to decide straight away,” she continued, “I know it's a big decision. Just... think about it?”

“Okay. I can do that.”

Steve tried to put off thinking about his dilemma and just enjoy the time he had with Darcy. He succeeded, mostly, allowing himself to make endless pros vs. cons lists only after she fell asleep at night. Three days later, when he got called out on a mission, it was harder to push out of his mind. In Darcy’s presence he could forget anything unpleasant; in an abandoned bunker stuffed with undecipherable technology, it wasn’t so easy. As he watched Tony take apart a piece of modified electronics, Steve decided to take the opportunity to talk to someone who wasn't S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What's up, Cap?” Tony asked, elbow-deep in computer components.

“My girlfriend asked me to move in with her.”

Tony paused and looked at him. “You have a girlfriend?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“And she asked you to move in with her?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Does she know who you are?”

Steve sighed. “That's the problem—she doesn't. I want to tell her, but I can't.”

Tony nodded. “Fury’s security protocols. Do you love her?”

“More than I ever dreamed,” Steve admitted. “I'd marry her tomorrow if she'd just say yes.”

“Have you asked her?” Tony asked.

“Three times now,” Steve said with a self deprecating smile. “She just says she's not ready for marriage, and changes the subject.”

Tony put his tools down and straightened up, turning to look at Steve. “Three times? Has she actually said no?”

Steve shook his head, a little unnerved by the fact that Tony was ignoring his work to have a personal conversation. “No, just ‘not yet’.”

Tony stared, blinked, then stared some more.

“Tony? Is something wrong?”

“Out of curiosity... have you met her parents yet? Her father?”

“No, but... I thought people didn’t care so much about that sort of thing nowadays.”

Tony shook his head. “Never mind; nothing to worry about. I think you should do it. Move in with your girl, show her you're serious, and maybe you'll get that yes so you can come clean.”

“I would, but I wonder… What if she doesn't want Captain America in her life?”

“If she really loves you, she'll come around.” Tony turned back to his work. “She'll probably be really mad at first, but that's always a risk in any relationship. There's always something that’s gonna make someone mad. You just have to get through it.”

“Voice of experience?” Steve asked.

Tony nodded. “Take the chance, Cap. Take the chance.”

~*~

(When Tony got home, the first thing he did was ask Jarvis for the security footage from his daughter's apartment block during Christmas. When his suspicions were confirmed, he laughed for a solid five minutes.)

~*~

Steve’s S.H.I.E.L.D. apartment was exactly that: an apartment belonging to S.H.I.E.L.D. It came fully furnished, and he had never been one to collect much, so there was very little in it that belonged to him. It took him half a morning to pack up his stuff, and he was all moved in with Darcy by New Year’s.

As he sat on Darcy’s couch, arm around his girl, watching fireworks, and waiting for 2014 to start, he realised that he hadn't felt this happy—this comfortable, so at home—since he'd woken up almost two years ago. A neuron fired in his brain, and he knew: this was what he'd wanted his whole life.

As the clock ticked down, he closed his eyes and made a wish. For a good year. For Darcy to say yes to his next proposal (which he was determined to do properly this time: ring, knee, the lot). For Darcy to be okay with him being the Real Steve Rogers (and Captain America).

As the last seconds counted down, Darcy turned to him and smiled.

“Happy New Year, Steve,” she said, eyes shining as she leaned up to kiss him.

~*~

Steve's last proposal was planned properly.

Ring, dinner, flowers, speech. Everything done right.

Whenever they can, they rendezvous at the subway station after work and then walk home together through the park. Some days they talk a lot; some days they don't. On this particular day, they were both lost in their own thoughts, when Darcy stopped suddenly.

“Darce?”

“I'm ready for you to meet my father,” she said.

“Um, okay?”

“And… I want to marry you,” she continued. “If you still want to marry me, that is.”

He stared at her for a moment, gobsmacked at what she'd just said to him, and then he started laughing. He couldn't help it.

“Okay, I'm not sure if you laughing at me is a good sign?” Darcy looked equal parts worried and amused. “I never laughed at you!”

“I'm sorry.” He gathered her up in his arms, and hugged her tightly. “It's just, I finally planned out a proper proposal, and you blurt it out while we're walking through the park.”

“You planned a proposal?” She blinked at him.

He pulled the box out of his pocket. “There's flowers and dinner at home, but I've had this in my pocket for a few weeks now.” He opened the box.

“That's a really nice ring,” was all she said.

“It is,” he agreed. “And I think it would look nicer on your finger.”

She looked down at the ring again, and he held his breath. “Yes. You're right. It would look nicer on my finger.”

“Does that mean you're going to wear it?”

“I do have a few things I should probably tell you first; I don't know if you're going to like them." she said.

“Me too, but you wanna give me an answer first? Please?”

“Hang on, didn't I just propose to you?”

“Yes, you did, and yes I will. Whatever secrets you have, I will deal with them,” Steve said solemnly.

“In that case, yes, Steve. I will most definitely marry you, and ditto on the secrets. Now gimme that ring!”

He put the ring on her finger, and she flung her arms around him, kissing him breathless.

“Let's go home.”

[artificialqueens]

TROIKA (Trixie/Alaska feat. Katya) 1/9 - Spoky

A/N: And so it begins… @veronicasanders & @fryshook, Ta, mates.

Summary: You can’t choose who you fall in love with and sometimes it’s inconvenient; it’s challenging, cumbersome, difficult and pushes you in directions you previously thought impossible. This is a story about negotiating love when everything you thought you knew about family, relationships and sex proves to be insufficient.

TROIKA

May, 2015

Boystown was supporting its regular Saturday night buzz. Brian had seen two bachelorette parties before even reaching Halsted street and a boy in a purple tank-top had tricked him into accepting a flyer for a new massage parlour in Chinatown. The address was on the same street as Kimski, the odd Korean-Polish fusion restaurant Kim liked to visit hungover. Brian folded the leaflet and stuffed it into his rear pocket as he turned right from Newport avenue and continued his way to Roscoe’s.

It was surprisingly warm for early May and he’d been wandering around in the streets of Chicago, making sure to arrive fashionably late to avoid the line. He crossed Roscoe street with couple of quick leaps and lifted his hand as a thank you to the cab driver that had slowed down to wait for him. Muffled music was echoing from the bar as he reached the familiar red telephone booth next to Roscoe’s Tavern and took notice of the small but surprisingly diverse group of men who had gathered to smoke next to it.

“Hey, dude,” one of them approached Brian as he passed. “You don’t happen to have a lighter?”

“Sorry,” Brian said and shook his head apologetically. “Don’t smoke.”

“Worth a shot, thanks anyway,” the man said, shrugged and turned back to his friends as Brian proceeded to the entrance.

“Ticket and ID?” the bouncer asked in deep bass and Brian paused to find the VIP wristband Kim had given him earlier. “Isn’t that Trixie?” He could hear one of the other guys drawl as he searched through his wallet. Where had he put the damn thing?

“Who’s Trixie?” a deeper voice asked and Brian chuckled as he pulled the silver paper wristband out of his wallet, flashed it to the bouncer with a half grin and pulled his sleeve up to put it on.

“You know, the Barbie from Drag Race, with the weird makeup. She was eliminated yesterday, again.”

“Look, babe,” a new voice joined the conversation. “I promised to come to see this show with you, alright? But that doesn’t mean that I actually care.”

Fair, Brian thought, and refreshing. Maybe he could date the guy? He was tempted to turn around and take a better look.

“But she’s famous!”

“You the Barbie?” the bouncer chortled at Brian as he extended his neck to look at the crowd standing couple of feet away. Clearly amused, he brushed over his thick moustache while eyeing the men behind Brian.

“I’m afraid so,” Brian admitted quietly and lifted his wrist up to show that he was appropriately tagged for the party. He tried his best to insinuate with his eyebrows that he didn’t want to deal with the Drag Race fan behind him.

The bouncer got the hint.

“Well in that case,” the man joked and opened the door, “Welcome to Roscoe’s!” he announced as he pushed Brian inside, closing the door behind him. The guy who had recognised Brian as Trixie had no time to react.

Brian shook his head at the encounter as he stepped into the crowded bar and studied the familiar space; the red walls and dark wood, the ugly lamps that reminded him of cracked in half egg shells hanging from the ceiling. Choices. The staff had yet to take his advice to reduce the random, and apparently steadily growing, selection of paper decorations that hung above the bar in faded rainbow colours. Stepping into Roscoe’s felt like coming home. A home you were about to sell at a severely reduced price after a messy divorce, but home; and it was crammed with interested buyers.

Brian glanced around. Roscoe’s was never this packed when the local Chicago queens performed, and Trixie would probably never attract a similar audience, but it was nice to dream. He wiggled his way to the bar between the warm bodies, muttering off-handed apologies and trying not to step on anyone’s toes along his way. He could feel people getting annoyed at him and someone shoved his shoulder, trying to hurry him along. As he finally reached the bar top and sighed in relief, he heard an amused snort at his left.

“Don’t get your hopes up. The twinks are not here to make money.”

Brian glanced up and was faced with a hefty, older man in a light blue shirt. His bushy grey eyebrows were drawn into an annoyed frown and he was tapping his debit card against the bar with steady slow clicks.

“Sorry?”

“The staff,” the man said and pointed at the other end where the young bartenders had gathered to watch the performance.

Brian rolled his eyes and stretched his neck to see the stage himself. Jinkx Monsoon stood tall in her heels and carrot orange curls as she dragged the final note of Creep before thanking the audience that roared in appreciation. Brian also caught a glimpse of a pink banner above the stage; the clearly hand painted cursive “JUSTICE FOR TRIXIE” causing the corners of his mouth to curl upwards in approval. Alaska and Jinkx clearly knew their audience.

Brian had seen pictures and videos of Alaska’s shows previously, but this was the first time he witnessed one of her Trixie-banners in person. It made him feel somehow appreciated, as if an older sister, who you knew would fucking murder you if you stepped into their room without permission, was standing up for you against The Plastics. It was nice to get some recognition and while Trixie Mattel would never be crowned America’s Next Drag Superstar, watching Alaska step onto the stage and take over the entire bar with her mere presence was enough to convince Brian that the crown, and the title, were not everything. There would be other opportunities, other platforms.

Someone tapped him lightly on the shoulder and he turned back to the elderly man on his left. The man was holding a drink and nodded his head towards the bar.

“Turns out, they do want to get tipped.”

With his Coors Light finally in hand Brian found a spot in the audience, readjusted his trucker cap and laughed at the joke Alaska Thunderfuck had cracked on the stage. She really was brilliant and sometimes Brian thought she should’ve won season five, but maybe America just hadn’t been ready for yet another freak show after Miss Needles? He took a sip of his beer and frowned at the two girls that were leaning to each other, crying dramatically.

“I can’t believe we’re actually here!”

“I know, we’re so blessed and this is so amazing. I love her so much and I hate that they’re not doing a meet‘n’greet but, like, at least we – hey! Are you listening?”

Brian closed his eyes briefly, reminded himself that the monetary value of a dollar bill from a whiny straight girl was equal to the dollar bills from everyone else, and concentrated back on Alaska. Her long blonde, bird’s nest of hair, her black paper dress and the magnificent voice that cracked on purpose, making the audience laugh. Brian had to wonder if the queen ever took singing seriously. As the number ended and as Alaska disappeared backstage Brian watched Trannika Rex take her place. It was good to be back in Boystown, surrounded by familiar faces. He turned to walk back to the bar, only to be interrupted in mid step by none other than Shea Couleé.

“Girl!” Shea drawled her greeting as she pulled Brian into a loose hug. “Good to see you!”

Brian couldn’t even remember when he’d last seen the queen. It had been way too long.

“Well, you know. If the other RuGirls take the risk of being seen with you, I figured I could too,” Brian said and blew an air kiss in the direction of Shea’s left cheek, carefully avoiding her makeup.

“Don’t start, Firkus,” Shea chuckled. “You know you can’t keep up.”

Brian knew it to be true and gladly moved to a safer ground. They exchanged some newsworthy updates on who was dating who, who was getting most gigs and what was going on in the Chicago drag scene in general. Brian had just avoided a question about Drag Race when Shea was called back to work.

“You should come backstage,” Shea invited. “The others would love to see you.”

Brian hesitated. He knew that at some point he would have to get more acquainted with RuGirls beyond his season and he really wanted to catch up with the Chicago girls, so as Shea pulled him along, Brian gave in. It would be better to get over his insecurities right now, before he would actually have to work with the famous queens, which was actually a real possibility. The thought of it still freaked him out slightly.

Brian stepped into the dressing room one step behind Shea and was immediately introduced to Jinkx and Alaska as Trixie Mattel. He stayed for the brief and required pleasantries, but quickly made his way to the safety of his old friends as the other two RuGirls kept joking back and forth in Golden Girls references.

“Are they always so intimating?” Brian asked Shea, causing the queen laugh loudly.

“Says the clown currently on Logo,” Trannika snorted. “You’ll be equally intimidating in no time.”

“Doubt it,” Brian said and shivered. He couldn’t imagine Trixie becoming as famous or successful as Jinkx or Alaska, hell, Trixie hadn’t made it to even top five! He would be ever so lucky if he could land some more gigs for a while and make enough connections to find a well-paying job behind the scenes of the industry. That way, he wouldn’t have to worry about money and could continue drag as a hobby. He glanced back to Alaska and Jinkx, and concluded that while they played the same sport, Alaska and Jinkx had established their place in the Major League, while Trixie still dabbled with the minors. Quite literally, if one looked at her fanbase.

Kim’s dress emergency interrupted Brian’s train of thought and he followed in slight amusement as Shea rushed to her bag for some safety pins before the fabric could tear further.

“Anyone got translucent nail polish?” Kim asked, holding the fraying chiffon with pursed lips.

“What?” Brian asked, turning at Kim with knitted brows. What did she need nail polish for?

“Yeah,” Alaska interjected from the other side of the room. “I think I do.”

Brian was surprised that Alaska had listened into the conversation and felt a little self-conscious that she might’ve heard his earlier comments as well. He watched her find a half used 15ml top coat nail varnish from her suitcase and hand it to Shea, who snatched the bottle with a cheerful “Thank you”.

“See,” Shea sneered, looking down her nose at Brian as she passed. “That’s what we call professionalism. Take notes, honey.”

Brian spread his hands in an exaggerated ‘What the fuck’-gesture and raised his brows at Shea, his mouth open. “What did I do?” he asked, bewildered.

“It’s more about what you didn’t do,” Kim explained as she offered the fabric to Shea to fix.

Brian snorted and rolled his eyes while taking a sip from his beer. He was often the butt of the joke for Shea and Kim and as Trannika was still staring at her phone, he wouldn’t get any help from there, either. He was also suddenly very aware of Alaska in the room, even if she had returned to her conversation with Jinkx. They were talking about their previous show together and how they should throw more shade at their season five sisters.

“- still bitter about that,” Alaska laughed brightly. “She really wanted to make it to the top.”

“Oh honey, she can top me,” Jinkx cackled, sending Alaska to a round of giggles. “Top me until I’ve had it-” she waited for Alaska to pick up the cue, “- officially!” they roared together.

Brian chuckled quietly at their antics and followed with curiosity as Jinkx sighed, getting a little somber.

“Seriously, though,” she said, looking at the floor. “I hope she gets over it. For my sake.”

Alaska nodded at the statement and placed her hand on Jinkx’s knee in comfort. “Another drink?”

The suggestion made Jinkx smile and she turned to the Chicago queens.

“Ladies!” she announced brightly, catching everyone’s attention. “Cocktails, anyone?”

“We’re up in a minute,” Kim declined, nodding to Trannika, who was still on her phone.

“Yeah, like five minutes ago,” Trannika corrected and Shea and Kim turned to her swiftly.

“What?!” they chorused in panic. Trannika gave them a tired look over her phone, cocking her eyebrows mockingly.

“Jesus fuck,” Shea laughed in relief. “You got me.”

Trannika rolled her eyes and dropped her mobile into the bag that was lying in her feet.

“We do need to go, though,” she added and started to walk towards the stage, pulling Kim with her.

“Cosmos or Margaritas?” Shea asked and got up from the floor while rolling the nail polish bottle shut. She walked to Jinks and handed the borrowed item back to Alaska with another “Thank you”.

“I’m feeling adventurous,” Jinkx smirked and got up, hooking her arm around Shea’s. “Let’s get something new!”

Shea grinned widely and took a step towards the exit. “I know just the thing,” she said cunningly and looked at Alaska. “And you, mam?”

Alaska chuckled and shook her head.

“Her loss,” Shea snorted and lead Jinkx out of the dressing room.

Brian stared after the pair and took yet another sip of his beer. He decided to believe that his half full bottle was the main reason why he hadn’t been included in the invitation, rather than Shea just being a shady bitch. It was probably both, and he sighed in frustration. He was extremely aware of the silence between himself and Alaska and browsed his collection of appropriate small talk topics. He got nothing, though, and the silence stretched; he couldn’t think. It was getting more awkward by the second. He blamed it on the alcohol and Alaska’s intimidating aura.

He cleared his throat and stood up. “Right, then,” he said, intending to come up with an excellent but probably obvious excuse to leave. I’m tired, work tomorrow, long day, you know the gist, or something along those lines, but before he had time to come up with anything remotely acceptable, Alaska asked him a question.

“When did you start doing Trixie?”

Brian blinked. Of course! That’s what you talked about with other drag queens, drag! Why hadn’t he thought of that?

“Umm,” he said frowning. When had he started doing drag? Why had he started doing drag? What was drag? Before he could sink further into his existential crisis, he took a seat at one of the stools nearby, hoping that the position would calm down his nerves.

“I was eighteen and needed to like, fill in for this guy in a play,” he said, trying to remember the details. “I guess it started from there.”

Alaska nodded and Brian blinked. Oh, right. It was his turn to ask something. That was how conversations worked.

“How about you?”

Alaska chuckled. She took a better position on the sofa and kicked off her heels, wiggling her toes in relief as she launched into a long explanation about her fascination with drag as a form of performative art, but also as a medium to explore gender and connect with people in the gay community. Brian started to slowly relax as he listened to her talk and soon realised that he was nodding along, agreeing with a lot of things Alaska was saying.

“-and you never make enough from just tips-”

“Tell me about it-”

“-right, exactly! And it was just fun, you know-”

It was interesting how quickly Alaska made Brian feel at ease and as they eventually branched out to different topics, Brian suddenly realised that he was having an actual conversation with the Queen Supreme; a conversation beyond the conventional drag-lingo and trade-talk laced with pop-culture references. The discussion was actually more along the lines of a drunken Uber ramble about emotions and the purpose of life, but neither of them were plastered, which made the situation ever so slightly more absurd.

“It’s not that I don’t want to get ‘married’,” Alaska explained, putting actual quotation marks around the word with her fingers. “I just don’t see why we need to call it marriage. I’m all for stable, loving, equal relationships and rights. I just think we need little more imagination over what is family, and what kind of relationships work within the community.”

“But if someone wants that? A monogamous, committed relationship with kids and a mortgage?”

“Well that’s their choice,” Alaska agreed, nodding, while removing her makeup with some wipes. “I just think that this obsession with marriage has left a lot of other important issues undiscussed and that it leaves out a lot of queers who don’t, like, fit into the system,” she continued and pulled a tight, black t-shirt over her head, serving average Joe gay club realness.

“So, you’re saying that they don’t deserve to be stoned to death for not leading STD-ridden pink fluffy flamboyantly homosexual unicorn lives?” Brian asked, raising his eyebrows in fake outrage as he threw a bottle cap in the air and caught it, as if ready to throw it at the next offensively hetero gay-guy that stepped into the room.

“No!” Alaska shrieked a laugh and leaned to the dresser for balance. The way Alaska laughed, the total surrender to the feeling as her knees bent, her mouth opened and her eyes formed two feline lines made Brian smile. It was was contagious, the way in which she laughed, gasping for breath, voice slightly higher and a lot more hoarse than what Brian would’ve expected. Just looking at her struggle through made Brian want to do it again, to say something funny to keep her entertained. The feeling was similar to the one he’d experienced with Katya, but while with Katya he felt more like an equal, that they were laughing together, making each other laugh, with Alaska it was definitely him that made her laugh.

Alaska got up and dropped her knee high boots on top of her suitcase while still trying to calm her breath. She stepped closer to Brian, slightly too close to Brian’s liking and as he was about to lean back she extended a long, slender arm towards him.

“Justin,” he introduced himself. “Nice to meet you.”

Brian took the offered hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Brian.”

Justin’s skin felt cold against Brian’s and he was surprised to realise that Justin’s hands were actually bigger than his. Alaska looked so small and gangly on stage that Brian had managed to forget that underneath the makeup and hairspray there was actually a man with testosterone boosted bone-structure.

“I know,” Justin smiled and Brian realised the handshake was getting slightly longer than what was necessary.

The comment took Brian by surprise and he had blurted out a “You do?” before he had time to catch himself.

Justin chuckled, finally releasing Brian’s hand and leaving behind a tingly feeling that Brian promptly wiped against his thigh.

“I looked you up, was kinda hoping you’d make it to the top.”

“Aww,” Brian drawled, “I bet you say that to all of the girls.”

He took a sip of his beer and hoped his blush wasn’t showing despite that he could feel his neck and cheeks warm up. Justin grinned in response, shaking his head slightly before he suddenly extended his hand to Brian once more.

“Come on, Barbie doll, let’s go dance!”

Brian blinked. It had been almost two hours since the show had ended and without a meet and greet most of the overly fanatic fans had probably disappeared. Jinkx had left the venue without problems thirty minutes ago, but Brian wasn’t sure if it was the wisest decision to go dance in Roscoe’s tonight. The possibility of the evening turning into an unorganised, free meet and greet was a little too real.

“I dunno, man,” Brian hesitated. “Like, I’m in, but do you, like, do you think they’ll actually leave you to it?”

Justin pursed his lips and let his hand fall back to his side. Brian could see the man was disappointed and for whatever reason felt like he needed to fix the situation. Fortunately, he knew the perfect place if one wanted to shake off some race chasers.

“Ok, wait,” Brian said, swiping out his phone. “I’ve got an idea.”

Seeing the hopeful smile rising on Justin’s lips made Brian feel better. He found Shea’s number from the contact list and lifted the phone to his ear. Luck was on his side and the queen picked up after one short ring.

“Hey, yeah- Look- Look- Listen! Can we leave Justin’s- Alaska’s, stuff in the backroom if we grab a cab to Rogers Park?” Brian asked and lifted his hand up as a sign for Justin to wait as Shea made some enquiries.

“Awesome, thanks girl,” Brian ended the call with a wide grin. “I know a place.”

*  *

A cab ride from Boystown to Rogers Park on a Wednesday would’ve taken a quarter of an hour, so Brian wasn’t too upset when the taxi driver pulled next to Touché just twenty minutes later. Justin insisted paying and stepped to the street, clearly excited.

“A leather bar?” he exclaimed seeing the crowd at the entrance and stared at Brian his mouth open. “Giiirl, you don’t look like the type!”

Brian slammed the cab door closed and turned to Justin, raising his eyebrows as if offended. “And what type is that?”

“You know,” Justin grinned and gave him a quick once over with a shrug. “A little Green Acres.”

Brian flipped the tall queen the finger and sneered before turning towards the bar, only to realise that the line consisted of women, only women.

“Shit,” he swore and glanced at the poster at Touché’s window. Of course he’d picked the only lesbian night of the month to drag Justin out of Boystown. What now? The only viable option seemed like Dino’s but he’d never been in the damn place. “I’m sorry, man, I think it’s a ladies night.”

Justin glanced at the line and pursed his lips.

“They’re a little more lax at Jackhammer tonight.”

Brian turned to the woman smoking nearby and noticed her Touché staff t-shirt as she smiled at Brian comfortingly.

“Yeah?” he asked, renewed hope lighting his face.

“Yeah, because of us,” the woman snorted and nodded towards the poster. “Worth checking out at least” she finished, eyeing between them. Brian was sure she had concluded Jackhammer wasn’t really their scene, and she was right. It wasn’t.

“Yeah alright, thanks,” Brian nodded and pulled Justin with him as he started to walk down Clark Street.

“Jackhammer?” Justin asked, taking a couple of leaps to catch up with Brian.

“Another leather bar,” Brian explained, adjusting his red trucker cap. They would never get in dressed like this. “Come on, let’s try.”

Brian turned right at the first corner and walked to the surprisingly short line. As they reached the door the bouncer gave them one look before an assertive: “No.”

“Come on, man, we’ll go straight down.”

Brian didn’t know what had made him volunteer Justin for the experience of the Hole without any preceding consultation, but as he bouncer lifted his eyebrows in challenge Brian got more determined.

“Please?” he asked, tilting his head at the man. “We just came from Boystown and Touché is seized by horny lesbians.”

The bouncer rolled his eyes and opened the door reluctantly. “I don’t want to see you upstairs.”

“Roger that,” Brian nodded, grabbed Justin’s wrist and pulled the man inside.

Jackhammer catered to a totally different audience from Roscoe’s. Instead of superfluous Axe deodorant and stingy cheap hairspray, from the moment you stepped into the bar you could smell the mixture of testosterone-laden sweat, dried up alcohol and rubber.

Brian led Justin left from the main bar, towards the narrow metal stairs that lead down to the cellar, or like most affectionately referred to the place, the Hole. There was a man in a full rubber body suit and knee high boots guarding the entrance.

“You need to strip,” Brian said to Justin, who raised his eyebrows in question. “It’s a fetish thing. Leather, rubber, sports gear or underwear,” he explained and started to unbutton his shirt.  

“You’re joking,” Justin said through a laugh, eyeing Brian in amusement.

Brian just raised his eyebrows, gave Justin a tired look of a ‘Really girl?’ and opened his fly.

“I take my earlier statement back,” Justin smirked as he pulled his top off.

Brian decided not to point out that he rarely visited Jackhammer, the Hole even less. He’d just wanted to get Justin out of Roscoe’s and Touché had popped to his mind. He hadn’t had any initial intentions to take Justin anywhere near as adventurous as the Hole, and if that made him vanilla, or ‘a little Green Acres’, as Justin had put it, so be it.

Without respecting Justin’s commentary with a reply, Brian proceeded with his undressing. He tried not to stare too much as Justin stripped down to his purple Calvin Klein briefs and revealed the narrowest hips Brian had ever seen, decorated with an admirable bulge underneath. Brian was suddenly grateful that his own checkered boxer shorts hid successfully, not only his chubby butt but also his averaged sized genitalia.

They stuffed some money into their shoes, following the lead of the men lining up in front of them, and deposited their clothes before stepping into the sparsely decorated cellar.

The air felt heavy as the crowd moved with the music, the volume leaving some room for conversation. At their left there was a man strapped to a Saint Andrew’s cross and a strong bear was spanking him with a crop as he moaned for the crowd’s entertainment. At their right, the space expanded to another room and a dark hallway. Brian could smell the sex.

“Drink?” he asked Justin who was taking in their surroundings, his lips slightly ajar. Brian could see Justin’s breaths getting shallower and his eyes clouding with admiration of the amount of exposed, naked skin. Brian smirked at Justin’s reaction and concluded that he hadn’t made a completely wrong judgment call by bringing him here. He grabbed Justin’s wrist once more and pulled him to the bar, trying to avoid the sweatiest bodies, intentionally brushing against some of the attractive ones.

“Two Jack and Cokes,” he ordered without checking Justin’s preference and felt a hand on his shoulder. He started to turn but halted as he felt Justin’s lips on his cheek and pulled back after the accidental collision.

“Becks Blue, if they have,” Justin said, licking his lips and Brian could feel his warm breath against his cheek. He nodded, but as he turned back to the bartender the man had already disappeared.

Brian didn’t come to the Hole often because Josh, his promiscuous ex, did. Like Justin just moments ago, Josh had also referred to Brian as vanilla at their first encounter. Brian didn’t necessarily object to the observation but neither did he understand why one might accept a leather harness and a rubber suit but disapprove of a pink, tulle dress or a pair of size 13 stilettos in the wardrobe. Obviously, they had eventually broken up for more pressing reasons than preferred play outfits but ever since Brian had avoided Jackhammer. The bartender was back and placed two plastic cups in front of them.

“And a Becks Blue,” Brian completed the order. He could feel Justin’s hand slip away from his shoulder and turned to look.

Justin was leaning back, looking at his left with slightly squinted eyes. He licked his lips and raised his chin to reveal and bring attention to his neck and prominent collarbones. The sight made Brian’s cock twitch and it wasn’t even him that Justin was cruising. The fact that Brian was leaning against the dirty bar top to get them drinks as Justin was getting eyefucked by a stranger made Brian simultaneously annoyed and jealous. Annoyed at his own insecurities – he’d never picked up the art of cruising – and jealous of the fact that Justin had already set his eyes on someone. Brian downed half of one of the drinks in his reach to calm down his reactions; the arousal as well as the peeking jealousy. Then the bartender was back and placed a bottle of Becks onto the bar top. Brian blinked at the silver label that red “alcohol free” in bright red and chuckled at the absurdity that Alaska Thunderfuck was sober. He turned to Justin, placing his hand on the man’s waist.

“Here,” he said and handed him the bottle. “You don’t drink?”

Justin smiled in response. “Not excessively anymore, no,” he said and took a sip.

“Come on, Barbie, let’s dance.”

Dancing in the Hole is a little different to dancing at Roscoe’s. There is a real chance that the couple next to you are fondling each other’s dicks that might, or might not be hidden by their jockstraps. It is not unusual for someone to grab your ass in admiration or to reach out to feel your biceps at passing. If you make your way into the dark hidden corners, you can witness slow blowjobs and leather daddies getting rimmed. Alternatively, if watching is not your thing, you can partake to a discussion of the contemporary political climate or Game of Thrones while getting fucked to the rhythm of Air’s Sexy Boy.

The Hole was definitely not the most conventional of queer spaces and as such, it was a little out of Brian’s comfort zone. Surprisingly enough, Justin seemed completely at ease as he surrendered to the beat.

*  *

An hour or so later, Brian stepped out of the bathroom, drying his wet hands on his boxers, and made his way back to the bar for his third drink. He’d left Justin in the crowd three songs ago, but figured the man could handle himself for a little while longer. Having learned from his earlier mistake he avoided touching the bar top as he waited for the bartender and suddenly felt a large, warm hand on his waist.

“It’s hard to get your attention.”

The voice was definitely not Justin’s.

Brian turned to look and took in the short but beautifully built man. Large, dark tattoos covered his well-formed chest and shoulders and there was a clear appreciative glimmer in his gaze as he studied Brian.

“It is?” Brian asked and wanted to smack himself. He sounded like a lost cub on his first night out in the BearCity.

The man smirked and nodded as he stroked Brian’s side. Then he leaned closer, as if going to whisper something, but halted midway before backing away. “I’m sorry,” he said squinting his eyes. “Didn’t realise you were taken.”

Brian blinked, confused at the way in which the man took a step back, his warm hand disappearing from Brian’s waist, only to be replaced with a lot colder touch.

“No harm done,” Justin drawled and pressed his entire upper body against Brian’s side as he wrapped his right arm around Brian’s shoulders.

Brian felt like an outsider following the situation and couldn’t quite get to the bottom of it. Was Justin seriously cockblocking him right now? He threw an annoyed glance at him and opened his mouth but didn’t get a turn to speak up as Justin crashed their mouths together in a clumsy, forceful kiss.

Brian froze, staring at Justin cross-eyed. His heart was hammering in his chest and he didn’t know what to do with his hands, which left them hovering in mid air. Justin had closed his eyes and while Brian was pretty certain the man was not in a regular habit of hooking up with his colleagues, Alaska did have a history of RuGirl kai-kai. Brian had dismissed Justin as a potential hook up, despite their light flirting on the dance floor, which Brian had at the time dismissed as a show for the other men. Additionally, Brian hadn’t thought of himself as Justin’s type the slightest. Now, however, he felt the need to reconsider. Maybe Justin really was into his midwestern single-dad aesthetic? Brian was just about to open his lips, wrap his arms around Justin’s incredibly narrow hips and pull the man closer, when Justin stepped back.

“I’m sor-”

Brian didn’t let him finish but tilted his head and brought his lips gently back against Justin’s, pulling the man firmly against him, chest to chest. He could feel Justin tense and hold his breath as Brian traced his lower lip with his tongue. Brian’s heart was pounding, making him slightly dizzy and he thought he’d misjudged the situation completely as Justin dithered. Well, fuck. But then slowly, almost shyly, Justin parted his lips and leaned into the kiss. He smelled of cigarettes and tasted of stale beer, neither of which made it to Brian’s list of favorites things, but the way in which Justin’s slimmer frame pressed against him and the way in which his hold got stronger, rougher; and particularly the way in which he trapped Brian’s lower lip into gentle bites at times, those Brian might add to the list.

The kiss ended with Justin pulling his head up and pressing his forehead against Brian’s as they tried to calm their breaths.

Brian didn’t know what to say or where to go from there, his hands still wrapped around Justin’s waist; their bodies pressed together, Justin’s cold fingers in Brian’s neck. He could feel Justin’s arousal against his thigh and licked his lips, not quite certain if he himself was responsible for it, or if it was the Hole and the men in it, possibly even just the atmosphere. He had to say something, though, preferably before the silence between them got too awkward.

“What were you going to say?” he asked.

“Oh, um,” Justin hesitated and bit his lip, refusing to meet Brian’s eyes. “Nothing.”

Brian swallowed. Justin’s body language revealed that ‘nothing’ had definitely been something , but Brian had no way of knowing what and asking again was out of the question. So he decided to ignore the uneasy feeling the situation left him with and was about to turn to the bar to get his drink, determined to ignore, and eventually hopefully forget, the entire encounter when Justin surprised him yet again.

“Do you- Umm… Do you wanna get out of here?”

Despite his shock, or maybe because of it, Brian nodded.

*   *

The hotel Justin was staying at was nicer than what Brian had expected. The walls were white and the floors wooden, and while there was a lot to be desired from the receptionist that kept sneering at them as they had waited for the elevator, at least the flowers at her desk were real.

The silence between them had moved beyond awkwardness as neither of them had volunteered to break it since the second cab ride of the night, both choosing to enjoy the silent sexual charge; the brief moments their eyes met as they caught each other looking, wondering what the other was thinking, imagining, hoping for – wanting .

As the elevator finally reached the seventh floor, Brian glanced at Justin who gave him a look of pure lust over his shoulder before leading the way.

It took Justin two tries to get the key card to work, but when it finally did, the opened door seemed to release something raw, something previously restrained. He grabbed Brian’s collar and dragged him inside with a lot more force than what Brian had anticipated from a man his size and as their lips met in the darkness, Brian could taste Justin’s cigarettes.

Ignoring the foul flavor, Brian fumbled the wall for a light switch but failed as Justin pulled him further into the room and pushed him on the bed. Straddling his lap, Justin proceeded to open his shirt and groaned into his mouth through hungry, rushed kisses. There was determination and emergency in Justin’s movements and as he thrust a condom and a travel sized lubricant at Brian, Brian paused.

“Fuck.”

Brian didn’t realise he had sworn out loud before Justin stopped and looked down at him, perplexed.

“What?” he asked out of breath, straddling Brian’s lap. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing was wrong, per se, and Brian bit his lip. How the fuck hadn’t Justin picked on any of the cues? How in the name of Lucifer and the seven fugly dwarfs had Brian failed to convey his preference to the man? Surely, surely, he didn’t come across domineering enough to fool anyone? Or maybe he did? Jesus fucking Christ on crutches. Who even wanted anal sex drunk? Admittedly, he himself did, but after he’d yielded to the fact that his only possible hook up for the night was none other than Alaska Thunderfuck out of drag – not that he was complaining – he’d contented himself with the upcoming frottage and blowjobs; two bottoms could still have fun, no?

Brian swallowed and looked up at Justin. He looked confused and Brian wondered if he could pull it off. He could just simply keep his mouth shut and go with it, because he was really hard, and because he really wanted to come, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know how to top, and now he could see Justin picking up on his train of thought… Shit, he would have to act quick.

“Oh,” Justin noted, realisation dawning on his face. “You prefer to bottom.”

It wasn’t a question and to Brian’s surprise, Justin didn’t sound entirely crestfallen. He grinned apologetically, because what else was he supposed to do?

“Okay…” Justin drawled and scratched his neck. “Not my first pick, but not a deal breaker either.”

Brian’s brain did a similar movement to a Toyota Corolla that hit a semi-truck going 70 mph on a highway.

“Huh?” he asked, pulling together all the remains of his abused intellect.

Justin chuckled through his nose and grabbed back the condom, as well as the lube, and smirked.

“Not a problem, honey.”

Brian blinked at the attitude change and before his intoxicated brain could fully register what was happening, Justin had gotten off of him, pushed him up on the bed, kicked his legs apart and was leaning over him to kiss him hungrily. Brian had heard rumours of versatile bottoms but had never encountered or experienced one, therefore assigning them to the category of a “lovely but completely false gay culture myth”. Tonight, however, as Justin proceeded to fuck him through the mattress, Brian secretly appointed himself as the gay Jamie Hyneman.

___________

A/N2: Liked it?

[finalproblem]

Ludmila

Bullet points only for Ludmila Dyachenko, because I’m out of time and that seems like an appropriate format for a sniper.

Ludmila Dyachenko was one of the assassins running around in Reichenbach. She’s the one who shot the two other assassins who came into close contact with Sherlock.

At first I’d classified her differently than the other folks working directly for Moriarty that day (who I later realized were Scowrers) because the stuff she was doing seemed so different that what the rest of the team was working on. (I did peg her as a possible former Scowrer at one point, though, because her data sheet mentioned a tattoo. So at least I got that far.)

Turns out Ludmila was also involved in the Reichenbach kidnapping just like the other Scowrers.

Which, considering one of her aliases was Alice Creed and the movie The Disappearance of Alice Creed is about a kidnapping... duh, me. (That movie is even about a kidnapping where the victim was in on it, in case you needed more Priory School vibes from that case.)

Once I realized that the “Eurus” we see in TLD is really Ludmila with plastic surgery, I knew the chalk and linseed oil clues related to the kidnapping applied to her. She’s probably the one who faked the footprints at the crime scene.

It’s important to note, though, that up until maybe as late as the very end of His Last Vow Ludmila looked like the photo Mycroft showed John and not like Sian Brooke. So if you go looking for Ludmila in the past, she’s got a different face. Genuinely different, this time.

I didn’t have time to do a really, really thorough look for clues with Ludmila after I realized what her deal is. Plus Series 4 is making my faceblindness itch. If I had to guess, though, I’d say original-face Ludmila is the female police officer comforting Miss Mackenzie at the school. (Right next to pink shirt! So obvious in retrospect.) If Ludmila was the one to create the fake footprint clues, she may also have been the one who took the crime scene photos that included the sealed bundle of chalk. (If Ludmila was there and not the comforting police officer, then she’d pretty much have to be the one who was on guard in Claudette’s room. Which also works.)

There are other moments when Ludmila could be involved in the kidnapping, too. When they run into the sweet factory, there’s female officers there. But I had no time to track and ID them today. (It would be really easy to believe she was there helping pink shirt move the kids, though.)

Since Ludmila is a Scowrer and I missed her the first time, I thought I should check out the Waters Gang robbery as well. From a very quick check, my most likely suspect is a female police officer standing in the background. As Sally and Greg start to walk into the bank to kick off the raid, the background officer appears to pull up her collar and speak into it--maybe giving a signal to the Scowrers inside the bank that the cops are coming. (It was implied the robbers always know when the police are coming, and Ludmila could be the reason.)

Jumping back to the present, as I’ve been mentioning in my ‘E’ posts, Ludmila and the Scowrers captured the real Eurus, then Ludmila had plastic surgery to steal Eurus’ face and identity.

Mycroft and Lady Smallwood believed Eurus had died and her Ugly Duckling laptop had fallen into enemy hands. That’s what they were sending Sherlock to retrieve on his Eastern Europe mission.

Conveniently, Ludmila as fake!Eurus showed up miraculously alive right around the time the “miss me” messages appeared. And either the appearance of the messages suggested it was too late to retrieve the Ugly Duckling laptop, or fake!Eurus brought it home with her. And that’s why suddenly nobody cares about the Eastern Europe mission at all anymore.

Sir Edwin is working with the Scowrers, so if Ludmila needed help “proving” she was Eurus, he was there to provide it.

The biggest challenge would be fooling real!Eurus’ mother, Lady Smallwood. Which we may well get a taste of, since Lady Smallwood was taking a week off work...

Ludmila has been going around as fake!Eurus acting like she’s Mycroft’s regular agent and helping him with getting ready to fake Mary’s death. (Ludmila may be specifically after Mary--our equivalent of Ted Baldwin from The Valley of Fear. Meaning she’s why Mary had to fake her own death in the first place.)

If Ludmila is posing as Eurus and Eurus is not the secret Holmes sister, and there is in fact no secret Holmes sister at all... what??? Either 1) Ludmila is just saying it to screw with John for some reason, because it’s not like he’d know the truth, or 2) Ludmila is operating on bad intel. For example, if when Jim got Mycroft to tell him all about Sherlock’s past in TRF, Mycroft intentionally fed Jim some garbage about how there was a secret Holmes sibling thanks to their father having an affair. (I am somewhat leaning this way, since the writers seem determined to bring down all long-standing fandom theories in the next episode, and the “Mr. Holmes had an affair” one has been around for aaaaaages.)

Since the Scowrers are working with Lord Moran, it’s worth mentioning that Ludmila may have some kind of connection with Moran since she’s a sniper and was living in the house across from Baker Street in TRF, which ties back to Moran in canon. I still say that for all intents and purposes, Lord Moran is Moran, but if they’re okay with having two Morans she could turn out to be his daughter or something. Mostly I’d expect this if they wanted to tease an indefinite continuation.

But on the other hand if she’s Mary’s version of Ted Baldwin, she may be doomed to die instead.

[wtfalexx]

tagging → hayden kennedy & alexander james

location →  los angeles.

timeframe → sunday, july 16th

Alex: It was now around noon and the two were walking around the airport. He was carrying his tiny backpack and Hayden’s bag in his hand as he looked at his tickets and kept talking. Soon he had stopped in the middle of the walkway and looked at Hayden. L.A.X. was packed. It always was. If it wasn’t a singer getting off a plane, it was an actor. He looked around and huffed. “You hungry, love?” He said as he looked at her again, in his hoodie despite how hot it was in the airport.

Hayden: She was excited to be heading back to what she considered home but at the same time their trip had, even with a few snags, been perfect and part of her was nervous that it would all end once they landed on the east coast. The airport was practically full, Hayden’s shoulder accidentally knocking into people as she walked along in an attempt to keep up with Alex. Adjusting her small carry on on her shoulder, her dark eyes flicked to him. “Kinda starved?” Her lips curled into her mouth apologetically, not knowing if he actually wanted to stop for food or if he was just being polite. She had managed to wear the exact same thing she wore on the plane there, leggings and a sports bra but had the jean jacket thrown over her arm because of the heat. “Aren’t you melting in that?” She wondered, eyeing his hoodie.

Alex: His hand went to his snapback to fix it backwards on his head as he shrugged at her. “Let’s go get some food.” He said as he looked around. “You can pick the place.” He let out after as he just shook his head and stuck the tickets in his pocket of the pullover hoodie he was wearing. He was, but it was his favorite so he was dealing. “I am, but it’s the only shirt I have on right now.

Hayden: Without a word, Hayden was linking her arm through his to guide him through the crowd of people to the closest food place, which happened to be a Starbucks. And wasn’t a good place at all. “Maybe just a coffee.” She mumbled to herself as her arm slipped out of his to pat her own bare stomach for a moment before she was sliding her hand beneath the back of his hoodie to scratch his skin gently. “You’re gonna melt.” She quipped, eyes on the board hanging behind the baristas.

Alex: He let her guide him through and crowd as his hand squeezed gently on her. He didn’t want to leave LA just yet. Maybe one more week he could convince her. Spend it with him. He was going to miss it the second he stepped on the plane. He stood behind her as he wrapped his arms around her looking at the board. “I’ll be fine once we get one the plane, shush it.” He assured her as pressed a small kiss to her temple.

Hayden: For a moment she stood still, leaning back into his embrace before the barista was taking her order. “One venti iced coffee and one venti iced black tea.” She chirped out, reaching for the wallet tucked in her carry on and quickly paid. Then she was walking, sure to keep his arms around her as they moved to wait for their drinks. “Let’s not got home.” She mumbled after a moment of silence, strangers brushing passed them to pick up their own orders. She had a fear brewing in the back of her mind that everything would be different once the plane landed back home.

Alex: He let her pay this time and only because he was sure his wallet was now deep in his backpack where he was too lazy to find it now. He walked with her, his arm wrapped tight around her as he waited with her for his drink. “I’d love not to go home honestly. We can stay an extra week if you really want too.” He mused against her temple. He loved his home and he was sure something would change once they step foot off.

Hayden: “I wish.” She said more to herself than to him as her hands gently gripped his wrists around her. They could stay, technically they didn’t have anything to rush back to but that would be only prolonging the inevitable, plus she did have an internship deadline to meet. “We’ll just transfer schools to USC.” She teased as the barista set their drinks down and she was reaching for them before spinning in his arms to press a kiss to his cheek. “For you.” The ice in the drink rattled against the plastic cup as she shook it gently.

Alex: He looked down at his phone to scroll down and do something on it. There was a hotel about ten miles from LAX and he was booking it. Two more days in LA. He still had things to show her and he really didn’t want to leave home yet. He wanted to spend more time with her. His eyes looked up at her question, it takes him back a step because he hadn’t expected her to ask it. Of course, he was. He wasn’t going to ditch her the second the plane landed in NYC and they were going to their own beds. He didn’t say anything only stood up from his chair and lean over the table to press a soft kiss to her lips. After a minute he pulled away, his hand placed on her chin, holding it. “Of course I will still be. I will be that stupid boyfriend who will be there the second you call for. To do gross couple things with. If you can give me that same promise.”

Hayden: She idly wondered what he’d been doing on his phone, wondering if everything was okay with the new baby or with the band. But then he was leaning across the small table to press his lips to hers and she was melting, sighing through her nose as she readily returned the kiss. Her heart practically sang as he spoke, the words exactly what she needed to hear. “I promise to do gross couple things.” She chuckled softly before she was leaning forward to press her lips back to his.

Alex: “Good.” He mused back to her, a smile on his lips as he returned the kiss. He moved his head in a bit to deepen the kiss for a quick second before he was pulling away. “Come on.” He said as he grabbed his tea and nodded his head. “I booked a hotel. We’re going to stay at least a few more days.” He answered her as he pushed in his chair. “I still have more things to show you.”

Hayden: Her eyes visibly lit up, dark hue sparkling as her chair made an ugly scraping sound against the floor before she was up and picking up Her carry on and Jean jacket. “Are you serious?” She couldn’t believe her ears, a sense of relief immediately washing over as she rounded the table to kiss him again. “Baby.” She cooed softly, nudging her nose against his. “Thank you.” One more kiss to his lips and she was grabbing her coffee. “Lead the way”

Alex: A big smile formed on his face as he could see her brown eyes sparkle a bit wen he said his words. Maybe they would need two days all by themselves. “So, Disneyland or Universal first?” He mused as he took her hand and started to walk toward the exit of the airport and ordering an uber on his phone.

Hayden: “Don’t be so mean.” She faked a pout as she climbed into the backseat of the Uber, turning in the seat so her knees were touching his. “Maybe we can stop at the hotel? I should probably change…” Her eyes flicked down to the sports bra and leggings she was wearing, not sure if it was appropriate theme park attire or not. Truthfully, she didn’t really care what she was wearing but she also didn’t want to look out of place.

Alex: “Of course, I’d actually like to get out of this hoodie, so.” He chuckled as he changed the route and sat back, his hand resting on her knee. He didn’t want to die from overheating. “Also maybe we can have a quickie too when we get there.” He suggested as his hand slowly we up her leg and thigh on her leggings. “Only if you want of course.”

Hayden: “I bet you do.” She let out, her voice softer now as she reached out to tug on the collar of the sweatshirt. Her eyebrow lifted as his next suggestion, watching his hand move up her thigh, before she was slowly shifting across the seat to sit next to him as her head leaned to the side so she could press her lips beneath his ear before she was whispering. “I always want that, Alex.” Her teeth tugged on his earlobe before grazing down his neck for a moment and then she was shifting away to sit properly in her seat and look out the window.

Alex: Soon or later they arrived at the hotel and he was pulling on her hand to the front desk and checking in. Upon entering the elevator they were the only ones in there it seemed so he took a chance to pin her to the wall and instantly press his lips to her collarbone. “Hope Jen can manage me having you to myself for two more days.” He whispered against her skin, teeth grazing lightly.

time skip

Alex: It was like looking at a little child. The way Hayden was jumping up and down walking toward the Jurrasic Park section of the park. Dressed in his black jeans and tank top, he had gotten a few compliments about his tattoos from a few workers, girls, and even guys. Besides the kids running around he always enjoyed going to this park. He caught up to her as his hands gripped her waist. “Slow down, tiger, jesus.”

Hayden: She felt like a kid in a candy store as she practically skipped her way through the park, carefully not to but into too many children as she hurried towards the ride of her dreams. She could see the sign, Jurassic Park in the infamous coloured letters, and it was exactly like what she imagined heaven must be like. Clad in cutoff jean shorts with a black tank top tucked into them, she had opted to wear her white Keds for the sake of comfort. “Alex!” She almost squealed as he grabbed her by the waist and she bent forward slightly because of the fast pace she was moving in. “We have to get there.” Behind her gold-framed Ray Bans, she looked at him with clear excitement on her face. “Come on!” she began tugging on his arms for him to follow.

Alex: “Miss Kennedy, you shouldn’t bend over like that. There are children here.” He mused as he pushed her backside into him as they walked. He walked with her with a smile on his face watching her. This was a good idea to bring her and he knew it. He let her pull his arm to the waiting line as he stood next to her and leaned against the railing of the line. “You’re like five.” He teased.

Hayden: “You are the actual worst.” She chided though she did take a moment to purposefully grind back against him before she was returning to her hurried pace, continuing to grip his arm and drag him along. She had expected to be excited but now that she was actually there and queuing to get on the ride she had watched on Youtube one too many times, she could hardly stand it. “Don’t you tease me.” She stuck her tongue out as she adjusted the Yankees’ cap on her head and took a step closer to whisper in his ear. “This is almost better than sex.” The smile was clear in her voice even before she stepped back so he could see how wide it was. A group of teenage girls two spots in front of them in line had taken notice of Alex, and Hayden could hear the chattering from where she stood before she was throwing them a quick glance. All California blonde, of course.

Alex: He had been on this ride far too many times to count. His family would always come here but it had stopped when he went to school across the country. He let out a small chuckle as she whispered in his ear and he was making a face, shrugging. “You wanna bet on that? Come on, I’m the best.” He teased as he crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps clearly showing with the tank top he was wearing. He had taken notice of the teenage girls but didn’t think anything about it. Girls always stared and he was picking up as an artist. They were doing that thing where you secretly take a picture of someone, but it wasn’t so secret as the flash went off and he was glancing over with a smile on his face and raising his eyebrow.

Hayden: His arms folding over his chest had even her eyes dropping down from behind her sunglasses, his tattoos and the muscle definition making her swallow. To say he looked good in the California sun would have been an understatement. The girls’ eyes on them, or namely him, didn’t make her jealous of course considering they were practically ten (eighteen) but they did raise a sense of protectiveness that she didn’t even know she had. As the line moved forward, the flash from one of their iPhones caught Hayden’s attention and had her somewhat subtly stepping to stand in the way of their eyes and him. “Have you been on this ride before?” She tried to draw attention away from what she was doing.

Alex: He even think it was bad, he thought it was adorable how the girls were trying to get a picture of some attractive the guy. He was still looking at them when Hayden stepped in front of them and they rolled their eyes as she blocked their view. He chuckled a little and looked at his girlfriend. “I have. Quite a lot, honestly. It’s fun.” He answered her as the line moved again and he was putting his hands on her waist and pressed his lips to her head.

Hayden: “Fun? That’s it. I would imagine it to be the best thing ever, honestly.” She was ignoring the scoffs from behind her since she was blocking the girls’ from gawking at Alex. Although, she wasn’t sure if maybe she should have suggested that he go over and say hello. Was that a proper etiquette thing? Her hands wandered around his shoulders as they continued to move in line, her walking backwards as she kept her eyes on him. “What’s your favourite ride?”

Alex: “Well, you’re also a big fan of the movies. I’m not, love. I’m more to the mummy ride or Harry Potter stuff. That’s a section of the park I’m excited to get to.” He chuckled a little as he heard the scoffs and he was glancing back over at the teenage girls. He could just be a nice person and say hello. If were aware of him and didn’t just think he was attractive. “Mummy Ride. Or the Hogwarts ride.” He answered truthfully. “They are dope as fuck.”

Hayden: “Oh-” Her lips formed into a perfect O shape as she nodded once. “We’ll go there right after this, I promise.” She wanted him to have a good time, too. They had two full days of one on one time and it wasn’t going to be all about her. Hayden risked a glance over her shoulder at the group of girls before she was letting out a sigh. “You should say hello.”

Alex: “Baby, these next two days are about you, not me.Whatever you want. We will do.” He assured her as he lightly kissed her cheek and they seemed to be getting closer and closer to the ride. He lightly shrugged at her and shook his head. “It’s fine. After the ride maybe.” He told her, clicking his tongue between his teeth.

Hayden: “No. These days are about…us.” Her shoulders shrugged slightly, bottom lip pouting out in hopes that word wasn’t too much for him. She still wasn’t sure which boundaries remained, if any. With a quiet hum as he kissed her cheek, she dropped her hands down to take one of his as they stood next in line for the ride. The line had gone so much faster than she expected. “I bet they’ll be waiting.” She sing-songed, bumping her hip into his before she was pulling on his hand as she climbed into the narrow ride seats.

Alex: “Us? Hmm, if you say so.” He mused a little with a small smile on his lips. He didn’t mind it, though it did make him a bit uneasy. He was just worried about things he shouldn’t be and it came with the issues about himself. Not with her. Never with her. He let out a loud laugh as he bumped her back and walked into the ride seats as he sat down. They were lucky enough to get front row and he was sure she was going to love that. “Hope you’re ready to get wet.” He winked over at her.

Hayden: She kept her mouth shut though she wanted to know what was going on behind that slight smile of his. She felt like she knew so much about him but there was still so much to learn and she was hungry for it. She was hungry for him. Hayden tried to make herself comfortable in the seat but she was too excited, giggling like a school girl as she turned her baseball hat backwards and leaned over to peck his cheek. “Baby, I’ve been wet for a week.” She hummed as her attention turned to what was happening around them and the ride started moving. It was almost overwhelming.

Alex: His eyes didn’t even pay attention to the ride. He’s been on it many times so he knew how it went and knew what parts he liked and so he could semi stop himself from getting wet. She was just so pretty and she was adorable from the way she reacted to the ride. Upon almost getting to the end with the big trex his eyes went to the giant thing and laughed loud as the ride went down a drop and water splashed everyone.

Hayden: At some point during the first five seconds of the ride, Hayden had taken her sunglasses off to get a better view of what was happening around her. There were points where she was outright gasping with excitement as each new dinosaur came into view and her heart pounded in her throat. By the end of it, her shirt was half-wet and her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. She hadn’t even noticed the way one hand had been holding Alex’s forearm the whole time until they were getting off the ride. “That was everything.” She breathed, standing up straight and putting her sunglasses back on.

Alex: Half his shirt was wet and so were the top of his jeans, but the water felt nice against the hot air so he wasn’t too worried about all of it. He took the hand that was on his arm and lead her off the ride. "Wanna go on it again?” He teased a little as he kissed her temple. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, my love. You fuckin’ child.”

Hayden: Hayden reached out to playfully tug slightly on the wet fabric of his shirt before releasing it, her other hand firmly in his. “Let’s go on all the rides that make you look like this.” She countered with the widest grin she’d ever had, nose crinkling and eyes wrinkling in the corners behind her sunglasses. Her head tipped to quickly peck his lips as he kissed her temple, she was completely blissful at the moment. She had just started to pull on his hand, talking about the Harry Potter ride when a somewhat familiar pack of blondes cut them off. “Is your name Alex?” The one in front said.

Alex: He let out a playfully growl when she pulled on his shirt and winked at her. “Just spray me with some hose and you’ll get your wish.” He teased lightly, putting back on his own pair of sunglasses before he was bringing her lips back to his before she could walk off. Almost walking behind her he was stopped and saw the teenage blondes as he pulled up his sunglasses to get a good look at them. “I am. Alexander James. Noticed you staring at me earlier. That’s no way to get a man now.”

Hayden: She didn’t mind that they had been stopped by the girls, in fact she kind of suspected that Alex would be in his element with them knowing who he was but she was curious to see what would happen. Hayden stepped to the side slightly, hands tucking into the back pockets of her jean shorts as she looked around at the people passing and then back at the girls. “we went to your show the other night. We’re big fans.” Hayden swore she saw the blonde’s pretty blue eyes widen as she said the word big. I’m Aly.“ she didn’t even bother to introduce her friends, clearly the Regina George of the pack.

Alex: He crossed his arms across his chest as he raised both his eyebrows. She clearly was some valley blonde girl maybe. Most of the girls around LA were like that anyway. "Always nice to meet a fan. Would you like a picture?” He asked and all the blondes nodded in excitement. He took the pictures with all the girls, he was nice enough to do that and soon after he was looking at his girlfriend. “You girls have fun, I have someone to attend to.” He told them as he walked back over to Hayden.

Hayden: Patiently Hayden waited for him to do his thing, sure his ego was through the roof by now, but she couldn’t keep the smile from creeping on her face as he made his back over to her. Of course, she ignored the look on the blonde’s face that screamed both curiosity and disdain. “Well, well, well look who’s famous.” She teased as she reached out to take his hand again so they could continue on their way to the Harry Potter ride.

Alex: He let out a small laugh and shrugged at Hayden. He loved moments like that so he can brag about it when he got back to the boys or something. He wanted people to know who he was and for his music. Not because of his last name and who his stepfather was. He followed her across the park, the distance between that ride and the other was long, on another part of the park so they had time to talk. “Did you have fun this week?”

Hayden: With her hand firmly in his, she watched their feet as they made their way through the crowd people milling about the park. It seemed to be an endless sea of bodies. “I don’t think the word fun even covers it.” She let out, a soft smile on her lips as she kept her eyes downwards. “What about you? How was coming home?” She hoped that everything that had happened between them and with the new baby hadn’t overshadowed his time in his family’s home.

Alex: “Exciting? Adventurous? At least you got laid during it.” He mused as he caught up with her as his eyes stayed up with his sunglasses back over his brown eyes. He fixed his own LA snapback on his head backward as he walked. “It’s always the same, love. I love coming home. Even if the spawn was born at the end of it.” He shrugged a little as he pulled in front of her and pulled her hand to walk faster away from the sea of people.

Hayden: “Hey- we both got laid, thank you.” She reminded him with a pretend scoff. “Exciting, adventurous… unexpected? All of those apply.” She hummed thoughtfully for a moment as her eyes moved up to him. “Well, even with the spawn, I’m happy you enjoyed yourself.” As he started to tug on her hand, her pace picked up too to follow him out of the crowd, where they could both breathe. “Now who’s excited, hm,”

Alex: “Unexpected how?” He asked her as if he didn’t know how much it was unexpected. They were now a label and no one back home knew of it yet. He wouldn’t mind not telling anyone, but he knew Hayden and her trusty best friends so it would be out soon. He let out a small chuckle and shook his head. “Nah, I just couldn’t breathe around that many people, please.” He mused a little. Upon a few moments later they were getting the Hogwarts building when they entered the fake Dagon Alley area. Soon they were both in the long line up for the short ride. “You can’t back out. But you remember the second movie of Harry Potter? Spiders?”

Hayden: “I guess everything with you is unexpected.” Was all she said, her shoulders shrugging nonchalantly. There really was no part of her that saw him coming. And now that there was actually something to them, some sort of label, she was beginning to feel anxious about going back home and everyone finding out. But she wasn’t going to focus on that, not now. Hayden squeezed his hand lightly as the telltale signs of Hogwarts came into view. It was exactly like the movie and she could feel her heart quickening with excitement. With her sunglasses off again, her dark eyes narrowed at him as he told her she couldn’t back out before widening to twice their size at the mention of spiders. She hadn’t even thought of that. “Oh my god.” Her head started to shake back and forth but they were already being shuffled onto the ride. “This is how it ends. This how I die.” Her hand held his in a death grip as her shoulders curled forward, skin already crawling just at the thought.

Alex: “But you like it right?” He asked uneasily. He wanted her to be calm and collected in this. He didn’t want her to have the worries of what others might think once they get back to NYC. He let out a small laugh at her reaction and held her shoulder with the hand that wasn’t connected to hers. “You’ll be fine, come on.” He mused as he pulled up her hand to his lips, kissing it quickly.

Hayden: Turning towards him, her dark gaze watched his face for a moment. She could hear the uncertainty in his voice and that was the last thing she wanted. Leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek she nodded. “It’s my favourite thing.” She promised as she moved closer to him while they sat on the ride. With his arm around her shoulders, she was still petrified of all things spiders. She appreciates the gesture but that wasn’t going to stop her from dropping dead if something else touched her. Her fingers wiggled as he kissed her hand. “No, I will die. Fair warning.” The ride started moving and Hayden practically jumped into his lap from the sudden motion before she was letting out a loud cackle at her own expense.

Alex: Soon after the ride was going through he would let out loud laughs each time. He didn’t know why she didn’t like the creatures, but he learned that most girls did. The ride was over and he was helping her out her seat and pulling her out the ride and laughing still as he pulled on her hands and let go to take his hat off and shuffle his hair with his hand and put the hat back on. “That was hilarious. I hope you know that.”

Hayden: He was laughing at her every single she jumped, which was a lot, but she was laughing too because she knew just how ridiculous she was being. Once they had clambered off the rode and he was fussing with his hair, Hayden reached out to pinch him. “I hate you. I hope you know that.” She pretended to huff as she started walking towards the exit. “Where to next?”

Alex: He jumped a little when she pinched him and he laughed. “Nah.” He told her as he looked around and checked his phone and the time. “We can go find some place to eat here if you want.” He suggested as he put it back in his pocket, not really needed it around her.

Hayden: “Oh, yes! Food please.” She felt for her phone in her back pocket as she turned to him, just making sure it was still there but not needing to check it. Looking around for a moment she nodded her head for him to follow and started walking towards where the signs labeled “Food” were pointing. “I hope they have things in the shape of Mickey’s head.” She let out without much thought, pausing mid step to watch as someone dressed as a dinosaur pose with some kids for a photo. “Alex…” her index finger pointed towards the spectacle.

Alex: “Hmm, wrong park.” He let out softly before he was stopping and looking to where her eyes were. Raising his eyebrow at the creepy scene he thought it was before he was looking at her, making a small face. “No. Because you’re not five.” He let out as he tried to pull her away from the scene.

Hayden: For a moment she just stared at him, glancing between the dinosaur and Alex and back again. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it after a beat of silence. Then, without warning, she was tugging the phone free of her back pocket and thrusting it into his hand. “5-6-5-3.” She called the passcode over her shoulder because she was already halfway to the dinosaur. “Hi.” She chimed happily, a broad smile on her face without a care in the world that Alex would surely tease her until the end of time about it. The dinosaur was quick to wrap it’s fake claw around her as she tucked herself into its side and then waited for Alex to take the photo- hoping he would. “Baby, come on.” The hand that wasn’t around the mascot motioned at him to come closer.

Alex: She slipped out his hand and he was huffing loudly as her phone was in his hand now as he gripped onto it and watching her walk over to the dinosaur. “Five years old.” He called out as she walked over to it and was rolling his eyes not in a mean way. He didn’t go closer, he only walked a little bit of distance just enough to get the picture as he snapped it.

Hayden: She shot him a look, hearing the three words he let out and fought her own eye roll. He would just have to deal with her dinosaur obsession a little bit longer. It wasn’t as though people in dinosaur costumes around the city- well, sometimes they were in Times Square but Hayden didn’t have much of a habit of going there. “Thank you.” She said happily to the person in the suit and then she was prancing back over to Alex, taking her phone to look at the photos. “You could have gotten closer.” She mused, teasing of course, and tucked the phone away again. “Now where we, food?”

Alex: He stuck his hand in his pocket after she took her phone back and shook his head. “Not at that creepy thing.” He made a small face at her and looked around as he nodded his head to the nearest food place. “Come on.” He said as he walked and walked in with her. Standing in line he crossed his arms and looked at the bored. “Order what you want. My treat.”

Hayden: She kept her mouth shut, he knew how she felt about dinosaurs. Following him into the closest food line, she looked up at the board for a moment. All the options were fried, of course, and it only reminded Hayden that she hadn’t worked out for most of the week. She’d managed to squeeze two runs in but that was hardly worth it. “Why do you always get to treat?” She protested, fighting a smile. “Sometimes I want to treat you.”

Alex: He shrugged and wrapped his hands around her shoulders as he looked and chuckled. “Because I want to spoil you.” He let out softly as he looked. He wasn’t in the mood for fried food, but he could deal. He could burn it off later with other such activities. “You shouldn’t be spending a penny on me.”

Hayden: Tucking herself into his side, her eyes drifted away from the posted menu to look over at him as her arm wrapped around his waist to casually slip her hand into the back pocket of his jeans. “But you know I can treat you, right?” Her eyebrows creased together slightly, not sure if he was even aware of her financial situation. They stepped forward in line but she kept her gaze on him.

Alex: “I’m aware you can, but you bought me starbucks today. My turn.” He let out as he took a step with her, his hand moving down to her backside to grip it for a split-second when no one was paying mind to them and put his hands back to her back. They moved to be next in line and he waited for her to say what she wanted as he pulled out his wallet.

Hayden: She let out a quiet sigh of pseudo-defeat at the turn the conversation took. Of course, she appreciated that he always wanted to treat her but she didn’t want him to think that she needed him to or expected him to. His cheeky hand made her jump only slightly and a shy smile form on her lips as she glanced at him before giving her attention to the person waiting for her to order. “Just a slice of pepperoni pizza please and a bottle of water.”

Alex: A smug smile rested on his face as she jumped and he was now keeping his hands to himself. At least until they got to the hotel. After she did he ordered his food and paid for the two with the cash he had left in his wallet. He usually wasn’t one to like carrying bills around on the fact he might lose them. After they got their food he walked to the nearest table and sat down in front of her as he opened his bottle of water. He really didn’t order any food, he wasn’t hungry and he wasn’t trying to be more unhealthy than he had been on the trip.

Hayden: “You should eat something.” She said as she pulled the Yankees hat off her head and set it on the table next to her plate. Her left hand smoothed down her hair for a moment before she was mirroring him, opening her own water to take a sip. Setting the bottle down, she picked a piece of pepperoni off the oversized slice of pizza to eat it. “Have a bite?”

Alex: He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his water. He took off his hat and set it on her Yankees one as he shook his head at her and put his hand on his stomach. “I’m fine love, really. I’ll eat when we get back to the hotel maybe. I’ve already eaten so bad on the trip anyway.” He shrugged a little at her as he sipped more on his water and leaned up. “You eat it all.”

Hayden: With a groan, Hayden tipped her head back as her shoulder slumped forward. “Why did you have to say that?” Her bottom lip pouted out as her head dropped forward and she eyed the greasy slice of pizza. “Now I feel guilty.” She wrinkled her nose, eating another piece of pepperoni but not picking up the slice. Instead, she too took another sip of her water and sat back in her chair. Always one to eat clean as much as possible, the idea of how poorly they’d eaten was threatening to take away her appetite.

Alex: He let out a slight laugh as he looked at her and played with the label on the water as he smiled up at her. “I’m sorry, baby.” He chuckled a little and shrugged. “Don’t be love. We can work off the calories later with each other.” He winked up at her. He had a few things in mind for her knowing she would be up for it 100 percent. He took his hat and put it back upon his head.

Hayden: Pouting for a moment longer, her eyes on the slice, she finally lifted it to take a bite. As one would expect, it was absolutely delicious just like every other bad thing out there was. “We’re going to have to work it off a lot.” She quipped once she swallowed before taking another bite. She wasn’t sure if it was the right time to say it but, she was having the best time. Even just sitting and having pizza with him, or while he watched, was fun for her. Another reason she didn’t want to go back home. As he put his hat on she held up her own. “Wanna trade?” She smirked, her’s clearly a New York hat and his clearly from LA.

Alex: A small smile rested on his lips as he watched her take a bite from the big piece of pizza. He ripped off the label from the water bottle and started to roll paper in his hand as he shrugged. “You’re going to have a great time later.” He teased as he leaned his head back. He looked up and raised his eyebrow at her at her question. “You want me to wear a Yankees hat? What monster are you?” He mused as he took off his hat and handed it to her.

Hayden: Her eyes focused on him rolling the paper between his fingers before she was setting the pizza down and reaching out to take the paper from him. “You know they say people who rip labels off of things are sexually frustrated.” She informed him with a ticked up eyebrow while she sat back in the seat. “And am not a monster. I think you’d look good in a Yankees hat.” Her shoulders shrugged as she stifled a laugh, knowing the chances of him wearing it were slim to none.

Alex: “Hey-” He let out as she took the paper from him and he was trying to get it back. He was just doing it to pass the time. His eyebrow cocked up as she said her sentence and he was chuckling. “What can I say? You make sexually frustrated all the damn time, baby.” He winked up at her as his foot moved up her leg lightly before bringing it back to him. He took the hat and made a small face. “Not a big fan of baseball, my love.” He chuckled as he adjusted it and put it on his head.

Hayden: She handed it over as he reached for it, though it made her laugh quietly to herself about how bad he wanted the paper back. “Oh, do I?” She questioned as her leg moved out towards him while his foot briefly touched it. Always looking for more contact with him. “I’m taking you to a Yankees game when we get back to the east coast.” Was all she said as she placed her own hat back on her head and pulled at the brim while she winked at him. “What will we do next, hm? We still have… just over twenty-four hours?” She knew she couldn’t finish the pizza so she pushed the plate away from her slightly and sipped from her bottle of water.

Alex: When he got it back he was able to sit back again and play with it. “Highly.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her as thoughts passed through his head and he made another face. “I refuse to go to a Yankees game. I like concerts, not sports.” He lightly chuckled as he shrugged and finished off his water as he looked around. “We could go back to the hotel and just fuck for the next 24 hours if you want.”

Hayden: “Mm.” She put the cap back on her water bottle and placed her napkin over the leftover pizza. “I’ll make you like baseball. I promise.” Her eyebrows lifted on her forehead as she sat back in the chair and folded her arms over her chest. “You know that’s all I ever want to do.” Hayden’s tongue moved over her teeth behind her closed lips as she stared at him.

Alex: “Hmm.” He hummed as he shrugged a little at her. “Nah, music not basebal.” He countered as he stood up from his seat and raised his eyebrows at her. “How many times you wanna go tonight? Ten? Twenty? You name it, love.” He winked at her as he held his hand out for her to take and he can bring her back to the hotel for fun.

Hayden: Giving him a knowing look, she made a mental note to take him to a baseball game first chance she got when they were back in New York. The beer alone would be enough to make him happy, she was sure. Standing out of the chair, she slipped her hand into his as she fought back a laugh. “Lets just go until we pass out, hm?” Her tongue stuck between her teeth as she smiled and tugged on his hand for him to follow her out of the place.