#I was trying to remember exactly what I set the thermostat to when he called me an ‘ice princess’

[lairn]

I just went and read all the posts on my private blog recording my ex-boss’s horribleness and wow, he really sucked shit.

[verfound]

I might be late to the party but If you're still taking WIP game questions I'd like to know about a couple! Winters: -I want One -Keep Your Mate Warm -Scratchpad - The Stairs House Band: -Papa's Ink -Harold the Glitter Cow -Maman's First Maman's Day

I was gonna add a couple other from the dingo files and the main folder but I didn't wanna be too greedy 🤣.

Ha ha, definitely not too late! Let's see what I got here...

So I am gonna start by saying any file/folder labeled "Scratchpad" is exactly that: scratchpads. I don't like to completely delete stuff, because I might find whatever was happening doesn't work there but might work somewhere else? Or there's a line/idea I liked but wasn't working out right at the time. So I have little Scratchpads with old drafts/nixed ideas. I was struggling with Luka's reaction in Some Scars Run Deep, so that's the majority of that scratchpad - a few versions of the latter half of that fic where things weren't coming together right.

"I Want One" is set around that last chapter of Winter's Fury and focuses on Juleka and Rose. Specifically, Rose meeting Clara and immediately going home and telling Juleka "I want one. Now." After WF wrapped up I had like three or four fluffy ideas that all got jotted down as "Owed Fluff", but then Princess Heartmaker took over and nothing beyond notes has come of them yet. 😂

Same thing with "The Stairs". In the last scene of WF, remember how Tom mentions what Luka thought was a closet was stairs/a second floor? And Luka was asking Marinette about it, but she was like "later I'm sleepy"? I wanted to go into a bit about how that was Marinette's next project once he finally started sleeping again: she is trying to move forward and look ahead to their future, and they both have said they still wanted more snakelets (even with everything that happened with Clara/Lila), but her cottage was only ever meant for a single person. So she made a second floor so they'd have room for their family to grow. It was becoming too much to include in WF, though, so I had it set aside as something to play with later.

"Keep Your Mate Warm" is actually "Keep Your Mate Warm (and Your Friend's Mate Warmer)". Quick found this prompt:

“Because, your house is freezing. What’s with the weird possessive thing around the thermostat? Let her be warm, for fuck’s sake. And, before you get weird. Yes, we were naked in bed. No, we weren’t doing anything sexual. We were watching cat videos. She wouldn’t cheat on you. I offered, but she said no.”

“Leave - before I kick you out of my house.”

“Gladly, it’s warmer out there.”

And made the comment how it would be a great Dingo prompt - specifically Winters Dingo, if I hadn't...y'know. So it starts with Marinette out by the river around the turn of season, when it's still cold enough to be an issue, and Perry runs into her, startles her, and she falls into the water. Hits her head or something so doesn't immediately come out, and she's freezing when he fishes her out - so he takes her back to his home, because it's closer, and sets about warming her up (getting her wet clothes off, shoving her under a million blankets, cuddling up in wolf form bc body heat). When she wakes up it's awkward but she gets it, only when they get her home and tell a half-awake Luka what happened he starts to overreact - until Perry gives him shit for that time Brielle went to check on him in the winter and found him asleep and half-dead outside his cave and did the same thing. Which was all done to get us some Winters Bri, really. 😂

Aaand for the HB fics...

...a common theme you will notice with a lot of HB prompts is "Quick sent me X and..." 😂 There's a reason we call them Dammit Quicks. 😂

"Harold the Glitter Cow" is from a video she found where this girl is grooming a cow, and the final step is adding a coat of glitter? Which got this idea in my head of this one older cow named Harold (it's not even a bull - it's a cow, and for some reason the kids named her Harold) that Mellie wants to make pretty, so she gets her with a glitter bomb. Which makes Luka go, "Ok, Mel, we're teaching you how to do this right." So it's all about Mellie learning how to properly groom a cow, and yes, there are ways to coat them in glitter, but don't use your maman's stash what were you thinking.

"Papa's Ink" is Bloody's fault. 😂 She found this BNHA picture of Aizawa grading papers while Eiri colored in tattoos on his arm, and it Sparked Things. Luka, before his sleeve was complete, working on something when he feels something tickling his arm. Looks down and Mellie's there, coloring in his sleeve with her markers. It's keeping her calm/occupied and is cute as hell, so he doesn't say anything. And it keeps working, so maybe he gets a few outline tattoos specifically for that purpose? He takes pictures of the colored ones before he washes them off to save (maybe hangs 'em on the fridge like a Dad or saves 'em to use as Embarrassing Baby Photos when the kids start dating).

"Maman's First Maman's Day" is another DQ. She found this vid of a daddy taking his toddler to Target to pick out Mother's Day gifts, and one of the things the girl grabbed was a sexy nighty bc "it was pretty". So it's set when Harm's still little, like the Mother's Day before Mellie comes along, and Luka takes her out to get Marinette something for Mother's Day. And it's mostly safe, until Harm finds a black underwear set or something that she thinks is pretty/likes the feel of, and Luka's like "No no no Maman won't like that" - so Harm grabs for a pink one, because of course Maman will love that one. 😂 It's mostly just daddy/daughter fluff, but Luka totally sneaks the underwear in as his gift.

(If you want more feel free - going through these helps me remember which ones I need to get cleared out. 😂 Some of them can be short/quick and just get buried under Other Projects, so yeah totally help me get a checklist going! 😂)

[keanureevesisbae]

Protection Chapter 4

Summary: Mia is deeply hurt by August, only she is the one with a slight problem now: her heater is broken.

August Walker x Mia Makaruku (ofc)

Wordcount: 3.7k

Warnings: None

A/N: I hope everyone had a lovely few days! please let me know what you think about this chapter. I love to read about it 🤗

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter 

That Saturday I had my second to last game and I scored not one, not two, but three goals. Some even said I might’ve set a record for the fastest going goals in the history of female soccer. That might have something to do with me being still so damn mad at August.

I mean, I know I said I was going to accept his hot and cold attitude, since there would be a kind man underneath that harsh exterior, but after being hurt like that, I just figured that I couldn’t accept it anymore. He was harsh and borderline mean to me.

I don’t understand him anymore, but what I do know is that him being like that to me, is probably not going to change. Maybe I’m being a baby and totally overreacting, but I decided that it is best for my own wellbeing if I not talk to him anymore and so far, it’s working. Despite August always being home, I only bumped into him once and that for being next door neighbors.

Yesterday we both stepped into the elevator, but since I know him a bit, I was just sure he wouldn’t start a conversation with me.

I was right. However, I had to go against all my own impulses and you can almost say reflexes to not start a conversation with him.

August told me he doesn’t do apologies, so I shouldn’t be expecting one from him.

When I wake up that Sunday, a day after my game, I’m hit with a painful cold. Normally, Bobo sleeps on top of my blankets, but now he is securely curled up underneath them. Why is it this cold in here? I slip on some thick socks (that feels like two large ice cubs) and rush to my thermostat.

Only to discover it’s not working?!

‘Shit, shit, no,’ I whine. I really can’t use that right now. I mean, I can’t ever use it, but right now I really don’t want it. I check the card that hangs next to the thermostat and it informs me I can call the mechanic at nine on a Sunday.

It’s seven now, which is absolutely fantastic.

While my body is slowly freezing up and my nipples are the evidence of the cold temperatures (I’m really happy I’m all by myself now), I go to the bathroom to check if my shower can provide me with some warmish water. I grab the shower head and I wait until the water turns even slightly warm.

It doesn’t.

Great, so even a shower can’t keep me warm. I desperately need a shower, my sore muscles need some relaxation. I turn off the water and I walk to my bedroom. After I put on a bra and some more layers, I jump around, desperately trying to keep myself warm, but it’s useless. It’s what? Minus a billion degrees in here? I’m never gonna warm up, even if I wanted to.

I look over at the wall, the one that separates my apartment from August’s. I could do it, you know. I could just go over there and demand I can stay over at his place. I mean, that’s what he does and considers normal.

I can do that too. I can demand some shelter for a few moments. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Right?

Nah, it’s not. I’m too damn proud to do such thing.

The two hours go by really slow, but at least I got myself a good work out in, because I was desperately trying to keep warm. and I curled up underneath my blankets, but it was of no use. When I finally can call the mechanic, the shithead on the other line told me he couldn’t come in until three in the afternoon. Six whole hours in this freezing cold? That is something I simply cannot do. I want a hot shower and just chill in my sweats all day. I deserve that after last night’s game.

I grab some clothes, my shampoo and skincare products and pick up Bobo, who feels like a hot water bottle, but is not enough to keep me warm. I close the door of my apartment and with my elbow I knock on August’s door. It takes awhile before he opens the door, but when he does so, he frowns and looks visibly confused.

Probably because I’m holding Bobo and have a big bag with me.

‘What do you want?’

Always the gentleman. I should’ve thought this through, but I think the frostbite has reached my brain before I could do so. ‘I have a problem,’ I say. ‘My heater is broken and the mechanic comes at three.’

He leans against the doorframe. August looks different and I think it’s because of the grey sweatpants. I never really pecked him for a guy who wore something like that, matched with a thick hoodie. ‘Okay?’

Demand shelter, Mia, you can do it. ‘You should give me shelter,’ I say. Okay, that was’t exactly what I was aiming for, but it’s a start. ‘I cannot handle six hours in the freezing cold and I also don’t have hot water, so I can’t shower. Before you ask: ‘Why would I do this?’, remember, I did the same for you and I paid for the court side tickets.’

‘Tickets you bought before you even knew you were going to take me with you,’ he retorts. He sighs deeply. ‘Does the animal has to come as well?’

‘The animal is very sweet,’ I tell him and almost on cue Bobo starts to hiss. ‘Okay, maybe not to you, but please… Just let me stay here for six hours. If you do so, I might forgive you for being a total ass to me last Wednesday.’

‘I wasn’t an ass to you,’ he says, but when I cock my eyebrow, he looks kinda caught. ‘Okay, I maybe was an ass to you sometimes.’

‘All the time,’ I interrupt in.

‘Not the entire time. Just the ending,’ he tells me. ‘Okay, okay, please, come in, Mia and the creepy cat. Make yourself at home.’

At first I’m afraid he is being sarcastic (I mean, we’re talking about August Walker and it didn’t sound like it came from the heart), but when he actually steps aside, I realize he is serious. ‘Thank you,’ I say with a smile and I walk into his pretty boring apartment. I’ll let it slide for now, because he just moved in. I place Bobo on the ground and he struts through the apartment, avoiding August. Being here feels like I’m being wrapped up in a warm blanket.

August walks passed me to the kitchen and I decide to walk after him. ‘Are we going to talk about Wednesday?’ I ask him.

‘No.’

Figured. ‘Come on, August. Just… We should talk about this, to clear the air.’

‘I don’t want to talk.’ He places his hands on the counter and I don’t know where I’ve got the guts from, but I dare to step closer to him.

‘I bet there was a reason why you were like that this Wednesday,’ I continue. ‘You can talk to me, you know?’

‘I don’t want to talk about my feelings, especially not with you,’ he barks out.

Weirdly enough, this doesn’t hurt me, because I think he doesn’t mean it. ‘August,’ I whisper, ‘please. I just want to know why you continue to hurt me, when I’m nothing but nice to you, minus maybe the pedophile comment.

He clenches his jaw. ‘You want coffee?’

Why is he ignoring me? ‘Sure,’ I say, because I can actually use a cup. ‘Can’t you just try to be nice to me, without it being sandwiched in between insults? I’m not forcing you to go skipping with me in a park and make flower crowns with me, while feeding the ducks. I’m just asking you to cut the insulting crap and be nice to me.’

August actually turns his back to me and I let out a sigh. What was I even thinking?

‘I can try.’

Did I just hear that correctly? ‘What?’ I ask. ‘You can try?’

‘I can.’ He pours in some coffee for me and hands me a mug.

‘Thank you,’ I say with a gentle smile. I carefully place my hand on his underarm and he looks up, nearly snapping his neck in the process. ‘I really want to get to know you,’ I say to him in a soft tone. ‘But only if you allow it, okay?’

He nods. ‘Yes, okay,’ he says.

‘You want to get to know me?’ I ask with a chuckle.

‘Weirdly enough: yes.’

I roll my eyes. ‘August.’

‘Wait, wait, wait, I can do better,’ he says. ‘Yes, I want to get to know you too.’ He cocks an eyebrow. ‘Better?’

I laugh. ‘Yes, much better.’

◎ ◎ ◎

Since August’s shower provides me with hot water, I might overdo it by standing underneath the warm water for at least half an hour. Yes, I’m that type of guest. I quickly dry my hair, put on some moisturizer and get dressed, before I walk to the living room.

‘Did you clean up in here?’ I ask August, noticing the place is a whole lot cleaner than it was before I took my shower. ‘Are you trying to impress me, August?’

He scoffs, placing his feet on the coffee table. He looks like a mocking kindergartner, it’s  almost endearing.

‘Where is Bobo?’ I ask him, when I sat down next to him and look around.

‘In my bed,’ August answers with a shrug.

That caught me a bit off guard. My cat is in his bed? ‘And you don’t mind?’ I ask. ‘Or are you too afraid to shoo him away?’

He doesn’t want to—I can see it in his eyes—but he smiles. ‘Maybe a bit of both. Besides, he was hissing at me, so I was too afraid to get him off the bed.’

I chuckle. I shiver a bit, as I’m slowly losing the warmth from the shower. August stands up from the couch and wanders through the place. Only to come back with a blanket. He drapes it over me and I’m genuinely surprised. ‘What is this?’ I ask him, though I know exactly what this is.

‘You were cold,’ he says, ‘so I got you a blanket.’

I feel my cheeks heating up. ‘You can be very nice, did you know that?’

August looks at me for a few milliseconds, before he averts his gaze. I realize this may have been too much of a compliment. ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘You want to watch some tv?’

‘Sure.’ He grabs the remote and turns on his television.

Was August watching the sports channel?

The only channel that broadcasts the women’s national football league?

‘Did you watch the game last night?’ I ask him.

‘I might’ve,’ he admits, his cheeks a little red. Oh my, my brooding neighbor August Walker is blushing!

‘Next week I have my last game, before the winter break. You want to watch? It’s free and I can arrange a nice spot for you. Special VIP treatment.’

‘Really?’ he asks. ‘Even after I was an absolute asshole to you?’

It’s nice of him to acknowledge that. ‘Even after that.’

‘I would like that.’

Are we having a moment now or is this me hallucinating? August looks into my eyes and doesn’t turn away. His light orbs are obviously hiding so much and it breaks my heart to think he has been through so much. ‘What are you thinking about?’

August shakes his head. ‘Nothing.’

‘Liar.’

He smiles. It makes him look beautiful, approachable and absolutely breathtaking. ‘I was thinking about giving you a compliment about the game last night and whether or not I should add an insult to it.’

I laugh. ‘Well, you can ditch the insult. I’m not sure if I can take it right now.’

‘You are by far the best player on your team,’ he says. ‘Maybe this is an insult to your teammates, but I think you would be the only female player that could actually beat the best male players.’

I bite my bottom lip, as I feel my stomach twists and turns. ‘That’s really sweet,’ I admit. ‘I bet you don’t want me to give you a hug as a thank you, right?’

August leans back in the couch. ‘Why would you want to hug me?’

That’s not a no, which is an improvement. ‘I barely got hugs when I grew up,’ I say. ‘I don’t know if you are aware of my sob worthy backstory. It’s pretty much all over the internet.’

‘I might’ve looked up some bits, he admits in all honesty, which I appreciate. ‘Lots of foster families.’

I nod. ‘I mean, it was mostly me. The families were nice enough, but I was simply afraid, because I knew that there was a chance I would leave again. What if I attached, you know? Saying goodbye would be harder.’

He nods, almost as if he understands.

‘However, my soccer team was pretty much the same team for years. I grew attached to them and hugs were totally normal. It was a way of communicating, really. Since that moment, I appreciate them. It’s a way to let someone know I appreciate them. If that makes sense.’

August nods again. ‘Back when I grew up, I never got hugs.’

For some reason, I see a young and pouty August in front of my eyes. Desperate for some human contact, only to be deprived by it.

‘I just never was in a setting where hugs were acceptable. Not when I was younger, not now.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t apologize for stuff you had nothing to do with,’ he says and he sounds like the same old August I have come to know. He lets out a deep sigh, one that nearly sounds like a growl. ‘You can give me a hug.’

‘That doesn’t sound very sincere.’

‘I am very sincere,’ he says. ‘I mean it.’

This is adorable, I think to myself. ‘Well, you have to know that once I hug you, you are in it for the real deal. I may or may not hug you every chance I see you.’

August laughs. ‘Then I just have to live with that.’

I push the blankets off of me, before I nearly jump him. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and while he is slightly awkward, he places his hands on my back and actually engages in the hug. ‘You are very huggable,’ I say.

‘You too.’

I pull my face back, so I can look at him. ‘Remember,’ I say, ‘you can put your walls down around me. I would even really like that, to get to know you.’

August moistens his lips, before he whispers: ‘I would like that as well.’

◎ ◎ ◎

After the mechanic fixed my heater and left, August and I ordered pizza. Now, we sit on my couch and watch some YouTube compilation of me playing soccer. That wasn’t even my idea.

It was August’s idea.

Ever since our hug, I notice he is trying his best to be nice and to me, that’s what matters the most. While I don’t understand his struggle, I do appreciate the effort.

I just shouldn’t be attracted to someone who hurt me twice within a week of knowing me, but I can’t help but feel a little something deep inside of me, when I look at August sitting this relaxed on my couch.

‘You want my crusts?’ I ask him, holding out my plate to him.

‘Of course.’

I can’t help but scoot a little closer to him, so I can hand him the plate a bit better. Maybe it’s because I’m touch starved, maybe it’s because I never had this much male attention (insults or not) before. It’s just really nice being around a man, especially August. I didn’t want to admit it, but I enjoyed every moment of him being overprotective of me in the stadium and how he wiped my hands clean in the restaurant.

That never happened to me before.

‘You want my last piece?’ August asks me, holding up his slice.

‘Are you sure?’ I ask, already taking it out of his hands.

‘Postive.’

Before I take a bite, I say: ‘You can have this crust again, though.’

He smiles. ‘I was hoping for it.’

We eat in silence, staring at the television, but I’m not even paying attention. My mind is full of thoughts about August and the questions I want to ask later on when we get to know one another better. ‘Here is my crust,’ I say.

‘You know, Mia, you eat shockingly fast.’

I scoff. ‘I do not.’

‘You totally do,’ he argues. ‘And you are also the world’s messiest eater. I don’t know how you do it, but you got sauce on your forehead.’ He leans over to my coffee table and grabs some napkins. ‘Sit still, will you.’

‘I am sitting still!’

‘You’re not. You are fidgety.’

I roll my eyes. ‘First I’m a fast eater, then a messy one and I don’t sit still. I was about to offer you some dessert, but now I’m not so sure, since you are being so damn mean to me right now.’

‘I’m not mean to you,’ he says, his voice all of the sudden a lot lower. He places his hand in the back of my neck, before gently cleaning the corners of my mouth and my forehead, letting out a tsk in a process. August is so close right now, I’m nearly going cross eyed. His rough thumb slowly caresses the delicate skin in my neck. I can feel his warm breath against my lips.

‘You want dessert?’ I ask him after I cleared my throat. ‘I have some chocolate pudding. We could eat that.’

August nods. ‘Yeah, I would like that,’ he says, letting me go. ‘Let me help you.’ He stands up as well, holding the plates in his hands. Together we walk to my kitchen and I start preparing the pudding for the both of us.

However, I still feel his hand in my neck. Back when I was in high school in the Netherlands, I was never really in favor of the boys. Besides, I moved a lot and I was pretty  much invisible. There was this one time, where it took the teacher almost three weeks to notice me.

Being touched like that, it is a rarity in my dating history. Sure, I’ve had a few kisses, but other than that, I never engaged in anything. Now I’m twenty five and I want it.

So badly.

I look up, only to discover August was already looking at me. ‘What?’ I ask him.

He shakes his head. ‘Nothing.’

We eat the pudding in silence and when it is eight ‘o clock, he decides to leave. We may barely spoken to one another and when we did, it was pretty shallow, really. But I do feel like I got to know August better and he is willing to open himself up to me.

I walk him to the door and I say: ‘Are you willing to hug me goodbye?’

‘I’ll probably see you tomorrow, Mia,’ he says. ‘It’s not like I’m leaving anytime soon.’ Then he seems to realize what he is missing out on. While he rolls his eyes, I spot a grin on his face and he spreads his arms. ‘Come here.’

I let out an excited squeal and I jump up, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He laughs and wraps one arm around my waist, holding me against him.

‘You happy now?’ he asks.

I pull back my face. ‘Delighted, August Walker.’

He places me back on the ground. ‘See you tomorrow?’

‘You bet. Now you’ve hugged me. let me in your place and allowed Bobo in your bed, I think I’m gonna be over all the time.’

◎ ◎ ◎

The entire Monday morning I spend baking. I want to thank August for yesterday and I figured to see if the saying “nothing says loving like something from the oven” is true. I think it might be. I know I always appreciated when mister Toriello made me a pie.

I walk out of my apartment to knock on his door, only to discover his door is slightly ajar. I push it open and peek inside. ‘August?’ I ask with the steaming pie still in my hands. I walk inside, but he isn’t here. Maybe he is out and didn’t close the door right, however that seems so out of character. Leaving his door open like that… That’s weird.

I place the pie on his kitchen island and find a piece of paper to write something on it.

I place the note next to plate and I want to leave the apartment, but my eyes fall on something. It’s one of those yellowish files, you see in programs like NCIS. I know you shouldn’t peek in other peoples stuff and usually I don’t do such thing.

However I can’t help it right now, as the file is like a magnet that pulls me in.

I pull out the file and it confirms my suspicions. That was my name indeed I saw from afar  and this file has my DMV photo attached to it with a paperclip.

Why does August have this? I mean, I don’t even know what he does for a living, but why would he have this? What kind of job would require all this information about me?

Oh my, is he a stalker? I know that’s not a profession, but still…

I open the file and see an entire timeline of my life. The car accident, transcripts of my interviews with specialists, my football career. He is even up to date on my Instagram account… I even see he figured out the name of the man who was gawking at me during the game.

What is this?

‘What are you doing here?’ I hear August’s voice behind me. I look over my shoulder and see him standing in the doorway. He looks tired and a bit sweaty. What has he been doing? ‘What do you have there?’

I turn around, as I hold up the yellow folder. ‘Is there a specific reason you have my entire life compiled in one file?’

[twomanyideas]

Through the Spyglass - Chapter 2 (Final)

A collaboration by @mdelpin​ and @oryu404​

Gratsu Weekend 2021 Prompt: Disaster Pairing(s): Gray x Natsu, Sting x Rogue

For @walkinginfiction​

AO3 | Prev: Ch 1

Chapter 2

Passing the mirror in their small entrance, Natsu checked himself out just to make sure he looked somewhat presentable. His hair looked good. His shirt wasn’t bad either, save the glitter, but his skin looked like he’d been eating bacon everywhere Sting had applied the lip balm. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to get rid of the greasiness. It kind of worked, but some of that glitter must've been on his hand, and he’d now smeared it over his face, which still smelled like breakfast. As did his hand, and he couldn't even go back upstairs to wash it off because the muffled sounds told him he absolutely did not want to be there right now. So with no other choice, he opened the front door and stepped outside. Fuck my life.

That should have been a choice on those damn dice.

Natsu took a moment to examine the three pieces of mail in his hand. His eyes narrowed as he read: Or Current Resident typed beneath Gray’s name. He wanted to strangle Rogue. Junk mail? Really? What kind of idiot went out of his way to return junk mail?

Great.

He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw that at least the last letter seemed important. Placing it on top, he figured he might as well get this over with. Gray could see what a fucking disaster he was, and he could get back to his famine.

Still, Natsu’s natural optimism refused to let him give up completely, not to mention his curiosity. After days of watching Gray through binoculars, he couldn’t help but be a little excited at meeting him in person.

He crossed the street, keeping his eyes fixed on Gray’s front door until he stood outside of it.

Alright Dragneel, you can do this. You have a valid reason to be here, and you’re looking very fine.

He was about to ring the doorbell when the door opened unexpectedly, putting him face to face with Gray.

The first thing Natsu noticed now that he could see him up close, was that his eyes were indeed blue, and as he stared into them, he couldn’t help but smile at being right.

“Hi?” Gray frowned, giving Natsu an inquisitive once over, gaze lingering on the glitter sticking to his shirt.

Natsu listened with fascination as Gray somehow made that one word sound like the sexiest thing he’d ever heard.

“Are you alright?”

Natsu blinked, confused by the question until he realized he still hadn’t said a word, just stood there gaping like an idiot.

“Mail,” he blurted out, holding out the letters. “I mean, I have your mail.”

“Oh, thanks for bringing it over,” Gray said as he grabbed the letters from Natsu. He looked down at the envelopes, his mouth twitching as he examined them.

“You, uh, really like glitter, huh?”

“Would you believe I was assaulted?”

“By who, the glitter fairy?”

Natsu roared heartily at that, earning himself a smile from Gray. “Close. I'm so calling him that from now on.”

“Well, it certainly looks good on you.”

Was Gray flirting with him? Yes!

“I’m Natsu, I live across the street.” he extended his hand for a handshake, completely forgetting about the lip balm.

“Gray, but you already know that,” Gray shook his hand, and it was only when he let go quickly, his expression changing from friendliness to disgust that Natsu remembered.

Noooooo! Things had been going so well!

Gray sniffed at the air, “Do I smell bacon?”

“Bacon?” Natsu chuckled nervously, wiping his hand on his pants leg, “That’s kind of random.”

“Right.” A beeping noise had Gray pulling out his phone, “Well, it was nice to meet you. I guess I’ll see you around,” he muttered, peering down at his phone’s screen.

“Yeah, bye.”

Natsu couldn’t believe he’d crashed and burned so hard, so fast. Fucking bacon balm. And now he’d have to go back home and listen to the two rabbits. He turned around, but Gray had grabbed him by the arm before he could get moving.

“Change of plans. I need a favor,” he said, dragging him inside the house and up the stairs.

“Hey, let go of me. What the hell?!” Natsu dragged his heels and tried to loosen Gray’s grasp on his arm. He was no slouch, but this guy was just as strong.

“Take off your shirt,” Gray said calmly, once they’d reached his studio. Damn that accent!

“Excuse me? Are you mental?” Natsu might have been protesting, but his fingers were moving, deftly undoing buttons until he stood with his shirt open, debating what to do next.

“Perfect, let me go get some things,” he left the room, and Natsu could hear the tap running, followed by the sound of him rummaging through drawers not too long after.

This wasn’t at all how he’d expected their meeting to go, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining. He’d already unbuttoned his pants and was working them down his legs when Gray returned holding art supplies, which he immediately dropped.

Oh.

Natsu could literally feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, which was perhaps the best place for it to be right then.

“Whoa! What are you doing?” Gray yelped and looked away, similarly flushed.

“Yeah, I’d like to know as well,” Natsu griped, pulling his pants back up. “First you blow me off, then you drag me in here and ask me to take off clothes.”

“So you figured I’d gone from blowing you off to wanting to blow you instead?”

Gray looked away from Natsu, his hand moving to cover his mouth, but he soon broke into loud belly laughs. “Oh my God, you are so cute. But you’re right, I didn't explain.”

Natsu stood waiting, as patiently as he was able, while Gray picked up his supplies and set them on the desk. “Well?”

“Oh, right. I have a live model project due tomorrow and my mate cancelled on me at the last minute.”

“Mate?”

Of course Gray was already taken. The guy was gorgeous. It had been stupid of him to think otherwise.

“Uhm, what do you call it here?” Gray’s forehead creased in thought, “Buddy?”

Natsu desperately wanted to ask if he was taken, but he’d already humiliated himself plenty. “So what do you need me to do exactly?”

“Not sure yet.” Gray studied him, lifting Natsu’s chin and easing his face from left to right before removing his shirt and tossing it on the desk. He asked Natsu to turn around and observed him some more until finally seeming satisfied.

“Just stand over here,” he ushered him to a spot near the window where the lighting was better, and then posed him like a figurine. Gray fixed his posture, put his hands inside his pockets, and tilted his face at a slight angle. “I guess that’ll do,” he shrugged, taking a few steps back to assess the result. “Now all you need to do is hold that pose so I can draw you for my project. Think you can do that for me?”

Natsu massaged the back of his neck, unsure of what to do. While he’d like to stay and help Gray out, everything he’d said or done since he’d arrived had only made him seem like a complete idiot. Plus, he was notoriously bad at keeping still.

“I’d tell you I’d make it worth your while but, given the pants incident, I’m a little apprehensive about what you might ask for in return.” Gray prodded with a teasing smile.

Damn that accent, and his good looks. He didn’t want to give up and go home yet. Fuck it. How much worse could he possibly make it?

“How about you never bring that up again, and we’ll call it even.”

Gray laughed, “Deal, I’ll even throw in some pizza.”

Natsu tried not to focus on Gray's closeness, or the way his skin sizzled at the subtle touches as Gray moved him back into the pose he’d wanted to draw.

“Now, don’t move,” Gray warned, settling behind his desk. He grabbed a pencil and his sketchpad and got to work.

With not much else to do, Natsu watched Gray work, noticing little patterns here and there. Things he hadn’t been able to see from his window. Like the way Gray would draw his lower lip between his teeth right before doing a bunch of erasing, or the little half-smile he’d get when he was pleased with his progress. But Natsu’s favorite by far was the way his tongue peeked out the corner of his mouth when he seemed to be in deep focus.

Soon, even that wasn’t enough to hold his interest but anytime he tried to strike up a conversation, Gray ignored him. It didn’t help that he was fucking freezing, standing there half naked, or that his phone kept vibrating in his pocket. He began to fidget.

“You’re moving again,” Gray scolded.

“How can you expect me to stay still when it’s freezing in here? What are you, some kind of ice princess?”

“Funny.” he said, giving Natsu a dirty look. “I suppose I could turn the heat up a little. I wouldn’t want your nipples to freeze off before I could draw them.”

Gray got up and stretched, leaving Natsu alone in the room while he went to adjust the thermostat. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, eager to see what all the notifications were about.

There were dozens of them.

How’s it going? 👀

Did he invite you in?

Way to go! 👍😎

You should have taken the condom I offered, 🍆💦🍑 ​🔥​😏​

Hey, you’re not answering, does that mean you’re busy?! 👀👀👀👀👀

What’s happening!!!!!

It went on and on… until he finally caught up.

Going to look for your binoculars….

Why are you standing there half naked? I see you reading…. Why aren’t you answering me?

He turned to look out the room’s window, mortified to see exactly what he’d been afraid to see: two shadows standing inside his bedroom. He had to close the blinds, but the sound of Gray’s footsteps echoed loudly in the mostly empty apartment, approaching too fast for him to make a move.

“You moved again, is there something outside?” Gray peered out the window.

“I thought I saw a light on in my room,” Natsu explained, pretending to give the matter little importance.

“Here, I made some cocoa to help warm you up. You might as well take a break.”

“Thanks,” Natsu accepted the mug gratefully, even as his phone continued to vibrate in his other hand.

“Shouldn’t you answer that?”

Natsu shook his head, “He’ll stop eventually,” he said, praying it was true. He wouldn’t put it past Sting to show up if he thought something was wrong.

“Needy ex?” Gray sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair with his own mug and studying his drawing. “Those are the worst.”

“Oh no, that’s not it,” He quickly changed the subject, realizing how embarrassing it would be to explain what was actually happening. “Can I see what you’ve done so far?”

“Sure, knock yourself out,” Gray had been about to pass him the sketchbook, when he seemed to reconsider. “On second thought, go wash the bacon grease off your hands first.”

“That’s not what it is! Do you really think I walk around with bacon grease on my hands?” Natsu protested.

“How would I know? I just met you. Anyhow, bathroom’s that way.”

Natsu put his mug down and looked at where Gray was pointing, noticing that the house had a very similar layout to his. His phone continued to vibrate, this time with an incoming call, but he waited until he’d reached the bathroom to answer.

“What?!” Natsu yelled as loudly as he dared.

“Don’t you what me, Dragneel! I was worried. You disappeared and then you weren’t answering,” Sting snapped, “We know nothing about this guy. He could be a serial killer.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yes, I know that now. Where’s your shirt?”

“I’m just posing for him for an assignment!” Natsu hissed, “His model bailed at the last minute.”

“Okay, I guess that sounds legit.”

“Thanks, Mom. Now can you please get out of my room before he sees you?” “He’s taking his shirt off!” Rogue’s voice rang through the phone. “Is that part of the assignment too?” “He’s primping in the mirror now!” Sting added excitedly, “Fixing his hair and… Oh shit.” “What?” “He, uhm... he just waved at us…”

“He what?! Gotta go, bye!” Natsu hung up, powering off the phone before they had a chance to call back.

Natsu turned on the faucet, letting the water warm up while he scrubbed his hands with hand soap. Examining his face in the mirror with a frown, he decided to go ahead and wash it before nervously returning to the studio.

Gray looked up at his approach, handing him the sketchbook without saying a word. Natsu saw that he had indeed taken his shirt off, but decided it best not to bring attention to it. He could feel him watching for his reaction to the drawing, which was much further along than he’d thought.

It was strange to see himself on paper, especially when the drawing made him look much better than he thought he did.

“Do you like it? I mean, it’s not done yet,” Gray crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.

“Like it?” Natsu puzzled, “It’s amazing! Even though you’re making me out to look much nicer than I really do.”

“What are you talking about?” Gray grabbed the sketchbook from Natsu, looking from him to the drawing. “That’s exactly what you look like to me.”

“I-,” Natsu couldn’t even begin to come up with a response to that, so he went ahead and addressed the elephant in the room. “I’m sorry about my friends.”

Gray waved away his apology, “They’re just being good friends. They probably expected you to have come home by now.”

“Yeah. They’re also a pain in the ass though.”

“You think they’re bad? Just wait til you meet my mate Erza.” Gray handed him the mug, “You should drink this before it gets cold.”

Natsu nodded, drinking the whole thing down in one gulp and setting the mug back on the desk.

“Alright, let’s get you back into your pose,” Gray stood up, following Natsu towards the window.

Fingers grazed Natsu’s cheek as Gray adjusted the tilt of his head, resting there as their eyes met. Natsu’s heart raced at the intensity of that gaze. He tried to tell himself that Gray was only studying him for the drawing, but it was hard to think when their bare chests stood so close together. Especially with the added torture of Gray’s fingers tracing their way up Natsu’s face.

“You got your hair wet. Let me fix it.”

Gray’s fingers tugged and pulled at Natsu’s hair, sending shivers of pleasure from his scalp all the way down his spine. “There you go, good as new.”

After making some final adjustments, Gray hurried back to his desk, picking up the pencil and getting back to work. He only looked up at Natsu a few times, the pencil diligently gliding across the paper as he kept adding to the drawing. At some point, he stopped to look at his work, the hint of a smile forming on his lips when he switched the pencil for what looked to be a white pen. He added some finishing touches here and there, and by the time he put the pen down, Natsu was equally relieved and disappointed.

Gray leaned back in his seat and stretched, presenting Natsu with a magnificent view of his chest and abs. It wasn’t like Natsu had never seen it before. The guy walked around his house shirtless more often than not, but he looked so much better up close than through a pair of old binoculars.

“It’s done. You can move now.”

“Oh. Right.”

Natsu took a moment to stretch as well, slowly rolling his shoulders and neck to ease some soreness out of his muscles. Once done, he made a beeline for his shirt, putting it back on and remembering to leave the two top buttons undone.

“So, what do you think?” Gray asked, handing him the sketchbook again so he could see the finished result.

Natsu was stunned. The drawing looked almost like a photograph. That white pen Gray had used towards the end had created some amazing highlights, like the glitter on Natsu’s skin and the light reflecting in his eyes, really making the artwork come to life.

The doorbell rang before he could give his answer.

“Oh good, it’s here. Hold that thought,” Gray led him to the kitchen where he grabbed his wallet from the counter before hurrying down the stairs to answer the door. Natsu continued to stare at the finished drawing with awe, having trouble accepting that this was how Gray saw him.

Soon, Gray returned, holding a large pizza box and a 2 liter of soda. “I did promise you pizza.”

Natsu watched with mixed feelings as Gray set the food on the counter, wanting to tell him he hadn’t needed to do that. That he’d had fun posing for him, but before he could do so his stomach growled in response to the smell of food wafting in the air.

“Is that... bacon?” he sniffed the air, then his hands again to make sure he wasn’t just imagining things.

“Yeah, I got you a bacon pizza considering how much you seem to love the stuff.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” Gray snickered, opening the pizza box and helping himself to a slice.

Natsu grabbed a paper plate, loaded it up with slices, and looked around for somewhere to sit. Finding no other furniture, he sat on the floor with his back against the cabinets. A moment later Gray joined him, handing Natsu a paper cup and placing the two liter in front of them.

“Sorry about this,” Gray said, “I have to get around to buying furniture. I had to move rather unexpectedly, so all I‘ve got right now is my desk and a bed.”

“Well, you can always come over to our place. We’ve got a pretty nice setup.” Natsu bit into his pizza, moaning at the taste and shoving more into his mouth. “This is fantastic!”

Not seeing any napkins, he used the back of his hand to wipe some of the grease off his mouth.

“You’re easy to please, aren’t you?” Gray chuckled, stretching to open a cabinet and snatch a roll of paper towels, which he offered to Natsu. “Good to know.”

Natsu ripped one from the roll and shrugged. “I like things simple.”

“Can’t argue with that. Well, I for one am glad you showed up today. You really saved my bacon,” Gray snorted, dissolving into giggles.

Natsu groaned and pushed Gray with his shoulder.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.” Gray pushed back, his laughter finally subsiding. “Anyhow, what did you think of your drawing?”

“It looks amazing! You’re so talented.“ Natsu said earnestly. “Can I see some of your other work?”

“Sure, I have some on my phone,” Gray took out his phone and started fiddling with it.

“So, uhm, how come you lost the shirt?”

Gray looked up with a frown, “You’re joking, right? It’s sweltering in here.”

“Sweltering?” Natsu repeated, dumbfounded. “Oh right, Rogue mentioned you were from Isvan.”

“Rogue,” Gray’s eyes sparkled with amusement, “That’s the bloke that stole my mail, right? I thought he was checking me out.”

“Nah, he’s my roommate's boyfriend. He was just trying to get me to come introduce myself.”

“So hang on, the glitter, the hair- that was for me?”

Natsu nodded, and not wanting to see Gray’s reaction to his admission he got up and snatched two more slices of pizza from the box.

“Okay, now I have to ask. What the hell was up with the bacon thing? That was nasty!”

“Right?!” Natsu sat back down and told Gray all about Sting’s makeover attempt, finding it pretty funny now that it was over with. He was delighted to hear Gray laughing along beside him, even as he fended off his attempts to steal one of his slices.

“Oh man, that’s great! You didn’t have to go through all that. Though I gotta say, the glitter definitely sold it.”

“I’ll make sure to let him know.”

“Uhm here,” Gray handed him his phone, “Just tap the screen to go to the next one.”

Natsu wiped his hand on the paper towel before touching the screen, soon becoming lost in Gray’s art. There were some other portraits of men, and Natsu didn't like those much. It made him think Gray might have also sat with them like this. There was a striking portrait of a redhead that caught his attention. She looked intense, certainly not someone you'd want to cross.

“That’s Erza, my mate I was telling you about.”

Natsu nodded, making a mental note not to piss her off before moving on to the next one. There were lots of different styles, including a few that looked like they would be at home in some of his comic books. He commented here and there, continuing to tap the screen, unsure of what it was he was looking for until he found it. The picture of the cat he’d seen Gray draw a few days earlier.

“You like that one, huh?” Gray peeked to see which one he was looking at. “That’s a recent one.”

Natsu smiled fondly, “Yeah, it reminds me of Happy, my childhood cat. We used to do everything together. He was my best buddy.”

He told Gray some stories about Happy, leading to them both sharing silly childhood memories as they finished the rest of the pizza and half of the soda. Much too soon, it was getting dark outside, and Natsu knew their time together was ending.

“Shall I walk you back home?” Gray asked, getting up and dusting off his pants. “You know, just to make sure the glitter fairy won’t worry about you.”

Natsu wanted to decline, he lived right across the street after all, and he didn’t need anyone to protect or watch over him. He’d be fine on his own.

But... that would be stupid.

“Sure!”

“Ok, let me just grab a shirt and turn down the thermostat.” While Gray disappeared into his bedroom, Natsu washed his hands in the sink, not wanting a repeat of earlier.

Gray followed Natsu down the stairs, locking the door behind them. It took them less than a minute to reach Natsu’s front door. He’d just curled his fingers around the doorknob when Gray cleared his throat behind him, causing him to turn and face him.

“So I was thinking, if you like that cat picture, I could, uh, send it to your phone.”

“Oh, sure!” Natsu remained oblivious to what Gray was asking for a few seconds, stuck on the thought of being able to look at the picture whenever he wanted. “Wait, you want my number?”

“Sure, I have a live nude project due next week,” Gray waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Wh-aat?”

“Relax, I was just teasing,” Gray’s laughter washed over Natsu, followed by words he hadn’t expected. “I would like to see you again, though.”

Natsu could only nod and stammer as Gray handed him his phone so he could add his number. He could barely even remember it, distracted as he was by the thought that Gray wanted to see him again, but he made sure he’d plugged the right one by giving himself a call before returning it.

“Well, uhm, good night,” Natsu waved, feeling awkward and not sure what else to do. Should he shake his hand, give him a hug?

He didn’t have long to worry as Gray peered into his eyes with the same intense gaze as he’d done at the studio. Closing the small distance between them with one step, Gray leaned in slowly, tilting his head and closing his eyes as he pressed his lips to Natsu’s for a soft kiss.

It only lasted for a second, but it was enough for Natsu to feel it all the way down to his toes. Gray moved back, licking his lips and opening his eyes.

“I thought about that a lot while I was drawing,” he admitted with a shy smile.

“Oh,” Natsu mumbled, amazed he’d gotten even that much out. His brain was a jumble of inner screaming, disbelief, and just pure joy at the idea that this amazing, gorgeous guy seemed to like him as much as Natsu liked him, and oh dear god that accent. He couldn’t get enough of it.

Gray chuckled, tracing his fingers over Natsu’s cheek one last time before waving goodbye.

Natsu watched Gray walk back to his house, wanting to see him until he went inside, but he found himself being dragged into his house and grabbed by the hands. Next thing he knew he was bouncing up and down with a screeching Sting and an only slightly less enthusiastic Rogue.

Thankfully Rogue kept Sting from carrying Natsu piggyback up the stairs in a victory lap.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he stopped celebrating long enough to check it.

As promised, Gray had sent the cat picture, along with a text.

Sweet dreams 🥓boy 😉

Rolling his eyes at the bacon reference, Natsu typed a reply, thrilled to know his famine was finally at an end.

A/N: We really hope you enjoyed this story at least half as much as we enjoyed writing it. This might be our favorite Natsu, Sting and Rogue combo we’ve ever written. It’s entirely possible we might visit them again someday.

[dulce-pjm]

caffeine crush

word count: 4.3k 

genre: fluff, coffee shop!au

summary: all it took was one trip to the cafe to cement a friendship you never wanted. but it’s high time you fess up and call it all off. 

Yes, you’d picked up the habit last August, you’re certain. 

Classes had yet to start but, growing tired of your overbearing family, you decided to head back to campus a week or two early and get a head start while the university was still mostly empty. 

You didn’t exactly get a ton of work done, but those few weeks were relaxing. Cleansing, even. You spent your mornings wandering around campus and the surrounding area, soaking in the summer sun. Your afternoons were spent curled up in a comfy chair in the corner of the library, nose deep in a romance novel. You found yourself eating better, exploring the city and finding new activities and niche locations. At this point, you thought you would make an excellent tour guide if someone hired you. You knew nearly every corner of the blocks surrounding the university. You’d made it a game to leave no stone unturned, memorizing the storefronts and seeing what hole-in-the-wall restaurants and shops you would find next. 

You were playing just this game when you met Seokjin.

It’s not like you particularly liked coffee. It’s always been much too bitter for your taste. No amount of sugar or cream or pumpkin syrup made the drink worth it to you. 

But you set your personal preferences aside for the mission. How could you give coffee shop recommendations to your imaginary tour group if you’d never tried them out yourself?

And it was with that mentality that you tentatively stepped inside the near-hidden cafe, door chiming as you made your entrance. 

The minute you walked in, you fell in love with the atmosphere. The place was well ventilated and cool, perfect for someone like you who preferred to keep the thermostat at ‘obscenely low temperatures,’ as your sister would say. The walls were coated with muted mints and greens. Draping plants decorated the wooden shelves scattered across the far wall and the soft jazz playing over the speakers made you feel relaxed. A large chalkboard menu hung behind the counter, fresh flowers sat by the cash register. The smell of coffee grounds was undeniably comforting and potent, despite your general dislike for the drink. 

This place was perfect. You could imagine your friends applauding your efforts now, praising you for managing to stumble on such an amazing hideout, tucked away from the chaos of university campus yet still within easy walking distance. 

The cafe was almost completely empty, save for a couple about your age camped out at a corner table. You barely paid them any attention except to be jealous of their closeness as they giggled over something on the girl’s phone. 

You approached the counter, curiously vacant of any employees. You looked left, you looked right. But no one appeared. 

The couple, too absorbed in their own world, did nothing to aid you as you stood helpless in the middle of the abandoned store. You gave it a good ten seconds before you felt much too awkward standing here all alone and gave up, turning to leave. 

And just as you did, you heard a collection of scuffles coming from the back and a door swing open with a creak. 

“Oh, I am so sorry. One of our frothers broke and made a huge mess.” You spun around. And your jaw dropped. 

Before you stood the most godly man you’d ever seen. 

The first thing that caught your eye was tufts of soft lavender hair, shining under the cool vintage lights. His eyes were wide and dark and warm, making you shift on your feet when they focused on you. His shoulders were broad and wrapped in a thin, cream turtleneck despite the warm weather. You practically drooled when you caught sight of his lips, full and soft pink.

He looked just like every male romantic lead you’d read about in your spare time. A purple-haired prince charming. A knight in his shining, corporate-regulated apron. 

“Were you waiting long?” His friendly voice snapped you from your daze before your thoughts could roam further to his muscles and chest and-

“No, not at all.” Could he tell you’d just been ogling? You really hoped not. 

“Good, good.” He shoots you a relieved smile that has your knees shaking. “Well, what can I get for you?” 

Shit, he was pretty. The slope of his nose and jaw and the swell of his cheekbones looked like they’d been crafted by god himself. Not that you were particularly religious, but after this encounter, you mused that maybe one day you could be. 

You were already fantasizing about the future the two of you could forge together. Stolen kisses, cuddles by the tv, a cozy house full of little purple-haired kids. His pillowy soft lips looked awfully inviting. You wondered what it’d be like to lean onto the tips of your toes and press your lips on his, to run your fingers through his hair, to-

“Uh, is there something I can get for you?” 

Shit. You’d been caught red-handed. 

“Oh! Um... uh...” You couldn’t focus. The words on the menu were suddenly too blurry as your tunnel vision zoomed in on him and only him. “A latte! A latte is fine.”

Seokjin smiled sweetly, making your stomach flutter. 

“You got it! Just a sec.” He spun away, running back and forth between the different contraptions that look more like convoluted machines from a sci-fi movie than coffee-related appliances. 

You were still trying to collect yourself when his hand brushed yours as he passed your drink across the counter. A shiver ran unwelcomed down your spine. You barely managed to fork over a few bills when the man shook his head adamantly.

“I made you wait. This one’s on the house.”

God, he was hot and nice? How?

“Oh, thanks...” Your eyes found the small name tag pinned to his blue apron. “Seokjin.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling adorably. 

“Not a problem. See you around.” He said it like the two of you were friends and not strangers. Like he was going to miss you when you walked out the door. 

You felt his gaze on your back as you left the tiny shop, bells chiming as went. 

You knew you’d be coming back. 

And come back you did. 

You’d reasoned that it wasn’t because of Seokjin, no, of course not! You liked the cafe, it was quiet and there was plenty of room to study. 

Oh, who were you kidding? It was totally because of Seokjin. The cafe was nice, you guess, but you don’t even like coffee! Rather, you used your time spent in the shop half actually doing your work and half staring at Seokjin and letting your mind wander. It was a stress reliever, really. A guilty pleasure, to bask in his glory. 

It was a harmless habit. You got your work done and got to stare at an angel sent from heaven, and Seokjin had extra business bolstering his paycheck when you dragged your friends with you to camp out at the cafe. 

It was harmless. 

Until you’d spent the better part of four months somewhat stalking him and now he knew your face. 

So when a certain someone tapped you on the shoulder in January as you settled down for the first day of class, you really should have known this would happen. 

“Hi!” he’d exclaimed, taking the seat next to you before you could protest, not that you wanted to. “I didn’t know you were a student here.” 

It was Seokjin. Hot barista from the coffee shop, Seokjin. In your class. Talking directly to you. Except now, he’d traded his purple locks for warm brunette ones. It didn’t take away from his appeal at all though. It made him seem boyish and younger, suiting him well. 

“Oh, hi...” You were at a loss for words. Never in your life did you think that Seokjin attended your university, let alone would be taking the same classes as you. Wouldn’t you have seen him by now? How did this slip under your radar?

“Y/N, right?” His smile widened when you nodded, confirming his suspicions. 

The professor walked in a moment later, informing you all that the person next to you would be your partner for all projects for the rest of the semester. Your stomach dropped to the floor

And from then on, Seokjin was your friend. 

You’d done your best to fight it, to resist him but you were only pulled deeper and deeper. 

Before then, the line of acquaintanceship was defined, set in stone. You knew his name, sure, but only because of the context of the situation. You had no reason to talk to him, to know him. And he had no reason to remember you. 

But once he confirmed your name, claimed the seat next to you, expressed excitement at being your partner (because he’d seen how studious you were at the shop, he said- and what a lie that was), the line had been crossed and blurred. He made a point to smile at you every time you arrived to class, to ask you how your day was going and if you were planning on stopping by the cafe any time soon.

It didn’t take long, however, for fantasy Seokjin to crumble before your eyes. Your dashing prince charming turned out to actually be a gluttonous man-child. Long gone were the days of your innocent crush on him. No longer could you sit and daydream about his perfect self when you were watching him pig out on take-out dumplings and listening to the most cringe-worthy jokes you’d heard in your life. 

“So I was at this vegetarian restaurant, right?” You nodded, only half paying attention as you made final edits to your presentation on Nordic traditions. “And this girl comes up to me and starts to tell me how I’d done her so wrong and she was finally standing up for herself.” 

At that point you were interested, allowing yourself to watch his dramatics rather than your laptop screen. Was Seokjin secretly an asshole? A heart breaker? God, this couldn’t be farther from how you’d imagined him months ago. 

“But the thing is-” He paused, meeting your eyes to make sure you were fully paying attention, which you were. “I’d never even seen herbivore!”

A fully offended sound left your throat as Seokjin burst into squeaky, boisterous laughter at the disgusted expression on your face. 

You couldn’t even bring yourself to fake laugh. That joke was absolutely dreadful. 

See, this is normally when relationships- dating and friendship alike- started to go downhill for you. You were much too idealistic. You set certain expectations for anyone and everyone before you ever laid eyes on them. And when they didn’t meet those expectations, it was easy for you to lose interest. Once you realized that they weren’t the person you’d hoped they’d be, you realized you’d never really liked them at all. You’d just gotten too caught up in your head, too captivated by your own imagination to recognize that you were walking into something you didn’t want.  

Seokjin, though, was different. He’d been drastically far from your expectations, absolutely. But instead of that eventual feeling of self-directed bitterness and regret for setting yourself up for failure, you felt guilty. Overwhelmed with guilt and shame, actually. Even if he had an awful sense of humor, Seokjin was great. He was kind and charming and teasing and thoughtful and earnest. He was genuine. 

Yes, if there was one word to describe Seokjin, it was genuine. But if you had to add a few more words, they would be ‘too fucking nice.’

When you were about to be keeled over in the school’s bathroom, puking your brains out with the flu, it was Seokjin that had noticed you were feeling off and chased you down after class. He’d been the one to see how sick you were, to hold your hair while you were bent over the toilet, to take you to the doctor and bring you homemade soup for dinner. 

While you panicked about the project due in the next few days, Seokjin adamantly insisted that you rest and promised that he could take care of it for you. He was unwavering in his resolve and despite the guilt brewing in your stomach alongside the nausea, you almost let yourself think he was doing this just because he wanted to, not because it was his personality. 

You didn’t deserve him. Not his friendship, not his love, not his time. He’s out of your league. Hell, he’s playing a different sport entirely. What you were doing wasn’t fair. This friendship didn’t happen because you were genuinely nice like Seokjin. It happened because you were lonely and, frankly, thirsty.

So, while you’re taking your final exam for your class with Jin, you reach the conclusion that it’s time to fess up. To admit who you really are, what your motives were, the reason you kept coming back for coffee you didn’t like. And then you’d cut it off. Not that you think you’d have to. Seokjin would see just how crazy you were and then never speak to you again. Things would be right with the universe and you’d be guilt-free, if a little embarrassed. 

Your pencil hovers over the scantron and you consider that you probably should have spent all this time focusing on the exam and not your friendship’s impending doom. 

But this class had been nothing short of an easy A, so you decide to have a little faith in yourself that even you could choose the correct answers while your mind wandered elsewhere. 

Yes, this was the best option. It’s not like you were in love with Seokjin, missing his presence and smile the minute he walked out the door and admiring the way his laugh lit up a room. Seokjin wasn’t some unreachable fantasy. You wouldn’t be retreating to your room sobbing if he was suddenly gone. He was just a person. He was just Seokjin. You could let him go. He could realize what you really were.

Easy peasy. Right? 

When you shoulder your bag and trudge out of the exam room, Seokjin is waiting for you, despite finishing a few minutes earlier. He was much too nice to other people like that. He hasn’t quite noticed you yet, too absorbed in a conversation with a fellow classmate. You indulge in his objectively perfect features for what will likely be the last time, but you don’t let your imagination wander. You just take the moment to appreciate what is in front of you. 

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m pretty tired...” You note the awkward, apologetic smile on his face and wonder what they’d been talking about. In that moment, his eyes flicker to yours, immediately lighting up. “Oh, Y/N!” He shifts towards you, leaving the poor girl to flounder. While he smiles enthusiastically your way, your expression is almost completely neutral. The abandoned classmate looks back and forth between the two of you, trying to decipher your relationship. You sigh, internally scolding him for wasting his attention on you. 

“Hey, Jin.” You address him by the nickname you’ve heard his friends call him. He’d never explicitly told you to call him that, but when it accidentally slipped out one day, he smiled to himself and you added the name to your vocabulary.

“Well, how do you feel? It’s over!” You shrug, shifting the backpack you always carry to the other shoulder. 

“Not as good as you do, I’m sure.” Seokjin’s brows furrow curiously and cutely, not understanding where you’re going. “You’re graduating? I’m still stuck here another year.”

“Ahh, at least the semester’s over. You are coming to my graduation, right?” You shoot him a look saying something akin to, ‘are you stupid?’

“Of course I am. You’d never let me live it down if I didn’t.” Seokjin laughs but doesn’t argue. You realize the classmate from before is long gone. You’re not sure when she left. Good, now you can tell Seokjin what you’ve been meaning to. “Can I talk to you?”

“Aren’t we talking now?” You sigh, loosely crossing your arms. 

“You know what I mean, Seokjin.” Sensing your serious demeanor, Seokjin immediately drops his teasing smile, switching his expression to one laced with concern. 

“Yes, of course. My shift starts in half an hour, though. Can we talk on the way to the shop?” 

“Sure.” Perfect, actually. Walking side by side, you wouldn’t have to watch that soft smile turn into an expression of disgust when you admitted what you were about to. 

As the two of you walk across campus and into the city, you tell him everything. You tell him how the minute you saw him, you’d thought he was the hottest person you’d ever laid eyes upon. You tell him how you came back almost thrice a week just to stare and think about him. You tell him how you don’t even like coffee, but your frequent visits to the shop have made you dependent on caffeine. You tell him how you’d had a bit of a crush on him, no, on your fantasy version of him for months. You tell him you don’t feel like that now, that you just feel guilty that this friendship existed when it was all born from a lie, from a terrible habit you couldn’t seem to break. You tell him how fake you are.

“And you deserve better than that, than me. I’m sorry I dragged you along for so long. I shouldn’t have.” You haven’t looked at him once this whole time, too ashamed to clue yourself in to what he’s thinking. “I think that’s everything.” Seokjin stays silent for a few agonizing minutes as the scenery morphs from tall, brick lecture buildings and trees into a more urban environment filled with bustling streets and colorful displays in the store windows. 

“Can I ask a question?” You jump at his voice. You’re almost surprised he’s still here. 

“Yeah.” You nervously fidget with your backpack straps, still refusing to even glance his way. 

“When you actually got to know me better, were you disappointed?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he sounded nervous. Heat rises to your cheeks. Shit, you’d hurt his feelings, hadn’t you? Why couldn’t he just get mad or storm off to leave you in the dust? Did he think that you hated him? That you were tired of him and that’s why you were doing this? You had to make him understand. You are the problem, not him. God, why was this idiot so nice?

“What? No!” You’re frantic with worry. Maybe you were being too egotistical to think that your confession had hurt his self-image, but you were willing to take the risk. “You’re great, Seokjin. You’re sweet and thoughtful and funny- well, actually your humor could use some work -and perfect. You’re a great friend. It’s me who’s disappointing. You’ve never disappointed me, not once.”

If you could just tear your eyes from the sidewalk, you’d see that Seokjin was grinning from ear to ear, over-the-moon ecstatic your compliments. Neither of you has ever been great with words, so you hope your pep talk was enough and that his silence is a good sign. 

The skies have begun shifting away from bright and sunny to grey and cloudy. The air is thick and heavy, like it’s about to rain. Just your luck. You should have checked the weather channel this morning. 

“We have caffeinated drinks other than coffee on the menu, you know.” 

Really? You’d just confessed your most embarrassing secret and that’s all he had to say? You stumble over your words, not sure whether to be flustered (because you definitely didn’t know that) or frustrated at his unwavering good nature. 

“Oh.” You grow sheepish and pretend to find the dirt under your fingernails interesting. “I guess I had a hard time focusing back then.” Those days had long faded away. You didn’t crumble under his gaze anymore or struggle to form coherent sentences around him. He’d long lost his mystery. 

Then, Seokjin laughs. He laughs and he chuckles and giggles and you cringe. You want to crawl into a hole and never come back out. When other times you could find humor in the rambunctious sounds spilling from his lips, now it only felt jarring, like a smack in the face. He was laughing at you, at how much of a hopeless idiot you are. You suppose that was better than him feeling betrayed and never wanting to see you again. Though he hasn’t exactly ruled out the latter. 

This is what you wanted, this is what you wanted. 

You say nothing, consumed by your own bitterness, as Seokjin calms down. 

“You’re pretty stupid, Y/N.” Your face falls. 

You knew that. He didn’t have to tell you. 

You were stupid to keep showing up at the coffee shop like a lovestruck teenager. You were stupid to believe Seokjin was your friend or that he might have even enjoyed your presence. He was just too goddamn nice and you were too goddamn stupid.

As the two of you get within a few blocks of the cafe, Seokjin’s hand brushes against yours. 

“Oh, sorry.” You’re quick to yank it away, almost burned by his touch, but to your surprise, Seokjin chases after it, fastening his palm against yours and intertwining your fingers. 

What was he doing?

“What are you doing?” For the first time since you started your rambling, you look at Seokjin, gape at him. But the timing is poor and now he’s staring straight ahead, not giving you a passing glance. 

“Do you really think I would have given you free drinks and sat next to you in class and talked to you every day if I didn’t at least like you a little bit?” You’re rendered speechless, eyes bugging out of your head.  

“I- um...”

“For being an accounting major, you really are the densest person I know.” His tone is light despite his blatant insults. “Don’t you realize I had a little crush on you, too? I was so excited when I realized we were going to share a class, but you never gave me the time of day.”

Your mouth opens and closes but no words leave it, not unlike a fish. 

“I've nearly asked you out at least three times now, but I kept chickening out.” 

The entire world feels like it’s flipped upside down. It’s like gravity’s stopped working and your head is spinning and you’re dizzy and your heart as burst and Seokjin’s hand enveloping yours is the only thing keeping you from floating away into the sky. 

The revelation smacks you in the face. 

Seokjin’s a liar. Not as genuine as you’d thought, after all. 

While you spent a semester pretending you liked coffee when really you just thought Seokjin was hot, he’d spent the next pretending he was only interested in your friendship when he’d been harboring a crush on you. 

You struggle to contain the small smile on your face. Seokjin’s hand gently squeezes yours and lightning shoots up your skin and spine. 

Seokjin’s eyes finally meet yours as the two of you stare sheepishly at each other. His gaze flickers to your lips a few times and you openly ogle at his, but he doesn’t lean in. He simply lifts your entwined hands and smiles, a short breath leaving his nostrils in place of a chuckle. It’s content and peaceful. There’s no need for love declarations or romantic kisses. You think you could be happy here forever knowing Seokjin wants you by his side. 

The moment ends when a raindrop hits your nose, startling the hell out of you. 

While you’re disoriented, Seokjin laughs and tugs you into the shop, now only a few steps away. The place is rather busy for it being lunchtime, but Seokjin weaves the two of you through the throng, stopping by the staff door. 

He looks at you with slight mischief. 

“You know, since it’s raining, you should probably just stay in here. Don’t wanna catch a cold.” You want to scoff, tell him that’s ridiculous and that your dorm is only a few minutes away. But you swallow your retort and let him have his moment. 

“Good idea,” you agree solemnly with a nod. 

“Actually, you should probably just stay until I’m off my shift. You never know when the rain might pick up again.” This time, you can’t help but quirk a brow. 

“Because you’re planning to protect me from the rain? You don’t have a jacket either.” Seokjin gives an offended look, like you’d just insulted his pride. 

“No, it’s so we can get sick together. It’d be romantic.” You scrunch your nose. Having fevers and runny noses and gross coughs together? Doesn’t seem like an ideal first date. 

“Sounds romantic.”

“I’m glad you agree.” 

You’re staring at each other again, in your own little bubble, until a customer brushes against your shoulder and you’re reminded that Seokjin is technically on payroll right now. He has a similar realization and reluctantly releases your hand, blowing a kiss over his shoulder as he steps through the staff door. You roll your eyes, feigning embarrassment, but on the inside, you’re melting. 

You plop down in your self-assigned seat in the most well-ventilated part of the cafe that also has a very convenient view of your favorite barista. The semester’s over and you have no work to do, but you don’t mind, content to watch Seokjin work while mindlessly giggling when he shoots you winks in between orders. 

You don’t fantasize or wonder where this might go. You don’t think your imagination could come up with anything better than what’s in front of you. 

You do predict, however, that you’ll be spending many more hours cooped up in this little cafe. 

Old habits die hard, you suppose. 

[ft-dads-au]

Spellbound - Chapter 3

A collaboration by @mdelpin​ and @oryu404​

AO3 | Prev: Ch 2

Chapter 3

October 14, 2012

Ever since Sting had accepted his impulsive invitation to study for the upcoming midterms at his house, Rogue had felt like time had slowed to a crawl. Not even his gig in Clover the previous evening had done anything to curb that feeling. And now that the time had finally come, all his excitement seemed to have turned into an insecurity he wasn’t familiar with. 

He knew that most of their time together would be spent studying for exams, but he couldn’t help the hope that something more might develop in the moments in between. It certainly didn’t hurt to make an effort. But what if his neatness drove Sting crazy? Or he managed to insult him somehow? Or Gods, what if he’d been reading the signals all wrong, and he ended up throwing himself at the guy only to find he wasn’t interested? He’d had plenty of chances to kiss him and had taken exactly zero of them.

He’d worked himself up the whole drive down to the University.

By the time Sting got into the car, Rogue was a tangle of nerves. They spent the ride home discussing which midterms they would be studying for and agreeing to relax for the remainder of the day before they got started. While the thought of starting off their week together with a lazy Sunday was precisely the type of thing he’d been hoping for, it also put pressure on him to have everything go right.

“Thanks again for letting me stay,” Sting huffed as he carried his duffel bag and oversized, filled to the brim backpack into the house, refusing Rogue’s offer to help.

“Yeah, no problem,” Rogue tossed his keys on the kitchen counter. Feeling suddenly shy and not wanting to show it, he led Sting to Gray’s old room so he could drop off his stuff.

Sting followed him, dumping his bags unceremoniously on the bed and looking around with curious eyes. “That’s your brother, right?” Sting asked, pointing at a family picture that was hanging on the wall. “I feel like I’ve seen him before.”

“You probably have. He’s been working as a model for a few years now.”

“He looks a lot like your dad,” Sting remarked before shifting his scrutiny to the collection of medals and trophies Gray had accumulated since he’d first started playing hockey.

“How about you? Do you have any siblings?” Rogue asked, scrambling for any conversation topic that might ease him out of his timidity.

“Nah, it’s just me. So, do you play too?” Sting eyed him with interest.

“For fun, but you won’t find any trophies in my room. That was Gray’s thing.” Rogue chuckled, “I just like to skate.”

When he was younger, he’d considered giving competitive figure skating a go. His dad had even supported the idea, spending hours building a rink in the backyard together with him and Gray so he wouldn’t have to drive them to the local one as often. It had been grueling work to get the hang of the moves, and while Rogue had been good at it, he’d eventually discovered things he loved more.

“I do have a nice keepsake from my hockey days, though,” he grinned, rubbing his finger over the scar that crossed the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, wow! That must have hurt,” Sting moved closer to examine his nose, wrapping him in the smell of that enticing cologne of which Rogue still hadn’t discovered the name. “Yeah...” Rogue answered absently, paying more attention to the way Sting’s lips moved when he spoke than he did to the words that came out. They were temptingly close. All he had to do was lean over and kiss them, but just when he’d been about to close the remaining gap between them, Sting had already moved away.

“Hey, you got anything to eat around here?” Sting asked, leaving Rogue to stare at him in confusion.

“Oh, right,” he blinked himself back to reality, “I put off grocery shopping until you got here, wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

“Oh, that’s great! I’ve only been to the convenience store near the dorm. I can’t wait to see what a big Magnolian grocery store has to offer!”

“Well, at least one of us is excited,” Rogue muttered, amused at fielding question after question on a place he usually tried to avoid. It gave him an idea, though. That adage about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach could work to his advantage here.

True, he couldn’t cook worth a damn, but surely there must be something he could pull off to impress Sting. 0-0

The trip to the grocery store was certainly memorable. Sting had walked through every single aisle, oohing and aahing over items he’d never tried and piling them into their cart. Rogue had finally given up and gotten his own cart, not finding it in his heart to dampen Sting’s enthusiasm.

They’d also gotten plenty of looks from other shoppers, which Rogue had done his best to ignore. He hadn’t come up with any great ideas for dinner. Everything he’d considered seemed so involved. That was until he walked past the lobster tank and remembered how disappointed Sting had been when he hadn’t gotten to eat ”Sheldon” at that seafood restaurant.

He was pretty sure you just chucked the things into a pot of boiling water. Sounded easy enough to him. Feeling pleased with his choice, he studied the tank’s contents, searching for the two largest lobsters he could find, knowing both of them ate a lot.

Once he’d identified the ones he wanted, he went off in search of an employee.

0-0

Rogue had managed to keep the contents of the cooler a secret. It wasn’t all that difficult considering the amount of bags in the trunk. He was more concerned about where they were going to store all the food they’d bought. At least it was cold enough that they could leave the drinks out on the porch.

Not that he should have worried, Sting kept picking items out of the bags and shoving them in his mouth, making pleased noises that were driving Rogue crazy.

“Mhmmmmmm, these are amazing! Want some?” Sting waved a bag of onion-flavored rings under his nose.

Rogue grabbed a couple, realizing he hadn’t had them for years. “Oh man, I used to love these. I didn’t know they still made them.”

Sting finally noticed the cooler when it moved slightly from its perch on the counter. “What’s in there?”

“Oh, that?” Rogue replied evenly, feigning indifference, “Just something I picked up. I thought I might try cooking dinner tonight.”

Sting arched an eyebrow and promptly removed the lid, peering in at the contents. “You got lobsters?”

“Yeah, it seemed like you liked them,” Rogue shrugged, finding spots for the rest of the groceries.

“I do! My mom makes really good Lobster Thermidor.”

Well, fuck. What the hell was lobster...whatever Sting said? It sounded a lot fancier than Rogue’s idea of boiling the shits like a pack of instant-ramen, not to mention the fact that he’d set himself up to compete against Sting’s mother’s cooking. He didn’t know a thing about the woman, but he’d bet his life that she was a better cook than he was.

“Those are big fellas. Oh, wait,” Sting had picked up one of the lobsters to examine it, “I think this one might be a Sheila.”

“How can you tell?”

“Oh, uhm,” Sting chuckled, sounding embarrassed, “when I was younger, I wanted to be a marine biologist. My parents would take me to the aquarium whenever they could, and I learned a lot. Pretty lame, huh?”

“Not at all. I mean, if you want to talk lame, I wanted to be a figure skater at one point,” he confessed, encouraged by Sting sharing that with him. “So which one's Sheldon and which one's Sheila?”

Rogue listened with interest as Sting pointed at the tails’ subtle differences and revealed what they meant. Once the explanation was over, Sting glanced at the pot that sat on the stove.

“You’re going to need a larger pot to boil these.”

“Right.” Challenge number one, where the heck did his mom keep the big pots? Rogue opened the cabinets, searching for anything bigger than the one he used to boil pasta.

“I’ll be right back,” he went to the basement, remembering his mother sometimes sent him there to find appliances she didn’t use all the time, and heaving a sigh of relief when he saw a pot big enough to bathe in. Okay, maybe not quite that big, but it should be enough for two lobsters.

And while he was down there, he took the opportunity to do a quick google search on how to cook lobster thermostat. Thermidor. Whatever. It turned out that it would involve cooking as well as broiling, which was even worse than he’d imagined, and the long list of ingredients wasn’t exactly reassuring either. But it was that list that turned out to be his saving grace, as he was sure he didn’t have everything on it. Oh no, such a shame, he smirked to himself as he continued to look for a less intimidating lobster recipe.

“Everything okay down there?”

Crap!

“Yeah, found one,” Rogue called out, putting his phone away and lugging his discovery up the stairs.

He’d washed the pot, filling it with water and as much salt as he dared, and then setting it on the stove to boil. They’d talked about watching a movie after dinner, and Sting had left him in the kitchen while he’d gone to Gray’s room, determined to set up his work area, as he called it, for the next day.

And now, Rogue found himself facing his next challenge. Once the water had come to a rolling boil, he’d grabbed one of the lobsters, ready to plunge it into the pot, when he’d made one fatal mistake. He’d looked into its eyes.

No matter how much he told himself that the thing wasn’t intelligent, he just couldn’t find it in himself to kill it. And as he stared into the eyes of the crustacean he’d condemned to death, Rogue couldn’t help but think of how much simpler his life had been before he’d decided he wanted something more from his relationships.

“What are you doing?”

There was no mistaking the amusement in Sting’s voice, and it both irritated and humiliated him. It had been his bright idea to do this, and he couldn’t even go through with it.

‘“It was staring at me,” he murmured.

Sting chuckled but took pity on him, “Here, I’ll do it.”

He grabbed the lobster and asked for some scissors. He snipped the bands off its claws and lowered it into the pot carefully, repeating the procedure with the second one before placing the lid on the pot. There was an awful noise that followed, making it sound like the lobsters were screaming.

Rogue shuddered.

“Relax, it’s not what it sounds like,” Sting assured him, “Lobsters don’t have lungs or even vocal cords. It’s just air escaping through their shells.” “Whatever. The damn things better taste good,” Rogue pouted, still displeased by the way his plan was failing so far. But hey, the lobsters were boiling away now, and he’d found a cooking time table online, so there wasn’t much that could go wrong from here. “I guess that depends on the sauce or seasoning.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. His face must have mirrored his frustration because once again, he heard the sound of Sting’s laughter. “It doesn’t have to be anything complicated. Oh, actually! We got mac and cheese, right?”

“Mac and cheese? With lobster?”

“Yeah! My mom used to make that for me when I was little. Well, she made it from scratch,” Sting admitted, “but this will be good too!”

By this point, Rogue just wanted to be done with the whole thing, so the idea of at least being able to make something he knew he couldn’t fuck up cheered him immensely. He walked over to the pantry and moved stuff around until he’d found the family size box of mac and cheese they’d bought and set about preparing it.

The timer went off, and he watched as Sting used tongs to take out the lobsters, which had turned a promising shade of bright red. He lay them on a cutting board and let them sit while he searched for a knife.

Rogue turned away as the sounds of Sting removing the meat from the shell revolted him. He busied himself with his task, trying not to think about what was happening.

“Do I have to do anything differently?”

“Nope, just let me know when it’s ready.”

Sting walked to the porch, grabbed two beers, opened them, and handed one over to Rogue, that amused smirk never far from his face. Once the mac and cheese was done, all they had to do was add the lobster meat, top it off with some breadcrumbs, and put it in the oven for a few minutes. In the meantime, Rogue began the process of cleaning the kitchen, pulling a face as he dumped the hollowed out shells in the trash bin and wiped the lobster juices off the counter. Although it wasn’t all that fancy, the dish that came out looked better than any of Rogue’s previous attempts to cook his own food. Not that he felt he had much to be proud of, as he’d mostly just boiled water and made instant mac and cheese, but cooking was definitely a lot less frustrating when he didn’t have to do it alone. Maybe they could cook together again sometime this week, preferably with food that couldn’t scream, move or stare at him. They settled on the couch, and while Rogue was browsing through Netflix, looking for a movie they could watch, he could tell by the moaning sounds that Sting had already dug into his food. “It’s good!” he said with his mouth still half full, “but you know what the best part is?” “Hm?” Rogue took a hesitant first bite, and he had to agree it did taste a lot better than he’d expected. “It’s that from now on, every time I eat lobster, I’ll remember your look of horror.” Sting dissolved into giggles, “I should have taken a picture!”

Rogue tried to glare, but now that it was over, he found himself laughing along. “Alright, but I hope you got a good look cause I am never doing that again. Next time we do this, it’ll be at a restaurant.”

“Deal, as long as we stop at the tank first,” Sting laughed at his pout, and it was arguably the best sound Rogue had ever heard.

He sat back, having found a movie they were both interested in, and feeling more relaxed than he had all day. The realization that Sting hadn’t been against the idea of a next time boosted his confidence enough to let him enjoy the rest of the night and to set him thinking of what he might try next.

A/N: 2020 was a really busy year for us. We participated in a lot of events and as fun as that was we've decided to mostly step away from that for this year. Unfortunately trying to match event prompts kept us from moving forward on stories we'd been planning on for months and we'd like to try setting our own schedule for now. 

We've started the year out with a Works in Progress month, in the hopes that we can finish or move along some of our open multis, or one-shots we started but never finished. It will also allow us to work on some of the individual projects we've been ignoring for too long. 

We've decided to expand on this story a bit more than we'd originally planned so there will be a few more chapters than we'd anticipated. We hope you enjoy this one!

[softyoongiionly]

Business Casual 🥼

Your boyfriend Jungkook has become the worldest youngest billionaire after inventing the most sought after wine on the planet. After meeting you and falling in love, he decides to ditch the bustling streets of Seoul for a picturesque villa on the Greek island of Mykonos. Today, after a long few days of work, Jungkook wants to go to the beach...

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Genre: Smut, fluff, Boyfriend! Jungkook, Billionaire! Jungkook

Warnings: SMUT (18+ only please), there’s a lot of fluff, also Jungkook speaks Korean again and, this deserves a warning, language

A/N: This is part of the Mama Mia! series, I hope you guys enjoy!

***All italicized/bolded words indicate when characters are speaking Korean***

Jungkook’s been in the wine cellar all day. 

He, along with a few members of his team worked tirelessly over the last month to get it set up. Many sleepless nights were spent on tossing and turning to the sound of drilling and scrapping of wood but, it had all been worth it when you saw that gorgeous bunny smile on your boyfriends face signaling that it had been completed. The end result was incredible: professional grad wine making equipment, state of the art storage systems and, a complete mini bar where Jungkook could experiment to his hearts content.

 The thing is, Jungkook trusted very few people.

 His jovial nature has been slowly chipped at over the years as more and more people tried to use him.  His old co-workers, his accountant, his third cousin and, worst of all, his half-brother were amongst the most difficult betrayals that caused Jungkook to retreat further and further into his introverted nature. The prototype for Azucar De Luna had been stolen many times during Jungkook’s initial success but, after a difficult year, he had refined it for the last time completely on his own. The only people he shared the recipe with were his parents and, instead of continuing mass production, Jungkook started making the bottles himself. A tireless endeavor, especially given that after the scandals of the stolen recipes broke, the original product only increased in demand.

 A massive waiting list formed and, the price for a single bottle leapt from just under $850 a bottle to $7,700 a bottle. This price increase sent Azucar De Luna to the top of the world’s most expensive wines.

 Jungkook didn’t start making wine for the money though, he started it because he was passionate about it and, grew rather uncomfortable with people treating him like he was some sort of business tycoon. Given that your boyfriend makes all the wine himself, he reduced his output of the product significantly and only releases 200 bottles a year. This of course, only allures the rich and famous more and more.

 “Jagiyaaaa…”  You hear his whine coming from the cellar and, the sound causes a smile to break across your lips.

 He wants you to try something…

 “Mr. Jeon???” You call back in response and you hear him snicker at the name.

 “Come here, I added something new!”

 The sound of his voice warms you from the inside out and, you quickly oblige his request, setting aside the book you were reading to meet your boyfriend in the cellar.

 You pass the thermostat on the way down and, curse yourself for not remembering your sweater. Jungkook keeps his cellar at exactly 55 degrees (12.8 degrees Celsius) which isn’t freezing but, its certainly much cooler than the warm summer breeze currently wafting through your living room.

 “Yah, baby…” Jungkook admonishes from behind the bar, the nickname sends a jolt through your stomach as its not one he uses often, “…you’re going to catch a cold.

 You wave him off, thankful you’re wearing socks as you step onto the stone floor, “I’ll be fine. You’re timing is perfect by the way, just in time for happy hour…”

 Jungkook chuckles, grabbing a wine glass from the overhead rack, “Is that why you keep me around? No need to go to the bar when you’ve got a vintner for a boyfriend huh?”

 “You weren’t supposed to figure that out until after I convinced you to ditch the pre-nup babe, don’t mess with my plans…” You retort, hoisting yourself onto the barstool, admiring the way Jungkook looks dressed in his corduroy apron.

 “All I got from that statement is that you want to marry me…” He smiles, throwing a wink your way as he pours a half a glass for each of you.

 “Shut up…”

 The characteristic bloody red of Jungkook’s wine is slightly darkened and, you ignore the fluttering in your chest and, change the subject.

“What did you add? It smells amazing in here…” The cellar’s scent contained all of the usual subjects: cork, wood, wine, etc. but, there was a strong scent of something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Dark chocolate. I imported some from Africa and asked the chocolatier if I could experiment with it. She said I could as long as I sent her a bottle if it works out.” He smiles fondly, pushing the glass towards you.

“Fair warning, if you do get this right, which I’m quite sure you did, I will be begging you for more…” You warn him playfully, bring the glass to your nose, inhaling the sweet and savory notes of Jungkook’s creation.

“Wouldn’t be the first time…” He quips, smirking, eyes flitting over you and, he throws his head back in laughter as you flip him off, moving the glass to your lips.

The taste is exquisite, earthy and sweet, (just like Jungkook). The chocolate notes linger on your tongue long after you’ve swallowed your first sip and close your eyes in disbelief.

“How is it?” Jungkook’s nervous, he always is. Your approval means a lot to him and, despite his international success, he still doesn’t understand his own greatness.

“Okay, all jokes aside, this is one of your best bottles yet. It’s so amazing, the flavor, the aftertaste, its chocolatey but, not too strong. You’re a genius Kookie, like seriously you have a gift…” You’re rambling and, Jungkook’s bunny smile quickly makes an appearance, relishing in your praise.

 “Really? It’s only been fermenting for 10 days, I was worried it wouldn’t be long enough…” He is slowly making his way around the counter, feeling a desire to be closer to you.

 “I wouldn’t have been able to tell, it tastes like it’s been aged for half a century…” You smile as he smiles, taking another sip, closing your eyes once more at the taste.However, before you have a chance to open them, you feel warm lips tucking themselves between yours, catching the bit of wine still left on your lips.

“Tastes even better on your lips jagiya…” Jungkook whips out his Korean and his satoori because, he has absolutely no regard for your life.

You hum against his mouth, pushing a hand against his chest, “You’re insatiable…”

The two of you had gone at it this morning: unhurried and unrestrained in your brand new bed. The move has finally allowed for you and Jungkook to indulge in each other without interruptions and, it’s safe to say you’ve been taking advantage of it.

“I’m a sommelier jagi, it’s my job to always improve the quality of my wine…”

He’s kissing down into your neck now, slotting himself between your legs whilst his strong arms wrap around your waist.

You don’t stop him, melting at the feeling of his lips, your hands brushing back his thick, raven locks.

He’s hair is growing longer everyday…

“Are you gonna send me to the chocolatier too then?” You tease, tugging on his hair playfully and, he chuckles, biting your neck in retaliation.

“No,” He’s back to English now, bestowing some semblance of mercy upon you, pulling out of your neck to meet your eyes, “she’s getting the lower quality version, I don’t share…”

Virgos never do….

“The wine on its own is more than enough.” You assure him, fingernails brushing over his back gently, smirking at the light shiver that runs through his body.

“Why do you always do that?” He whines, his hair falling in his eyes as he pushes against you.

“Do what?”

“Use your nails…” He’s boyish as ever, hugging you and, sporting pink cheeks, his lids heavy with an onslaught of exhaustion.

A fond giggle fills the small amount of space between you, “ I thought you liked my nails…”

He grumbles, tucking his face right back into you, nuzzling his face there.

He’s tired…

“I do but,” You haven’t stopped gently running your nails over your boyfriends back, hoping to encourage him to get some rest. “…they feel too good. I have to keep working.”

You shake your head, pressing a kiss against his hair, “You’ve been working for the past 10 hours babe, its almost midnight…”

“Are you trying to get me into bed jagiya?” He hums and, you can feel him smirk against you as his fingertips slide underneath your t shirt.

“I am, you’re going to burn yourself out and, I don’t like going to sleep without you…” You respond shamelessly, trying to ignore the errors in your pronunciation.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice as he continues to nose at your neck, “Are you going to put me to sleep?”

You pinch his side gently causing him to chuckle, pulling away from you once more, his chocolate eyes lit up in mischief.

“I’ll come to bed in a little bit, I promise.” Jungkook rubs your hips, his tone sincere enough that you , don’t question it, even though you want him to yourself right now, you know he has to finish up. “You like the wine though right? You think it’s good enough for a soft release, just to the locals’ maybe?”

His onslaught of questions explains why he isn’t ready for bed yet. As much as he wants to snuggle into bed with you, the perfectionist living in his brain is clearly not done with him yet.

A soft smile on your mouth and a thumb over his cheek soothes him slightly, along with your words of encouragement:

“It’s one of the best wines I’ve ever had Jungkook, second only to Luna. Whoever you decide to share it with is going to be in awe…”

His bunny smile is back paired with bunny teeth nibbling his bottom lip, “I love you…”

A pert kiss is pressed to his lips, “I love you too.” You throw a stern look his way as you pull back, “In bed by one ok? I don’t want you overworking yourself…”

He’s docile under your orders, he prefers it that way.

“Yes mam. I’ll be up soon…”

He makes good on his promise and, although you had drifted off not long after your time with him in the cellar, you vaguely remember him cuddling up behind you and, passing out soon after.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The curtains danced around the right side of your bedroom along with the summer wind, the song was the sound of the ocean and, you feel awfully lucky that you’re witnessing such a simple yet beautiful sight.

It’s so strange to think that a fairy-tale can feel so much like home…

Jungkook had been up before you, needing to be on a conference call with his parents and, a few remaining trusted investors. From what you could gather, things went well as you didn’t catch anything too alarming coming from Jungkook’s office.

You woke up not long after him, having an appointment of your own with an art gallery in France that you had been managing for the past year. Nothing too eventful came from your meeting either, a new curator had joined your team so, you spent most of the call going over the ins and outs of their position. You’re still in your office when your boyfriend meanders in, wearing only his black boxers and a navy blue dress shirt. You laugh at the sight,

“What are you wearing?”

“What does it look like? Business…” He pauses, gesturing to the dress shirt before turning around and, flashing his ass to you, “…casual…”

Your head is thrown back as full belly laughter leaves your lips, the ridiculousness of your boyfriend really knows no bounds.

“Are your boxer’s designer at least? Or are those the ones you bought at the convenience store?”

He chuckles, feeling warm at the sound of your laughter, making his way over to you, “Those pesky investors don’t deserve my good underwear jagi, those are only for you…”

Jungkook’s arrived at your desk now, his fingers working at the buttons of his top, wanting desperately to rid himself of it.

“Good point.” You giggle before nodding to him,  “Are you done for the day?”

You try not to notice as more and more of Jungkook’s tanned skin is revealed to you and, continue typing away on your computer.

“Yeah,” He finishes unbuttoning and grips the lapels of the shirt before pulling it off, leaving his body on full display, “I don’t feel like doing much else, especially sense I was in the cellar all day yesterday.”

A glimpse of his abs, that he annoyingly still has despite you feeding him constantly, causes you to feel weak in the knees.

Damn him for being so beautiful…

“Yeah, I don’t blame you, you worked really hard yesterday.” You attempt to keep it cool, not wanting to jump his bones two days in a row.

“I wanted to go down to the beach today, the weather is beautiful.”

His statement makes you whimsical, he sounds so happy and, peaceful: something you didn’t hear much of until you moved to Greece.

“Yeah? Let’s do it…I’m almost done here, I just gotta send this out to my new hire and, I’ll be done.”

He smiles at your response, his eagerness coming in full throttle as he kisses your head, “Ok, I’ll get everything ready for us. Take your time jagi…”

Jungkook says take your time but, the way he rushes excitedly out of the room, causes you to finish up as quickly as possible.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several hours, a plate of delicious food and a third of a bottle of wine later, you and Jungkook find yourself waist deep in the waters of your private portion of Kalafati Beach. The wine and food had settled quite nicely in your system and, you feel pleasantly floaty as your wrap your legs around your boyfriends narrow hips.

“You look like a mermaid jagiya….so beautiful.” He muses, smiling gently against your lips as he nudges your nose, he’s been speaking Korean for the past hour or so, explaining that speaking in his native language relaxes him.

Words sound beautiful out of Jungkook’s mouth, no matter the language…

“I wouldn’t mind living in the ocean…being a merman would suit you too, especially since your hair is so long…” Your response is a little rocky but, you pair it with gentle comb of your fingers through his locks so, any mistakes are forgiven.

“ You like long hair right?”

You kiss his temple, “ I love it.”

Jungkook smiles as he leans into you, kissing slowly and tenderly into your neck.

The thing is, you both had been at this for quite awhile, he was hard, you were wet but, neither of you had made a further move and, instead choose to kiss and tease one another.

Your nails make an appearance on Jungkook’s back, tracing slow and gentle shapes in his damp skin. His dick twitches again, for the hundredth time and, although there is no need for theatrics, you would be lying if you said you weren’t desperate to have him inside of you.

“Baby…” He whispers into your ear, nudging it with his nose, “Baby baby baby…my baby…”

Jungkook is back to English for the pet name only and, you smile fondly as you hear a hint of his submission.

He gets like this sometimes, he’d never let the world know.

Its only for you…

“What jagiya? What is it?” You coo tenderly into his skin, kissing and nibbling against his shoulder.

He shivers at the sensation of your teeth but, his response comes quickly, “can I go inside now?”

“Inside? Inside where?”

Jungkook groans at your teasing, pressing his hips against you desperately, “Inside of you….”

A smirk is on your mouth, you love riling him up, “Inside of me how? How will you get inside?”

Jungkook loves it too, he loves when you tease but, his dick is so hard he can feel it throb painfully in the water. He slides his hand down between you to cup against your bathing suit bottoms, smacking lightly underwater, “You know exactly how I get inside but, if Noona wants to hear me say it, I will…”

His satoori is back and thicker than ever as he tucks a finger underneath the seam of your bathing suit, “I want inside her pussy. It’s where I belong right Noona? Right here huh? In this spot?”

His sinful questions are punctuated with the entrance of his finger that angles right up against your g spot.

“Fuck…” You whisper and, this causes Jungkook to chuckle darkly.

“What’s wrong Noona? Did I touch you somewhere too nice? Is your voice all fucked up now?”

God, he could really be dirty if he wanted to be…

His finger is pumping in and out of you now, his free hand untying one side of your suit, exposing more of you to him. He catches your gaze thing, wet stringy hair in his wild eyes, lips swollen from all of your kissing, smugness on his lips.

“Noona…what happened? Is your pussy too tingly? Is it too hard to speak now?”

You nod, not bothering to admonish his smugness, the sensation only increasing as he rubs his thumb over your swollen clit.

“Noona, will you cum on my hand please? Please Noona? I wanna feel you squeeze my finger, I want to lick it off, please Noona will you? If I go faster like this,” He increases his pace, tucking his finger harder up against your g-spot, “will you cum now Noona? Is it good enough?”

It is. It always is.

You feel your cunt tightening around his finger and, frantically you slide your hand down to rub over Jungkooks thumb, aiding him in rubbing your clit.

“Fuck there you go, that’s my baby yeah? That’s my fucking beautiful Noona, she cums so good for me every time, I’m so lucky…”

“Jungkook…” You whimper, which is uncommon for you and, he notices it, hugging you tightly to him as you slowly ride out your orgasm.

“My name should only ever come from your lips, no one else says it right, not like you Noona…”

He’s worshipping now, another layer of Jungkook’s love for you, perhaps one of the final layers…

“Can I come inside now Noona? Have I earned it?”

He’s whimpering now and, nosing at your cheek, placing eager kisses all over you, his hands following his lips.

“Inside babyboy, you’ve earned it, you always do…”

Jungkook melts at your words, wasting no time as he slides into you, having only pulled his trunks off half way under water.

“Oh god Noona…its not gonna be long, I’m so fucked up for you…” His whimpering is weaker as the two of you fuck eachother in the beautiful Grecian ocean.  

You’re drunk off the emotion, the setting, your lovers body, Jungkook’s words only adding to the high

“Say you love me…please jagiya, I need to hear it, I need it so bad…”

You do, you always do, you’ll say it till you’re blue in the face.

Cause this shit is that strong…

Through a few frantic I love you’s Jungkook cums, using your body for support but, continuing his pace to ensure that you finish for a second time.

It’s been like this a lot lately, unfiltered, raw, passionate…

You think it’s because he’s finally happy, he’s finally at peace with himself after so many years of heartbreak.

The tide is calmer than it was when you first entered the water, the seagulls and, the waves echoing like a heavenly music box around the two of you.

Nothing is said for quite a while, not with words anyway, the two of you merely sit in the world, kissing and touching at one another before Jungkook finally speaks,

“I know what to call the new wine…when it’s ready…” He beams, still sticking to Korean, his voice still small.

“What will you call it?”

He smiles, kissing your neck once more,

“Y/N.”

[perspective-series]

Freezing Perspective (5)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Fear, panic, extreme cold/almost freezing, mentions of dying, being ignored, unwanted touching, and feeling helpless

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

——————————————————————————-

 “Wow.” Patton said, after a few hours of Logan teaching him. “Humans know so many things.” He said in awe.

“Well, I’m certain your kind knows many things that we don’t.” Logan offered, closing his textbook. “After all, you view the world from an entirely different perspective. The knowledge you would gather, therefore, must be different as well.”

 “I doubt it.” Patton said, looking down. “And even if we did, it’s not nearly as amazing as all of this.” He motioned to all the textbooks they had gone over the past few hours.

“But we don’t have to worry about survival as often.” Logan argued. “The pursuit of knowledge only became so vast after the human race was able to settle down.”

 Patton nodded. “It is hard to take things in when you’re more focused on surviving.” Patton agreed. He then sighed. “I wish borrowers were able to settle down.”

“I thought you did live here.” Logan tilted his head slightly in confusion. “Are you nomadic by nature?”

 “Oh! No, I do live here. I meant settle down as in, like, not have to survive but just able to...live. Like humans do.” Patton explained himself.

“I see.” Logan nodded. “Yes, that would certainly be difficult, even with assistance.”

 Patton just nodded at that. “But, I am happy that you’ve given me the chance to learn this stuff. I never thought I would say this but I’m really glad you found me.” Patton smiled up at Logan.

“Well, I’m certainly happy to have met you as well.” Logan returned the smile, then began to stretch as he sat up. While it was certainly fun teaching Patton, his muscles were quite sore after lying on the carpet all afternoon. 

 Patton smiled before he heard his stomach growl. He blushed lightly, placing a hand on his stomach. What time was it? Did they accidentally skip lunch?

“Would you like to join me for dinner?” Logan asked, tactfully avoiding saying anything. He would have extended the invitation regardless.

 Patton nodded. “That sounds nice.”

“Alright, be back shortly.” Logan slowly stood up, making his way into the kitchen. He began pulling out the ingredients for spaghetti, as that was the pre-planned meal of the day. Although as the water began to boil Logan realized this might be a difficult meal for a borrower to consume.

 Patton watched Logan leave and took this chance to finish the page in the open textbook on the ground. But once he was finished he looked toward the kitchen. Deciding to stretch his legs, he started walking towards where Logan was at.

Logan got the sauce going in a separate pot, searching through his cupboards for anything that might assist the borrower with dinner. He dug through the drawers, pulling out a small teacup saucer from the back that could serve as an oversized plate. Then Logan could cut it up into smaller chunks to be eaten with a fork...but what could possibly serve as such a minuscule fork?

 Patton entered the kitchen as saw Logan cooking at the counter. Patton smiled and headed towards a part of the counter, taking out his hook and beginning to climb up it.

Logan froze, hearing a small ‘clink’ sound to his left. He looked over, spotting a fishing hook embedded into his cabinet. Was that before? A string dangled from it, and as Logan leaned back he noticed a small figure climbing it. “...Patton? What are you doing?”

 Patton paused in his climbing for a moment to look up at Logan. He grinned. “Climbing!” He resumed and pulled himself up onto the counter, taking his hook and rolling it back up.

“Are you certain that’s safe?” Logan raised an eyebrow.

 “Of course! I do it all the time!” Patton exclaimed, shoving his hook back into his bag. He walked closer to Logan, looking at the pots and pans set up on the stove. “What are you making?”

“Spaghetti.” Logan answered, giving it another stir. “Although I must admit I had this planned before I realized I would have company. It might be a bit of an unfortunate choice on my part.”

 Patton blinked. “Why? It sounds good!”

“Well, it may be a bit...messy.” Logan admitted. “And I’m not exactly equipped with utensils for someone of your stature.”

 Patton tilted his head and then grinned. “Oh! You don’t have to worry about that.” Patton dug through his bag and brought out his tinfoil fork. He held it up for Logan to see. “I have this!”

“Oh.” Logan peered at what Patton was holding. “Of course, I was silly for thinking you would be unprepared.”

 Patton giggled. “It’s okay!” Patton put his fork away for now. “But the spaghetti should be fine. And I’m excited to try it, I don’t even know what it looks like.” Patton admitted.

“It’s noodles and sauce.” Logan explained, noticing the noodles seemed to be ready. He dished a small amount onto the saucer for Patton and a larger portion on a plate for himself.

 Patton stepped up to the still far too big plate and looked it over. “Wow…” He said in awe. Honestly, it looked so good. Patton took out his fork, eager to see if it tasted as good as it looked. He ate a bite after blowing on it and hummed in pleasure. “This is so good.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it.” Logan smiled, digging into his own portion.

 Patton nodded and ate until he was full. Of course, there was still a lot left but he couldn’t eat another bite even if he tried. “Thank you so much Logan!”

“Oh, you don’t need to thank me.” Logan took their dirty dishes and put them in the sink. “It certainly is no inconvenience to me.”

 Patton smiled and watched as Logan took the dishes. But then, suddenly, something shifted. The constant low hum Patton hadn’t even noticed until now was gone. But before Patton had time to wonder what it had been, a chill went through the air and he hugged himself, shaking slightly had the cold. Oh, that must have been the heater, once again shutting down.

Logan noticed the chill as well, frowning in the direction of the thermostat. “This is ridiculous.” He looked over to Patton, noticing the borrower was already shivering. He came closer, concerned. “Are you alright, Patton?”

 “It’s c-cold.” Patton shivered. It was amazing how quick the temperature could change.

“Hang on, I’ll grab a blanket.” Logan rushed out of the room, grabbing the one that rested on the back of the couch. It was less warm than the one on his bed, but it would have to do. He bundled it around Patton as best he could, surrounding the little man.

 Patton pulled the blanket around him but was still shivering. “It’s still cold…” Patton whined.

“I apologize.” Logan looked down at his hands, wishing he could do more. The human paused, remembering when Patton had cuddled up to him last night. Perhaps he could do more, using his own body heat.

“Patton, may I pick you up?” Logan asked.

 Patton blinked at that and bit his lip in thought. It was nerve-racking, the idea of being in the human’s hands. But this was Logan. Logan had only been kind to him, not to mention he was asking for his permission to do so. Patton had little doubt that if he said no, Logan wouldn’t do anything.

 He also remembered how warm Logan was last night, and right now he really wanted that kind of heat. So, he nodded.

Slowly, Logan reached out his hands and cupped them around the entire blanket bundle. He held it close to his chest, making sure to keep the borrower safe and supported.

“Is this better?” Logan asked, tilting his chin down to look at Patton.

 Patton could feel the warmth as soon as the hands scooped him up. He hummed in contentment, snuggling deeper into the blankets and Logan’s chest. “Yeah…” He sighed out.

Of course, now the cold was beginning to effect Logan as well. He gave a slight shiver, heading to the bedroom. There he carefully climbed under the covers, pulling a second blanket cover around Patton and himself to keep them both warm.

 Patton shifted a little and did his best to look up at Logan with a smile. “I wish more humans were like you.” Then maybe borrowers wouldn’t have to hide.

“Agreed, most humans are fools.” Logan nodded. “Although under such circumstances I don’t think my talents as a human radiator would be as unique nor appreciated.”

 Patton giggled before yawning and snuggling closer. “Is it...okay if I stay the night again?” Patton asked, just wanting to be sure.

“Naturally.” Logan assured him. Usually it would be far too early to turn in for the night, but with the heat down again Logan doubted they would be going anywhere soon. Besides, he had already finished all his homework earlier in the day due to the borrower’s eagerness for knowledge.

 “Thank you.” Patton said and then closed his eyes. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

Logan looked down at the borrower, so peaceful. He felt a strange attachment to Patton, despite having known him for only a small period of time. Was this what it felt like to make friends? Logan had nearly forgotten. It had been so long since he had met Virgil, but certainly the way he felt about Virgil was equivalent to the bond he felt with Patton. Indeed, Logan even felt that familiar instinct to try and keep Patton from harm. 

Logan nestled into his bed and slowly drifting off to sleep himself, his hands kept protectively cupped around Patton.

***

 This was taking longer than Virgil initially thought it would. But that was mostly due to the crap instructions that was given to him. Why did these things have to be so complicated. But he was determined to finish this tonight, just so he wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore. He clicked on his next playlist and continued building.

“It’s really boring in here.” Roman called out, tossing a bead up into the air and then catching it again. It had been left behind in his bag and was one of his only forms of amusement these past few hours. Being a captive had quickly become more dull than frightening.

Roman paused, hearing a distant hum disappear. He sat up, trying to gauge what that could be, when a chill began to overtake him. Roman shivered, rubbing at his shoulders with his hands.

“Not again.” Roman muttered.

 Virgil barely noticed the heater turn off, his hoodie keeping him warm for the moment. He started to screw the roof onto the dollhouse.

Roman got up, forcing himself to stay mobile. If he sat still the cold would surely overtake him. Instead Roman began to pace the length of the box, rubbing his hands together. 

 Once the roof was secure, Virgil opened the entire dollhouse and got to work on hooking up the lights inside. This was where it was going to get a bit more difficult. Roman had chosen a dollhouse that had working lights, apparently. Making his job harder in setting this thing up.

Roman huffed, watching his breath come out in a small puff. What was taking so long? This was ridiculous! By the time Virgil finished, at this rate Roman would be a borrower-popsicle. Clearly Roman needed a blanket or something, and while Roman loathed to ask the human for help it was his only option.

But how could he gain Virgil’s attention? He had been yelling at the human merely to annoy him with no response for hours. Now that he actually needed the human to listen, he was completely out of luck. 

Roman’s foot hit the bead as he was walking, sending the little plastic ball rolling a few inches. Roman grinned, looking down at the yellow bead. Perhaps he wasn’t completely out of luck after all. 

The borrower grabbed the bead, stepping back in the box so that the human was just within his sights. Taking aim, Roman reeled back his arm and chucked the bead with all the strength his frozen limbs could muster. The bead soared through the air, hitting its target.

 “Ah!” Virgil cried, more in surprise than pain. He rubbed the back of his hand and looked behind him, his eyes falling on the box. His eyes fell lower and towards the bead, which must have been the thing that hit him. He sighed and took his headphones out, scooting over to look in the box. “What?”

“It’s f-freezing.” Roman stated the obvious, his teeth beginning to chatter.

 Virgil’s eyes widened. “Oh. Right.” Now that Virgil was paying attention, it was really cold in here. He watched Roman shaking badly. “Crap.” Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to try and ignore him. He reached in and picked Roman up, holding him close to his chest as he took to a stand and looked around for the best thing Roman could use to warm up.

“Y-you know, if you’re planning on killing me, I prefer a swifter method.” Roman was only half-joking, feeling his muscles begin to untense as he gained some warmth from Virgil’s surrounding presence.

 “Roman, I already told you I’m not going to hurt you.” Virgil sighed, though he should have been more careful and paid more attention. He settled on putting Roman on the bed, letting him use the comforter for warmth.

Roman pulled the edge of the blanket around himself, looking positively grouchy. This would be a perfect location to slip away from Virgil, and yet now if he went back to the walls Roman would surely freeze. 

“You could have fooled me.” Roman huffed.

 Virgil crossed his arms, glaring at Roman. “Look, I really am just trying to help you. You think you could be a little more thankful?”

“Thankful?” Roman raised his eyebrows incredulously, letting out a laugh. “You forgot me in a drawer, stuffed me in a pocket, and nearly let me freeze in a cardboard box.”

 Virgil bit his lip. “Well, I mean, I...could be doing a better job.” Virgil admitted. “But still, my point still stands. I’m doing this for your, like, health and stuff. No offense, but have you seen how pale and skinny you are?” An unhealthy kind of pale and skinny when compared to Virgil’s similar look.

“That is how most individuals who nearly became an icicle look, yes.” Roman’s glare darkened. “And offense taken.”

 Virgil rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m almost done with your dollhouse, so hopefully you’ll have that soon.” He still had to put in the small furniture it came with though. He still had quite a bit to do.

“Oh joy, I get to be a grown-up bean’s plaything.” It was hard to tell which being was more annoyed at the other, but Roman certainly felt his annoyance was more justified.

 “You’re the one that chose it.” Virgil said. He then paused. “And, I’m sorry, what did you call me?” Did he hear that right?

“...a bean?” Roman’s tone was puzzled, clearly unsure what he had said. “A human bean?”

 Virgil blinked. “...You mean human being?”

“No, human bean.” Roman insisted. “It’s what you big people are called.”

 Virgil snorted. “Uh, no, sorry. We’re called human beings.” He couldn’t believe Roman actually thought that. It was cute, not that he would admit that out loud. “And I think the human in the room would know better than the borrower.”

Roman felt his heart plummet slightly, having forgotten he had already revealed that secret. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Roman fibbed. 

 Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Right. Sure you don’t.” He said sarcastically. He looked back at the dollhouse and then back at Roman before sighing. He didn’t trust Roman to stay still but he didn’t want to move Roman away from warmth either. So, it looked as if he would have to finish the dollhouse tomorrow. 

 Instead, he grabbed his phone and and climbed into the half of the bed not occupied by Roman.

Roman felt the surface beneath him shift under the human’s weight, looking up at Virgil with a puzzled expression. “What about that?” Roman asked, raising a hand to point before pulling his hand back into the warmth of the blanket.

 Virgil shrugged. “I’ll finish tomorrow, it’s getting late anyway.” Not that he was going to bed yet but still. He started to scroll through Tumblr.

“Oh.” Roman wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He certainly wasn’t eager to get a new cage, but he also didn’t want to spend another night forgotten in a drawer. 

 “Yep. But you’ll have it by tomorrow night.” Virgil started to blindly reach for the light before pausing and looking down at Roman. “You need anything before I shut the light off?”

Roman shook his head, burrowing further into the blanket.

 “Alright.” Virgil shrugged and turned the light off. He burrowed a bit more into his covers before continuing to look at his phone.

Roman couldn’t believe his luck. “You….you’re not going to put me in the drawer again?” Roman said incredulously.

 “Nah, I figured you’d be warmer out here.” He glanced in Roman’s direction. “Don’t think you can try to escape though. I’m a light sleeper and not even going to bed for a couple more hours.” He was sure Roman would fall asleep before him, anyway.

Roman knew he could manage, but with how cold it remained it still wasn’t worth chancing it. Still, the heat had to kick back on eventually. If he could just wait out the night, maybe he would be lucky enough to have a chance.

 Virgil yawned but continued to look through his phone. He was already getting sleepy though, probably cause of the cold. He glanced over at Roman but he looked to still be awake. He needed to at least wait until the borrower was asleep.

Roman was no fool. He gave a big show of yawning, laying his head down and closing his eyes. His ears, however, stayed alert, listening for the telltale signs of a sleeping human.

 When Virgil glanced over again about a half-hour later, he saw Roman sleeping. Maybe. He reached over and gently prodded the borrower to make sure.

“Hey!” Roman’s eyes shot open, jerking away from the touch. He glared up at the human. “What was that for?”

 Virgil smirked and drew his hand away, turning back to his phone. “I knew it.” Roman wasn’t going to pull a fast one on him.

Roman’s expression fell further, realizing he hadn’t fooled Virgil after all. “I was nearly asleep, you know.” Roman fibbed. “Before being so rudely interrupted.”

 “Uh huh.” He didn’t believe Roman for a second. 

“Why aren’t you asleep, anyways?” Roman looked at the phone in Virgil’s hand. 

 Virgil shrugged. “I don’t usually go to bed until around 2 or 3 anyway. But for tonight, it’s mostly to make sure you don’t go anywhere.”

“Well, it’s too cold to go anywhere.” Roman admitted. “And you’re already in bed.”

 “Nice try. Still not gonna risk it.” Though he couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t getting tired already. Stupid busted up heater.

“Fine, your funeral.” Roman smirked. “I’ve got all night, I can sleep in your mangy pocket. You’re the one who has to stay up for classes.”

 Virgil turned to narrow his eyes at him. “...I’ll go to sleep when you sleep.”

“I’m going to sleep!” Roman insisted, making another show of stretching his arms and yawning. He shivered as his arms felt the cold air, pulling them back into his blanket nest.

 “We’ll see.” Virgil turned back to his phone.

Roman closed his eyes, going back to his charade. This time he kept his muscles tense, ready if Virgil tried to prod him again.

 Virgil waited 20 minutes before reaching over and gently prodding Roman again.

Roman gave no reaction, pleased he had prepped for such an occasion.

 Virgil hummed but no reaction could still mean that Roman was awake. He reached over with his other hand and carefully scooped Roman up into both of them. Gentle enough that if Roman was asleep he’d stay asleep but would surely make him freak out if he was awake.

Roman felt his heart begin to race, curling in on himself slightly on instinct. What was Virgil doing? Was he really going to make him prove he was asleep? Er, fake-asleep?

 Virgil raised an eyebrow when Roman didn’t react, at least, not that he could see. Maybe he really was asleep this time.

 To test further, he switched Roman to one hand and started scrolling through his phone again.

Slowly Roman began to untense, realizing that Virgil wasn’t hurting him. But was Virgil just going to hold him all night? That would certainly make escape...difficult.

 Virgil held Roman for 20 minutes before putting his phone down and looking back down at Roman. “Huh, I guess you really are asleep.” He said softly. Surely if he was awake he would have freaked out by now. He set Roman back down on the bed and then shifted himself to get some sleep. 

Roman grinned slightly to himself, using his other senses to figure out that his plan was indeed working. Virgil truly thought he was asleep!

 Virgil looked at Roman for a few more moments. “Goodnight, Roman.” He said quietly, despite Roman unable to hear him. He then closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Roman smirked, peeking at the snoring human. Light sleeper indeed. Now if only the heat would cooperate, Roman could actually break free.

It seemed Roman’s luck had finally turned around. Just as he thought this, the familiar hum kicked back on.

“Perfect.” Roman grinned, feeling the room begin to heat up. Once it became bearable, Roman crawled out of the blanket, trying not to shiver from the lack of warmth. It would soon be warm enough again. Roman glanced at Virgil, still sleeping peacefully and none the wiser. Not wanting to waste any more time, Roman gripped the edge of the comforter and slid to the ground. 

He was nearly there. The entrance was under the bed, and now there was nothing standing in his way. Sprinting the last few feet, Roman opened up the entrance and breathed in the familiar scent of the wall tunnels. 

Of course, tomorrow he would have to start figuring out how he was going to move houses in the middle of winter. But for now, at least he was free.

[mksc77]

For the sleepy/cozy prompts, shandy 41 please? Thank you 💜

Thanks so much for the prompt, @ila9182!  

41--”You should sleep in my bed more often.”

Set sometime during Season Four.

Sharon jerked awake with a gasp, relieved that the dream of having sex with Andy in the middle of the murder room in front of god and everybody was just a dream.  The yearnings it had created inside of her definitely were not fictional, however, and it was taking a minute to catch her breath.  

It wasn’t the first time Andy had witnessed her waking up in a panic from a dream, and he draped a protective arm over her before he was able to pry his eyes open.  “What’sa matter?” He mumbled.  “You ‘kay?”

“Yeah, uh…Dream,” Sharon murmured, hoping he would go back to sleep. 

Assuming it was a frightening dream, Andy sat up and pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head as she lay on his chest.  He lingered for a few moments to smell her hair, acting like he didn’t know about the small, sweet-smelling bottle in her purse that she spritzed through her hair before going to bed when they were together.  “You want to talk about it?”

Sharon shook her head.  She’d had a couple of similar dreams before, but only when they were at Andy’s house, for some reason.  She’d had physical relationships since Jack, but she’d made a point never to share a bed with other men before.  Now, it was the opposite.  She and Andy had been spending the night together a couple of times a week, give or take, for the last couple of months, but hadn’t yet reached the physical step.  Not the ultimate physical step, anyway, but they’d been slowly but surely making their way to that point. Sharon was taking it slow, for a variety of reasons.  She was more than ready for it physically, obviously, but mentally, she wasn’t quite there, although she knew it was getting close.

Andy reached over and switched on a lamp when he felt Sharon tremble against him.  “Are you sure you’re okay?  Your cheeks are flushed.  You want some water or something?”

“No, I’m okay,” Sharon quickly answered.  “Just want to go back to sleep.”

“All right…You can wake me up if you need anything, or have another dream.”

“I know.”  Sharon smiled up at him and kissed him before rolling over and getting comfortable again.  Andy was asleep just a couple of minutes later, a trait of which she’d been envious since they started staying together at night, but it was a while before she was able to find sleep again.  

On Saturday morning, Sharon was drawn out of bed by the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen.  It was a little chilly, so after brushing her teeth and a couple of rounds with mouthwash, she got Andy’s robe from the hook on the bathroom door.  Once Andy had gone back to sleep after she unintentionally woke him up the night before, it had been close enough to morning for her to go ahead and slip out of bed to brush her teeth and use the mouthwash in case she didn’t have a chance to do so before seeing him in the morning.  It would be a while before she was comfortable enough with him to expose him to morning breath, and she always took advantage of the fact that she usually had to wake up at least once during the night and would brush her teeth before getting back in bed. She inhaled his lingering scent as she padded down the hall, still in bare feet.  “Hey,” she mumbled, stumbling to the coffee pot with her eyes barely halfway open.  She was midpour when she remembered that, while Andy usually stuck with tea, he sometimes liked a decaf coffee.  She paused and gave the coffee pot a suspicious glance.  “Is this…”

Andy grinned.  “Yes, it’s ‘real coffee,’ as you put it.  I went with tea this morning.”

“I will never understand the point of decaf coffee,” Sharon muttered.  She eyed Andy in just his boxers.  A broken internal thermostat had been a lingering annoyance of being post-menopausal, but even she was a little cold this morning.  “Are you not cold?”

Andy shrugged.  “Waking up beside you makes me feel all kinds of things, but ‘cold’ is definitely not one of them.”

Sharon smiled.  “And I thought you just did that at the condo to freak Rusty out.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just an entertaining bonus.”

Sharon placed her coffee mug on the counter when she felt Andy’s arms around her waist and his warm breath against her ear.  “Morning.”

“Good Morning, honey.”  Sharon tilted her face up to kiss him.  It was a small thing, but she loved that she had to look up to kiss him, even when she was wearing heels.  “Thanks for being so patient with me.  I’ll be ready soon, I promise.”

“I know I tease you sometimes, but it’s really not a big deal.  I don’t want to do anything until you’re sure you’re ready for it.”  Andy kissed her forehead.  “However long it takes, I’ll be right here.  Blue balls and all.”

Sharon poked him in the side.  “You’re so charming.”

“I try.”  Andy leaned down to kiss her again.  “You’re beautiful.”

Sharon rolled her eyes.  “I just rolled out of bed and haven’t even brushed my hair or put on a stitch of makeup.”

“Exactly.”  Andy kissed her a little more powerfully, his hand sliding up to cup her breast.

By the time they came up for air, Sharon was breathless.  She reached for her abandoned coffee mug and winced as she took a sip.  “Ugh, it’s cold now.”

Andy nodded.  “Yeah, well, I wish I could say the same.”  He opened the refrigerator and started pulling things out to make breakfast.  “Tonight’s a no-go, huh?”

Sharon nodded apologetically.  “Emily’s getting here this afternoon and will be here all week, and my niece has to be here for work Monday and Tuesday and is staying with me.  I have to pick her up in a couple of hours.”  She dumped her coffee out and refilled her mug.  “I do want you to see Emily and meet Maggie, though.  Why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow night, and then you can stay over later next week when we don’t have such a full house.”  She sipped her coffee.  “But, I have to admit, my dreams are better when we’re here.”

Andy looked confused.  “Really? But last night…”

Sharon shrugged.  “It wasn’t what you think. You were there, and let’s just say we were doing things in the murder room that we could get written up for.”

Andy grinned.  “Ah, it’s about time.”  He’d been having dreams like that about her for a while now and had shared them with her, but she hadn’t told him anything like that yet.

Sharon nodded.  “I only have them here, though.  I don’t know why.”

Andy pushed her coffee mug away from her lips and kissed her again.  “You should sleep in my bed more often.”

“No arguments, here.”

Sharon turned in early Saturday night, leaving Emily and Maggie on the balcony with a bottle of wine.  After getting ready for bed, she called Andy and talked to him for a few minutes before doing her rosary ritual and going to bed.  She woke up in a sweat just before midnight, and the nature of her dream left her surprised that she was in her own bed and not Andy’s.  This had been the most intense one yet, and, years ago, she would’ve gotten out of bed in search of a cigarette to help her enjoy the cool-down.  While she’d quit before she got pregnant with Emily and avoided cigarettes during both pregnancies, there were occasional times afterward where she’d give into cravings.  She remembered that Maggie was there, and while she wished her niece wouldn’t smoke for health reasons, it was coming in handy tonight. She got out of bed and wrapped her robe around herself, wishing it were Andy’s.  Emily and Maggie were still on the balcony, and they looked up in surprise when Sharon opened the sliding door.  

“Hey, Mom, did we wake you up?” Emily asked.

Sharon shook her head.  “I just, uh, couldn’t sleep.”

Noting her disheveled hair and sleepy eyes, Emily gave her a suspicious look, but didn’t say anything.

The older and more removed from cigarettes Sharon got, the more it usually repulsed her, but the glowing stick between Maggie’s fingers was enticing this time.  “Maggie, you mind giving me a cigarette?”

“Sure,” Maggie agreed, just as confused as Emily.  “Since when do you smoke?”

“She doesn’t usually, but she would every now and then when we were growing up,” Emily answered.  

Sharon’s eyes widened.  “You guys knew?”  

Emily rolled her eyes.  “Of course we did.  You weren’t nearly as good at hiding it as you thought you were.”

Sharon accepted the cigarette and lighter from Maggie.  “Yeah, well, sometimes a hellacious day at work just called for one.  Or hellacious children,” she added, with a pointed look at Emily.  She hadn’t had a cigarette in almost fifteen years, now, so she coughed a little as she lit it. Once her body adjusted, she inhaled again.  “Oh, that’s great.  But don’t you get any ideas.”

Emily wrinkled her nose, looking disgusted.  ‘There’s no danger in that.”

Sharon finished her cigarette and put it out in the ashtray she kept on hand for the occasional smoking visitor, usually Gavin.  The post-coital smoke, even though it had unfortunately just been a dream this time, was just as phenomenal as she remembered.  “Thanks, Maggie.  I’m going back to bed.  Love you guys.”

Maggie looked at Emily once Sharon was gone.  “That was weird.  She looked like she’d been asleep.  The only time I smoke after being in bed is after sex.  Or maybe a particularly good dream about it.”

A look of horror came over Emily’s face.  “Oh, no!  That’s exactly what that was! Oh, gross.  I need another bottle of wine for this.”

[pastelgrungewrecker]

Scarification

{Related to/Sequel to This]

The stark realization Whirl couldn’t cry shook the household to it’s foundations. He waved away the concerns, bluntly denying worry until finally he snapped- prosthetic hands curled into fists and molten-gold eye vicious in it’s near-devilish shine.

“I’M FUCKING FINE.”

He wasn’t, but like hell would he admit it.

Perceptor watched, as he always did, while the rest of their odd family unit worried and fretted.

And then, the day came he struck.

“Whirl.”, he called out quietly, “I need a favor.”

“What, shortstack?”

“I have an appointment- it might be a bit of a rough one, and I need someone who’s going to be able to drive if the painkillers don’t wear off in time so that I can be here when the kids get home from school, if it’s no trouble.”

Whirl shrugged, getting to his feet after pulling over his boots and lacing them on, “Sure thing, sweetheart. What kinda appointment is this? It ain’t that hormone doc, is it? I still say they can suck a whole fuck-”

“No, they have since been... handled.”

“...They’re dead ain’t they.”

“Wh-No! I simply transferred my care to a better physician reccomended by Ratchet.”

“...So no one would know if they died, then-”

“YOU CAN’T MURDER MEDICAL PROFESSIONALS.”

“Can so. Anyway, what kinda appointment?”

They had argued and bickered the whole way out to the car, already on the way with Perceptor’s occasional direction before Whirl remembered his initial question. Perceptor blinked, before pulling away the patch over his eye and tucking it into his shirtpocket.

“Scar reduction.”

Whirl raised an eyebrow.

“Due to the nature of my previous injuries, sometimes the procedure becomes a touch invasive. They use various methods to reduce the size and discoloration; and in the event of my chest, on occasion must venture beneath the skin to free up my respiratory system.”

“Eh?”

“They get the spiderwebs out of my airsacs.”

Whirl snorted, but nodded.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Walking into the hospital made him tense soon after. He stayed close to Perceptor’s shoulder, squinting slightly at the doctor who met them- young, bright, but softspoken.

Perceptor spoke with them in low tones before sighing and unbuttoning his shirt. The doctor looked over to Whirl, and tilted their head with a small smile.

“Are you a friend of the patient?”

“Husband.”

The smile never changed, “Oh, excellent. Once today’s procedure is finished I’ll go over the aftercare with you, just in case! I’ve already informed Mister Drift and Doctor Ratchet.”

“Sounds good.”

They turned back to Perceptor, and Whirl’s eye narrowed. He, himself, was covered in scars; probably more that Perceptor given the... surgery he had received in his younger years.

“Mister Whirl? If you have any questions feel free to ask me.”

“Whatcha gonna do to him.”

“Today we are working on evening out the skin over his chest and checking on the healing from the last breathing issue we dealt with. He was having some issues with wheezing and tightness alongside pain and pulling.”

“Mhm, I remember.”

“I’m not sure how much of his history you know-”

“Served with him in the Wreckers, probably know more’n you.”

Something like alarm or relief was suddenly present on their face, “Oh! Oh that is excellent. May I ask you some questions, please?”

The squint continued, “Sure. But if I say I’m not answering, don’t be a shit about it.”

A confused head tilt, before realization and a pleasantly solemn nod, “Of course, sir. Do you know the extent of Mister Perceptor’s torso injuries? Finding any record on it has been... difficult.”

“There isn’t any ‘s why.”, said Whirl easily, “He was his own medic for all of it. If you need details you’ll need to contact Magnus.”

“Oh, wonderful- that will help a LOT in planning further treatment.”

A soft hiss from Perceptor, and they returned their full attention to him. Whirl watched the gentle motions, the careful way they handled Perceptor and his minute pains. And Whirl’s suspicious squint relaxed.

“Also, Mister Whirl- do you know the approximate age of Perceptor’s scarring, by any chance?”

“Kinda. Lessee... It was before Garrus 9, ‘n right after my veto...”

Whirl muttered to himself for a moment, quietly appreciating the patience the doctor showed before he was able to give a fairly close date, “Give or take a month.”

Honest gratitude shone in the doctor’s eyes, “Thank you so much! This explains quite a bit by way of how heavy the scarring is, and how widespread in the chest cavity it’s become. I’ll be sure to notify the head physician about this so we can modify your treatment.”

“Ugh, hopefully I won’t be the frog in the tin again.”

A soft chuckle, “Maybe only once or twice more; we were able to clear out quite a bit.”

“Izzat why you’ve been sleepin’ better Percy?”

“Precisely.”

“That’s good to hear! I’m sure uncle would be pretty upset if I made his old coworkers TOO uncomfortable.”

Whirl paused, “Uncle?”

A sad smile from the doctor before they bustled over to the small counter, plucking their necessities out of cabinets with some kind of muscle memory, “Yes, my uncle Sandstorm.”

“Sandst- oh. Aw geez, kiddo.”

“It’s alright! No need for the sympathy kiddos.”, they asnwered with a slight tightness in their voice, “But my uncle is why I went for becoming a medic, and went specifically full bore on this. Scars, even if they never really go away, deserve to be taken care of. Otherwise... well.”

A solemn silence fell over the room as Whirl and Perceptor quietly remembered old rules. The three D’s: Death, Dishonorable Discharge, and Dementia.

The third was always the worst, and Sandstorm’s case had been a pinnacle of suffering.

“So, now I’m a doctor- and, to be honest, I prefer to work with Wreckers like Mister Perceptor. Speaking of! You’re good for today, just some minor toning and double checking. Here-”

A small container put in Perceptor’s hand.

“This should help with the roughness of the skin around the scars themselves; and will help if there’s any peeling or inflammation. Keep them clean and use the cream you were prescribed last month and on your next appointment we’ll see how far they went.”

They turned to Whirl, and smiled, “And Mister Whirl? If you’d like my help, Mister Perceptor has all my contact information- unless you’d like me to give it to you for privacy’s sake.”

Whirl paused a moment, thinking. Perceptor seemed to not be paying attention, putting his shirt back on and swearing softly as sore hands rebelled against buttons.

Whirl nodded, and whispered, “If y’could, kiddo.”

A smile, a card slipped into Whirl’s hand, and a gentle squeeze of a steel forearm.

“See you soon, Sir.”

Soon turned out to be, ironically and quietly, the day after Perceptor’s appointment. 

Whirl swallowed hard as he was called back, greeted with the same soft smile and a gentle hand on a steel-plated arm.

“Hello Mister Whirl, it’s good to see you.”, they said with their voice calm and smooth, “Now, let’s see what we’re working with- as much as you are currently comfortable with showing me.”

“There’s. There’s a lot, kiddo.”

“I know. But I promise I’m no wallflower.”

Whirl choked and snorted at the almost kid-like grin, “Proud of that huh?”

“Sure am.”

Whirl shook his head, then began tugging his shirt from his body, up and over his head and set beside him in a mound of rumpled fabric. Some of the scars were raised, keyloidal and gnarled- but most were dips and dents in the skin.

With hands washed and gloves on, the doctor began carefully inspecting each one, asking quiet questions about pain and soreness and time and cause and simply listening- even when Whirl’s memory seemed to glitch, when he could remember the aftermath and not the reason.

“Well, we have a few options with a good majority of them. There’s lasering, which is quickest but can have some side effects and pain, there are topical treatments, various kinds of medicated lotions or creams that can be used.”

“Huh, go figure.”

“My major worry, however- Your arms and your eye.”

Silence.

“Mister Whirl, I know what they’re from. And even though I will never be able to understand the kind of pain you went through, I do need to be able to see what they left behind; I can’t change the past, I wish I could, but what I can do is make things less painful in the future.”

“....Nothin’ leaves this room, right?”

“Nope. Not even if Doctor Ratchet tried to badger me out of the info. My lips and records are one hundred percent sealed.”

Whirl chuckled. He knew Ratchet would never try such a thing but... For some reason, the promise helped.

“Watch how I detach the left, so you can help with the right, okay?”

“Yes sir.”

First, he removed the patch from his eye. He winced softly, the sudden chill of the air biting against skin normally covered. The doctor’s eyes widened, and they got to their feet to scurry over to.. the thermostat?

“I’m so sorry! I should’ve turned the heat up a little when you walked in- temperature can sometimes cause soreness in scars usually covered.”

“That why I swell up in the chilly months?”

“It can be a factor, yes.”, they said in concern, “But it can also be a sign of scar tissue reaching far deeper than it should, which is worrying.”

“Well, full eye gouging, so...”

“Mhm, that’d do it.”

Next, the arms- high tech prosthetics developed by Brainstorm in a fit of anger at the status quo. First the left, and then he nodded for help with the right. There was no pity in the doctor’s eyes, simply concern and calculation.

“...This isn’t a good look.”, was the flat answer.

“Y’don’t say.”

“See how the scarring has lumped up here, and here? And calloused over here? That will have to be dealt with or we could be dealing with some sticky problems.”

“Sticky how?”

“Sticky like pus pocket under the skin.”

“Gross- Perce has that issue with his eye socket once, some kinda skin infection.”

“Exactly. Scar tissue is just skin, but.. bassboosted.”

“...You sound like my kid.”

“Well, its a good way of putting it.”, they said with a shrug, “The thickness and uneven development is worrying to say the least- do you have any cushioning in your prosthetics?”

“Yeah?”

“May I look at them?”

“Sure, you’re the doc after all. My husband developed them- Not Perce. Brainstorm.”

The doctor began to meticulously inspect the prosthetics, “I see- would it be alright for me to contact him? The cushioning seems to be slightly breaking down, and I’d like to give him the contact of our prosthetics department to see if there are other materials available.”

“Er, I s’pose. His number’s in my phone- but after I got my arms back on, maybe.”

“Good idea.”

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Brainstorm was startled by Whirl’s sudden homecoming near dinner-hour; raising his eyebrows at the sneaky behavior his husband was exhibiting. Beating down his natural anxious reaction, he crept after him and peered around a doorframe into the... bathroom.

“Now, lessee... She said this one was for-”

“She who?”

Whirl shrieked. Brainstorm crossed his arms, hip cocked and expression flat.

“She who, Whirl.”

“My doc.”

“...Your what?”

“Perce introduced me to the doc who helps with his uh. His scars. She’ll be callin’ you, actually. About my arms. Somethin’ about the cushioning in the prosthetics, and gettin’ you in contact with a buncha medics who had other materials or whatever.”

Brainstorm’s eyes lit up, “Oh, oh really! Excellent, absolutely excellent- It was touch and go with the internal padding, I was terrified of what would happen if it broke down too far-”

Whirl blinked, hanging a towel over the bathroom mirror as he always did, “Huh, really?”

Brainstorm rolled his eyes, “Yes, dork. I love you and don’t want you in pain or sore all the time just to have the ability to flip the bird.”

Whirl fell quiet, humming his acknowledgement before pulling the patch off his eye and tucking it into a drawer, “Also, ‘M not s’posed to wear my patch all the time. Worried about temperature sensitivity and swellin’ and stuff. And they ave me some weird shit to put on the old scars on my stomach and stuff. Said it’ll help with evenin’ them out.”

“Good, you’re always in hell when winter hits and you know it. I’m glad you went and saw a doctor, Whirl.”

Brainstorm snuck in, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to Whirl’s jaw before the phone in his back pocket trilled angrily, “Ah, what do you know- a mysterious caller!”

Whirl watched as Brainstorm answered, chatting animatedly about “developmental roadblocks” and “possible consultancy”. He shook his head, turning back to try and read the tiny print on the container in his hand..

“PERCE, GET IN HERE THREE EYES, I CAN’T SEE THIS SHIT!”

“WATCH WHO YOU CALL THREE EYES, YOU BLOODY SASQUATCH, I’LL BE THERE IN A MINUTE!” 

[myhauntedsalem]

911 Operators Describe the Most Disturbing Calls they’ve Ever Taken

1. “Daddy’s Eye Fell Out”

“Had a call for a brother who killed his other brother with a hammer (the pick part) while the victim’s little daughter was watching. The daughter called us from another room and told us her daddy’s eye fell out.

Perp was apprehended, daughter taken by relative. Had to smoke after that one, and I don’t even smoke.”

– rainbowbrite0091

2. “I Need your Help”

“There was an old couple who lived on a run-down ranch house about 20 miles east of town. When the husband passed away, the woman would call 911 at least three times a week, asking for assistance with very mundane tasks not normally dealt to first responders. “I need help turning the thermostat up”, “I need help boiling water for my tea”, etc.

The woman developed dementia, and eventually, it progressed to the point where she believed she was calling 911 to ask her deceased husband for help. All of the dispatchers would recognize the address immediately, even though all she could say was “(husband’s name), I need help. Please come home and help me”

One day she called, and again was only able to repeat her husband’s (I’ll call him “John”) name. “John, I need help. Please come home and help me John.” By the time the first responders arrived on scene, they found the woman lying dead in her bed. The first unit on scene called dispatch to confirm that it was the woman herself who had called 911, as rigor Morris had already set in. We wrote it off as the fact that the heater in her house wasn’t working, and the ambient temperature in the room was about 50 degrees.

We continued to receive 911 calls from that woman, at that address for just over a year after she passed away. Even after her home was vandalized, and burned to the ground, the phone calls did not stop. “John, I need your help. John, please come home and help me.” We were obligated to send a response each and every time, but not once did we find anyone on or near the property.

Multiple calls to the phone company confirmed that the phone line had been disconnected, and the call was not coming from another address.”

– Nevadadrifter

3. Glass Breaking

“1979 NYC. Got a call from a crying child – a little boy – saying his mom and dad were fighting and his dad said he was going to throw the mom out of the window. I could hear a terrible fight going on in the background – woman screaming, things breaking, man yelling, etc. The poor kid didn’t know his address. We didn’t have the technology for call ID and would have to use reverse telephone books. A trace would take forever. Anyway while I’m trying to get the address I hear a horrific scream and glass breaking. A few seconds later the other operators in the room are getting calls about a woman lying in the courtyard who came out of a window. Very sad.

Worst of all is that I am sure someone else in this apartment building must have heard this fight but no one called for help until it was too late. Poor kid. Working 911 in NYC during the 70s/80s was a nightmare.”

– Mizcreant908

4. Alone in the House

“The single worst call I’ve ever taken though was a woman who was calling in that she was hearing weird noises in her house. While walking through her house she started screaming and told me there was someone in her house. There we a couple soft pops followed by a gargling sound. After the officers had cleared the house and found her, it finally came out during the investigation that her adult son had killed her while high and freaking out.

Gunshots don’t sound like you’d think on the phone, they’re rather soft. It’s an eerie sound, something so violent being so soft that if you aren’t paying attention you can miss it.”

– 4x49ers

5. Static on the Line

“My uncle works for dispatch in my town and he recently told my family of the weirdest call he’s ever gotten. He says that he had received a call from a landline one night and when he answered it there was only static on the other end. This happened two more times. Finally, he calls a squad to go check out the address from the caller ID. When the cops got there and walked into the house they immediately saw that there was a dead body. The person had been dead for 5 months.

The craziest part about it was that there was no electricity or any other utility working. So there is no way they should have been able to get those calls into dispatch. But if they hadn’t, who knows how long that person’s body would have stayed there.”

– Zombie_Dance_

6. A Long Raspy Exhale

“Christmas Eve night I answered 911 for a hysterical lady who was crying so hard she couldn’t breathe. I asked her what was going on and she told me these exact words “my boyfriend and I… we were watching a movie… I fell asleep. I woke up and he wasn’t here.”

I thought this was a little odd so I said, “okay ma’am, do you know where he may have went?” she wasn’t done. She said, “I found him.. in our closet, he hung himself.. with our bed sheets.” I walked her through cutting him down and starting CPR. when in the middle of it, he starts making this long raspy exhale that sounds exactly like something from a horror movie, it’s the rest of his air leaving his lungs. She starts getting hysterical again begging him, “oh my god, he’s breathing, please breathe baby, please breathe..” But I knew that’s not what he was doing.

Police/fire/ambulance got there and of course, the guy was way dead. I felt so bad for that woman. That’s really the only call that has ever stuck with me.”

– JeCsGirl

7. Halloween Night

“My mom was a 911 dispatcher in the early 90’s (I was 5 years old-ish) in Washington State. When I got older, I remember asking her about some of the calls that she could still recall. One in particular was pretty bad. She was working one year on Halloween night and around 10 or 11pm she had a call come in that a couple guys were driving around town with a dummy or something dragging behind their truck. The dummy was falling apart and pieces of clothing/plastic were being torn off and scattered around the city.

Being Halloween, it seemed like a prank but she had a patrol car try to find and stop the truck. As time goes by more and more people started to call in about it. Eventually the patrol car caught up with the truck and it turns out that it was a person.

The guys had gone to a store earlier and when they left, they had backed their truck into an elderly man whose clothes got caught in the rear bumper or whatnot. The two guys never even knew that they were dragging around another human being all across town, for miles.

The elderly man had passed away and those pieces of clothing scattered around town, was his clothing, flesh, and body parts. Still gives me chills.”

– Turkeyshoes

8. The Man in the Attic

“I worked dispatch for a total of three months, and in that three months I only received one call I would call creepy. It was the voice of a little boy, and I was trying to be calm because it felt like he was having a hard time breathing. I asked him if he was in danger and he said no, not anymore. I asked him why he had called and he said “well, the man in the attic finally killed my mom. I asked him if he could still see his mom and he said “no, the man took her to the moon” I asked him if he was alone in the house, to which he replied “no, I still have the mans dog here” I asked him what the doggies name was in the hopes I could keep the boy calm, the boy replied “his name is shaitan” I asked him to say it again thinking he said “satan” but he clearly replied “its shaitan”. By the end of the call, the police showed up and I still don’t know what ever happened with the boy and his mother.

But years later I was researching the Djinn/jinn and according to ancient texts, evil spirits like djinn are able to manifest themselves as a dog or other animals and guess what the djin were known as? Shaitan.

I still have a hard time sleeping at night when I think about this call.”

– Mr–Night

9. Possessed

“I was a 911 call taker 10 years ago when I received one of the creepiest calls ever. It was freezing that night, which usually equaled a calm, quiet shift due to even the criminals not wanting to go outside. Around 3am my call box popped up green and as usual I asked what was the emergency. A man starting frantically screaming that his still was possessed by a demon and tried to cut his heart while he slept. He had ran when the attack started and locked himself in his bathroom. I ask him a series of questions trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

I ask him a series of questions trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Everytime he tried to answer I heard what sounded like scratching and banging on the bathroom door. He whispered “There is a demon in my sister’s body, it has been battling me for days. It got free from the chains…” I swear what I heard next chilled me to the core. This unearthly voice began taunting my caller through the door. It didn’t sound like a 20-something woman. It was low and guttural, like she had gargled razor blades before speaking. She continued to growl and speak in a strange sounding language until police arrived. She let out a terrifying scream when the officers broke in, then dead end.

The call was over, I was shaking and had to know what happened? Even my supervisor (who had been listening to the call in real time) was pale and speechless when the line abruptly ended. Before my shift ended the commanding officer on my creepy call called in to tell me what they found. He told me he would have nightmares for the rest of his life.

Apparently, when my caller said his sister got out of her chains, he wasn’t joking around. She still had a chain tied to a bloody handcuff when the officers came in. Her whole body was covered in self-inflicted scratches, her one eye had popped a blood vessel and was bright red. Most of what she was wearing was also shredded and her skin looked like she had been drained of her blood. She was taken in for a psych consult and as you probably guessed, stayed there for a long time. The brother was okay except for deep gouges in his chest. His sister literally tried to dig out his heart.

There was some talk about arresting the brother but nothing ever came of it. I still can vividly remember that voice, it still makes my blood run cold.”

– QueenoftheNorth82

[libraryscarf]

galolio can have a little sickfic. as a treat.

^^^

pizza for breakfast ( ao3 )

^^^

February 11

“Valentine’s Day? Really?”

Not even Lio’s tepid response could dampen Galo’s enthusiasm.

“It’s my favorite holiday!”

“You say that about every holiday,” Lio retorted, crossing his arms. He might as well have not spoken at all. The fire in Galo’s eyes was indication enough that he would be celebrating Valentine’s Day to the full extent of his burning soul. Which meant, of course, that Lio would be dragged along for the ride.

“I’m not big on stuff like this,” he admitted, because it felt a little mean to let Galo barrel joyfully into an endeavor that Lio couldn’t pursue with his whole heart.

He loved Galo. Lio did love him, with a ferocity that nearly scared him. If anything, Valentine’s Day felt a little ham-fisted. There weren’t any conversation hearts engraved with: “You held part of my soul inside your body, and I’m not sure you gave all of it back.”

Galo took Lio by the shoulders. He could be very gentle, for such a strong person. He still handled Lio much like a very cautious, very well-trained Rottweiler would handle a newborn kitten.

“I know you aren’t,” he said kindly. “But…can you let me?”

Lio looked at him. He looked at Galo, and saw in his face how much this would mean to him. Perhaps they spoke different languages in this area, but Lio could learn how to translate.

It would almost be easy, if it was for Galo.

“Okay,” he said.

Galo kissed him swiftly, then immediately called a florist and put in an order for several dozen roses.

February 12

Galo walked through the door, and his whole body seemed to droop as he crossed the threshold. Lio wordlessly got up from the couch and pulled him into a hug. His hair smelled like smoke.

“Bad day?” he asked, petting the back of Galo’s head.

“Awful,” Galo mumbled into Lio’s shoulder.

“Do you want to tell me?”

Galo buried his face deeper, until Lio wasn’t sure how he could even breathe. Then, suddenly, he straightened again, his face a rictus of agony.

“Bistro Champagne is booked solid for the fourteenth,” he said miserably. “And so is everywhere else. I’m so sorry, Lio! I tried everything! I wanted to take you somewhere fancy and elegant, and—Lio?”

Lio’s mouth was bent in a weird, scary frown. It was the only way he could contain his laughter, but it made him look less sympathetic, and more like he was holding in diarrhea.

“That is…so sad,” he agreed, afraid that Galo would start talking again. “But really, whatever we do will be fine. We could even stay home and make something.”

Galo gave Lio a sideways look.

“Can you cook?” he asked.

Lio thought about it. He didn’t really want to suggest boxed macaroni and cheese.

“We could learn a new recipe…together,” he suggested lamely, but Galo’s face brightened.

“Lio,” he said earnestly. “You are smart, and amazing, and I love you. With our powers combined, there is no recipe that can defeat us.”

Galo’s excitement was contagious. Lio grinned back. He couldn’t help it.

“So,” he said, poking Galo’s cheek. “Team Thymos-Fotia will take the gold in this Valentine’s Day chef smackdown?”

Galo pursed his lips.

“Exactly, except it’s Team Fotia-Thymos.”

Lio smirked. “Should we consult the marriage certificate?”

And Galo suddenly pretended he couldn’t read, which often happened when Lio backed up his side of an argument with any form of official documentation.

February 13

Galo came into the living room, shivering.

“Why’s it so cold in here, Lio?” he complained. “I thought you liked it nice and toasty.”

Lio glanced at the thermostat, then at Galo, who gravitated over to the radiator as visible shudders wracked the whole length of his body.

“It doesn’t feel cold to me,” he said. A nasty weight settled in the pit of his stomach.

Galo hunched over in front of the radiator. “F-f-freezing,” he mumbled.

Lio left the room, and came back with a thermometer.

“Open up,” he said. Galo, too miserable to protest, let Lio slip the thermometer between his lips. It beeped, and they both looked down at the readout.

“Uh oh,” said Galo.

February 14, Early Morning

Meis woke to the sound of a phone ringing.

“Gueira,” he mumbled. Gueira remained facedown in his pillow, resolutely asleep. Grumbling, Meis threw an arm across him and snatched the phone from the bedside table. Through bleary eyes, he saw Lio’s number on the caller ID.

He answered.

“Whathefuckisit.”

“Have either of you ever been sick?”

Meis rubbed his eyes, jostled slightly more awake by the overt panic in Lio’s tone.

“Sick?” he repeated.

“Like the flu.”

Meis sat up in bed, elbowing Gueira in the neck. Ignoring his husband’s yelp of pain, he turned on the lamp next to the bed and settled the phone more securely against his ear.

“Boss, are you sick?” he asked.

Gueira was still cursing himself awake, but the serious note in Meis’ voice silenced him.

“No,” Lio said immediately. “It’s Galo. He was running a fever last night, so I put him to bed early. But now he’s burning up.”

Meis frowned. As Burnish, they hadn’t needed to worry about illness. The Promare had vaporized infection in much the same way it had healed injuries. There had never been even a stuffy nose in the Burnish camps.

Things were very different now.

“I’m not worried about myself,” Lio said, as though he could read Meis’ mind. “I did some research. I’ll be fine.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. Meis could hear how worried Lio was. He could hear in that silence how helpless he felt. And Meis knew that above anything, Lio hated feeling helpless.

“Gueira and I will bring some stuff over to you,” he said. “Don’t worry, Boss. He’ll be just fine.”

For another moment, Lio remained quiet.

“Thank you.”

Mid-Afternoon

“I feel amazing!”

Galo weakly raised an arm, saluted Lio, and let it drop heavily back to the bed. His eyes were at half-mast, probably thanks to the liberal dose of Theraflu Lio had funneled down his throat.

“When’zour reservation?” Galo slurred. “Don’t wanna be late.”

Lio sponged Galo’s sweaty forehead with a cool washrag.

“We didn’t make one, remember?” he said soothingly. “We decided to stay home.”

Galo’s eyelids drooped, his pupils crossing.

“That doesn’t seem right,” he mumbled. And then he was fast asleep again.

Lio sighed. He rarely felt in over his head. If he didn’t know what action to take, he did research, and consulted his generals. If that yielded nothing, he made an educated guess. But when it came to Galo, Lio found himself uncharacteristically hesitant.

What if he’d done everything wrong? What if it wasn’t just a short-term flu, but something much worse? Should he be making chicken soup? Was he even capable of making chicken soup? What if he burned down their apartment trying to make chicken soup?

The doorbell startled Lio out of his doom spiral. He hurried to the front door, carefully shutting Galo’s bedroom door behind him.

When Lio opened the door, he didn’t know how to process what he was looking at. There seemed to be someone standing there, but their entire upper body and face were obscured by an explosion of red. The heady scent of fresh roses hit him like a freight engine.

A young woman’s face popped around the side of the colossal bouquet.

“These are for…” She squinted at a card attached to the bouquet.

“Lio…Forte?”

To his horror, Lio felt his throat begin to swell up.

“I’ll take them,” he said sharply, gathering the bouquet in his arms. It almost didn’t fit through the door, but he wrestled it inside, nearly slicing himself open on the thorny stems.

“Goodbye,” he said to the delivery girl. He nearly kicked the door shut before his conscience kicked in.

“Wait,” he ordered, before stalking out of the entryway. In the living room, he set the roses on the coffee table delicately, as though they were made of spun sugar. Then he snatched his wallet, dug around in it for some cash, and crushed a generous tip into the shocked young woman’s hand before shutting the door in her face.

If anyone had looked in the window during the next half hour, they would have seen Lio Fotia sitting on the couch, cradling a bouquet the size of a healthy five-year-old in his arms, and trying his very best not to cry.

Morning

It was the sun through the eastern-facing window that finally woke Galo. His head felt like someone had taken five or six swings at it with a sledgehammer. He ached everywhere, he was unbelievably thirsty, his eyes were bone dry, and in general he felt more like a sack of wet dirt than a human being.

“Good morning,” said someone to his right. With herculean effort, Galo turned his neck in the direction of the voice.

It was Lio, of course. Who else would be sitting there, right next to Galo, looking so very beautiful, and so very tired?

“Lio,” he said.

Or, he tried to say it. What really came out of his desiccated throat was little more than a wheeze. Immediately there was a glass of cool water against his lips, and Galo drank.

And drank. And drank. Holy shit, had water always been this good?

Lio took the cup away before Galo could aspirate on it. He smiled, reaching a hand out to cup Galo’s cheek. Galo nosed into it, sighing deeply.

“What time’s it?” he mumbled.

His eyelids desired nothing more than to shut again, but he didn’t want to stop looking at Lio. He felt like he had been wandering through a rough, lonely dream all alone, and now Lio shone down at him, his face brighter than the fiercest star.

“It’s about nine thirty.”

Galo’s heart soared. He hadn’t ruined it.

“Good…we can still have our Valentine’s Day.”

Lio’s thumb swept tenderly over his cheek.

“It’s the fifteenth, my love.”

Galo’s eyes flew open. He stared at Lio, utterly stricken.

“I—I missed it?”

No. No, he couldn’t have missed it. He’d made so much of it, and he’d dragged Lio into his planning and excitement—all for nothing. If his eyes hadn’t been so painfully dry, Galo could have wept.

“I missed it,” he whispered hoarsely. “I missed Valentine’s Day.”

“Can I show you something?”

Lio’s voice was sweet and calm—almost like he didn’t think this was a tragedy of the highest degree. Galo gazed up at him, speechless with distress. Finally, he gave the smallest of nods, and Lio smiled angelically.

“Good,” he said. “I think you’ll like it.”

What Lio wanted to show him was apparently outside the room, so Galo began the torturous job of moving his body out of bed. Lio helped him sit upright, and slid a soft arm around his waist to bolster him as he—slowly, carefully—stood up.

“The great Galo Thymos rises again,” said Lio, as Galo triumphantly straightened to his full height.

“It’ll take more than a little flu to knock me over,” he proclaimed. “A few germs are no match for my burning soul!”

Lio chuckled, and kept an arm around his waist to support him as they shuffled awkwardly through the doorway and down the hall.

Galo almost didn’t recognize their living room. The curtains were drawn, completely blocking out the morning sunlight, and the lights in the room were dimmed. Every horizontal surface was covered in candles. Music was wafting from some hidden speaker: a soft, lilting violin melody tumbling over itself like a mountain stream. At the center of the coffee table was a huge glass vase, stuffed and overflowing with blooming red roses.

As his brain struggled to align this romantic alcove with their plain, familiar living room, Lio sat him safely down on one side of the couch.

“Well?” he asked. If Galo hadn’t been so dumbstruck, he would have thought Lio almost sounded nervous.

“What do you think?”

Galo opened his mouth, trusting, as he always did, that something would come out of it.

“Huh,” he said, intelligently.

Lio’s eyes glassed over. “I should have done balloons too,” he whispered in agony. “I knew something was off.”

Galo shook his head violently, then winced and clutched his stiff neck.

“No, no, nonono!” He looked at the candles, at the roses, and then at Lio. It was then that he smelled something delicious: cheesy…spicy.

“Did…did you order the Inferno Volcano Margherita MegaMax Valentine’s Day Couples Special Deluxe?!”

Lio rarely blushed, and Galo wasn’t sure in the dim lighting, but it seemed like his cheeks were much pinker than usual.

“If you don’t mind pizza for breakfast,” Lio said, sounding uncharacteristically embarrassed. Galo stared at him, agape.

“Lio, have you met me?”

Lio blinked. “You make a point.”

As Galo sat on the couch, basking in the soft glow of several dozen candles, Lio retrieved the pizza from the kitchen where it had been kept warm and deliciously melty in the oven. He lifted two generous slices onto plates and set one in front of Galo, who looked like he was on the verge of tears.

“You…”

He swallowed thickly, his eyes traveling from the pizza, to the candles, to Lio’s face.

Lio’s eyes crinkled at the corners. He set his pizza down on the coffee table before sitting down on the couch next to Galo.

“Is this okay then?” he asked. There was a note of vulnerability in his voice that made Galo’s heart swell far beyond its normal capacity.

That Lio had done this—that he had gone so far out of his comfort zone to give Galo the Valentine’s Day he had asked for, and that he had done it alone, made Galo feel that he wanted to either cry, or fold Lio as tight as he could into his arms and not let go until they were both withered husks.

Lio noticed the kaleidoscope of emotions on Galo’s face, and his forehead wrinkled.

“Galo, do you feel all right?”

Galo opened his mouth, croaking: “I love you so, so, so, so much.”

Lio stared at him for a long moment, looking like he was formulating the answer to some complex riddle in his head. Then, he seemed to arrive at a conclusion. He leaned in.

Galo squirmed backward.

“Wait, wait—I’m sick!” he squawked.

Lio took him by the shoulders, his eyes shining, full of something warm and powerful that made Galo’s stomach drop away.

“Yes,” Lio said. “I know.”

Then he kissed him, and for a long while the pizza on the coffee table was left to cool.

[timehealsfanfictionbka]

Time Heals.....Chapter Thirty-Four

Chris sighed as he sat at his desk, trying to finish his work and not focus on his shattered glass door. He started reading over a bid proposal when his phone rang. He rubbed his eye as he picked it up, “hello?”

“Hey Chris.”

He smiled and leaned back in his chair, “Hey Robyn. How are you?”

“I’m doing ok. Are you busy?”

Chris looked at the stacks of proposals on his desk and sighed, “A bit but I can carve some time out for you. What’s going on?”

“I just wanted to talk to you about something but it can wait.”

“Are you at work?”

“No, I’m at home.”

“You opposed to coming here? We can have a late lunch.”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“I was already planning to come see you later. We can make halfway and save each other a trip.”

“No, the girls are home and I-”

Chris started clicking around on his computer until he found his calendar for the girls, “they have a sleepover today. I’m sure they’re probably already on their way to their friend’s house.”

“How’d-”

“I have their calendar synced with mine so I can remember all their appointments and events. Look, you need to talk to me and I really need to see you and make sure everything is ok. We can kill two birds with one stone.”

“What’s halfway?”

“My job is halfway. You can come to my office if you don’t want to be out in a public place.”

“Umm… I don’t know.”

“Robyn, it’s really not huge deal or inconvenience for me. I’ll order Five Guys and we can have a late lunch and talk, ok?”

“I guess. Is there any kind of dress code in your building?”

“Not for visitors. Anything you wear will be fine.”

“Ok. I’ll see you in 30.”

“Good. See you then.”

Chris hung up and pressed the call button on his intercom to summon his secretary. Jasmine Boles, she was his predecessor’s secretary and decided to stay once he was promoted, appeared in the doorway in moments, “Yes Chris?”

“I’m having a visitor, her name is Robyn Fenty in for lunch. Can you pick up a Five Guys order for me?”

“Of course. Do you want me to order it when I get there or do you want to call beforehand?”

“You can order it when you get there. Two Bacon Cheeseburgers. One with ketchup. One plain. Two large fries. One  vanilla milkshake and one chocolate milkshake.”

“Anything else?”

“Take a bag and get some of those peanuts they have there too.”

“Will do.”

“If you want anything you can get it as well, you have the company card correct?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Then use that.”

“No problem. Be back in about 30.”

“Thank you Ms. Jasmine.”

Jasmine smiled and left his office.

Robyn sighed as she tugged her cardigan over her shoulders and stepped out of her car. She had never been to Chris’s job, the building just looked so official. She grabbed her phone to tuck into her back pocket before closing and locking her car doors.

An officer stopped her at the front desk, requesting her ID and signature on the sign-in sheet. He looked at the name of who she was visiting then looked over the directory book that was secured to the desk, “Go to the tenth floor, door number 640. The security there will take you to Mr. Brown’s office.”

She smiled her thanks then walked to the directions of the elevator. She pressed the button and just as the doors opened, she heard a voice behind her yelling for to hold it. She turned to see an older darker skinned lady, carrying two plastic bags and a drink holder. She quickly pressed the open button and held it until the lady got on, “floor?”

“Ten please.”

Robyn pressed ten then leaned back against the elevator wall. She really should’ve just insisted to talk to Chris over the phone but she had a feeling that this was something they needed to talk about in person anyway. She watched as the elevator screen flashed the floor numbers as they passed each landing before stopping on ten. She pressed open and gestured for the older woman to walk out in front of her.  Robyn followed behind her, reading the door number labels against the wall then noticed the woman stopped at 640, exactly where she was going. Security grabbed the door to open it for the older woman as Robyn went to speak, “I’m here to see Christopher Brown.”

The older woman stopped in her tracks, “are you Robyn Fenty?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“You can call me Ms. Jasmine. I’m Chris’s secretary, you can follow me to his office.”

“Oh thank you.”Robyn nodded to the security as he held open the door for her then followed Ms. Jasmine to a corner office far in the back of the room. They stopped at Jasmine’s desk and she pointed with her elbow, “you can go in, the door is being fixed so it’s wide open. He should be at his desk. I’ll bring the food in, in a minute.”

“I can help you if you’d like.”

“That’d be great.”

Robyn grabbed the drink carrier as Jasmine carried the two bags into Chris’s office. He sat up as the two women walked in. Jasmine sat the food on the small table in the corner of the office then took the drink carrier and set it down next to the bags, “Chris, I’m going to finish filing down the hall so I’ll be there if you need anything.”

“Thank you Ms. Jasmine.”

“Robyn, it was nice to meet you.”

“You as well.”

They shook hands then Jasmine excused herself. Chris stood up and smiled, “you look pretty.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Robyn replied as she fiddled with the strap of her crossover purse.

“You ok?”

“I’m good.”

“You don’t look so good.”

“I probably just need to eat.”

“Well don’t let me stop you. You can have a seat. Want me to take your sweater?”

“No, it’s a little cold in here.”

“Oh,” Chris pulled out her chair for her to sit down then moved to the thermostat against the wall. After fiddling with the dial, he turned back to Robyn, “that should be corrected in a few minutes.”

“You don’t have to make any concessions for me.”

“It’s nothing. You’re a guest and I want you to be comfortable.”

Chris sat down in a chair across from her then started taking the food out of the bags. He checked each sandwich before placing the respective ones in front of Robyn then himself, “How was your drive? Did you find the place ok?”

“Yea, it was pretty simple. Thanks for lunch.”

“Not a problem. We both gotta eat right?”

Robyn shrugged her shoulders before grabbing her burger and taking a bite. She carefully set it down on the foil wrapping then took a sip of her milkshake and frowned, “I think I drank off the wrong one. This is chocolate.”

Chris chuckled then switched the cups and took a sip off the straw Robyn used, “no big deal.”

“Sorry, I should’ve checked before I sipped.”

“No big deal as I said. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Can we finish eating before talking?”

“Oh sure. I just thought we could do both but I can wait. Are you sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine. It’s warmer in here now.”

“Here let me help with your sweater,” Chris went to stand up and didn’t push back far enough from the table to do so causing him to hit it with his thighs. He caught the milkshakes before they tipped over, “I’m sorry about that.”

“You caught it before anything happened. No need to apologize besides I can handle taking off my sweater.”

“I was gonna hang it up too. Seriously, let me help you.”

Chris moved to stand behind her chair as Robyn shook her sweater off her shoulders. Chris carefully moved the cardigan from behind her and hung it up in his closet before sitting back down.

“I seem to be all thumbs with you today. Sorry.”

“I think we’re both in a bit of weird space, I guess.”

“Very awkward space.”

Robyn giggled then took a sip of her milkshake. Chris smiled over at her as she dipped a fry into ketchup and put it into her mouth, smearing some ketchup on her face. Chris grabbed a napkin and leaned over to wipe her mouth. Her eyes widened before she realized what he was doing. As his hand moved back over to his side of the table, she smiled her thanks then looked back down at her food.

A few minutes later, they both finished eating and were sitting on Chris’s couch. Robyn was still looking down at her fingers, fiddling with them. Chris cleared his throat, “is what you have to talk to me about that serious?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Are the girls ok?”

“They are fine. It’s me. I don’t think I’m ok.”

Chris grabbed one of her hands and she looked at him, “Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

Robyn sighed, “I think I’m making this more difficult than it needs to be but then again it is complicated. You’re married and-”

“I’m not married. My divorce was finalized days ago.”

“When you stayed over at my house?”

“Yea. I got the call from my lawyer that morning but I got my signed copy of the order a few days ago in the mail.”

“Oh wow.”

“So what’s going on, now that that’s settled?”

“I don’t think I’m prepared to be in a relationship with anyone.”

“Why?”

“I’m still learning to trust myself let alone you. There’s so much I thought I had figured out then you come back into my life and everything just went out the window. Now I’m having weird dreams and not being able to make sense of them. It scares me, to be honest.”

“Weird dreams like what? Us having sex?”

“How’d you-”

“I kind of put two and two together after we spoke in the kitchen. Bajan Girl, you could’ve just said any of this to me then.”

“I’m still trying to make sense of why any of this happening. I had resigned to this just being a friendship thing now I’m in love with you all over again, we’ve kissed, our daughters have seen us and now I’m imagining us having sex. It’s only been a year, this is too much too fast.”

“Robyn, you’re giving us some imaginary timeline that no one says we have to follow. You don’t have to be scared of me or yourself. Tell me what you need from me and I’ll do it. Robyn, I know how this came about is really crazy especially considering we had decided against this back in high school but I want you to believe me and trust me that I love you.”

“My problem isn’t trusting that you love me because it takes more than us loving each other for this to prosper. I almost let me loving you drive me crazy as a teenager, I don’t want to go back there as an adult.”

“What?”

“You really had no clue? I had to program myself to take everything with you at face value and that you were just being Chris and feelings weren’t involved.”

“Everything like what?”

“You always coming over to take a nap in my lap after practice before you went home. You always being overprotective when we hung out. You always buying me gifts and stuff whenever I did good in something.”

“Oh. There were a lot of feelings involved in that. Did you not mean it when you said you thought it was a good idea for us to be just friends?”

“I meant it when I said it, not that everything in me agreed with the sentiment.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought you enjoyed dating around and I didn’t want to get in the middle of that.”

“I would’ve dropped everybody for you if you had just said something to me.”

Robyn shrugged, “I guess.”

“There’s no I guess. Robyn, you’ve always meant everything to me but I genuinely thought you didn’t want to be anything more than friends with me. That’s the only reason I went along with it.”

“Oh.”

“So all those years, you’ve felt like this?”

“Yea.”

“Robyn.”

“What?”

“We definitely could’ve cleared this up.”

“I don’t think so. I think things happened exactly how they were supposed to. I’m not bemoaning a lost opportunity, just understanding why it was lost.”

“So I’m divorced. Do you wanna give this a try?”

“I don’t know. It’s gotta be built on more than just high school puppy love.”

“How about I take you out on a real date? No hiding from the girls or pretending it’s just a friendship date. We can go to the Kem show, ok?”

Robyn thought about it for a moment, then nodded her head, “Ok.”

“I don’t want you to worry about anything. I’m gonna take care of everything.”

“Everything like what?”

“Everything like everything. Trust me?”

“I’m gonna try.”

“Thank you.”

“I should get going, I’m sure you need to get back to work.”

“You’re welcome to stay. If we start dating, you’ll probably be around here more often than not.”

“No assumptions, Chris.”

“I’m not assuming anything.”

“You are so cocky.”

“Confident. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever. Let me get out of here.”

“I’ll call you when I get off, ok?”

“Works for me.”

“Thanks for having lunch and talking with me.”

“Thanks for listening.”

“Always.”

Chris leaned over and pecked her lips, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Chris smiled and Robyn poked his temple, “don’t let it go to your head.”

“I won’t if you give me another kiss.”

Robyn rolled her eyes and leaned forward to kiss him again. Chris smoothed his thumb the hinge of her jaw as he slipped his tongue between her lips to deepen the kiss. Robyn’s hand settled on his thigh before she clutched it into a fist, she whispered his name as Chris pulled back just a few inches.

“I really, really love you, Robyn.”

She fell back against her bed and pulled a pillow over her face. She could feel the smile spreading across her face and couldn’t stop it if she wanted to. The pessimistic side of her was sending off warning alarms to not get too comfortable but she wasn’t gonna let it ruin her good mood. They had a date. A real date. She had never wished 3 days would pass faster than she wished right now.

                                                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robyn sighed as she started gathering her things to exit her office’s conference room. Of course, her boss decided to drop a huge project on her on a Thursday afternoon and requested an update by Friday morning. It was Chris’s day to pick up the girls from school so she could stay late and not worry about them. As she started to walk to her office, she noticed her secretary keep peeking into her office.

“Liz, what are you doing?” She asked as she approached her secretary’s desk.

“Oh Hi Robyn. Apparently, you are very popular today. We’ve had three packages come for you this afternoon.

Robyn frowned, “what? I didn’t order anything.”

“Well somebody did.”

Robyn went into her office and set her tablet and notepad down on her coffee table to walk over to her gift laden desk. She gave the two bouquets of roses a passing glance as she looked at the three boxes sitting next to them. Picking up the smallest of the boxes, she used her keys to slit the tape then flipped open the long rectangular box. Inside was two velvet boxes. She flipped the lids and gasped. A pair of diamond studs and diamond bracelet stared back at her. She closed the boxes then moved to the next one. Slicing the tape, she pulled out a black box with Louboutin scrolled across the top. She slid the inside box out and grabbed one of the velvet bags. She grabbed the shoe out of the bag, “Oh my god.” They were the blackest of black and at least 6 inches high. Placing the shoe on top of the shoebox, she moved to the last of boxes. She sliced open the tape then dug inside the box, pulling out a garment bag. She laid it across her small table in the corner and unzipped it. Before she could say anything, she heard a voice behind her

“You like it?”

She turned around and saw Chris leaning against her door frame, “I knew this was from you but I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

“These were personal deliveries. I would’ve been here when you came in but nature called. So you like it?”

“I love it. Everything is beautiful.”

“Told you that I’d take care of everything.”

“Almost everything.”

“No,” Chris replied as he dug into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, “everything, as I said.”

He walked over to her and handed it to her before pecking her lips, “I don’t want to hear anything about you not needing it because it’s for you for our date. You will keep it and you will spend it, Ms. Fenty.”

“You talking like it’s a million dollars or something in there.”

Chris shrugged and Robyn raised her brow as she opened the envelope, “Holy shit. How much is in here?”

“Enough for you to get your hair done, nails done and whatever else you want.”

“Chris, it’s just one night.”

“Doesn’t matter. I want it to be special.”

“I have my own money, you really didn’t have to do any of this.”

“I know and that’s exactly why I did it. Oh, I also bought you lunch too.”

“What?”

Chris moved behind her desk and grabbed a brown bag with Chipotle across the front out of her office chair, “your secretary said you were in a meeting since this morning so I figured you might be hungry,”

“Chris, this is really sweet.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You know you don’t have to do this. I’m not big on the material things.”

“I know but this was important to me so just humor me, please.”

“Ok, ok.”

“Now, I’ve got to get out of here if I’m gonna make it to the girls’ school in time. What time you coming home?”

“I got a big project to start on. I won’t be home until late. Can you get dinner for the girls? There’s leftovers at my house but they might not want that.”

“I can do that. You want anything?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Ok, so I’ll see you when you get home then.”

“Ok but you can’t-”

“I’m not gonna stay the night unless you ask me to, I promise.”

“Ok.”

“Give me my kiss so I can go.”

“You will not boss me around, Christopher. You aren’t officially my man yet.”

“You’ve had sex dreams about me. We are past official. Now my kiss.”

Robyn rolled her eyes as she met him halfway. She leaned forward to peck his lips and Chris grabbed her hands to pull her completely into him, “don’t be church-hugging me, girl.”

“Shut up,” Robyn replied with a laugh.

“I love you.”

“Love you too. Are you gonna say that all the time?”

“All the time. If I lose my voice, I’ll say it in sign language.”

‘You so stupid. Go.”

Chris smiled and kissed her again, “that should hold me until you get home. Good luck on your project. If you need anything, just call or text me.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Don’t make me pull my belt, Ms. Fenty.”

“Get out.”

Chris waved at her and left out of her office. Liz popped her head into the door way a few moments later, “you ok, Robyn?”

“I’m good. Can you hold my calls for the next hour?”

“Definitely can. Need anything else?”

“Bring me one of the carts before you leave for the day. I’m gonna be here late.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Liz looked around the room and at Robyn’s face, “He seems like a good guy. Glad you’re happy, Robyn.”

“Thank you.”

Liz left, closing Robyn’s office door behind her.

[pestopascal]

thunder and applause

ANOTHER TAKE ON REVEAL because I can’t stick to one idea lol

flystep, (past?) chargestep. retribution spoilers. identity reveal. lots of waxing poetry and sadness *smallest violin plays* 5k words.

When your eyes finally open, you have to scrub away the fuzz. Thick and heavy, like your eyelids, and you just want to roll back under the covers for good. But you don’t. Just feel out for the other body, more source of warmth. Your fingers find nothing but the edge of the bed, and a suspiciously empty space.

Frowning, you finally blink. Wake. Watch as the sensors in the room awaken too, slowly bringing the light of the room up to a comfortable brightness. Low and orange, but highlighting that the only mass in the bed was still you.

But it doesn’t make you worry anymore. If anything, you bury yourself back under, take a deep breath. Daniel had said something about needing to head out early last night, in between takeaway and shitty movies. Phone ringing far too often to be a friendly call, but he’d ignored them for as long as he could.

You had heard him murmuring just before bed, to someone else. Focused on the neighbours downstairs to avoid listening in, no matter what advantage it might’ve given you.

With the lights growing a fraction brighter, you know that the settings are telling you it’s time to get up. And no amount of technology was probably going to convince you otherwise, was it not for the fact that Daniel had put some effort into adjusting settings just to suit you solely. That thought makes your stomach flip, in a way it had been doing far too often lately. Leaves you sinking into the pillows (exactly seven of them, five of which for you), smiling to yourself.

Up, come on. Get on with the day.

Shower and find clothes that were soft and cottony. Daniel was wider in the hips, and you have to double tie the knot at the front to keep them up. But his shirts smell like the fancy washing liquid you know he uses, even if he insists he doesn’t, and it’s like a perfect little bubble. You let yourself, for one whole private moment, feel what he insists he feels. 

And it’s good and warm. The kind that gets you out of the bedroom, down the hallway. Nice and clean, window partway open, breakfast cool on the counter. It doesn’t bother you, that the pancakes had rivets of maple syrup and the bacon was decidedly crispier than you were used to. As you eat and find juice in the fridge, see the note.

Didn’t want to wake you

Went to Rangers HQ

See you soon

Love, 

Daniel

You know your heart shouldn’t skip the beat it does. But it does, every single time. With the weeks stretching out like they do, and how you’ve moved more into his place than you want to admit, you can’t help it. 

So you smile at the note, laying it flat on the counter. Finish off the juice, orange and mango, something you had grown uncharacteristically fond of since this all started. Just like how you wash the plate in the sink, setting it aside once it was rinsed. Simple things, that were oddly homier than you were used to. Or at least, how long it had been since you last did anything like this.

Those kind of thoughts were dangerous, because you had been burying everything else. Ignoring your phone, perhaps using the security at Daniel’s apartment as an excuse not to return to yours. After all, going there meant that you would likely run into a familiar face. One who didn’t ever take no for an answer.

At the edges of your mind, you feel the familiar press. Like Daniel’s mind was passing through, easy and comforting. You smile, as you hear the cherry picked words. 

Before you frown, because you don’t get much deeper than that. 

Not like you wish to pry, oh no. Even despite Daniel’s insistence that you were free to peek whenever you wanted, you stayed on the edges. You have the sneaking suspicion he enjoyed being read so easily, especially in the private moments, but you only ever went deep when you two were talking heavy. You remember your promises, and keep on the fence.

Setting all the glasses aside, you barely register that he was taking the elevator, until it was too late. How you’d taken three steps out of the kitchen, towards the entry. Mouth open, ready to say any kind of greeting.

Except you catch the voices, how the door swings. Daniel trying to fill the space, eyes wide. He looks ready to say something, anything. Run.

Comfort and safety makes you slack. It happened last time. It happens this time. Your feet aren’t quick enough, even as your mind processes the body behind Daniel. Puts the pieces together, face, name, move, hide, go.

“Logan!”

Daniel’s voice is a quick snap, and you don’t get down the hallway to the bedroom fast enough. If only because Ortega gets past Daniel, and you don’t have to read his mind to know how his eyes widen. 

Exposed. Shit, fuck. Shit. Slam the door shut behind yourself, and you want to itch and drag. Hold your hands up, and the net has been pulled out from underneath you. To your right, you can see the mirror. See how orange stains you, separates you. Limbs not even matching a singular pattern, and you’re thankful, at least, you can’t see the scars.

You wish you could read Ortega’s mind. Turn it, walk him right out the door. You wish Daniel wasn’t knocking down the door — Logan, let me in, it’s alright — when it wasn’t. 

Softly, after a few moments, you hear your name softly. “Please, let me in.” 

When you had first shown Daniel, ready to save yourself, you had cried. Cried as he held you, for different reasons and in different ways. But this was unlike that time, because you don’t stop digging your nails into your arms, and your feet don’t move. Cold fear, sinking into your gut.

Logically, you know it’s because Ortega was the first to have seen your face. By accident, too, back then. He’d looked at the floor as he’d apologised, and a week later he said you had a pretty smile. Not said in the way he was known for, Ortega, poster boy of flirty behaviour. That was perhaps the first genuine compliment you had received from him. 

Ortega was a lot of firsts, for you. 

“Logan, I’ll fly in through the window if I have to.” 

But it was never supposed to be this.

You open the door, much to Daniel’s surprise. Clear on his face, and he’s barely got it shut behind him, awkwardly shifting to close it, as he wraps his arms around you. “I’m so sorry,” he starts, working your fingers away from your arms. “I tried to call, but he ambushed me.”

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t. You’re still crying, tears practically leaking. Running down your cheeks, messing up the shoulder of his perfectly clean shirt. “I didn’t want to listen.”

“Fuck! Sorry. I should’ve let you—”

“Danny, it’s okay.”

As he cups your face in his hands, you can see his wobbly smile. Feel how he bleeds pain and concern and worry, with a thick layer of guilt that doesn’t wave away. “It’s not. I did this.”

“I shouldn’t have worn…”

“You should wear what you want. Seriously. Don’t say that.”

You can’t. Not ever. But you appreciate how serious he is, how he practically stamps his foot in his mind. Settled, finalised. As if that decides the entirety of it.

The question still rolls off your tongue. “What happens now?”

Static fills your mind when you reach out. Spiking, like there’s angry little thoughts wrapped up just down the hall. What you wouldn’t give to read his mind. Fear is crippling, and if Daniel notices, he doesn’t say. Wraps you up in his arms once more. 

“I told him to leave, but—”

“He’s still here.” 

Daniel sharpens under your hands. If this were any other time, you would think this was adorable, how protective he could try to be. Except, for once, you want to let him handle it. Want to sink back into the bed, rewire the systems, disappear for good. Don’t want to look at your arms, your legs. Don’t want to think about how Daniel notes he can feel the raised tattoos, even as he holds you.

You don’t want to take the first step. “We should—”

“I can kick him out.”

“Let me get changed.”

Long sleeves, long pants. Daniel is adjusting the thermostat at a panel on the wall, looking away to give you some privacy. Temperature dropping just a little to make you more comfortable. It makes you cry all over again, as you hug him first. If only because you didn’t know what else to do. 

Neither of you comment on how he is practically carrying you down the hall. How his mind churns, about quickly taking you away, and kicking Ortega out. What he could say, to plead with Ortega not to say a single word. If only because he remembers you crying, and Daniel doesn’t want to see that happen again.

Ortega was awkwardly standing in the living area. Looking like he was ready to talk himself out, if you were being perfectly honest. Would you have preferred that? Probably, definitely, maybe. You were willing to risk breaking your mind, just to hide the truth from him. 

“Logan…” he trails off, not knowing where to start. Where to go. Looking at the floor, as if it was the most interesting thing in the room.

It doesn’t alleviate how you struggle to breathe. Daniel settles you on the couch, and you don’t mean to cling to him, the way you do. Different, from when it was on your terms, revealing yourself. And you know, you know, Ortega didn’t mean to. It was a series of unfortunate events, that lead to him walking around, debating whether to sit in the armchair or not.

Eventually he does, all the while studying his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Knee-jerk reaction of a response. Clear it up, sweep it under the carpet. Forget it, please, please. You know you could wish all you wanted, but it wouldn’t come true.

And you didn’t need to be a telepath, to know what that look meant. Ortega’s mind might’ve remained a mystery, but the way he purses his lips, stares at his hands. You’re dreading the next question.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The first reaction is to laugh. A manic bubble rises in your throat, and you swallow. Hug your knees to your chest, focusing on the way Daniel rubs your back in small, rhythmic circles. “I couldn’t.”

“… Why?” 

When Ortega looks at you, he looks positively heartbroken. Not a clean cut, right through the middle. Jagged and hurt, as if he’s torn between keeping his eyes on the floor, to stop looking at you. But if he does that, if he looks away, you’ll just disappear again. Poof, gone.

You bite your lip. How were you supposed to explain this? All of it? Daniel only got partial stories, whispered in the night. When his fingers strayed over scars, and you could hear the question, the way he took it back immediately. Bits and pieces he could put together. 

Ortega got nothing. You know that. How were you supposed to explain this to him now? After all, whatever you had was built on the safety net of being unknown. Insisting that he never quite knew you, and hoping one day he’d truly believe it.

“I—I couldn’t. I couldn’t. Too much at stake, and I didn’t think I’d even stick around as long as I did.” You had tried to leave, so many times. Always came back, for him.

That was the worst part — Ortega just had no idea what kind of pull he had over you.

“You said that you had enemies. You always said that. I—” Ortega cuts himself off, looking at you now. 

What did he see? “You always thought I was being dramatic.” 

His expression said a lot. That he didn’t mean. Didn’t want to know. That he was sorry. God, you hated pity so damn much. 

Tell him. It’s a nudge you weren’t expecting, and you look at Daniel then. Frown, even as you wipe away what remained of your tears. Now’s the time. Touching his cheek, you focus. Not a suggestion, but an argument. You can’t let him know, he’ll hate you. Won’t know until you try. Daniel smiles, softly, leaning into your hand. Please.

You remember last Thursday, where you were complaining about Ortega. About the messages on your phone, and how you were sure he was staking out your apartment. How he wouldn’t give you any breathing room. Daniel had been cooking, nodding at all the right parts. Letting you talk while you set the table and poured wine and complained complained complained. Only when you needed to take a breath, did he say: ‘You still love him, don’t you?’

Quiet lulls, while you try to get your mind together. Politely, Ortega has looked away, out the window. Deep lines etched in his forehead. He looks so old, so different from the face that kept you going for seven years. Time and mourning had hurt you both.

“I’m a re-gene.” You start. Shifting away from Daniel, hugging a pillow now. “I… have been since the beginning.”

“That why you never let me—anyone… see your face?”

Half shrug and a shake of your head. Keep going, you can hear Daniel think from how he gets up and head toward the kitchen. I’m right here. “I didn’t want to be recognised. I didn't know who to trust. The government doesn’t like when their property escapes.”

Ortega has the shadow of a smile on his lips. “Twice.”

“Twice,” you agree, but your tone isn’t proud. “Second time took a little longer.”

You don’t want the quiet to fall again, in case you stop. Breathing in deeply, newfound confidence barely holding on, you look at Ortega. Look at him properly, eyes tracing the minute scars on his face you inflicted. You don’t know if you’ll get to that explanation today. 

“I got cocky, running with you. Thought that it’d been so long, they wouldn’t find me. Until Heartbreak.” Watch the way his face stiffens. Feel how your stomach churns. “I’m not entirely human… they could bring me back from the dead with just a flick of a switch.

“Remotely killed me a few times, too, over the years. Heartbreak was honestly just the worst death by that point. And for the next few years,” you add, as an afterthought. Dying was like second nature, anyway.

“How—”

“Death doesn’t mean anything to me by now.”

“That’s not good.” 

“Neither is being an experiment, but I don’t get a choice in that.”

Ortega balks. “You’re not—”

You smile, despite yourself. “Ricardo, I’m the literal personification of an experiment. I have a barcode on my chest that will give you every little detail you wanted to know about me, and more.”

Daniel returns, coffee cups strung between his fingers. Settling them down on the table, it gives you a moment to breathe, think. Squeeze his hand, once he’s able to return for something to eat. Thank you, you practically breathe, and he squeezes your hand back. Tight and warm and solid. 

There’s questions on Ortega’s face. Too many for him to decide where to go next. You know you have to take charge, and that’s the scariest part. Starting at the beginning was the worst.

“It’s called the Farm. Or, we called it that anyway. I was born in a vat, basically. Separated from everyone else once they found out I had telepathy.”

“How old are you?” 

It’s a strange question. Not one you were expecting, out of everything. You raise a brow, as you ask: “Physically or mentally?”

That takes the colour from his face. “Both?” he asks, uncertainty heavy on his voice. 

“Can’t speak for all of my limbs. And I had a simulated childhood, too.” Pause. “Probably in my thirties, if I had to take a wild guess.”

“‘Can’t speak for all of your limbs’? Logan, what does that mean?” 

You can practically hear the way the wheels in his mind spin, as he draws conclusions. Easier to show, right? You shed the hoodie, letting it fall to the ground. Acutely aware of how on display your tattoos were now, and how Ortega doesn’t stop staring. You pull down the neck of Daniel’s shirt to your shoulder. One of the worst series of scars were around all your joints, after all. Thick and warped skin, as they just wanted you up and in working order, no time for pleasantries.

“Regrowing limbs is tricky, but attaching them is always worse.”

Ortega’s eyes nearly fall out his head, and he gets to his feet. Not an immediate threat, but you see how he wants to move. Come closer. Maybe even want to touch. You’re not sure if you’re there yet, but you pat the space on the couch beside you. Small steps. That’s what you tell yourself as you try to control your breathing, turning on the couch to rest on your knees, facing Ortega head on when he finally sits. 

“Logan… you could’ve told me.” And what a strain on that word! Him, you should’ve trusted him from the beginning. It was so much easier to blame him, for dragging you in deep. You know the last seven years had been a toll on your thoughts about Ricardo Ortega, with his pushed back hair, easy grin, bright eyes. Warped it all. 

“I was an escaped re-gene — still am one — and you worked for the government. Not really ideal situation to reveal that I am… this.” Hand wave down. 

“But Daniel…?” That accusatory glance, as yes, Daniel was technically government too. 

“I didn’t… know him. When we met. Then it was dinner, training, whatever.” It was different, and you don’t want to tell Ortega that. Safety and peace. “Also, I can read his mind.” Point in case, as you look at Ortega. The static rubs wrong, harder now. 

Opening and closing his mouth twice, Ortega stills. He wants to say ‘I would’ve done something’. People always do. That’s what all the movies and shows tell you anyway. Something. Never a definite, solid answer. Like they will figure it out as they go along. You never could afford that chance.

“But you wouldn’t just let me hang out by myself. Always came back.” A smile breaks over your face, as you remember. How you’d even met, how he’d purposely hang out at the risk of his own neck in shady neighbourhoods, just to find you again.

Daniel was right. You do still love him. Quiet and fierce and pulling you in all the wrong ways. What would he have done, if you’d said something years ago? Would seven years not have stood in the way. 

Would Daniel have even been here, now, warm hand on your shoulder as he tells you to eat? His mind is soft and cottony, but you can hear the way he thinks the same way. Regret colours him, as well as acknowledgement. Wisdom well beyond his years, as you watch how you sit with Ortega on the couch through his eyes.

You push in, just past the barrier. I love you. 

“So, where does… what… seven years.” Perhaps, this is the first time you’ve seen Ortega at a loss for words. It is not a victory. “They took you away.”

“Back, technically. It wasn’t a good time.”

His eyes trace again, where he can see scars and damaged tissue, overlaid with perfectly bright tattoos. “Can I…” touch them. It’s what the rest of him says, fingers twitching in his lap.

Holding out your arm takes more willpower than you realised. Ortega is so careful, treating you like he had been for months. As if he could break you. As if, you muse. Nothing he could do would hurt you. 

Ortega’s fingers gently brush over the thicker ones on your right arm. Big, wide strokes, as if done by a painter, not a scientist. Slightly raised, leading further up, where they would link towards the lines that extend from the centre of your chest.

“Logan, I wish you told me.”

So quiet, you have to lean in to hear. “I was afraid.” I still am. Ortega hears it, with how his touch grows a fraction firmer on your skin.

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me since you came back?”

“Yes, and no.”

Daniel shifts in the corner of your eye. There’s worry written on his face now. Truth about the tattoos, that was all well and good. But the admission, that you were the one who broke his arm, broke Daniel’s knee, that carves you out. 

“Logan,” he warns, eyes trained on Ortega. It might just be the thing to tip him over the edge.

“Ricardo, I—I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Soft, so soft. He wants to hold you. You’re not going to let him.

“I do.” It’s your turn, to trace his arm. Pressure there, and you can see the way the skin lightens around scars. “I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.”

“But you didn—”

It’s how his voice catches in his throat. All those little thoughts, like a jigsaw, slowly fitting together. You always meant to nudge him in the right direction, because you couldn’t face the truth yourself. Didn’t want to own up to it, the day you saw him in the hospital. Bloody and bruised by your hand.

Knife twist in your gut. “I went too far.”

Ortega doesn’t want to say the name, but it’s on his lips. Anima. Like a curse. And you’d been so careful, so damn careful, to not go too far since then. Saving people. Getting civilians out of the line of fire. Only going after those who hurt. Strange way for a villain to operate.

“No,” he whispers. “Why?”

“I was so hurt and angry after everything. I thought it was the only way—”

“For what?”

“To—I don’t know! I just wanted to do something, anything. I was in so much pain…”

It’s not justifiable to your ears, you know. Even as you laid out the board, strung all the threads between. Linking the truth between bigwigs and the mob. Finding out what was the core of it all. Like a hole had been carved, right through your middle. And it hurt, oh god, it hurt so damn much. 

Ortega is not a quiet fire. He is loud, rough and burning. Too many truths laid out, and he wanted to push the jigsaw away. Perhaps he saw it, underneath all the words. The reality. But his knee-jerk reaction was to reject it, never take anything other than the only definite he had made up in his mind as the absolute. Some people called it stubbornness. You would call it pigheadedness, on a good day.

“You broke Daniel’s leg!” Hand sweeps out, towards him. As if Daniel would step in, intervene. He’s hovering, nervous scattering thoughts that slip through your fingers. Doesn’t know if he should interrupt. 

“And I spent nearly a month apologising for it when I told him.” Truths, bigger ones now. Layers to the puzzle.

Daniel buzzes as he tries to get into Ortega’s line of sight, trying to pull you out of the fire. “Ortega, we’ve already talked about this. For ages. I know Logan feels bad about it.”

“I had to help you through therapy, Daniel! Fuck, you couldn’t walk for weeks.” 

You know. You know you know you know! Even now, Daniel still had a limp, and chances are it would never quite go away. Always a stiff joint, especially in the dead of winter. 

“That’s not… Ricardo, please.” 

Please what? You hear it in his voice, but it rings out in your head. What did you want from him, anyway? He’d seen the tattoos, the scars, and bitten at whatever secrets you had shared. You wish you could dive in deep, take this all away. Start again. 

Let go. “I’m not doing that anymore. I swear to you.”

“You attack politicians and officials.” Point. 

“Only the corrupt ones.” It feels weak on your ears. World shrinking at the edges of your vision. But you hold firm, because you know it to be true. The ones who buy in on re-genes and illegal technology. Exploitation at its finest. 

“Oh, well that makes it a whole lot better.” If Ortega could be anymore sarcastic, you might’ve laughed.

Taking his hands in yours, it’s a jumpstart. First step. Let go, Logan. Let go. “I’m trying to make up for what I did. How I hurt you. But it’s hard, and I don’t know who I am when I wake up some days. I’ve been tortured, stabbed, poisoned… killed,” you say, softly. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

For one whole minute, Ortega remains quiet, and doesn’t take his hands from yours. You can feel the rough skin, the minute scars. Metal and that inescapable thrum of life. There are words on your lips: if it wasn’t for you, I would’ve died, long ago. They do not wish to leave, not yet.

“Would you have ever told me?” 

“Yes.” You mean it when you say the word. “Yes.” 

Ortega frowns. Not at you, at your hands. Pulls away with a sigh. The static is abated, but softer spikes give rise to heavier thoughts. A mile a minute, he thinks, going through loops. Mental gymnastics, that’s what Anathema called it. Marshal Charge, stuck with the job, the responsibilities, the thoughts and prayers. 

Finally, his face smooths. Fixing Daniel with a look, there’s a question overhanging. “How do you fit into all this?”

Daniel is coloured pink, as he’s suddenly the centre of attention. Flutters a few centimetres off the ground, and you reach for him, squeeze his hand. It’s okay. Might as well.

“Dinner. And… other stuff.” A flush burns up his neck, to the tips of his ears. ‘Other stuff’. You want to groan, as Ortega is targeting you now. Staring you down.

But it breaks the spell. As if the last few minutes were in the past, immediately. Shuffled into a folder of mild relevance for another day. Incredible how Ortega worked, able to jump to the next available thing. You don’t know how he got to that point, how his thoughts ended up with him, brows raised, staring at the both of you.

(you don’t know how to take that look of hurt, right there, at the corner of his eye)

“What? I’m an adult.”

Lips twist. Not a smile, but trying to be. “Apparently.”

You roll your eyes, push him lightly in the shoulder. “We talk… a lot, really. There’s stuff in common we can just talk about. Similar experiences.”

“You’re a re-gene?” A stab at a joke, definitely. 

At least Daniel buys into it, snorting and shaking his head. “You’ve seen me, Ortega. I think you would know by now.”

“Who knows.” His comment rings a little hollow, back towards you. Back towards your arms, and the glow.

Crossing your arms again, you don’t mean to try to cover as much as you could. “Are… are we still good?” Still friends? Still almost-maybes? Still never-quites?

Daniel doesn’t breathe, not really, as he seats himself down again. You let yourself branch out, trying to judge what he thought Ortega was thinking. Feeling. Try not to lose yourself in the way Daniel’s thoughts roll with thunder, stormy and sad. Thinking he was going to lose out. Both of you. That he had to bite on his tongue, one too many times, to let you get things out in the air. That this was the right way, and he’d simply played his part.

You manage to not look at him, even if you wanted to desperately. Remind him that no, he was wrong, you weren’t going away. You do lose your footing a little in the hopelessness, the abject fear. Sadness and hope and how his heart burned. 

Ortega remains quiet. Wipe the slate. Start over. You’d die, if you tried to force your way through the electricity. It wouldn’t be worth it.

“Think we can talk again, tomorrow? Tell me a bit more?” 

And, he’s so hopeful, so careful. Fingers covering his mouth, and he’s brushing the scar just there. Buried amongst others, but you recognise it as yours. What a terrible person you are. You don’t deserve the second chance.

“That would be great.” If your voice cracks on the third note, no one notices, or politely refuse to comment.

He stands, taking up all the space in the room, even when he is curled in on himself. Not sure what to do now. How he stands over you, Ortega looks infinitely younger, terrified of what was right around the corner. You think, how many times you had saved each other’s lives. How you’d kissed, brilliantly, under the sun.

How you hug him, fiercely, because there wasn’t much else for you to do. It’s unexpected, you know. Never been one to initiate. Not even in the alley, his hands clutching you, pushing you against a wall. Funny how it’s like that. In a fight, you made the first move, always to rush and get in quick. 

You have to remind yourself, that the battle was over. White flag waved. Ortega hugs you back, crushing you so. You forgot how tall he was. 

It takes a moment to untangle. Let go, Logan. He kisses the top of your head, in a way that muddies you, like you’d taken the leap and survived. Even with the thunderous look and heavy eyes, Ortega doesn’t see the monster. Perhaps he sees you, Logan, a little clearer. Jigsaw pieces. Threads on a board. Red and drawn tight.

“Tomorrow.” Firm, sure, but his voice is thick and he still hasn’t let go.

First move, to take that step back. To find Daniel, the different warmth and different love, and say, “tomorrow.” 

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter thirty-seven (back at lars’ place)

November 6, 1988. Oswego, New York.

It's well after midnight by the time Lars brings us home, and at this point, some of the rain has morphed into snow. He bounds up to the driveway of my apartment complex and the headlights are showing big fat snowflakes amongst the drops of rain.

“Shit, man, I dunno if I can make it back to Rochester,” Lars confesses as he pulls up the front of the complex.

“Yeah, that road gets pretty scary when it snows,” Spence points out, “especially when we start getting the lake effect going.”

“Why don't you stay with Joe for the night, man?” Barney suggests.

“I am not doing that again,” he scoffs. “Between the ghosts and Joey kicking me in the back of the head, no way.”

As I take off the seat belt, I gesture into the backseat.

“Stay with Barney and Billy,” I tell him.

“With Barney and Billy?”

“Yeah. It's gonna get bad, dude.”

“We'll get a fire going,” Billy assures him.

“Yeah, and that bed's got clean sheets on it,” Barney adds.

“Trust us, man, it's gonna get bad,” I continue, not realizing that I raised my eyebrows at Lars. I lower them and brush my bangs out of my face.

“Alright. I'll drop you off, Spence, and then I will—go to you guys' place, and I'll call Marcia and Sonia and tell them what's up. And then Joey and I will—go on a mission in the morning.”

He flashes me a wink and that's when I climb out into the frigid bitter cold. I close the door and, using the light from the porchlights and careful not to slip and fall on my ass, I make my way to my apartment. I feel the snow sticking to my already wet hair and I have a chill running down the sides of my head, down my neck, and all the way down my spine.

I reach into my jacket pocket for my key and unlock the front door. I gasp once I step into my place.

It's chilly in here, but dry.

I shut the door behind me and round the couch to turn on the lamp. Golden light washes over me and without turning my head, I notice the big snowflakes clinging to my hair. I reach up to touch the sides of my head. Snow. Covered in snow. Already fully covered in snow.

“Mrs. Snow?” a girl's voice says from behind me. Careful not to make the snow touch my already cold face and neck, I slowly turn around to find Vera floating in from the hall. Her dark hollow eyes follow me even though I'm not moving.

“No, just—just me. Joey.” The cold is setting in and her being there is adding to it.

“Where's Mrs. Snow?” she asks me in a light, floaty voice.

“I—I—I dunno.”

She hangs there, and unbeknownst to her I am practically freezing my balls off here. She breathes out a heavy sigh before drifting away into fine wisps, and then into nothing. I'm still shivering but the cold isn't as intense anymore. Shuddering, I turn off the lamp and make my way down the hall to the thermostat.

I turn up the heat and duck into the bathroom for a shake of my head in the shower. The snow falls off of my hair into the floor of the shower: some of it hits me in the face but I'm getting it off of me with each shake. My jacket meanwhile is soaking wet and so once I straighten myself upright, I peel it right off and sling it over the curtain bar. I set my bath towel over my hair to dry off my hair as best as I can before taking off my shirt and hanging the towel back up. I then double back into my bedroom and I hang my shirt, which is still dry, up in the closet, and then I trade my pants for my pajama bottoms. My hair is still pretty wet, but at least it's not dripping anymore.

I take off the arrowhead pendant and lay it on the nightstand next to my copy of Tropic of Capricorn. I crawl into bed, under the covers and with my head firmly pressed against the pillow. I reach up to turn off the lamp and I'm laying there in darkness, trying to get warm.

My feet are cold, like freezing. I lift my head in time to see Nerissa floating over the foot of the bed towards me. If she was a real live girl, I would let her under the covers with me. But her presence is only worsening the cold feeling around me.

“Nerissa,” I sputter out the words, “—Nerissa, I'm not really in the mood, baby doll.”

“Nonsense, lush boy,” she whispers to me, stroking the top of my thigh with two fingers.

“Nerissa, I'm—I'm freezing!”

She floats over my chest and into my face. Her cold lips graze mine, as light as two feathers. She then floats over me so I'm met with her neck and shoulders, and then her chest. I'm absolutely freezing, even under the covers. I'm usually warm by now, but between my wet hair and Nerissa hanging over me with her chest right in my face, I am shuddering even in my bed. And yet, even with the wash of cold over me, I still manage to fall asleep.

I still manage to drift off into the wake of a dream where I'm surrounded by big black circles. Gaping black holes, some of them as large as my head. There must be thousands of them, all of them hanging around my head and my shoulders as if they're suspended from wires.

Wait a minute, they are suspended from wires. They're taking the gloss and the smooth texture of glass. I'm surrounded by black glass, pitch black glass hanging down from the ceiling. Some of it's rough and with the texture of stone. Some of it is smooth, perfectly smooth. Some of it gives me the creeps. Some of it floats around my head like a series of stars.

One of the shiny pieces of glass floats into my face and I can see myself. But my reflection is not showing my own face. Rather, it's taking the shape of Lars' full face, followed by his button nose and his little lips. My brown irises are changing color to that fresh green.

I'm turning into Lars. I'm turning into Lars and there's nothing I can do about it.

I'm jarred awake by the sight of it. I gaze in front of me to the dark ceiling. I hear the winds outside raging and the snow pummeling the roof.

At least I'm warm now. It's dark and I have no idea what's the time. I swear I see something moving around on the ceiling overhead.

Could just be my tired eyes getting to me. Or maybe not.

I make out the shape of tattered cloth up there on the ceiling. I'm probably hallucinating, but I also can't be too sure of it. All I can do is close my eyes again and pull the blanket up over my head.

And then I hear something tapping on the window. But I don't want to look.

I nestle the side of my head into the pillow with the blankets over me. Even over the snow, I can hear the tapping. But I don't want to look, even as it moves away from the window and onto the wall over my head.

But I still lay there, relaxing every inch of myself and having faith in the dream catcher over my head. Then the edge of the dream catcher scrapes against the wall.

And that's when I pull the blankets over my head. I'm safe in here. I'll keep this over my head all night if I have to.

I live with ghosts and they have scared me a few times in the past, but I don't ever recall either of them freaking me out like this.

By some miracle, I fall asleep again, this time into a dreamless sleep.

And I awake to pure white morning light from the snow outside.

Time to walk up to the House of Grey, grab Lars, and go to New Orleans.

As I'm getting out of bed, I find my hair is still quite damp from the snow last night and it sends chills over my skin. I get dressed with haste, slipping on a sweatshirt, my pinky ring, my blue and white scarf, my big black overcoat, and my big black leather boots with the chains on them in the process. Then I remember my gloves are still in the pockets of my leather jacket and, once I run my fingers through my hair to sort of brush it, I make my way across the hall for them. The last thing I do before leaving is swipe the pendant from my nightstand, which is on top of the nightstand itself and not my book. There was something in my room last night, but I'm too focused on fetching Lars to crawl our way back down to the French Quarter.

About a half a foot of snow fell last night and there are still little flurries falling over me. The street, which has already been plowed, is empty and silent. And it's here I'm glad Lars spent the night with the Greys instead of braving it back to Rochester.

These are cheap ass boots I found at Goodwill for about five bucks, but they do the trick as I'm making my way up the walkway to the front door of the House of Grey. The door itself swings open and Lars bustles out of the house, still tugging on his coat.

“You got the pendant?” he asks me in a broken voice.

I reach into my coat pocket for the arrowhead. He shuts the door behind him.

“Have at it.”

I make the cross shape in mid air and the wormhole opens. I focus on the French Quarter as I'm crawling inside the darkness with the snow flurries on my tail.

I land on something hard and smelling of stone and metal. Not Lars' apartment.

I lift my head to find us on the roof of some building somewhere. Lars himself meanwhile sits upright over on the corner next to me.

“Where the fuck are we?” he demands, rubbing his eye.

I pick myself off the stone and the cold metal to find a low brick wall above my head. I peer over the wall and I see we're atop an apartment building down the street from his. I point to the right.

“What're you pointing at?” he asks, climbing up onto his feet.

“Your apartment building.”

“Well, what are we doing here then?”

“I just focused on the French Quarter.”

“Well, there's your problem! You only brought us to the French Quarter and not my actual apartment building! Now the big question—”

“How do we get down from here?” I fill in for him.

“Exactly.”

“Well—surely there's a fire escape.”

We peek over the edge to the street below and there is indeed a fire escape, but not one I would have expected to see in New York City for example. The steps of the first ladder themselves are about a foot down from the edge of the brick wall; beneath them is a landing, followed by a set of stairs that appear to be retracted up by a lever. Meanwhile, the top of the first ladder is met with a gray metal tube, like whoever is climbing off the roof is supposed to slide down there and somehow hope that they'll reach the top of the ladder without falling onto the next landing.

Lars leads me over to the tube, to the step ladder on the wall leading inside of the tube, and we find there's a fire pole in there instead.

So that clears up that. He peeks over the edge of the wall down the tube.

“It's definitely a safe way down—like we can climb over and slide down this pole here,” he informs me, “and then put out feet on the top of the ladder, but there appears to be something blocking it.” He stops, and then slowly turns his head to me.

“What're you looking at me like that?” I demand from him.

“Because you've got those boots.”

“You've got boots, too.”

“Yeah, but these are more for keeping my feet warm, not for pushing something out of the way. On top of this, you're also skinnier than me.”

I fetch up a sigh and climb up the little step ladder onto the fire pole, which is out from the side of the ladder. I reach over onto the pole, turn myself around and slide down the pole like a fireman. I'm down inside of the tube and I soon reach the bottom, which is the top of the next ladder. I glance up the tube to Lars' head poking out from over the wall.

“There's nothing here,” I confess.

“Really?”

“Nope. Just a pole and the next ladder. Here, let me get down first and then you can follow me.”

But as I'm glancing down the ladder, I'm finding a series of gears connected by belts attached to the bottom of the tube. No, there's something here, just not inside of the tube. But I climb down to let him make his way down towards me.

I reach the first landing and the break in the floor to let down the next row of ladder steps. I'm about to figure out the gears there when Lars must have taken a misstep on the ladder because he falls on the landing and the gears in front of me crack. I lunge back to the rail in order to keep myself from falling

The ladder falls out towards the next one down, and the one down there cracks open, followed by the next one, and the next one, and the last one, which clanks onto the pavement down below.

I let out a low whistle while Lars peers up at me with his eyebrows raised and his mouth agape.

“That was close,” he remarks.

“You're telling me.”

We make our down the ladders, all the way down to the bottom to the sidewalk and the street. I have no idea how to fix the ladders so we leave them as soon as Lars hops off the last ladder before me. We turn around in unison when we're met with the sight of Molly herself on the pavement before us with her arms folded over her chest and a thoughtful look upon her face.

“Darling Molly,” Lars greets her. She clears her throat as she scans the both of us.

“I hear the two of you have been wanting to know more about Maya.”

I frown at her.

“Where'd you hear that?”

She doesn't reply; instead, she gestures for us to follow her back down the street to the apartment building. Once her back is turned, I face Lars and the befuddled look on his face.

“Where did she hear that?” I ask him in a hushed voice.

“I don't have any idea.”

[douchebagbrainwaves]

IN FACT, I'D SAY TWENTY

It was supposed to be making an effort. At first desktop computers didn't look like much of a role as gatekeepers. You should be able to build everything they need. Though Balzac made a lot of i/o fast. And whatever its components, they're not even fun. That will tend to be very disciplined if you take the latter route that the lawyer is representing you rather than merely commenting on them has similar incentives. What's missing or broken in your daily life? See, we love big juicy lumbar disc herniations, but they must both squeeze equally or the seed spins off sideways. Essentially, they lead you on. But the fact is, most startups that succeed do it by pretending to be overstretched.

Stir vigilantly to avoid sticking. The actual questions are respectively patents or secrecy? This doesn't seem to work themselves out. Especially if you're also looking for a cofounder. You have to understand what it is. Essays should aim for maximum surprise. This is no accident that the middle class. Rockefeller said in 1880 The day of combination is here to stay. When Richard Feynman said that the average American watches 4 hours of TV a day. Even now the image of a great hacker.

But even at the most successful startups are the exact opposite of this. Companies like Cisco are proud that everyone there has a cubicle, even the CEO. We are having a bit of a hack. This principle isn't only for big ideas. It seemed to me as if the test of a language is to be something you have to make a difference. For example, when Leonardo painted the portrait of Ginevra de Benci in the National Gallery, he put a juniper bush behind her head. The reason you've never heard of investors caring either. Dartmouth, the University of Washington yielded a high-school kid. Stop fundraising when it stops working.

It's very dangerous to start worrying too early that you're default dead, start asking too early. You don't have to do licensing deals, or get shelf space in retail stores, or grovel to have your work tangled together with a lot of bandwidth. Make Wealth in Hackers & Painters that hadn't been online. Those who would later be vanquished by one of them from doing too much damage. Buy millions of dollars a year. Being Wise? Whereas I suspect over at General Motors the marketing people convince everyone that you're ready to fight to the death is actually to be ready to start that startup. 06%. John Nash so admired Norbert Wiener that he adopted his habit of touching the wall as he walked down a corridor. And yet those who dislike the term are probably right, because if they don't work, and when one appears, grab it. E-commerce, it turned out, was no coincidence that Microsoft and Facebook both got started in January. Here, as so often happens, the closer the paraphrase is to plagiarism, the more options you have—not just at this stage is probably the first you've founded.

This was the most significant thing they'd observed, it was the season Dallas premiered. I've often had a juicy bug to track down. But unfortunately when you graduate, you should try to stay as close friends as you can in so many print publications—which is one of the most important quality in startup founders. There have been famous instances of collaboration in the arts. So I say let's aim at the problems. The reason I want to examine a more specific question: why Europe grew so powerful. In the meantime founders have to do 7.

I only had two hours before dinner and think fastest while writing. And of course any VCs reading this are probably rolling on the floor laughing at how my hypothetical VCs let the angel keep his 10. This won't get us all the answers, though. And yet the Lisps we have today are still pretty much what business consists of. Suppose there were some excessively compact way to phrase something, there would be little justification for using any but the most popular kid in school, though that counted for something, in the same category as being a publisher. So I decided I'd pay close attention to accidents and to new ideas has to be good-looking, natural athletes, or siblings of popular kids, they'll tend to nominate only the most charismatic guy? Work. Html#f10n 17. In every swing state they overestimated the Kerry vote. If you suppress variations in income are somehow bad for society. Perhaps it's in the sweet spot for startup founders, and one kind that's called into being to commercialize a scientific discovery. One professor friend says that 15-20% of the grad students they admit each year are long shots.

But there are some things that will make it. Agreeing tends to motivate people by saying Real artists ship. If you want cohesion now, you'd have to watch what you said to your friend. You could serve them targeted offers, and maybe turn it into an official job later, or not what you're trying to do real work, jump on it. There is nothing more unconvincing, for an investor or acquirer will assume the worst; investors who are their customers—the endowments and pension funds and rich families whose money they invest. Test Ultimately, I think we will, with server-based software blows away this whole model. At the stage where they're sufficiently convincing well before Demo Day, we have to remember that art has an audience. I was running a startup, it will become less common for the master to paint the others and the background. Earlier he'd had an opportunity to invest at all. And I wasn't alone. I asked if they'd still be interested in a social network for pet owners.

What little original thought there was took place in lulls between constant wars and had something of the character of the site rather than enhancing it. You can of course be especially suspicious of grants whose purpose is some kind of paternal obligation that isn't there in transactions between equals. You can still see fossils of their origins in their graphic design. But the real costs are the ones most people don't choose programming languages simply based on their merits. They were effectively a component supplier. The reason Aristotle didn't get anywhere in the Metaphysics was partly that he set off with contradictory aims: to explore the limits of whatever you're doing, your servers keep crashing, you run into in chance meetings are in the earliest phases. Learning for Text Categorization. While certain famous Internet stocks were almost certainly overvalued in 1999, so I can usually be found sitting in a corner somewhere with a copy printed out on paper, trying to arrange deals. That's one of the most successful people I know are some of the smartest people and get them to move to your silicon valley like to get money. For example, the Honeywell thermostats in my house in Cambridge, it was a mistake, of exactly the right thing.

Thanks to Jackie McDonough, Hutch Fishman, Trevor Blackwell, Ariel Poler, Parker Conrad, Jessica Livingston, John Bautista, and Brian Oberkirch for their feedback on these thoughts.