#Me when i am with my buddy in the walk in freezer . to be quite honest

[iruiion]

. hi. :3

[thecapricunt1616]

The Bear S3 Capri Live React

WARNING! Spoilers for each episode below the cut!

EP 1 - “Tomorrow”

ASSHFBEJNSNDNEJWNENE AND WHEN IM BACK IN CHICAGO I FEEL ITTT!!!!!! WOOOOOO

CARMY HRJEJWJW YOU'RE OUT OF FREEZER JAIL MY LOVE!!

Oh your poor hand I wanna kiss it, my sweet baby :((

Omg it’s filmed so differenttttt AAAAAA!!!!

Zaddy walked in meaning business lets gOOO

Like I said in TB&HH and many of my one shots this is a STUNNING restaurant - like FUCK!!! Carmy is BRILLIANT !!

Carmen RELAX!! Jesus! With punting the chair!

Omg his notebook from The French Laundry!!! Cute

BRBEBSHSBSNSBSBSBSBSEBVELHCAA LUCAAAAAAA

COPENHAGEN OH MY GO FJEJWBDBD WERE BACK

OHRBE WE ARE SO BACK

New Yorks got everything :( OH this seeaaason is gonna rip my heart to shreeeeeds New York destroyed him.

Oh I think we are getting loads of baby chef Carmy FUCK 

Oh god oh god 'subtract'??? Fuuuuck

I would hate how perfect he always is HAHAHAHA I would haaaate working with him!!!!

Cousin Steve took care of him, I'm glad someone did 🥺

Oh fucking for Carmy to kiss me like that 

The kiss on the nose is everything I want to do in life 

SORRY. THE WORDS OMG GOOD BOY GOOD BOY

OMG SYDCARMY KISS KISSKISSKISSIIISSS

“It’s never gonna happen again” he will die before it happens 

Good apologize to Richie you FUCKING IDIOT and good for saying I’m sorry good for saying I love you. Good boy. Good boy. 

He is about to make everyone miserable.  

“I know you are, honey” that is his real mother figure. 

While Mikey was dying Richie was destroying his marriage trying to save him and Carmy was getting verbally abused in New York. I am…gutted! 

I have thought about Carmy finding out about Mike. I never. Fucking. Thought. They. Would. Show it.

ARE WE SEEING MIKES 

WE ARE OH NY FJEBE WE ARE SEEING MICHAELS FUCKING OH HIS FUNERAL HE SAT. OUTSIDE. OH I AM COOKED THIS SEASON I AM C O O K E D !!!!!

“LET IT RIP BEAR” OH FHEJWBDBDB 

Like a mother Nat snuck the money in his pocket. I’m fuckin CRYYYING BRO THIS SEASON IS GONNA GUT ME 

The best meal Syd has ever had 🥹

The fennel makes him think of Syd because she has an allergy I’m gonna stroke out. 

EP1 ; Final Thoughts - SydCarmy is SO happening if it doesn’t what the fuck are they doing. Baby Carmy is gutting me. I hope Luca doesn’t go away after this episode. Mikey. Oh, Mikey :(((. Natalie? The cinematography - oh I’m about to EAT w these fics. Oh my god.I am fucking GUUTTTEEDDD THIS SEASON IS GOING TO DESTROY ME

EP2 - “Next”

SYD! MY GORL THERE YOU ARE BBY!!!

the AirPod falling out is so real

Lmaoooo her dad !! She is absolutely moving out as soon as she can 

Awww the ‘love you chef’ <3

See this music like shut up SydCarmy or bust!!! lmaooooo

Why is the fourth wall being broken???

His anxiety is so insane he is acting cracked out LMAO

CICERO OH NO - this is gonna be INSANE

Carmy needs to step off Syds dick and give her some control lmfaooo - like ? you don’t even own this place little man.

“Technique is spelt wrong but OK” BYE THIS IDIOTTTTTTTTTTTTTT 

“You know buddy, I tried to call in and get you an order but they says you was back in the fridge yelling at yourself” LMFOAAOAOAO VJKFDNVLAKNLKVN I AM CRYING HE IS I LOVE UNC SO MUCH

everyone is asking him why the fuck he’s doing this and he cant say “because i cant stick my dick in syd” so he doesn’t know what to say.

He’s quitting smoking not for his health but to save … time. Alright then.

“The computer drafted the agreement so make sure you have a lawyer look at it” CAAAACKLING 

DAAAAADDDYYYY RICHIEEEE

Carmen shut the fuck up you are in no position for fuck yous.

“I commend your bravery from inside a locked vault” IM DRFNDJSNENN HAHAHAHA GET HIM RICH

“Oh my god am I finally having a stroke?” “Am I having a stroke?” These POOR WOMEN SOMEONE PUT CARMEN ON A FUCKING LEASH

“I insist that you get fucked my good man” BYEEEEE HAHAHAHAHAHA RICHIE IS TOO FUNNY 

They are bickering like BITCHES 

his ego needs to be stroked lmaoooo he’s asking Syd to stroke his ego 

“I know sweetheart, don’t be scared” NATALIEEEE HAHAHAH It's ok Fak I'M scared of Carmy rn lmao.

holy fucking shit Carmen you are driving me CRRAAAAZYY SHUT UP 

“This is scary” FAK, HONEY I KNOW CARMY IS CRACKED OUT

“Every day Jeffery-Ballet?” TINA HAHAHAHA I LOVE THAT 

This IS banana town sweetheart Fak

“Sup PIMP” PLEEEASE HAHAHA

“He was gonna tell us what he said to Claire”- Richie: “classic behavior dysregulation” PLLLEEASE

“Then I actually take it back, fuck you” i love Richie down

“What’s nunya” “nunya fuckin business” THE WAY IM CRRRY LAUGHINGGGGG LMFAAAAOOOOO THIS IS A GLIMPSE OF HIS CHILDHOOD

The gum chewing is sexy 

“Is that what you did” “no i’m just here if you need anything” oh, Carmy :(

Oh, Marcus :((((((. “Take us there bear” “yes chef” oh my god I’m crying again 

EP2 ; Final Thoughts - Carmen needs to fucking relax and I’m gonna say this probably a lot. Omg the fighting with Richie in this episode was pissing me off they are fighting like catty brothers!!! The moment with Marcus at the end really got to me. This was overall though a hilarious episode

EP3 - “Doors”

Marcus mom funeral!! Awww I’m glad they all are there for him. Thiiis is the moms funeral, ok, so they did it all in one day the shooting for both funerals so we wouldn’t know!!!

I wonder how Carm feels he’s there for Marcus’ mom but wasn’t for his brother 

Wow this speech must be so impactful for Carmy to get a glimpse into someone else’s life like this 

Look alive lizards we are OPENN

Richie is so goooodddd at his job 🥹🫶

For the bear and his honey fans princess cake is 100% going in there hahahah

Hmm things are going a bit too well 

Carmy throwing so much good decent edible food away makes me twitch. 

Carmy and his little edible flowers hahaha I love it

“The rare Transylvanian 5 titted goat?!” CICEROOO HAHAHAH

“Joy” “this is a waste of time, give it to sugar” HAHAHAHA

LMAOOO SINGING HAPPY BDAY IN SPANISH HAHAHA LOVE IT

Fak not putting it ON THE TABLE and Richie being like “keep my mans name out of your mouth “ PLLLELEEEASEE

Something abt Carmy cleaning is so hot

GRAAAHHH THAT PIECE OF BACK SKIN POKING OUT OF HIS SHIRT WHEN HE BENDS OVER

They’re being so too hard on tina :((

Richie is bringing patrons to the kitchen and Carmy is just violently bitching Syd out I am dead also, someone get the belt i’m gonna beat him.

This goes out to everyone who said there’s no chance the bear could fail and that it was a stupid idea it could? (cough- ex moots, cough) ; please tell me why they don’t even have a star and they’re already doing poorly with funds

I can’t- Carmen and Richie are fully going at each others throats and physically fighting.

Please Fak just grilling customers for info.

Carmy is SO little brother and I wanna choke him “we’ll figure it out” “ME?” “I’m trying to use less shiiittt >:(“ like a winey bitch - YOU ARE AN ADULT SHE IS THERE TO HELP YOU YOU LITTLE COCKSUCKER DO YOUR GOD DAMN JOB EFFICIENTLY

Carmy is losing it he needs to be medicated ASAP

Thank GOD Syd is putting her foot down and telling him to shut up

Syd looks fed the fuck up, rightfully

EP3 ; Final Thoughts - Holy shit Carmen is going nuts. Sydcarmy is going so hard rn he needs to finish shit with Claire so he can admit his feelings to himself about Syd. He needs to stop being so mean to her, he is going to cause her to panic. Whats so funny is I drafted Carmy bitching Syd out in my OC fic in the most recent chapter before this even came out (but in my world (in girl world) winnie is behind him chewing his ass out and literally told him he’s acting like his old boss) But it’s funny because hes literally telling her abusive ass shit his boss told him.

EP4 - “Violet”

Ohhhhh to kiss Carmy that way. A dream

The nose kiss oh my god oh my god 

He’s such a good listener 

He is so fucking - oh my god this man. This man. I need him astronomically 

Marcus :(((

I love Syd’s scarf but also lmao the stress of that docu - I get you girl hahah

Yaaaay she’s moving! 

This apartment is stunning!!!

DAD RICHIEEEE AHSHDJSHSHJ EVA OMG CUTIE PATTOOOTIEEE

Him laying with her is so cute. 

“He’s not my uncle like Carmy” 🥹PLS SO CUTE

This is so good such kid convo omgggg kids are just like thissss!! He’s such a good dad omfg playing her handdddd fuckFUCKCJCKCJC expect more Richie content soon

DONNAS GOING TO TIFFS WEDDING OMG!!!!!

Yes daddy TAKE THAT RING OFF YOURE A NEW MAN PAPA 

LMFAOAOAOA THEM SCREAMING HELP

“Maybe you’ve reached as far as your talent can go” makes MY stomach hurt, dawg 

“I feel like Bear is starting to respect me” please the way they look up to him I cantttt lmao

YAY MORE DAD RICHIE 

TAYLOR SWIFT!!!!!!!!!!

This Frank guy is weird- they made a great job at making this feel awkward as fuck.

HE DID INVITE HIM TO THE WEDDING OH GOD

that’s my girl! 

Oh is she about to get poached

Oooo like not Carmy??? Oooooo hes trying to poach her

Marcus has such nicely manicured hands

The way they just stuff snacks in faks mouth to make him go away hahaha love it

Mmhmm this season will make me fall more in love with Richie then ever before

Richie. Richie. Richie. Richie. Richie. Oh my god. My heart is being ripped out 

Wait they’re being reviewed for a star?! Already? They JUST opened! 

EP4 ; Final Thoughts - This was SUCH a Richie episode! I loved it alot :))) <3!!! So many Dad!Richie moments that made me smile. He also almost made me cry with his whole being alone thing. I will remedy my sadness with writing Richie fics literally probably tomorrow because holy holy holy this man I need to give him kissesssssss

EP5 - “Children”

So do the Bears all have the same alarm clocks?

Marcus speech really touched Natalie :((

Carmen doing the boxes by himself HAHAHA its what he deserves!! BAD BOY! 

Syd the ultimate good friend helping Marcus with his moms stuff 

Syd looks so cute her outfit is adorable 

Lmaooo Syd with her dead mom club jokes she’s too funny I see why Carmy is so whipped 

The Bear and His Honey is going to fucking SLAP with this new Carmy content WOW

Him throwing away more food that is perfect literally perfect. *sarcasm*

I wanna leave hickeys on Richie’s neck so bad - it’s so pretty 

Omg Carmys mentor closing the restaurant- he’s spiraling and looking at the every second counts she instilled in him- oh god.. Oh god-

Richie has grown so much im so so proud of him! 

He is crushing on this girl from Ever so hard

IS THAT JOHN CENA?!

JOHN CENA IS A FAK I AM DBHSJABDBEBE HAHAHAHAH

Carmy is gonna get his legs broken if he doesn’t cut it out hahahaha

Fak drinking a Capri-sun LOL

Omgggg him saying to fire Marcus you are CRAZY 

Lmaooo Jimmy venting to syd and saying that carmy has a tree up his ass

Carmy finding baby pics I’m SICK

EP5 ; Final Thoughts - WOWOWOWOW This is the last ep. I am watching tonight I need to digest. This was such a cute Richie ep. I am so in love with Dad!Richie. He is such a good, good dad. I also am dead- John Cena as a Fak? And having a mikey esc. Haircut???? And smoking in the restaurant- and then them saying it smells like smoke I am dead as fuck. Richie really really wants this review to go well, I hope it does:((

EP6 - “Napkins”

Good morning! time for e6 It is Directed by Ayo so i fear it is gonna kill me :) !

Well at least Tina has a normal clock 

Oooo get down on it!!!! Let’s go Tina!!! Get in that groove mama! 

Tina is so Puerto Rican mom I love it so so much 

Tina’s married?! I love it!! how sweet 

If Mikey’s in here- I’m gonna fucking die 

Baker tina!! Oh- customer service Tina? No! Books Tina!!! Smart girl!! that’s my lady :))

NOOOO - WHAT ?! THEY’RE LETTING HER GO?!

THIS IS WHAT LANDED HER AT THE BEEF??? THIS???

Oh Tina I’ve been there mama you’ll land on your feet :((( That’s right baby everything will be ok 

One thing about this show is all of the characters need routine 

The degree thing pisses me off to no end because of how real it is. Like shes been doing this 15 years and knows it better then someone right out of school with a stupid degree.

Awww Tina and hubs been together so long!! So sweet I love it her husband is good to her. 

I sooo love Tina is getting her moment the actress is so kind and amazing 

Woah I thought the big interview would be at the beef LOLLLL like not that it’s big but that they really need her lolll 

Oh my god. They hired someone ??? What the fuck and didnt tell her?!! RUDEEEE 

This little fucking prick oh my god yes Tina fuck him

Aw baby I wanna hug her it’ll be fine mama I know it doesn’t feel like it

Bus is delayed SO SHE COULD APPLY AT THE BEEF HAHAHAHAHA

THERES MY MANNNN RICHIEEE!! HES SO HOT AAAA

“Maam you can’t smoke in here anymore” I can’t hahaha

Everyone calling him handsome I can’t hahah he is! But still hahaha

Omggg richieeee I love him he’s always been so sociallll!! Get ready to eat with the beef Richie oh. Wow. This whole scene is so chef kiss i cant wait to write more the beef!richie

FAKS FAKS FAKS ok where’s Mikey HDBDHAHSHEBDNEBSBD. THERE HE IS IN SHFJENSNSJEJEJENDNEJWKA

MIKEY OH MY GOD JEJSNANQ

RICHIE LMAO STOP THEY ACT HOW IN KNOW THEY WOULDDD

“She can’t be crying in here” I am done LMAO

I fear I’m seeing the Mikey crush AAA “sandwich really that bad??” Stop being funny !! I also see how he got Carmy out of his panic attacks what a brother stop Mikey!! Why would you do that Mikey everyone loved you so muchhh 🥺💔

Gosh Mikey IS so handsome

THE HAUNTED EXPLODING TOILET THAT CARM IS STILL DEALING WITH HAHAHAHA

oh my god Carmy takes after him SO SO SO MUCH oh my god Carmy takes after him so much 

Oh my gosh I didn’t realize she was older then Richie!! 46 means something in this show- did Mikey…at 46? If he did I will fucking sue 

OMG SHOWING HER THE PIC OH ANS TELLING ABOUT CARMY SHUT UP HE “hes the shit” he wasn’t allowed to work at the beef because mikey knew that he’s better then the beef. He sees so much in him I knew that was the case!!! I’m sick 

My god !! Carmy!! Takes!!! After Mikey so fucking MUCH!!! 

Oh Mikey- oh. Mikey. Oh Mikey. Oh Mikey. Oh Michael Berzatto. Hit me while I’m down PAL kick me why don’t you?! “I knew I was gonna get skipped because I had people to take care of” I knew this episode would make me sick. 

oh my god when Tina said she loved Mikey she loved Mikey like a good friend and I am so gutted when Carmy says everyone loved Mikey and he just lit a room up and could make anyone comfortable oh my god I’m so gutted!!!!!!!!!!! 

EP6 ; Final Thoughts - This episode let us truly meet Michael & oh my god it’s almost painful to watch these back to back like- this is a lot to digest holy fuck. When Carmen talked about a temp in a room and how Mikey could feel it then lean into it and manipulate it however he wanted. He did such a good job portraying that. I’d give anything for him to have just called Carmy when he was on that bridge and for him to have answered and for Carmy to change his mind. Oh my god I’m so- like oh my god? This show. I can’t.

EP7 - “Legacy”

Carmy so pretty :)

Oh Richie. Thinking about :((( everything. 

Syd thinking of Carmy 

SHE IS GETTING POACHED BY EVER MAN OH NO

good Carmy is back at AI-ANON 

so much fucking family hahahah god I love Italians hey uncle Gary! 

*sighs* good morning, Syd. 

Oh. Ok he’s opening his own place ok…and he’s asking her I KNEW IT POACHER!! POACHER!!!!!

oh my god he’s offering her a real CDC job - with a real good salary,  it would be healthier for her sadly!!!!!!

How’d I headcanon Carmy knew French PUUUURRIODD 😌

“You look nice” ha. Ha. Ha.  Shoot me in the FUCKING FACE

The gum chewing HNNNNG IM CHEWING ON MY CAGE

“That sounds legendary pal” I WANT TO KISS HIM ON HIS STUPID MOUTH 

ARE THEY PART TIME THE BEEF NOW?!! OH MY GOD- THEY ARE!!! EBRA IS LIVINGGGG HAHAH OMG THIS IS SO COOL???

“Matter of fak supply” LOL

Richie is taking this so seriously which makes me more mad how Carmy treats him like he really is so good at the job and loves it.

Aw he really misses Tiff. :( he’s so different now and wishes he could go back so bad but he’s gonna find someone that I’ll be very jealous of bc I need this man SO BAD

Oh him crying abt Mikey- no stop I can’t 

SYDS TURN IN THE BOXESS HAHAHAH

“Hey grandpa” “hey grandma” I love Ebra and Tina sm lol and her mimicking his accent they’re adorable 

“Maybe you can go fuck, Ted” hahahaha I love telling people to go fuck now 

Eva’s drawing in Richie’s host book 🥹🫶

Carmen I wanna choke you out so bad!  Can you take a single suggestion ???

THE BABY IS COMING :D!!!!

EP7 ; Final Thoughts - Another good episode!! Very balanced which I like, the character centered episodes feel very heavy but I still love them. I'm just happy that we got a little bit of a second to breathe!! I think it’s cool how they’re doing the beef on the side, like so cool! I never thought of that as an option. Because it’s true the neighborhood would probably miss their local sandwich spot! I liked this episode a lot :) Carmy can go fuck this episode, though he’s in the dog house and I hope Syd leaves to teach him a lesson! (& it makes him realize he loves her!!!)

EP8 - “Ice Chips”

I’m guessing before we start Nat is gonna find comfort not in her brother, but in Syd! 

Oh poor Nat all alone :( PETE ANSWER THE PHONE- SYD ANSWER -CARMY ANSWER !!! SOMEONE ANSWERRRRR

CLAIRE SHES FINDING COMFORT IN CLAIRE. NO HER MOM!!! OH MY GOD OH DONNAAAAAA WHAT 

oh my god Donna SUGAR oh my god sugar snapping on Donna I can’t 

COACHING. SHES BEING A MOM HAHAHAH PLEASEE 

someone get someone here other then Donna 

My Scorpio sissy Natalie !!! 11/10/88 (this confirms to me carmy is still in his 20s theres no way hes 33 when nat is 34)

Donna needs to leave this is the worst she’s the worst birth partner ever 

At least Donna is being nice 

She never told her mom she was pregnant??? Wow!

Donna’s labor with Carmy being so incredibly hard is honestly canon! That is so funny actually. Yeah that kid makes everything hard for himself! 

lol you get that epidural queen!!!

I’m glad Donna is hearing that she scared them as children. 

Donna is an alcoholic because her mother had problems

Ok I’m feeling Donna sympathy 

Oh a mothers love. Please STOP THIS I DONT WANN A FEEL BAD FOR DONNA 

EP8 ; Final Thoughts - wow. Wowowowowowowowow 0 Carmy and 0 Richie basically but this was nats episode and Donna’s! I am happy we were able to see the sweet side of Donna, I think (and hope !!) she is on the right path to sobriety!!! This episode was very tender , I loved hearing about their childhoods more <3 Nat is gonna be a good mommy!!!

EP9 - “Apologies”

Magic? Ok sick, ok Marcus!! That’s who was watching this ok then wonder what thats about?

“Claire is peace” please- the thought of her gives you a panic attack. 

He’s gonna apologize this episode Jesus we wasted a whole season still no sydcarmykiss. It’s ok guys stay strong we’ll be there next season 

Yes Syd leave him 

Carmen you are nuts!!! 

Richie and Carmy staring at eachother through the window like bears about to kill eachother is freaking me out.

Syd say it -

Oh wait it’s the funeral for ever lol! I forgot that’s the funeral. Ok not worried 

He goes to the walk in to try to make it in his mind like he hasn’t waited all this time to apologize hahahaha 

AND RIGHT TO SYD AND THE AGREEMENNT I DJSJEBDJSJEHSHWHSBD SYDCARMY TILL I dIEEEE

“Missing one, that wouldn’t the the thing happened to be wedged up your ass the last few weeks is it?” JIMMYYYYY HAHAHAHAHAHA

Jesus this man’s eyes literally glow blue 

He owes him sooo much money wow 

Tina and Marcus are so cute

Carmy and his drawings are adorable 

Ten minutes left and Carmy hasn’t said sorry lol 

His little smile at the farm AAAA

Syd ls bringing them food before Carmy 

No she’s right Carmy I’m sorry why wouldn’t it be immediate insurance what is … wrong with you?

Oh my god fak going to see Claire Fak leave now no no no no no no no no oh my god this is so bad 

Mommy Nat 🥹💖

Aw Carmy looking at mikes funeral card 😭💔

EP9 ; Final Thoughts - Why does this season not feel done?! Well prob because they’re gonna do a season 4. But still there’s no way they can finish all of this in one episode. Holy moly the Faks need to stop interfering this is so bad!!!! Too many Faks!! Ok I can’t last episode time AAA

E10 - “Forever” !!!!!!

This mentor I like very much 

He took the popes nose thing from this mentor hahaha

This man who mentored Carmy it’s understandable why he was so driven or like, inspired to keep going

LUCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA LUCAAA LUCA LUCA LUCA LUCA

LUCA LUCA HES SO CUTE HRJJEJSJEJDNDJSNSNS “is that injected? Or is it…oh..ok” CUTE SHY EMBARASSED LUCAAAAAA

OMG CARMY MINGLING GOOD BOY!!!

Richie is crushing on Jess hard 

Luca oh baby I wanna kiss himmm oh him 

SYDYFBDNANA. SYD SYD SYD SYD CARMY IS GONNA EXPLODE 

oh my fid oh my god oh my god oh my god his boss his his oh my god 

Oh my god oh m y god “working for a bad boss is the worst because the culture you’re a part of is the culture you create” Carmen is spiraling rn (the next chapter of my oc fic is gonna go crazy)

Syd being more sociable then Carmy bc Carmy is panicking 

This smug bastard loves that he makes Carmen squirm I wanna punch him

“This is why you’re alone you can’t handle this” I’m going to fucking stab something

Carmy finds 0 joy in cooking anymore. 

Richie is so lovable the boss loves him and knew him for less then a week hahahahah

Carmy OH CARMY CARMY CARMY OH CARMY  “generally being you” my jaw is my jaw my jaw my jaw my jaw my jaw on THE FLOOOOORRRRRRRRRR. Oh my god. He’s such this asshole boss I hope he dies holy fuck HOW DARE HE HOW DARE HE HOW DARE HE HOW DARE HE. I WANT TO PEEL OFF HIS SKIN

Luca and Syd??? Ok- I say go for it queen

My mind is blown so far this is so amazing but also how the fuck hasn’t he sorted with Claire and S3 is closing???

Omg after party at SYDS?! Where is Carmy??? literally Marcus and Tina are there and the Faks?? He has to be seeing Claire there’s no way why would he miss out on this!!!!

If only Carmy got to be apart of something fun. Of course he’d deprive himself. OF COURSE

He is… giving Syd ptsd like his boss did to him. She is having done to her what was done to him.

Oh Syd. Oh Syd. Oh you need to get out of there baby it’s killing you. I hate seeing her upset its hurting me.

Their review was bad…. :((((((((((((

YES I KNEW ITTTTTT!! TO BE CONTINUED !!!!! ASDFGHJKLASDFGHJKL

EP10/S3 ; Overall Final Thoughts -

IM CRYING omggggg omg omg omg omg omg omg the whole thing with the boss had me in actual tears. TB&HH is about to eat so hard so so hard oh I have so many ideas AAAA and I’m so in love w Richie even more then last season he is totally crushing on Jess. Oh my god syd needs to get out of the bear Carmy is actually killing her. He is doing to her what his boss did to him and that’s evil!!! Evil evil. Oh my god so many thoughts I have but wow just wow. I can’t most of all wait to read the rest of the fandoms thoughts WOW my fics are about to eat I’m so inspired ALSO SydCarmy fics are about to be so angsty and eeeeeaaaatttttt!! He is slowly killing his girl, also - him being able to say sorry to syd but not claire??? I’m mad that the Faks had so much screentime like they were funny sometimes sure, but waywaaay too much faks. Not enough Nat, not enough MARCUS!! The most powerful touching scene or at least most inspiring of the season for me was the one with carmy & his old boss the sack of shit, that scene is gonna propel tb&hh so farrrr also this whole season is going to! Im so excited to keep writing that. I see people are not liking this season in my peeks on my home page (i didnt want to taint my thoughts) but im kinda surprised - like yes we didn’t wrap everything up & there were too many faks and not enough syd BUT the cinematography was stunning, and we got to see in carmys head which is what i predicted - this season was to get in his head to see 2 main things 1) how he does what he does 2) why he is how he is - and we got both of those answers, I think everyone was expecting this to be the last season and it was never going to be! In order to wrap this up we had to fully understand why carmen is how he is, are you all catching my drift here? I cant wait for S4!!! I feel it that SydCarmy will happen, I know that chefkids will put it in to words because their brain is much bigger then mine - but wow wow and wow. I’m gonna have to watch each episode 10 more times to digest it but wow. Loved it! MOST OF ALL I CANT WAIT FOR S4!!!!!! AAAAA

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 14 - Haunt [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: It’s always difficult to keep secrets.

Series Masterlist

Well then.

Apparently this was how civilians dated.

You couldn’t exactly say you were very familiar with it. Your line of work didn’t exactly allow you to date and do normal couple stuff, let alone with a civilian. Spies were easier, you didn’t trust them and you knew they didn’t trust you.

Except for missions, you didn’t have any date nights unless they included going after targets.

That was why posing as a civilian was almost a relief. It was simpler, more fun, more peaceful-

Even happier.

“What do you mean you can’t give me a clue?” you asked, “It’s date night, you’re supposed to give me a clue. Those are the rules.”

“I don’t remember any rule like that.”

You slurped on the milkshake, dangling your legs back and forth on the high seat you were perched on.

“Well, how am I supposed to know what to wear then?”

Bucky tilted his head, eyeing your uniform with a grin on his face and you slapped at his arm playfully.

“Are you serious?”

He held up his hands, gesturing surrender. “I said nothing.”

“I refuse to believe you find this uniform hot.”

“Why?”

“Bucky, just look at this!”

“Believe it or not I’ve been looking at it for some time now.”

You rolled your eyes, “You’re so full of it.”

“Oh trust me darling, I’m completely sincere.”

You raised your brows, “How?”

He heaved a sigh and looked like he was considering whether he should tell you or not while you waited patiently.

“When we were—“ he licked his lips, “When—uh, back in the 40s, one of my buddies, he had this poster on the wall of the barrack we were staying in.”

You gawked at him, “A poster of…?”

“A pin up.”

“In this uniform?”

“Almost the same, yeah.”

You let out a clear laugh, “Oh my God, that’s why you reacted like that when you first saw me in this?”

The tips of his ears went pink before he dragged his gaze from yours and you awwed.

“Then it’s only fair if I ask you to return the favor and dress up from 40s.”

“As if you know any—“

“Clark Gable.” You cut him off and scrunched up your face, “Was that too quick?”

“A little, yeah,” he said, “Do you want to try again?”

“….Yes please.”

“As if you know anyone from those times.”

You cleared your throat, trying to play it cool, “I’m just pulling this idea out of thin air, but Clark Gable.”

“I don’t think I can pull off that mustache, Y/N.”

“I mean have you tried?” you asked, narrowing your eyes and he shook his head.

“Stop imagining me with that mustache.”

“You would look good!” you insisted, grinning mischievously and he heaved a sigh.

“Clark Gable? Seriously?”

“Bucky, I’m the one who’s dressed up like a pin up your buddies used to fantasize about, so I feel like you should give me some credit here.”

“Fair enough.”

“Why thank you,” you pointed out, “So? Where are we going?”

“You can ask as much as you want,” Bucky grinned, “It’s not going to work.”

You threw your head back, letting out a whine. “But I want to know!” you said, “Okay, is it inside or outside?”

“Outside.”

“A concert!”

“Not a concert.”

You pursed your lips, deep in thought, “…Flea market. You’re taking me to the flea market.”

He pulled his brows together, confusion written all over his face, “You think we used to go to flea markets on a date?”

“Picnic!”

“In the evening?” he asked and you pouted.

“It would be a romantic evening picnic.”

“Do you want to have a romantic evening picnic?”

You shook your head fervently, “I want whatever you have planned!”

“Nah, I’m putting romantic evening picnic on the list.”

“You have a list?” you asked and he nodded.

“Yep.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.”

You huffed out, making him laugh, “Aw, you’re adorable when you’re frustrated.”

“Bucky!” you whined again, making his smile bigger.

“Yes darling?”

“It’s not fair,” you insisted but before you could say anything else, you heard Tara’s voice.

“Hey lovebirds,” she said, “I hate to interrupt because you two make a beautiful couple, but your break is almost over and I’m going to need some help at the freezer.”

Bucky’s body tensed up beside yours but only for a second, and you pressed your lips together.

Right. Freezer probably didn’t bring up good memories.

“I can help if you want?” Bucky said slowly and you shook your head.

“Nope. Company policy, only staff can go in.” You leaned in to peck him on the lips, “What time will you pick me up?”

“Around 8:30.” He stole another kiss from you and stood up, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you tonight!”

“Have a nice day Tara.”

“You too Romeo,” Tara said as he left the shop and you followed her to the freezer.

“He is so whipped,” she commented, making you grin, “And so are you.”

Your jaw dropped, “Hey!” you said as you helped her with the chocolate milkshake container, “Not nice!”

“I can already picture how cute your children will be.”

You almost dropped the container at the mention but managed to catch it and pull yourself together.

“Oh I don’t think…” you trailed off, trying to ignore the pang at the pit of your stomach, “I don’t think he wants—um, I don’t think we—“

“Aw you really are cute,” Tara said, “Come on now. Are you telling me you never thought about a future with him?”

The image that flashed in front of your eyes was almost taunting you but you bit inside your cheek, then shook your head.

“My last relationship ended really badly,” you explained, “And Bucky has had a rough couple of….”

Decades.

“Years,” you said, “And everything is pretty complicated, I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Well, do you want it to be possible?”

You pushed your hair back and grabbed the nearest set of jars to put them on the shelf one by one, just so you could keep yourself busy.

“It doesn’t really matter what I want,” you heard yourself say, “It won’t make any difference in the future either.”

                                         ***

“A funfair,” Chloe looked up with a bright smile on her face as soon as you jumped up to sit on her desk. “He’s taking you to a funfair.”

“Wait, really?” you let out a laugh, “Oh that’s cute.”

“Who knew The Winter Soldier could be romantic?” she said, “I’d probably swoon if someone took me to a funfair.”

You could swear Keith appeared out of thin air behind you, “What?”

“Holy shit!” you exclaimed and pressed a hand over your chest, “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Who’s swooning?”

“Barnes is taking Y/N to a funfair,” Chloe said, “Isn’t that romantic?”

“You find funfairs romantic?”

“Yeah!”

“Keith,” you raised your brows, “Aren’t you busy?”

“Nope, General is talking to Julian so I’m not busy at all.”

You heaved a sigh, “My meeting with him lasted like an hour, how did he let you go so fast?”

“Easy. I’m not the team leader.”

You sipped your coffee, crossing your legs and Keith grinned.

“So, did you tell her yet?”

Chloe frowned, “Did she tell me what yet?”

“Why Barnes stayed over at your place until midnight last night?”

“Y/N!” Chloe gasped, “You promised we would go lingerie shopping before you slept with him!”

“First of all, I didn’t sleep with him, and second of all, Keith nosey neighbor much?”

“It’s literally my job Y/N.”

“What happened?” Chloe asked, barely able to sit straight as Julian walked past you three to check his laptop on an empty desk near Chloe’s. You gritted your teeth, and turned to Chloe.

“Hm?”

“You have to tell us!” she said and Keith laughed.

“At least give us a base.”

“Second base?” Chloe offered and out of the corner of your eye, you could see Julian clenching his jaw.

“Nah no way,” Keith said, “The guy hasn’t been getting laid since what? 40s? Third base.”

No bases. None at all, Bucky was a gentleman and seeing that you were quite shaken up last night, he had just held you while you two watched that ridiculous action movie until you could calm down a little.

He hadn’t even asked any questions.

“Do you think he—“

“Y/N,” Julian’s voice cut through Chloe’s, “Can I talk to you for a moment? Alone?”

You pulled your brows together, “About what?”

“The mission.”

You eyed him up and down, then shrugged your shoulders and made your way to the nearest empty room, which happened to be a meeting room. He followed you inside and closed the door behind him as you turned around to look at him, already dreading this conversation.

“So?”

“So General agrees with me.”

Your head shot up, “I beg your pardon?”

“He agrees that it was quick thinking on my part when Barnes walked in on us arguing,” he said, making you grit your teeth, “Granted it wasn’t idea, but we can turn it around to work on our advantage—“

“Bullshit,” you cut him off, “Are you serious?”

“To repeat, an ex-boyfriend creates an environment of competition,” he said, making you scrunch up your nose in distaste.

“Unbelievable,” you said, “You know, just because General doesn’t see through this whole façade doesn’t mean you fool everyone else in here.”

“What façade?”

“Oh give me a break!” you let out a humorless laugh, “This whole teammate trying to be helpful bullshit. You don’t think anyone but yourself, you’ve proven you can’t be trusted and you want to take over this mission.”

“I couldn’t take over this mission if I tried,” he pointed out “I’m not Barnes’ type.”

You rolled your eyes, “Oh look at you, you got jokes now.”

“Just saying, I wouldn’t look as cute in that uniform.”

“Fuck you.”

“Y/N—“

“You’re not taking over my mission.”

“I’m not trying to take over your mission,” he explained patiently, “I’m trying to help you, is that so hard to believe?”

“I think we both know you couldn’t care less about me,” you said, “As that last mission proved.”

The amused, taunting light in his eyes was dimmed in a second as he gawked at you, brows pulled together in confusion.

“What?” he asked after a beat, “You think I don’t care about you?”

You let out a laugh, “I’m sorry, is that a trick question?” you asked, “You sure as hell didn’t care back then.”

He ran a hand over his face, “I think you and I remember that last mission quite differently,” he said, “I did what I had to do—“

“Uh huh.”

“I thought you would do the same,” he insisted, “Y/N, I was trying to get us out of there, just because I beat you to it—“

“I would never!” you snapped at him and he shook his head.

“Have you ever thought maybe that’s a problem?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Why do you think the General put me into this mission?” he asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Are we going to pretend you’re here to do something else other than spying on me and reporting it back?”

“No, that’s not my mission,” he said, “I’m here to make sure you don’t do what you always do.”

“What, nailing the mission?”

“Running headfirst into danger,” he said, “You ran into world’s most dangerous assassin whom you’re playing the honeypot for, and any other spy would get the fuck out of there but what did you do? You taunted him. Twice.”

“Well I hate to break it to you, but I know Bucky better than you or the General—“

“You mean the Winter Soldier?”

“…Yeah,” you corrected yourself, “Yeah I know the Winter Soldier better than you two do. Better than anyone here.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “I don’t know who told you otherwise, but not your every decision is right on missions. You keep taking unnecessary risks because you think it’s fun.”

“Maybe. But hey, at least I don’t leave people to die.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked and he closed his eyes for a moment as if it was way too difficult for him to hear and opened them again.

“I didn’t leave you to die, Y/N.”

You scoffed, “Alright,” you said, walking to the door, “We’re done here—“

“Are you sleeping with him?”

Your hand on the doorknob froze and you looked over your shoulder, “I’m sorry?”

“Are you sleeping with Barnes?”

“Who wants to know?” you asked, “You or the General?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah. If it’s you, I can ask why it’s any of your business.”

He shifted his weight, suddenly dragging his gaze from yours.

“I just…” he murmured, “I don’t like it.”

You paused for a moment, trying to wrap your head around the idea before you clicked your tongue.

“Well that’s a relief,” you stated, “I don’t give a fuck what you like.”

With that, you swung open the door and left the meeting room, not even looking back once.

                                    ***

In your defense, when you went to bed for a nap you didn’t think that 15 minute nap would turn into a whole two hours. You were still groggy by the time you woke up and your hair was a mess and you still had no idea what to wear and—

You were starving and way too thirsty.

You stretched out as you walked to the kitchen, still trying to pull yourself together but it was already dark outside so it was making things even worse. You flipped the switch and opened the fridge to grab the water bottle, uncapping it and taking big gulps. After you were done, you took out two slices of bread and peanut butter and jam, then quickly made a sandwich to take a bite. Leaning back, you let out a sigh and eyed the gun on the table.

You had a feeling the General would send you on another night mission soon.

You took another bite of your sandwich but your head shot up when you heard the doorbell ring and you almost dropped the water bottle but caught it mid-air.

“Shit…” you whispered and grabbed the gun to put it in the kitchen cabinet, and placed the sandwich on the plate, then made your way to the door to open it.

A fond smile pulled at Bucky’s lips as soon as he took in your disheveled appearance, “Hello there Dracula.”

“I’m so sorry,” you tried to fix your hair, “I…I was taking a nap and then I didn’t hear my alarm and—“

“Don’t worry about it darling,” he said, “You look beautiful.”

“I look like a mess,” you corrected him, scrunching up your nose and stepped aside so that he could walk in. He pulled you closer to peck you on the lips.

“Hi.”

“Hi back,” you smiled up at him and made your way to the kitchen with him following you suit.

“I’m just going to finish this and then I’ll get ready in like ten minutes, promise!”

“Not a problem,” he said as you jumped up to sit on the counter, dangling your legs, “If you want to stay in tonight—“

“No no!” you interrupted him, “I want to go to…um, wherever it is we’re going. Do you want some?” you held up the sandwich, “I could make you one too.”

Bucky stepped closer to you to take a bite of your sandwich, making you giggle.

“I mean do you want your own?”

“You’re not good with sharing?”

“Nope,” you shook your head, still smiling as he put his palms on the counter either side of your legs, caging you in.

“No?”

“Nuh uh.” You said, then leaned in to peck him on the lips again before you pulled back to take a bite out of your sandwich.

“How was your day?” you asked, and he heaved a sigh.

“Mm, uneventful.”

“Uneventful can be a nice change.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah I mean…at least your ex doesn’t show up out of nowhere,” you paused for a moment, “Or in your case, doesn’t escape from nursing home.”

He chuckled, his thumbs caressing the soft skin of your legs, making you distracted for a moment as the warmth filled you again.

“Did he visit you again?”

You tried to focus and looked up at him, “Hm?”

“Julian.”

“Oh,” you made a face and shook your head, “No. No but something tells me that wasn’t the last time I saw him.”

“Really?” he said, “I still feel like the next time he shows up you should let me know so that I can—“

“I already know what you’re going to say, and no.”

“What was I going to say?”

“Some macho showdown nonsense,” you said with a laugh, “Seriously. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” he said with a sigh, “But the guy said and I quote, he would take you away from me, so forgive me if I want to have a talk with him.”

You rolled your eyes, “No one is taking anyone from anyone,” you said, “Number one, we don’t live in Stone Age. Number two, I’m quite happy with who I am dating now.”

A small smile curled his lips, “Are you?”

“I mean,” you heaved a dramatic sigh, “I would be happier if my date told me where we’re going but can’t win ‘em all.”

You pressed a kiss on his cheek and jumped down.

“Okay, I’ll be ready in a couple of minutes, knock yourself out,” you said, “There’s beer in the fridge if you want.”

“Thanks,” he said and you walked to your bedroom to open your closet, then grabbed a dress and put it on. After quickly doing your make up, you found the lipstick you were looking for and started applying it.

“Darling do you have a bottle opener?”

“Yes, it’s in the kitchen cabinet!” you called out and checked your reflection in the mirror before your mind caught up to what you had just said. Panic crashed into you, knocking the breath out of you and you dropped the lipstick to rush to the kitchen.

“Bucky wait—“ you started but as soon as you saw the open cabinet, your stomach dropped. He looked at you over his shoulder with a frown on his face, then turned around and held up your gun, making you swallow thickly.

“So,” he said, his gaze pinning you to your spot. “Anything you would like to tell me?”

Chapter 15

[1plus1kiyoomi]

Chapter 23: Home

[prev]

[masterlist]

——————————————————————————

After 5 long years, your family finally moves to a new house. It’s bigger than the house Kiyoomi first lived in. Since you have kids now, so more rooms must be added. You don’t even know how your husband managed to find such a big house that is close to the city.

Kia is beyond excited to have her own room after 3 long years of sharing it with her younger siblings “Wow! My room is so big!” Kia says in awe, her eyes wandering her new room. She climbs up the bed and jumps on it, letting out a series of laughter every time the sole of feet recognize the springy feeling. “I love my bed! It’s big and it’s all mine!”

“Kia, be careful or you’ll fall,” Kiyoomi warns her. Done checking with Kia, he follows Mina and your family dog, Momo, inside her new room. “Do you like it?”

“Where’s Momo’s bed?” Mina asks as she looks around the room for the said thing. The Shiba Inu follows behind her like a loyal servant.

“I thought you wanted Momo to sleep beside you?” Kia’s eyes turn wide in joy as she runs to her father. She raises her arms so Kiyoomi bends down and she gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“Momo, give papa a kiss too!” Mina cheers and the dog jumps on Kiyoomi. He catches him with his hands and stretches his arms away from his body.

“We’re not close enough to be kissing,” Kiyoomi tells Momo and puts him down. Momo resembles his cousin, Komori, so Kiyoomi feels awkward showing affection towards him.

Kiyoomi leaves Mina to discover her room, which is very kid-friendly since that’s what he specifically asked the interior designer of the house when it was being built. He then heads to where you and the twins are. From your posture and way of speaking, it seems like you’re having an argument with your youngest children.

“What’s wrong?” Kiyoomi asks you, casually putting a hand on your hip and pulling you close to him. He eyes Kin and sees the scowl on his son’s face. Kiyoomi sticks his tongue out, childishly mocking him.

“Stop that. He’s your son,” you scold your husband and he stops making fun of Kin. “Kin and Mira wants to sleep in their rooms.”

“Then, let them? Does it really matter?” Kiyoomi answers and the twins nod, agreeing to his words.

“We’re big now!” They tell you in unison.

“You’re three and you don’t want to sleep with mama anymore?” You sigh in disappointment.

“Are you scared on your own mama?” Kin frowns and you nod dramatically. Kiyoomi gags at your acting and you nudge his side with your elbow. “Do you want Kin to stay with you?”

“She has me,” Kiyoomi butts in and Kin gives him an unamused gaze.

“You’re not even home most of the time...” Kin rebuts with confidence. Kiyoomi grimaces at his son’s words and you just laugh. “Right, Mira?”

“Right!” Mira just agrees to whatever her twin brother says.

“Listen to the kids, Omi,” you whisper to him and he rolls his eyes. “Please set up the table in the garden. It’s almost dinner time.” You kiss your husband’s cheek and then you hear Kin chant that he wants kisses too. You fulfill your son’s wishes before skipping happily to your new kitchen.

The three of them set up the table just like you requested, while the two older girls help you in the kitchen. “I’m cooking the meat now,” Kiyoomi tells you as he takes out the meat from the freezer. You hum and continue cooking the other dishes.

“Go help your papa set up the table,” you order Kia and Mina. They wipe their hands clean before going out to help their father.

Kin and Mira keep running back and forth from the kitchen to the garden as they carry one plate at a time. Kia and Mina are arranging the table cloth and wiping the benches clean. Momo is helping by making sure that no bugs or birds are landing on the plates and being cute of course.

“Do you want meat?” Kiyoomi asks his kids. They don’t answer him as they are too preoccupied with other things.

Kia hears him and answers, “I’m not in the mood to eat meat papa.”

“Momo, do you want meat?” The dog barks at his question and points his forefingers at him. “You’re my favorite child for a reason.”

“Why is Momo your favorite child? You said you’re not even close enough to kiss!” Mina pouts and glares at her father.

“Mama said favoritism is bad!” Kia reprimands her father, her hands on her hips. “We are your children! You should love us equally!”

“Right! Love us equally!” Mira echoes her sister’s words, putting her hands on her hips as well.

“I thought I was your favorite!” Kin complains and Kiyoomi’s eyes dart at him.

“You don’t even like me!” Kiyoomi complains back and Kin raises his forefinger up as if he’s going to make such a great point.

“But mama said you specifically asked for me, which means I am your favorite,” Kin explains and just when Kiyoomi is about to make a retorting statement, Mira shouts.

“Papa! The meat is burning!”

“Shit!” Kiyoomi curses as he tries to weaken the fire. The garden falls dead silent as his kids stare at him in disbelief and shock. Their father could curse? “What?”

“You said a bad word!” Kia gasps dramatically.

“Said a bad word!” Mira mimics Kia’s dramatic gasp.

“No I didn’t!” Kiyoomi tries to argue, attempting to sound believable.

“Papa, stop lying. Even Momo heard it...” Mina says in disappointment. The barks as if he’s agreeing to Mina.

“Remember when I said I’ll buy you a trampoline when we move houses?” Kiyoomi tries to change the topic so he can escape his children’s interrogation.

“Shit!” Kin says loudly, and as if on cue, you go out to the garden and hear your three year old son cuss with all of his heart.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi! How many times do I have to warn you about not cussing in front of the kids?!” Kiyoomi face palms and glares at Kin. The younger boy just shrugs and runs to help you with the dishes you are carrying.

Before dinner starts, you want to take a picture of your family for keepsake. Sadly, that isn’t easy to do with four kids.

Mira and Kin are fighting over who gets to sit on your lap, leading to the twins crying. Kia is restless and hungry and just wants the picture to be taken but her siblings are acting up, which leads to her acting up as well. Mina is shy and hiding behind Momo. Kiyoomi is trying his best to make the twins to settle down so he attempts to take Kin away from you, but the boy just grabs his hair and tugs on it quite harshly.

In the photos taken, you have no good ones as expected. Kia is frowning at all the pictures. In one picture she’s rolling her eyes in irritation. Mina’s face can’t be seen since she’s hiding behind your family dog. Kin is still grabbing Kiyoomi’s hair and scratching his face, holding whatever is close to him. Mira is wailing on your lap and is screaming ‘papa’ since she wants to be with Kiyoomi now. Meanwhile, you and Kiyoomi look so tired and haggard in the photos. The only one who looks good in the photos is Momo. The dog is just sitting and smiling with his tongue out. So much for just one family picture.

Dinner finally starts after that chaotic pictorial and you say your thanks before eating. Kiyoomi cuts the burnt steak he cooked into smaller pieces and attempts to give it to Kin. His son rejects it so Kiyoomi sighs and takes the meat out of his bowl.

“I’ll eat it!” Kia volunteers and lifts her bowl so Kiyoomi can put the meat in it.

“I thought you were not in the mood for meat?” Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow at her but gives her the beef anyways.

“I changed my mind,” Kia reasons.

No, she didn’t. Kia hasn’t changed her mind. She really doesn’t want to eat the steak but when she saw Kiyoomi’s sad expression because of Kin’s rejection, she felt bad for him. She can’t scold Kin about rejecting food yet since he’s young, but she has to show him that the food their parents are providing them is special

“It’s good papa,” Kia compliments her father. Kiyoomi smiles at her and he continues to cook meat. She eats what he gives her without complains. Seeing his sister eat with gusto, Kin asks for meat and eats it.

“Me too!” Mira gives her bowl to Kiyoomi which he gladly puts the sliced beef in. She happily eats it and even feeds her twin brother with it.

Kia watches her father’s face light up in satisfaction which makes her feel blissful.

——————————————————————————

It’s 12AM and Kiyoomi feels a small hand tugging on his finger. He wakes up from the touch, and sees his son with an almost crying face. “Hi, buddy. Why are you up?”

“Want to sleep with you,” Kin answers, pulling his little blanket close to his chest. Kiyoomi’s heart softens. Kin may act like he hates his father, but deep down he wants his attention and affection too.

Seeing his son’s scared image, he jumps out of bed and picks him up. If Kin is scared, so must be Mira.“Okay. Let’s go get your sister first.” He walks to Mira’s room as quiet as possible so he doesn’t wake you or any of his daughters up.

Kiyoomi sees Mira’s door open so he quickly checks the room and doesn’t see her there. He hears murmurs from Kia’s room and also notices how Mina’s room is empty.

“Don’t be scared. Nee-chan is here!” Kiyoomi overhears Kia speak. He peeks at the small opening at the doorway and sights Kia putting Mina and Mira to bed. “Do you want me to tell you a story?”

“Yes...” Mira answers, shifting closer to Mina so they can cuddle. Momo is sleeping at the end of the bed, unbothered.

“We are going to have a new baby sister!” Kia confidently announces.

‘That’s not a story! That’s a gossip!’ Kiyoomi chuckles and then enters the room, which surprises his three daughters. “What are the three of you talking about that is keeping you awake at this?”

“Papa! Tell us a story!” Kia tries to hide their recent conversation, but her expression is giving it away. She looks like a deer that has been seen in the middle of the road. “Mina and Mira were scared so they went in my room to sleep.”

‘They’re still sleeping together in one room after all.’

“Okay. I’ll tell you a story. What kind of story do you want?” Kiyoomi gives in and sits on Kia’s bed. He puts Kin down on the bed and he snuggles close to his twin sister immediately.

“About you and mama!” Kia giggles as she joins in her other siblings.

“Again?” Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow at her. Kia loves hearing stories about the two of you. It puts her at ease.

Kiyoomi starts to share a random story about you and him during high school. Your first time meeting his family exactly. And midway, he hears his children snoring soundly so he stops speaking. He then notices Kia looking out her window.

“Go to sleep...” He tells her.

“Papa, I am so happy you’re my father,” Kia says out of nowhere, taking Kiyoomi aback. “I don’t think I would be this happy if you weren’t.”

“I’m happy you’re my daughter, too.” Kiyoomi kisses the top of her head and then smiles at her.

Kiyoomi is thankful.

Kiyoomi is very thankful that she is his daughter. If he didn’t meet Kia 5 years ago, he wouldn’t know where or who he’d be now. Having children changed him and probably made him a better person. He still can’t go on a crowd on his own, but if he’s with his kids, everything possible for him. Kiyoomi is willing to go out of his comfort zone if it means his children’s happiness.

Kiyoomi thankful that you gave him a chance to prove that he can be Kia’s father. Not just Kia, but also Mina, Mira and Kin. He knows how stressed you are with having to take care of 4 kids and him not being around most of the time, but you still stayed. You never gave up on motherhood, your children and him. He falls in love with you again and again every single day just for it. You are the best thing that has happened to him.

Kiyoomi is thankful that he has a house where you and your children are in. He doesn’t go home everyday but he knows that when he does, you’re there to welcome him. Kia is there caring for her younger siblings with you. Mina is there drawing on the living room, while her dog, Momo, sleeps on the couch. Mira is there running after her twin brother and making sure he doesn’t hurt himself. Kin is there watching everything you do because he loves you so much. You’re there raising your children with sincerity and love. You and your child are there waiting for him.

Kiyoomi is thankful that he gets to go home to where the five of you are.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is thankful that you’re his home.

“I’m also excited for my new baby sister,” Kia mentions again. Kiyoomi for sure knows you aren’t pregnant because if you are, you would be complaining about it again. Or are you hiding it from him?

“Did your mama tell you that?” He asks for assurance that this is only part of Kia’s imagination and random child babbles.

“No, but I’m sure that mama has our baby sister in her stomach.” Kia closes her eyes and hugs Mina who is beside her.

“Okay...” Kiyoomi lets it pass and slowly drifts back to sleep, too tired to go back to your room.

Morning comes and you wake up to an empty space beside you. “Kiyoomi must have gone jogging...” You yawn and stretch your arms up. It’s already 6AM but you don’t hear any of your children chant the word, “mama” so you stand up and check on them. The silence is too rare that it’s scaring you.

Mira’s, Kin’s and Mina’s rooms are empty so you get anxious. You’re telling yourself that maybe Kiyoomi brought them jogging with him so you’ll feel better, but your anxiety grows since you know that Kiyoomi will never bring the four of them with him. Momo goes out of Kia’s room so you run to it, in hopes that your children are all there.

They are, and your husband is also there.

Kia and Mina are tucked in Kiyoomi’s armpits. Their hands holding onto their father’s shirt. Mira’s face is flat laid flat on Kiyoomi’s stomach, but her body is on the bed. Kin is on his thighs, the small boy hugging the muscular leg. You let out a silent giggle at the cute sight in front of you.

And all that happiness fades when you suddenly feel lightheaded. The feeling of being nauseous hits you so you run to Kia’s bathroom, which wakes everyone in the room up.

“Babe, are you okay?” Kiyoomi asks you he shakes his kids off his body.

“See, papa? I told you mama has our baby sister in her stomach!” Kia states as she rubs her sleepy eyes.

“We’re having another child?!”

End.

——————————————————————————

Thank you so much for supporting my first ever story here. This will forever have a special place in my heart. I hope you all enjoyed it ♥️

[angelswithcigarettes]

“A new connection”

Summary: Spencer's father comes back into his life.

Series: The journey of finding a home [Part 4]

Series Summary: With getting Spencer on the team, Gideon gets him out of the hands of his abusive Father. He knows his team are the right people to show him the kindness of this world but even if he was supposed to be one of the greatest profiler ever seen he didn't expect Morgan to be the one that puts the most effort into it.

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Past Child Abuse, Emotional/ Psychological Abuse

Relevant Tags: Autistic Spencer Reid

Word Count: 8579

Chapters: 6/6

First Chapter:

[I advice you to read the other parts first]

If there is something Spencer loves when it comes to Morgan touching him it is when they lay in bed and he takes his finger and gently moves them over his cheeks, mostly with his knuckles and moves sometimes around his face and Morgan adores how Spencer will first giggle and the eventually relax, maybe humming slightly.

"I want to -" Spencer stops himself and then opens his eyes and dares to lock Morgan in the eyes for a second and then looks at the ceiling again.

In the beginning this would make Morgan insecure but by now he is used to him looking past him. Or on the floor. Or ceiling. More on the floor than on the ceiling.

There are rare occasions were he looks him directly in the eyes.

"Can we go get ice cake from the café down at the - at the park? At the park with Clooney?"

"Of course."

"All of the things?"

"All of the things." Morgan could break out in tears out of pride caused by Spencer asking to do things or for things.

When he first met him, Spencer would just not ask for anything. If no one would offer he would just go the whole day without food or water.

Gideon had told him that Spencer on many occasions fainted in the academy because he over did himself with physical exercises or got to caught up in reading the manuals.

Seeing him sitting on the grass, with Clooney laying next to him putting his head on Spencer's legs while he sits crossed legged, he can not understand how he could have let himself get so insecure about this relationship based on the option of people who have meet him for a few hours.

Morgan tears his attention away for a second chatting with a women next to him waiting for her order too while Spencer gets approached by a man causing Spencer to put an arm around the dog.

"I thought I recognised you." The man says looking down on Spencer. "Who is that friend of yours?"

"Clooney" Anxious but also feeling comfort in the familiar warm of his father's face.

"Can I pet him?"

"Yes" William reaches down wanting to pat him but the dogs starts barking causing the man to stand up straight again and to catch Morgan's attention.

"Excuse me, I will be right back."

"Oh he is a violent one." William says with a smile a little bit surprised by the reaction.

"He isn't." Spencer holds the leash. "Morgan will calm him down."

"Morgan?" The man turns around, seeing Morgan approaching them. Not running but also not walking like he has much time. "Is he here with you?"

"Yes."

"Okay, listen buddy I have to go."

"You can meet him!"

"No don't tell him I was here. I was a stranger asking about your dog." And as fast as he was there he was gone again and Morgan was there in front of him, talking to him but not making any sense and Clooney is there. Clooney is there. Clooney is putting pressure on his stomach. He likes that.

"There you go, pretty boy." He is sitting in Morgan's lap now. "That's good, look at you, breathing like the genius you are." He tries cheering him up, his fingers just like this morning running up and down his cheek and Clooney nudges Spencer's hands. "I think someone wants cuddles."

"A stranger asked about my dog."

"He is a cute dog what can I say?"

"A stranger asked about my dog."

"I know, it's nothing to be embarrassed about that that didn't went well."

"A stranger asked about my dog."

"Clooney is fine, come on" Morgan takes Spencer's hand and places it on Clooney's head. "I am sure he just wanted to know something about him."

"My friend."

"Absolutely"

"My friend."

"And what did he do? He protected you nobody will touch you when he is there." Morgan jokes even though its actually true.

He has heard about dogs being sensitive but he always thought people exaggerate to integrate their dogs into their family, but whenever they are out outside of their job, Spencer takes the dog with him and if he gets overwhelmed he will sit down with him or play with the leash.

What Morgan finds the most heartwarming is when he hears Spencer talking to him, full on monologues about everything. About cases, about the team, about his newest hyper fixation, about Morgan when he thinks he isn't around and even sometimes about his family.

The amount of information Morgan got from just standing around the corner is something he is not proud of.

"I am sorry - I just wanted to let you guys now that the lady in the stand put your order in the freezer you can pick it up whenever you are ready. Or I can bring it to you." The women Morgan talked to before he saw Clooney barking at the man offers kindly after approaching them.

"Thank you for telling us." Morgan waits until the women is gone. "You want some cake?" Shyly Spencer nods and ensures Morgan he can be left alone if Clooney stays.

What neither of them expected was that the moment he turns his back around William starts approaching him again and then hands him a business card. "Call me okay?"

He is gone again before Morgan can even get the cake. He isn't suspicious at what happened, interacting with strangers, especially men that are older in physically advanced in comparison to him, does often not end well if no one he knows is with him.

Morgan would go as far as to say he worked out a pattern.

Women are fine unless they are in their fifties and have reddish hair, he assumed that someone this age with this specific hair color at some point in any way harmed him.

Men his age and younger are usually fine unless they are wearing a blue uniform which is unfortunate on the job.

What never plays out are men in their late fortys already having light hair or gray hair just like the man or slightly younger man with brown hair.

Which is a problem because Hotch fits this criteria but its better than in the beginning.

Will went through that too, but they are pretty sure it was the name that caused the panic.

There are a few things that Morgan avoids wearing as well.

For starters grey suits, they tried it multiple times, not working out. It took quite some time to realize that.

Secondly a different cologne. Spencer takes immense comfort in familiar smells, and if Morgan smells different he tends to get a little bit unsettled.

Change in general is not something he appreciates.

In other people it just doesn't fit him but he knows that he is not allowed to be rude because of it and he really tries not to. But he also doesn't understand why he is not allowed to be honest, JJ had cut her hair short a few ago and Spencer had, after she asks what he thinks, told her that she doesn't look as pretty as before and thanks to the aftermath of her pregnancy she just started crying.

He got overwhelmed trying to comfort her because that wasn't what he wanted to do. He awkwardly told her that it will grow back and that people who haven't met her doesn't know that she looked better before and he really tried his best but was just making it worse.

Emily stepped quickly in and sat down with him and not in an offensive way asked why he would say something like this and then proceeded to make it more clear to him by asking him how he would feel if someone said that to him.

When Spencer in the evening prompted how he likes "that there isn't much you can change with your hair" towards Morgan because "people don't know what they want when they ask for an opinion on their hair" he maybe couldn't hold back a laughter.

What Morgan did not in any way put in consideration is his reaction to him shortening Clooney's hair for the summer because when he picked Spencer up from Rossi's in the evening he did not like it at all and it took a long time of him crying and Morgan patiently waiting for him to welcome the dog and Rossi got reminded of the time Spencer lived at his mansion and when almost everything would send him over the edge.

"Here is the ice cake we so well deserve." Having a day off is not something they are used too and for a long time not something Spencer liked and just ignored by coming in with Gideon who never took a day off.

"A stranger came over and asked about my dog."

"I know" Morgan leans down kissing him on the cheek and then hands him his plate.

He improved a lot. Both of them. Spencer in speaking and Morgan in understanding but there are still many things that go missing.

"A stranger came over and asked about my dog."

"What have you got there?" Morgan asks pointing at the cards he holds in his fist.

"What have you got there? A stranger came and asked about my dog." Sceptical Morgan takes the card out of his hand and reads the ingredients.

"A stranger? Are you serious right now?"

"A stranger came and asked about my dog."

"Yeah I don't think so." Morgan holds the card up in front of him. "William Reid? Doesn't sound like a stranger to me."

More chapters:

[tinyboxxtink]

"Reunion" A Sam Gardener/Paige Hardaway "Fix It" One Shot *Atypical*

Alright, I should have been working on my series but ya'll I finished ATypical last night and I was FUMING. Actually I still am fuming. So fuming I had to write a "fix it" fic for the ending of the Sam and Page story. It will NOT end at the Olive Garden. I refuse to believe that.

So I spent all day writing this. I don't care if anyone likes or agrees with it, this was for me. In my heart this is how they ended up. Okay? Okay.

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

“My my my, Sammy you are lookin’ FLY!” Zahid stepped back and admired his work. Sam had reluctantly let him pick out his outfit for tonight. He felt very uncomfortable in the soft cotton t-shirt NOT the regular cotton t-shirt, distressed jeans NOT regular and non-holy, and an unbuttoned dark blue flannel, NOT a normal polo. But he wanted to look a certain way for tonight, something he thought she’d like. He needed tonight to go perfectly, and not because his atypical brain needed it to. His heart needed it to.

“Thank you Zahid, I’m very uncomfortable. That’s how I know I look good to other people,” Sam nodded.

“So true,” Zahid nodded. “Now are you sure you don’t want me to come with you tonight? Be your wing man?”

“No,” He shook his head as he studied himself in the full length mirror. “I need to do do this on my own, no birds necessary,”

“That’s my Sammy Sam,” Zahid beamed. “Always so literal,”

“Well, I’ll see you after the party ends. Probably before,”

“Unless things go well..” Zahid wiggled his eyebrows.

“If they go according to plan I will still come back home, you know this is the one of the only three places I can spend the night. The other two being my childhood home and Antarctica,”

“Yes I do know that,” Zahid nodded. “I am so proud of you for spending two months in that popsicle freezer, by the way,”

“I didn’t see one popsicle while I was in Antarctica, but I appreciate your praise Zahid,”

“Anytime, Sam. Permission to hug?”

“Permission granted. I’d normally say no in fear of wrinkling my clothes, but I’m pretty sure they’re already as wrinkled as they can be,” Sam raised his arms, gesturing to the crinkled flannel and jeans.

“Alright, well go and get her man!” Zahid wrapped Sam in a huge, tight hug.

“I hope so,” Sam nodded before walking out the door and down to his car that he could legally drive now.

-----------

When he arrived at the school, he parked and went inside, He glanced down at the invitation he needed to enter the party:

“REUNITE WITH YOUR FELLOW OWLS! 5 YEAR REUNION FOR THE CLASS OF 2019!”

He couldn’t believe it had been five years since he had walked down these halls. It seemed to go by so fast; from going to Antarctica to graduating from Denton to getting a job at the aquarium as a vendor selling his drawings of Stumpy and the other marine life. He would even take long term commissions or draw guests right there on the spot. He didn’t like doing those so much though.

He approached the table apprehensively, hoping he wouldn’t be met with any of his tormentors from high school. But to his absolute relief and delight, there to greet him was the very person he had come to see. Her blonde hair was missing it’s usual blue streak, but other than that she looked exactly like he had remembered her: Beautiful.

“Sam!!” Her eyes lit up when she saw him walking up. She ran around the table and met him before he even reached it. She almost went for a huge hug, but she wasn’t sure if they were still in that stage where he trusted her enough to do so without permission.

But to her absolute shock, Sam opened his arms and welcomed her embrace unprompted. Tears lined her eyes as she hugged him as tightly as she could.

"Hello Paige," He simply stated as she had her arms around him. Suddenly she was catching something she’d also never thought would happen

“Sam, are you wearing cologne?” She asked him softly in his ear, not wanting to let him go just yet.

“Yes,” He nodded as he pulled back just a little to face her, but still his arms around her. He usually hated soft touch or holding of any kind, but with Paige everything was different.

“But you hate foreign smells, especially on your body,” Paige blinked in disbelief while also mentally noting that Sam was not letting her out of his grip.

“Yes, I do,” He nodded again. “But I read that this cologne produces pheromones for the female human,”

“Sam!” Paige blushed, biting her lip and looking at the floor. “Why would you need that?”

“For the ladies obviously, buddy,” Sam used his line for lying, dropping his arms around her. He couldn’t focus on more than one social skill at a time. “You look very nice tonight by the way, Paige,” He added the compliment to complete the lie.

“Oh,” Paige’s voice fell a little soft and disappointed, but Sam was unable to detect it.

“Are you done with your duties? I’d have some things I’d like to discuss with you,” Sam gestured to the table where two other women were taking “tickets’”.

“Absolutely!” Paige replied over excitedly. “I’ll just tell them I’m taking my break,”

“I don’t want to break anything, Paige. I’d just like to talk,” Sam said in a distressed tone. He didn’t want Paige to think he was going to attack her.

“Oh no no no Sam,” She laughed nervously. She missed how literal Sam was. “I meant a rest from work,”

“Oh, right,” Sam shook his head nervously, picking at his fingers. He should have known that, he knew what a break was. Paige just made his thoughts foggy.

“Shall we?” Paige pointed down the hall. Sam nodded and followed her into an empty classroom where they could talk uninterrupted. She pulled up a chair at a desk while Sam did the same, then she realized where they were.

“Oh my goodness,” She whispered.

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” She waved her hands dismissively. “Not at all Sam. It’s just--” She paused and looked around. “Do you know where we are?”

Same studied the room for a moment, when his eyes caught a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower.

“We’re in the French Classroom, where I brought you your penguin necklace so you'd be my girlfriend again, and then you kissed me for the first time,” He informed her matter of factly, but with a small smile, a thing he never did for anyone else.

“Yes,” She nodded with a small smile while her cheeks turned red.

“That was a very good day,” Sam nodded while recalling the memory. He would never admit it to anyone, but that was his first kiss.

“Yes, yes it was,” Paige nodded as well.

“That relates to what I’d like to discuss with you, Paige,”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” He nodded while looking at the floor. He was extremely nervous to do this, but he wanted to do it now before he lost his nerve.

“Well, I guess first of all I should ask-- do you have a boyfriend right now?”

“Sam!” She blushed even more; she forgot how blunt and honest Sam was, straight to the point.

“That’s not yes or no,” He stared at her.

“It’s...complicated,” She played with her hair nervously.

“How is it complicated? You either have a boyfriend or you don’t,” Sam was confused.

“Well the short answer is no, I don’t,”

“Okay then,” He started to continue his line of questioning, but Paige put her hands up.

“Wait wait,” She stopped him, trying not to laugh at his eagerness. “Don’t you want to know the long answer?”

“Not really, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” Sam shrugged.

“Yes I am,” She agreed as she took a deep breath to explain her story. Sam was not looking forward to a long story, but he loved hearing Paige talk. Also he could block her out at any time if he got bored with her words.

“Well, while I was working in Georgia my managers realized what a great foreman I would make,”

“How can you be four men?” Sam asked quizzically.

“No no,” She giggled. “A FORE-MAN, Sam. It basically means I tell people what to do at the building sites,”

“Oh,” Sam shook his head in understanding. “Well you are good at bossing people around,”

“Thank you,” She half laughed. “So, I moved up and up and now I’m a manager myself,”

“I thought you hated being a manager," Sam's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "That's why you used your magic birds to quit Spud E"s,"

"I did hate it there," She chuckled as she remembered that day. "But just because it was at Spud E's. You can hate or love something depending on your happiness in doing it,"

"Oh," Sam just nodded, even though he didn't understand it.

"Anyway, so while I was working my way up the ladder, I met this guy Daniel," Paige's voice lowered as she said his name, she saw Sam's face turn to distress.

"Oh," Sam looked at the floor. "So Daniel is your complicated boyfriend,"

"No no no!" She wanted to take Sam's eyes to make him look up at her but she didn't want to make him more upset.

"No, we did date for a while. And then last week, after I got the invitation for this thing, Daniel took me to dinner," Paige paused, not wanting to push him further emotionally by saying the next thing.

"And he asked me to marry him," She said softly. To her surprise Sam's head popped back up with an even more distressed face.

"So you don't have a boyfriend you have a husband,"

"No!," She once again started going for his hands instinctively to comfort someone, but she knew it was different with Sam. Everything was different with Sam.

"Sam, will you let me get through the whole story before you ask questions, please?" She knew she had to flat out ask him to follow social cues.

"Yes," He nodded.

"Okay," she put her hands in her lap to finish her story.

"When he asked me to marry him, I sat there and I thought about it. For a long time. And I thought back to that afternoon when I got the invitation to come here. I was so excited to come,"

"You do love it here," Sam nodded. Paige gave him a look. "What? You said no questions, That was an observation."

"Right," she nodded her head with a laugh. "Well, then I realized I was more excited about coming back here than I was about the prospect of marrying him,"

"Oh." Sam simply replied while looking at the floor once again. Paige wondered if he understood what she was trying to tell him. Finally after several seconds, he raised his head and looked her in the eyes.

"Paige, now may I ask you a question?"

"Yes Sam," she nodded.

"Good," he nodded looking back at the floor. He wanted to pick the right words, he knew he had only one chance at this. He was so lost in his head he didn't realize how long the awkward pause was lasting.

"Um Sam," Paige's voice knocked him out of his thoughts.

"Right," He nodded, rubbing his sweating hands together.

"Paige," He took a deep breath. "Did you say no to marrying Daniel because the archaic institution of marriage disgusts you, or did you say no because you didn't want to spend the rest of your life with him?"

Paige's smile grew bigger at the question. He did understand what she was saying.

"I didn't want to spend the rest of my life with him." She smiled.

"Good." He nodded, making Paige softly giggle. He didn't hide his thoughts, that's for sure.

"Paige may I ask another question?"

"Yes, Sam,"

"Good." He nodded. This was it, the big question. If he could survive 54 days in Antarctica, he could survive this.

"Paige, would you say yes to marrying someone if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with that person"

"Yes Sam," she nodded with tears in her eyes. "If the right person asked me, I would definitely say yes"

"Paige," he didn't form the statement as a question this time, the one time she was hoping for a question.

"Yes, Sam?" She asked with a very anxious tone, tears threatening to fall down either way this went.

Once again he looked at the ground, furiously picking at a loose stand in the flannel sleeve. She debated whether to say something this time, she could tell he was thinking very hard about something and she didn't want to throw him off. Finally, he looked up once again with the lightest hint of wet pupils.

"....I'm the right person" He said with a very matter of fact tone. He didn't ask, he spoke it as if it was the truest fact in the whole world. He was never absolutely sure of anything, but this one exception.

Paige couldn't hold it any longer, happy tears dripped her face. To her surprise Sam was holding his hands out for her to take. The one other time this happened their love story was ending. She had said that day that maybe someday, they would pick up where they left off. And that day was here.

She gently placed her hands in Sam's as closed his fingers so they intertwined with hers. She looked at him with the same look of love she had when they parted.

"I think you're the right person too," She answered him with a tear filled smile.

To her delight his face lit up with overwhelming happiness, something very rare for him. Even better, he pulled her up out of her seat with his hands still holding hers and kissed her.

It was very softly at first like she was accustomed to given his apprehension with displays of affection, but to her continual shock that evening she suddenly felt his lips press harder against hers, the hardest they'd ever been in fact.

The surprises continued when his mouth ever so slightly, and his tongue traced the very littlest bit of the inside of her lip.

She went as slow as she could, following his lead. She absolutely did not want to ruin this for either of them, and she knew what a huge and probably terrifying event this was for him.

Sam slipped his tongue into Paige's mouth little bit by bit, as slow as Edison's movements. But as he felt the roof of her mouth against his tongue, he began to panic at the thought of the germs they were trading right now. His instincts wanted to abruptly push her away from him, but he couldn't do that to Paige.

Instead he removed his tongue and his mouth away from her, quickly but as gently as his neurosis would allow. To his relief, Paige was smiling from the encounter.

"Wow, Sam that was--" She tried to find the words. That kiss they had just shared was even more intimate than any time they made love.

"That was amazing,"

"I practiced that from a video I saw on YouTube," He smiled proudly. "And Zahid,"

"Zahid?!" Paige almost laughed at his last statement. "You practiced kissing on Zahid?"

"What?! No?" Sam made a disgusted face. "I'm not Casey, or Magic and Sphen,"

"Who are Magic and Sphen?" Paige asked curiously.

"Gay penguins," Sam informed her.

"Of course," she shook her head with a soft laugh. She had missed his affection for penguins.

"Anyway Zahid just showed me how, with his girlfriend Honey," Sam continued.

"You know we don't have to talk about how you learned it, Sam," She laughed awkwardly. "I'm just curious, did you--- did you practice that for girls in general, or me?"

"You, of course," Sam replied in an obvious tone.

"I've never wanted any other girl's germs in my mouth, but for you I wanted to make an exception. I read that physical affection is important in a relationship, and if we're going to be in one for the rest of our lives I thought I should learn more,"

"Oh that's so sweet!" Paige grinned.

"Yes, I know." Sam nodded proudly once more. "If we both brush our teeth profusely and use the strong mouthwash we can try it again,"

"Oh, well that should be--" Paige started to respond but Sam was busy opening the backpack he brought everywhere.

He soon pulled out two toothbrushes still in the package along with unopened bottles of mouthwash and toothpaste.

"Oh you meant right now," Paige laughed in amusement.

"Of course right now, we're going to be together for a long time, we should start practicing now," He shook his head in an obvious manner.

"Sound logic," She agreed.

"Wait, I almost forgot something Paige," He went back into his backpack. He was so focused on getting through the proposal he forgot the best part.

"Oh?" She tried looking where he was rummaging.

"Yes," he finally pulled out a sparkling rock from the backpack and stood up.

"This is a rock from Stumpy's tank. I work there now. Not in her tank, but the aquarium." He explained.

"Oh thats--"

"Paige, can you wait to ask questions until I finish my story?" He mimicked her question to him like a parrot.

"I--" Paige started to correct him by saying she was making a comment not asking a question, but she thought better of it. "Yes Sam,"

"Good," he shook his head in approval.

"Like I was saying, this is a rock from Stumpy's tank. I made sure it was one none of the penguins would miss, but was also very shiny and pretty." He explained as he presented the rock. She just nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"When a male penguin wants to mate with a female penguin, he searches and searches for the perfect pebble to present the female. I didn't have time to find the "perfect' one, and its not a pebble its a rock--," Sam noticed Paige's start to make the face she'd make when he was over informing her.

"Anyway," He dismissed the rest of his penguins fact buzzing in his head. He was already on the ground when he pulled out the toothbrushes and the rock, but he knew there was a specific way you had to be on the ground to ask this question.

He moved one leg so he was kneeling on one knee. He presented the rock more towards Paige, who was crying once again. Sam had to remind himself that people cried when they were happy as well as being sad, especially females. So he didn't have to worry if she was sad.

"Would you accept this rock?" He asked nervously.

He didn't know why he was nervous she had already said she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, but this gesture meant even more to him, given that penguins were his favorite thing. Next to Paige.

"Of course I will Sam," she nodded happily as she took the rock from him.

"Oh also," He pulled a small diamond ring from his pants pocket and held it out to her.

"My mom said its better to give a girl this so they can wear it, but diamonds aren't a rock," He laughed to himself like it was the craziest thing in the world to give a girl a silly mineral opposed to a sturdy rock.

"Oh my god," Paige softly whispered as he slipped the ring on her finger.

He had told his mother he was going to ask her to marry him. He had planned this ahead of time, even though he had no idea what she would say. He loved her so much, and she truly loved him as much in return.

Finally done with everything he had planned to do, Sam got back up off his knees and gave Paige a small peck on the lips.

"I love you, Paige," He smiled.

He had practiced saying those words longer than he had practiced kissing. He started saying it in the mirror at first, then saying it to his mom, then his dad, then Casey.

He had always felt the emotion for them, he just never felt the need to announce it. But he knew it was important to hear for neurotypicals, especially Paige.

When he had said he was in love with her before the lock in, she had needed several minutes to process it. He hoped she wouldn't need minutes processing this, he wanted to practice kissing again.

To his relief she only took about 30 seconds to accept that she wasn't dreaming or hallucinating, he had actually said the words out loud to her for the very first time.

"I love you too, Sam," She kept crying from happiness as he gently kissed her once again.

And they did indeed spend the rest of their lives together, just like penguins.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

summertime sadness .8.

deja vu

Sequel to kiss me in the d-a-r-k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 (masterlist under construction)

Warnings: non con 

This is dark!(dad)Steve and dark(professor!)Bucky and dark!Loki and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader tries to avoid disaster.

Note: Not much to say for this one. Just enjoy. Thank you!💋

<3 Let me know what you think in a reblog, reply, or like. I’m loving the feedback from y'all and the enthusiasm! Also as always, memes accepted.

💋💋💋

Friday night. You were on the train before six. Loki let you go fairly quickly. He had cum fairly quickly. The remnants were on your blouse, barely concealed by your cardigan. The shadows of the underground flickered through the windows and the noise of the crowd drowned out that in your head.

You walked the half-block to your building. An unexpected figure sat waiting on the step. It was too late to hide. Bucky stood, the pizza box balanced against his chest. He smiled weakly.

"Figured since you've been dodging me, I'd come to you," He said evenly. "And I brought some food to appease you."

"I'm not very hungry." You muttered as you dug around for your keys. "I'm tired."

"Must be. You're home late. Train doesn't take that long." He remarked. "If you don't want a slice, you can keep the leftovers for tomorrow. Or is it me you don't want?"

You sighed as you brushed past him and he followed you into the lobby.

"I just...have a lot on my plate." You said as you unlocked the door. "I don't think it's a good idea to keep this up while I'm..." 

"Fucking your boss?" He ventured. "You think I couldn't guess?"

"Working." You insisted as you stopped in the door. "And what do you care?"

"I don't, really. I'm only curious. It's all so sudden. You know, it wouldn't bother me if--"

"Nothing bothers you," You snapped. 

"So what do you think? You cut off your old ties and chase him into the sunset? You really think he's gonna help you once he's had his fun?"

You flinched. You lowered your eyes and turned away. He kicked his foot in the door before you could close it.

"No, but it will do neither of us any good to carry on like this." You retorted.

He frowned. He looked at the pizza box and picked at the edges with his nails. He nodded. "He knows."

"Yeah," You confirmed meekly. "He knows."

"And so he told you to ditch me? He blackmailing you?"

"I made that decision. To protect both of us."

"Protect us? This could fuck up your whole career."

"Yeah, and if our little affair got out, what do think then? You think they'd keep you on tenure?" You spat.

"I'd find something else. You don't have to play martyr." He argued.

"Sure, maybe you'd survive the fall but what about me? I don't think I'd be able to climb back up."

"Sure you could." 

"I'm on scholarship. And if they didn't kick my ass out of the university, they'd surely pull my funding. And the internship? Loki could have me blacklisted all the way to England." You shook your head. "I don't get to fuck up. Not like you."

"And what about Steve?" He asked.

"What about him?” You sneered. “I think I'll stop while I'm ahead." 

"You can't just cut him off like that." He said.

"I can take care of myself. About time I start." You hissed.

"A little help never hurt anyone." He said.

"Just... I can't right now." You uttered. "I can barely think. I don't sleep. I... please just leave me alone."

Bucky scowled. "You gonna tell him?" 

"When I find the words," You said. "Please don't."

"Yeah, no, you take care of yourself," He shoved the pizza toward you. "And eat something. Just one slice."

"No, I can't."

"Just do me this last favour." He pushed it against you until you took it. "I don't even like feta."

"Thanks." You took the box entirely. "I'm sorry."

"Nah, I'm sorry." He shrugged. "It's as much my fault as yours but... hey, if the fall gets too high, let me know. I'll still be there to catch you if I can."

You gulped and nodded, unable to speak through your tightened throat. You sniffed and finally found your voice.

"Bye." You squeaked.

"See ya," He gave half a wave. "You got my number."

He turned and you watched him go. You backed up slowly until the door shut. The pizza was still warm but the smell turned your stomach. Or maybe it was yourself that made you so sick.

💋

Another week passed. Another agonizing week. The office that was once your naive fantasy had become an all too real nightmare. Loki hovered over you, even when he wasn’t there. He loomed menacingly on your shoulder. His voice in the back of your head.

And Steve. The messages never stopped. You woke to them and fell asleep reading them. Still, you couldn’t think of what to say. He’d give up eventually. You were just some girl he fucked. That’s it. So you left him on read and distracted yourself with your daily torment.

Loki was out of his office that day but it didn’t preclude you from his schedule. As you packed up, your phone vibrated. He was waiting for you outside. You knew exactly why. The same reason he kept you every day. He wanted to try a new toy. Wanted to play with his toy. You responded quickly and dropped your phone in your bag.

The elevator was too fast so you took the stairs. Your steps echoed around the flights and when you reached the bottom, you were out of breath. You stepped out into the lobby and lingered there. Loki’s streetcar was by the curb just outside the doors. His driver kept the window up when you were around.

You took a breath and your heels clicked across the polished floor. You pushed through the door as the rear window of the car slowly declined. Your name tripped you up as it came from your left. You turned to the familiar voice as its owner stepped away from the side of the building.

“Steve?” You gasped. “What are you--”

“Ah, so you remember me?” He asked as he crossed his arms. 

“Steve…”

“I just want an answer. Anything?” He stepped closer. “Just tell me why?”

“I… can’t,” You sucked in your lip nervously. “I gotta go.”

“No, no, you can’t just run away,” He caught your arm before you could flee. “Bucky told me you iced him out too. And I can tell he’s not telling me everything either.”

“Look it’s… complicated.” You sputtered. “Can we-- can we meet later? I’ll tell you then but I really need to go.”

A car door opened and closed. You cringed as the figure in your peripheral neared and the arm snaked around your waist to draw you away from Steve.

“Problem?” Loki asked with a smirk.

Steve scowled and looked between you. “Not yours, buddy.”

“I’d say it was. You’re keeping my date…” His hand dropped and he squeezed your ass. You flinched and looked to the sidewalk. “And we have plans I am most eager for.”

“We’re talking,” Steve said. “Give us a minute.”

“You can keep talking,” Loki taunted as his hand trailed along your spine.

You felt Steve’s eyes on you but couldn’t bring yourself to look up. “Without you.” Steve warned.

“Whatever you have to say to her you can say to me,” Loki argued. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind. Seems she has a certain taste.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think she was into assholes,” Steve scoffed. 

Loki chuckled. “Look, gramps, can we get this over with?”

“Oh, we can end this,” Steve stepped up to Loki. “You just gotta walk away.”

Loki rescinded his arm and met Steve in kind. “Doesn’t look like she wants to talk.”

“I didn’t ask you.” 

“Well, let’s talk then.” Loki taunted. “You see, me and your midlife crisis have been having quite the time and we’re running behind.”

“Don’t,” Steve bristled.

“And I hear… rather I know,” Loki lowered his voice, “She loves it from behind.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Steve growled.

“You must know? Or maybe you’re the old missionary hero, yeah? How long does that little blue pill keep you going?”

“Stop.” Steve’s tone drew your eyes up at last.

“It’s all me. No enhancement.” Loki continued. “And oh, does she love it. You should hear her, begging for it as I--”

Loki stumbled back suddenly as Steve’s fist flew up. You exclaimed and backed away as Loki barely stayed on his feet. Steve reeled back again and you caught his arm before he could grab your boss by his scruff. 

“Steve,” You pleaded. “Leave him alone.”

He looked at you then to Loki cradling his bloody nose. “You’re coming with me. Now.”

“No, I don’t think she is,” Loki said as he sniffed back the blood. 

“Oh ho, well you can stop me from taking her,” Steve flexed his fingers. 

“Steve!” You snapped. “Enough. Both of you.”

Loki narrowed his eyes as he pushed his knuckle to his nose to stem the bleeding. He nodded and glared at the other man. “Fine. Get him out of here before I’m inclined to return the favour.” He barked. “But I expect you at eight. Sharp.”

“Alright, okay,” You appeased as you clung to Steve’s arm; he was still tense and ready to pounce again. “Just go.”

He pinched his nose and grimaced. He turned and strutted over to his town car. He sent one last snarl your way as he opened the door. As his door snapped shut and the car drew away, you let out a shaky breath. You looked up at Steve and his eyes met yours.

“We need to talk,” He said.

“Yeah,” You sighed. “I think we do.”

💋

Your apartment was quiet. A thick silence that settled in your chest. You closed the freezer and grabbed a cloth from your drawer. You wrapped up the ice pack as you neared Steve and sat beside him on the end of the bed. You took his large hand and pressed the cool bundle to it. He hissed, his knuckles swollen and red.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” You said.

“I couldn’t help myself,” He let you cradle his hand. “I can’t believe you’re fucking that guy.”

“Yeah? Or you can’t believe I’m not fucking you?” You challenged.

He frowned and looked away. “Maybe both.” He admitted. “But why him?”

You let out a long breath. You looked to your feet and shifted on the bed. “Because… he could take everything from me.”

“He…” His brow creased. “He’s blackmailing you?”

“Just like you.” You shook your head. “Same tricks, only better.”

“I--” He began. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“You still got that video?” You asked.

He hung his head guiltily. He didn’t need to say so.

“It’s all gotten out of control and the only thing I can do is let the mess drown me,” You grumbled. “All I have to do is get through the summer.”

He drew his hand away and leaned away from you as he dug in his pocket with his uninjured hand. He pulled out his phone and unlocked it. He opened his gallery and scrolled through until he found the video. He handed it over.

“Delete it.” He said. “I shouldn’t have ever taken it. I shouldn’t have…” 

You took the phone as his voice died. You watched yourself undressing by the hot tub. It felt so long ago. You hit the trash can icon and hovered your finger over ‘yes’. You sniffed and pressed down. The video disappeared.

“So, does that make everything right?” You scoffed.

“Not even close,” He said. “I don’t think anything will. I realise that now.”

“Yeah, no going back,” You muttered.

“I’m sorry. I know it probably means nothing, but I am.”

“Loki… isn’t your fault.”

“No, he isn’t but… I still hurt you. I used you and I knew what I was doing but I did it anyway.” He stretched his bruised fingers and hissed. “I wish I could punch myself.”

“I know what you mean,” You leaned against him. 

“You can punch me.” He said.

“No, I meant me,” You shook your head and placed his phone beside him. “Thank you for apologizing.”

“Least I could do.” 

He let you take his hand again and exhaled as you put the ice to it. You stared at his phone as you thought. You raised your head and looked him in the eye. 

“Thank you!” You chimed.

“For what?” He blinked. 

“I think I figured it out.” You breathed. 

“Figured it out?” He wondered.

“First,” You grinned as the pieces fell together in your mind. “I gotta meet Loki at eight.”

[virmillion]

Coffee’s for Closers

alternative title: lab has absolutely no chill when airing out their dirty laundry

Summary: Virgil is a barista. Logan is a barista. Everyone is gay—it's just that this gayness only occurs at Logan's cafe. Warnings: cursing, rude customers and coworkers, let me know if you think of any more Ships: romantic analogical, romantic royality, platonic LAMP+Remy Words: 22,222

Check it out on ao3!

    Grande white mocha latte. Steam milk to the third line, four pumps of syrup, two shots of espresso, put on a sleeve, pour the milk, whipped cream, lid, hand it off, next. Kid’s hot chocolate. Steam milk to the bottom line at one-twenty seven degrees, two pumps mocha, one pump vanilla, pour the milk, whipped cream, lid, hand it off, next. Venti iced caramel macchiato upside down with coconut milk and an extra shot. Pull two shots of espresso into each teacup, six hits of vanilla in the cup, espresso over the vanilla, coconut milk to the top line, ice to the rim, caramel drizzle of seven vertical, seven horizontal, two circles, lid, hand it off, next. This is literally the only thing running through Virgil’s mind anymore.

    Alright, maybe not the only thing. There is the odd customer who gets annoyed at receiving a small cup when they asked for a tall, because ‘I thought tall meant large!’ and Virgil has had just about enough of people not understanding the price difference. There’s also a regular here and there that hands off their reusable cup with a grin, so he can fill it with caramel and decaf and nonfat milk for the regular’s wife, and the guy can get a tall pike place roast with caramel syrup in a grande cup, and Virgil can hand it off and feel proud of himself for knowing a regular’s order so precisely. Oh, and lest we not forget the ever-present parents thinking it’s cool to let their toddlers run wild and knock down his signs and spill drinks everywhere because ‘it’s okay, honey, he gets paid to clean that up!’

    Okay, so there are several things running through Virgil’s mind right now. At this incredibly specific moment, one of those several things is the fact that he only has to survive twelve. More. Minutes. With the literal worst coworker on the face of the earth. He can’t speak to the quality of workers beneath the earth’s crust—sorry, team members—but for air breathing losers such as he, his buddy here just. Takes the damn cake. Stole the candles. Blew out his wish. On his birthday. Without a birthday gift. Spit on the frosting. Grabbed two chunks with her bare hands. Ate them like a toddler. Complained when she was the only one eating cake. Took the cake anyway.

    Virgil doesn’t particularly care for cake.

    “Hey, how’re you doing?” Kim asks the next guest, plastering the absolute fakest smile Virgil has ever seen on her face. Like, he’s pretty sure it’s bordering on genuine. That’s how fake it is.

    Virgil doesn’t particularly care for Kim, either.

    “I’m good, how’re you?” the guest replies, staring up at the trifold menu and holding up a line of seven people behind them because they didn’t have the foresight to decide on a drink during the fifteen minutes they spent in line. “I’ll take a grande salted caramel mocha.” Virgil ignores Kim as she delivers the spiel about the limited supply of whipped cream, instead focusing on the measurements of all the drinks waiting to be finished. Sure, he admires that one lady for getting eight shots of espresso—he could definitely do with some of what she’s having—but her drink is doing a terrible job of holding up the line when their dinky little store only has one mastrena.

    Ten minutes.

    “Venti double quad for Debra?” Virgil calls, ignoring the line of drinks that haven’t been claimed yet. Seriously, if these people are as intent as they seem to be on getting out of here quickly, you’d think they’d jump at the chance to take their drinks. Virgil doesn’t really care either way, as he only has to survive nine more minutes.

    “Hey, we need a milk run before tomorrow,” Virgil tells Kim, shuffling down the line of drinks. To be fair, they’re moving much more quickly now that the whole espresso machine isn’t focused on one drink from five minutes ago. “Want me to do it?”

    “Ugh, yeah,” Kim groans, rolling her eyes. She waves off the concerned look from the next guest, eyeing Virgil’s obscenely long queue of drinks. “I’ll finish those up, you go get the milk, peace out in ten?”

    “Something like that,” Virgil agrees, topping off the last row of grande hot chocolates. “You know where the button is for extra help?”

    “Duh, of course I know where it is.” Rather than give a sarcastic remark to her attitude—which is what he wants more than anything—Virgil smiles brightly, pushing his way past the swinging door and straightening the hat that never sits quite right on his head. In the near back, he pulls out his constantly dying phone to snap a picture of the barren fridge. All the way to the back of the main store and into the freezer, he trundles one of the squeaky-wheeled carts between the aisles, dodging oblivious mothers and manspreading dudes with man-buns and ratty tennis shoes.

    “Okay, twenty two blue, five pink, seven red,” Virgil mumbles to himself, double- and triple-checking the picture to reassure himself of what they need. “Maybe just seventeen blue, five pink, five red.” These corrections continue as he sets about pulling every jug he can find from the crates, absently tugging down his sleeves as the cold sends goosebumps skittering over his skin. “Two more red, maybe a few half and half?” Thinking back, he’s pretty sure corporate didn’t ship any half and half this week, either. Sunday’s gonna be a blast. “Still no heavy whipping cream, no surprise there. The rations thin. The plot chickens.” Allowing himself a small laugh at his own nonsense, Virgil backs the cart out of the fridge and deepens his chronic slouch to put more force behind the wheels. They squeal and scream in protest as he shoves the—trolley? Is that what they call it?—back to the front, practically spilling it everywhere as he swerves around a narrow corner to avoid a stray child pinballing off the end cap displays.

    Finally at the near back again, Virgil fights with the cart to get it through the doors and over the floor mats covering the little alley, very nearly ramming his head into the sink when the wheels free themselves with no warning. “Okay, freakin’ ow,” he mutters, rubbing the bruise on his side from the impact. “Whatever, just a few more minutes, and I can go somewhere that doesn’t totally suck or drain the life from its patrons.”

    True to his word, Virgil eventually succeeds in restocking the rest of the milks, popping his head out to check on Kim’s status in regards to whether she’ll survive the next three minutes. One severely long line that’s steadily trickling out, most of them with drinks in hand, and if the flurry of legs outside the shuttered window is anything to go by, another slam is hot on its heels. Virgil tosses out a flippant farewell to Kim and makes a break for the punch clock, having absolutely no desire to stick around for the hell that awaits.

    “Okay, cool, cool, love driving in the rain, favorite part of my Saturday,” Virgil sighs, glancing at the window. If nothing else, should customers not be deterred by the weather? Seriously, just go home. Go home!

    Of course, no one is listening to Virgil’s complaints. All too aware of this fact, he rolls his shoulders forward to shrug on a hoodie over his work-mandated black shirt—at least the uniform doesn’t suck, he supposes. Flipping his hood up to protect his hair and tucking in his earbuds, Virgil strolls out into the clogged aisles of people and things, easily blending in with the other loners that would rather be literally anywhere else, were it not for their families dragging them along. Virgil has no such ties, and accordingly escapes from the store with ease.

    And no, he won’t lie—Virgil absolutely walks slower in the rain to the beat of the song in his ears, and he absolutely imagines some cheesy pathetic music video happening around him, and he absolutely would deny that if you confronted him with it.

    By the time Virgil reaches his car—neon blue, mind you, because it was the cheapest model he could afford—his hoodie is sopping wet, and he has had just about enough of this whole ‘existing’ nonsense for today. But no, no, he wants to go to that new cafe one of the regulars told him about. Stupid stubbornness. Of course, he’s too stubborn to get rid of it. So. On he drives.

    You might think this is where the stars align—where Virgil stumbles his way into a warm cafe from a cold car, where he bumps into his soulmate on first sight, where he knows in an instant that this is where he belongs, that this new place is the home he was always meant to find.

    You would be wrong.

    “Damn broken phone,” Virgil scowls, shaking his phone as the screen refuses to wake up, despite being at a solid seventy percent. He keeps his gaze toward his shoes and the tiled floor beneath them, pressing the home and lock buttons harder than he probably needs to. “If anyone dares to so much as look at me the wrong way, I am chucking you out the window and letting you electrocute yourself like a tiny toaster in the rain.”

    “—Upside down, iced, and pick your poison for the milk,” the person waiting at the register is saying, leaning forward as if they have all the time in the world. Virgil’s frown deepens as the person starts to socialize with the barista.

    “Ah, Roman? I believe there might be someone waiting behind you,” the barista says, their voice carrying over past the pompous person that’s basically a wall at this point. As the guest scuttles away to wait for his drink, the barista beckons Virgil forward, saying, “sorry about him. Never seems to understand that other people occupy this world besides himself.”

    “It certainly would appear that way, wouldn’t it?” Virgil says out of the corner of his mouth, not looking up to meet the barista’s eyes. Regardless of whether they’re the social type, he isn’t about to find out the hard way. The hard way being the only way, of course. Virgil does not want to talk to this person, is what he’s saying. “I’ll just take a small of whatever the cheapest thing you have is that isn’t brewed coffee. Please.”

    “Sure, that’ll be one fifty.”

    “Keep the change.” Virgil passes over the first crumpled bill he can find in his pocket—a five—and moves for a table around the corner of the bar to wait. According to that regular, the baristas here are competent enough to hunt down the guests when their drinks are done. So. Hiding around the corner. His modus operandi.

    The worn chair at a table for two is more than welcoming enough, offering a decent view of the crying clouds outside and the over-soaked flowers decorating the windowsill. Virgil dusts off the plum colored seat, which probably used to be plush when it was new—at this point, it’s so well-loved that there can’t be more than an inch of fabric separating Virgil’s rear from the wooden underside. He tucks one leg beneath himself, propping the other foot along the reddish brown window edge. The beaten-up greys and purples of his sneakers offer a painful contrast to the flowers, shining dull under the relentless rain.

    “Hey, haven’t seen you here before,” a new voice says. The same guy that was bugging the barista plonks himself down across from Virgil, pressing his nose to the window. What was his name, Ho Man? “Did the rain scare you away from a main chain trash place like Starbucks?” Rather than dignify him with a response, Virgil holds up the too-small black cap he’s supposed to wear to work. Proudly displayed in white stitches is the Starbucks logo. The way Ho Man’s face turns beet red as he fumbles to cover up the mistake is almost enough to make Virgil laugh. Almost. “Okay, wait, I didn’t mean—it’s not like I wanted to—obviously I don’t disrespect your profession—not that it’s like you have to have it! I mean, unless you like it, but I didn’t want to assume—that’s what they always say about assuming, isn’t it, ass out of you and me, right?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Okay, yeah, yeah, cool! I, uh, I’m just gonna—I’m gonna go sit over there now.” Ho Man jabs his thumb back over his shoulder, loudly scraping his chair back under the table as he stumbles over his own feet in a mad scramble for the front area of the cafe.

    “He seems fun,” Virgil mumbles to himself, resting his chin on a knee and pressing his forehead to the window. Out in the parking lot—if you can even call it that, it’s basically just ten rectangles that happen to be outlined in white—his car looks incredibly crowded in. Neon blue trapped by dark greys and flat reds, all of them reduced to shields sending rain shooting to the concrete.

    A few tables away, Ho Man has plonked himself at a bigger table, facing off with someone turned away from Virgil. They certainly seem to be in deep conversation about something, but Virgil doesn’t care enough to figure out what, much less elaborate on it. To drown out the light conversation of a considerable amount of quiet patrons around him, he digs his laptop out of his shoulder bag and unfolds it on the table. In any fantasy story he’s ever imagined, this is probably the part where his one true love appears in the vacant chair across from him, reaching out to close the laptop and reveal sparkling blue eyes that dance like the stars on a dark and clear night.

    Yeah, no thanks.

    “There you go, cheapest thing we’ve got that isn’t brewed coffee,” the barista says, appearing very much in Virgil’s field of view to hand over a ceramic mug decorated with tinier cups in every shade of blue and purple. “Apple cider with cinnamon and caramel.”

    “That’s the cheapest thing you’ve got?” Virgil sputters in disbelief. “That’s, like, four bucks at a chain place.”

    “I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized we were on par with a ‘chain place,’” the barista replies, making air quotes around the words. “Anyway, make sure you return the mug when you leave. If you take it with you, bring it back next time for a refill, five cent discount.”

    “Seriously? Cool,” Virgil says, reaching for the mug as the barista turns away. “Seems like a good way to encourage people to steal the mug if you ask me, but alright.” The barista hesitates, looking from the bar to Virgil and back. No guests demanding service. Without asking permission or begging forgiveness, the barista slips into the seat across from Virgil. “Yeah, sure, have a seat.” Virgil closes his laptop, bringing the mug to his lips.

    “So I’m not even going to ask whether this is your first time, since it’s pretty obvious,” the barista says. “For one, you didn’t even make eye contact when you ordered your drink, which, okay, rude, and for another, you don’t know the system with the mugs, not to mention that you didn’t even say hi to—”

    “Yeah, yeah, cool, great, can I just enjoy my cheap drink in peace here?” Virgil interrupts. He certainly wouldn’t admit it if this guy asked, but it’s better than what they make at Starbucks. “Yes, my first time, I don’t like eye contact, I certainly don’t like conversation—actually, come to think of it, I have a long list of dislikes, and you are quickly working your way to the top. Please go away.”

    “My name’s Remy.” The barista sticks his hand out, prompting Virgil to merely stare at it with thinly veiled disdain until he retracts it with an awkward laugh. “I run this place with my brother, since he bought the building when the lister needed to move before the taxes got too high, and he pulled me in on the deal for my sparkling charisma—”

    “Of which you have none.”

    “—and because he likes dealing with the numbers more. He’s actually sitting right over—”

    “Don’t care. Why are you sitting here?” Remy wags a finger at Virgil, biting his lower lip and puffing out his cheeks. “Spring a leak much?”

    “Mostly ’cause I was bored. You seem interesting, I don’t know. Thought I could educate you on the mystical ways of how we don’t go bankrupt from people stealing our mugs.”

    “Okay, yeah, sure, cool. Great. Educate away. Special tip, though? You kind of suck at educating so far. Like, a lot.”

    “Noted. We’re small enough that we don’t get many guests, and the ones that come in pretty often usually have their own mugs reserved. Picked yours out for you when I saw you walk in. Brand new, never used. Just for you. So special.”

    “Alright, let’s lay off the dramatically short sentences, Mettaton. You still haven’t convinced me why I should care.”

    “I mean, I think you’re cute, so there’s that. Anyway, we use the same mugs for our regulars, and we get so few one-timers that we barely ever lose a cup. Even when we do, they normally come back out of guilt for keeping the cup, and get another drink at a crap discount. That’s our motto, you know? Come for the guilt, stay for the five cents you save. Well, not really our motto. We don’t have a motto. I’ve always wanted one, but we never set one in stone, since my brother isn’t exactly into all that stuff. Speaking of which, you wanna meet him? He’s right over—”

    “I do not want to meet your brother,” Virgil says. He shakes his head, trying to force his mind to register Remy’s nonstop babbling. “I literally just want to finish my drink in peace.”

    “You’ll be back,” Remy replies, tapping out a rhythm on the table. “The cute ones always come back.”

    “I have literally never wanted to come back to a place less than I do right now. Please go away.” Finally, miracle of miracles, Remy takes the hint, scraping his chair back and moving for the table where Ho Man is still chatting up whoever it is that probably doesn’t want him there.

    Alone once more, Virgil exhales, scraping off part of the dollop of whipped cream on his drink with a finger. Before the caramel drizzle can drip down his hand, he fwips it off with a sharp inhale, pretending like he doesn’t care that he’d probably be drawing thousands of weird looks if anyone were paying attention. Over at Ho Man’s table, Remy slams his fists down on the tiled surface, making the collection of mismatched mugs bounce around dangerously. Ho Man’s friend relaxes their perfect posture by half an inch before straightening again as Remy leans forward to whisper something. Virgil quickly shifts his focus to stare out the window.

    While the rain seems to finally be letting up, its aftereffects are long from forgotten. Orange tulips and red roses in the distance are wobbling on thin stems, desperately holding onto the last of their leaves as the wind does everything it can to wrench them away. Even the trees are mourning the early summer storm, their overgrown leaves tearing away and drifting across the streets to stick themselves to windows. Virgil fights back the urge to recoil as a particularly large leaf smacks into the other side of the glass, tiny drops of water peeling away to race for the flowerbed below.

    When he lifts the mug to his mouth again, it’s empty. Smalls are always so much smaller than larges. Time to go.

    “Hey, uh, where do I, um…?” Virgil calls to Remy as he moves for the door, lifting his empty cup as indication. “Like, do I just leave it on the table, or…?”

    “Just keep it,” Remy replies, waving off Virgil’s annoyed sigh. “Seriously, keep it.”

    “Seriously, no.” Rather than take the mug and run, which would be immensely gratifying if it were, you know, actually against the rules, he deposits it on the island with cream and sugar for coffee. Dammit, even their carts are nicer than the crappy little nothings that Starbucks has.

    “See you later?” Remy yells as Virgil wills the door to close faster behind him.

    “Maybe. Probably not, but maybe.” Before the bell over the door frame has even finished chiming, Virgil is already at his car, not bothering to dodge the few remaining raindrops. “Weirdo. Hate to see how much of a disaster his brother is.”

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

    “How long, exactly, did you talk to that poor guy?” Remy appears none too impressed by the question, much less the implication of how annoying he probably was to said poor guy.

    “Look, bro, he looked lonely, I thought I’d just pop in on his day and—”

    “And encourage him to leave my cafe without taking the mug for a discount next time? Try harder to cover for yourself. And stop calling me ‘bro,’ it makes you sound like a teenager.”

    “Alright, Logan,” Remy retorts, letting the mocking tone dangle in the air, “FYI, I am a teenager, so lay off for a hot sec, why don’t you?”

    “I would rather not. Don’t use acronyms out loud, you sound like a preteen. You turned twenty last week. Roman, kindly refrain from displaying the inside of your mouth like that.”

    “Dude, what? Happy birthday, man! Why didn’t you tell me?” Roman demands, leaning his elbows on the table and forcefully inserting himself into a conversation where he’s decidedly not welcome.

    “I’m having a surprise party for myself,” Remy hisses in a stage whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, Logan thinks I don’t know about it.”

    “I am not planning you a surprise party,” Logan says. “There is literally not one person planning you a surprise party, in this cafe or otherwise. Go help that next guest, I never said you could take a break for this long, anyway.”

    “You aren’t the boss of me,” Remy grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching lower in his chair.

    “Technically, I am, having been the one to buy the place, not to mention that I was born first. Go help the next guest.” Logan rolls his eyes as Remy trudges over to the bar, a completely different demeanor washing over him like a wave as he steps behind the register and turns into a cheerful mannequin. Shifting his focus back to Roman, Logan presses his glasses up higher on his nose and releases a low, steady, frustrated groan.

    “Talk to me, man, what’s goin’ on?” Roman asks. “Are you really that mad that what’s-his-nuts didn’t take his mug? You didn’t even pick it out, Remy did.”

    “Mmm, no, that’s not it.” Logan rubs his knuckles against a sore spot on his forehead, considering Roman’s earnest look. “We haven’t been doing too well in sales lately, not that many new guests coming in, much less any of them returning for the discount, and I’m still waiting on your list of ideas for how to make myself more welcoming.”

    “Well, for one, don’t dump all your emotional baggage on the first person to ask.” Roman waves his hands quickly as Logan moves to get up, trying to fan whatever flames of frustration are boiling in his brain. “Kidding! Kidding, I am totally, completely, legit-ly kidding.”

    “Legitimately.”

    “Tomato, potato.”

    “To-mah-to.”

    “I’m pretty sure it’s tomato. Anyways, I did draw up that list for you, which, objectively, is the literal best thing in existence ever to be created. In existence. Ever. Objectively.” To be perfectly frank, Logan is incredibly close to shutting the cafe down and locking himself in the fridge to cool down, both literally and figuratively. Nevertheless, he endures, propping his chin on his fist and sighing heavily as Roman draws a stack of bent and ruffled papers out from who-knows-where. At the very least, if Roman’s antics don’t put him out of business, he’ll be able to end the month with a bang. Maybe.

    Roman smooths out the uppermost pages on the tiled table, letting the bottom sheets flare out like a background for the top nonsense. Pointing to each piece of paper as it comes up,  he fumbles his way through the chaos, periodically looking up to make sure Logan is paying attention. Against better judgement, he is.

    “Okay, so first off, it’s June, right? Pride month, bay-bee! Break out a new collection of mugs—”

    “I am not changing the mugs.”

    “He is not changing the mugs,” Remy seconds, returning from the last guest.

    “Alright, alright, truce, no new mugs. I know you don’t totally go for the pizzazz side of things, but—and hear me out here, just something small—we could put different colors of powder on each drink, like purple sprinkles on a latte can be called a purple drink—”

    “We cannot do that, Starbucks already has pink and violet drinks, and I will not associate with them.” Logan straightens his glasses again, pulling one piece of paper out from beneath the rest. “Are all of these ideas centered around pride month?”

    “No,” Roman grumbles, scraping about half of the papers off the table. “I do think it would be cool if you did pride stuff, though. Show support to everyone.”

    “Me, in particular,” Remy cuts in. “Show some support to my gay ass.”

    “Your ass is trans.”

    “What’s your point?”

    “I guess I don’t have one, Remy. Roman, please, if you would?” Logan gestures with his hand, indicating for Roman to find a new thread of ideas to follow. The watch on his waving wrist boasts of closing time rapidly drawing near, as a solid third of his patrons slowly head for the door, carefully selected mugs clutched between their fingers.

    “Right. Okay, so you said no new mugs, and you said no pride stuff, and you said no fun, so let me just jot that down, and we’ll keep going.”

    “I said no new mugs, I asked for different pride stuff that wouldn’t infringe on corporate coffee franchises, and fun is a subjective measurement on behalf of our patrons. Drop the attitude, or I’m cutting you off.”

    “What? No, I’m your best customer!” Roman whines, wearing a pout for a good few seconds before continuing. “I really do think some nice decorations would probably help the atmosphere, maybe string up some white fairy lights around the ceiling? I know you hate those, but they do wonders for how the interior looks once it’s dark outside. Turn off the main lights, turn on the tiny ones, and bam, you’ve got a fairytale date night. Literally.”

    “I don’t think you know what literally means.”

    “I also think you should hire me. Not with obscenely high pay, I know how frugal you try to be, but Remy and I are basically your best bets for customer service. Let me cover the shifts when he disappears for clubs and stuff, you can make the drinks as precise as you like, and I’ll chat up the guests to keep the drinks coming. If nothing else, it’ll train me for how I should exist in the real world.”

    “You’ve existed in the real world for years without working in a cafe.”

    “What’s your point?”

    Logan is very well aware by this point that the conversation is going nowhere. A few decent ideas, a few pieces of nonsense, and that’s about it. As such, he snaps the piece of paper he already grabbed, watching the top stand at attention at the peak of its arc.

    “I guess I don’t have one. Remy, please, if you would?” Struck by how he’d unintentionally repeated himself, Logan shifts his focus to the paper, blowing a long breath out through puffed cheeks. “We’re supposed to close up soon, and I sincerely do not have the willpower to do it tonight. I have way too many things to deal with behind the scenes, and I can’t just—”

    “Say no more,” Remy interrupts, plucking the paper from Logan’s hands. “Sit here, close your eyes, don’t do anything. I’ll teach Roman how to make your usual.”

    “Seven extra shots,” Logan murmurs, dropping his head to rest on the table. “Actually, make it eight. Please.”

    “Yeah, no, we’re only gonna give him hot tea,” Remy whispers to Roman, dragging him away from the table. A heavy exhale from Logan sends a few more sheets of paper fluttering to the floor. “He doesn’t get caffeine until he can go a full night without waking up to finish whatever piece of work he forgot about.”

    “And you think he can’t tell there’s no espresso in that?” Roman asks, watching Remy move as quietly as possible, considering that he’s dealing with the sound of metal on metal.

    “Oh, no, he can definitely tell. We’re both lying to each other, it’s kind of our thing, you know?”

    “Sounds like a great sibling rivalry.”

    “You could say that. Here, put these gloves on, protects from germs and junk when you’re handling the tea bag.” As the last dredges of guests file out of the cafe, most of them pausing to knock gently on the table in lieu of a soft goodbye to Logan, Remy and Roman fall into an amicable silence.

    “Maybe the pride powder would be fun?” Logan mumbles to himself, dragging his chin to his chest so only his forehead rests on the tiles. “Or I could get some food coloring, dye the whipped creams? We definitely don’t have the funds for colorful cups or anything like that, but maybe I could put a little colored dot on the bottom of each cup, have random chance dictate what color whip they get? But then I might not meet the demands, we could run out of food coloring, run out of whip, it doesn’t let me appeal to vegans or people who abstain from dairy products, not to mention that the color might leech into the actual drink. Maybe the fairy lights, just as a summer thing for softer lighting, quiet hours once they go on, I could probably get some people to do open mic stuff or something, clear out a couple tables…”

    Logan lets his words trail off at the sound of Remy plunking a drink beside his head, and while he knows very well that there’s no caffeine in the cup, he downs the whole thing in one go. Roman appears behind Remy, offering an identical drink in a bigger cup.

    “Whoa, try coming up for air bro—brother of mine. Brother. Is what I was going to say. Was brother. And not bro. Brother.” Remy excuses himself to finish dealing with closing up the bar, letting Roman reclaim his seat across from Logan.

    “Hey, buddy, you want to maybe get home, get some sleep?”

    “Yeah, probably,” Logan mumbles, not lifting his head from the table. “Still got so much to do, though. Barely even touched most of your ideas.”

    “Oh, please, you tore them to shreds!” Logan allows himself the smallest of smiles at that, shaking the back of his head and pressing his forehead deeper into the table. There’s probably a pattern of indents appearing on his skin by now. “And we didn’t even get to the best ones, which you can tackle tomorrow, after you get some sleep.”

    “Get some sleep!” Remy echoes, flitting between the sinks with every possible piece of dishware in the building. “But not at home. Go hang out at Roman’s.”

    Roman splutters indignantly, sending the rest of the papers flying. One lands over Logan’s head like a blanket. He does not remove it. “Why does he have to come to my place?”

    Although he can’t see it happening, Logan would wager a good fifty dollars that Remy has positioned himself atop one of the counters that food doesn’t touch in a dramatic pose. “Because he literally lives at work. Like, the next floor up. He needs to get some distance from this place. Plus, I mean, look at him. I’m not putting him up for the night.”

    “I’m the one paying your rent,” Logan retorts to the floor, watching his heels and toes click together.

    “You’re also the one keeping me awake at three in the morning because you had a sudden idea and are seemingly incapable of restraining yourself from writing with a squeaky marker on a squeaky whiteboard, but no one’s asking me. Just go with Roman. Roman, take him. I am not asking you, I am telling you. Take. Logan.”

    “Taking Logan,” Roman confirms. “Come on, Logan. I, Roman, am taking you, Logan. Onward, to my house, owned by a man named Roman, where I am taking Logan!”

    “Shut up, you goof.” Remy’s semi-humored tone is accompanied by the sound of what is probably a balled-up napkin punting Roman in the head, but Logan still isn’t paying enough attention to see. When he hears Roman’s chair scraping into place, he forces himself to stand on exhausted legs.

    Once he sees Logan steady on his feet, Roman shouts, “dibs on the bed!” and runs for the door. Logan offers a half-hearted wave to Remy before trudging after Roman, wincing against the ringing bell. Sure, the tea was good, but it does absolutely nothing to help his flagging energy.

    “Why would I ever want to take your bed over the couch?” Logan mutters, barely stifling a yawn as he slides into Roman’s bright red car. “Moreover, you knew it was supposed to rain today. Why on earth did you not close your windows?”

    “Because I like how it looks better with the windows down.”

    “I want to make sure that you are aware that we are currently sitting on wet leather, and that your steering wheel is drenched beyond belief. Are you aware that we are currently sitting on wet leather, and that your steering wheel is drenched beyond belief?”

    “I am aware of whatever it is you just said. Now be quiet, I can’t have you talking if I want to see the road.” Logan doesn’t bother to explain just how many levels of incorrect that is, instead reclining in the passenger seat and removing his glasses to watch the lights float by in blurry spirals of red and yellow. “So how ’bout that new guy?”

    “What, the one that Remy assigned a mug to based on first sight? Yeah, no, just another guest. What about him?”

    “Well, super cute, for one, and you’ll never believe this, but he actually works at—” Roman cuts himself off, glancing at a very much asleep Logan. “Alright, fine, I won’t tell you. Let you work it out for yourself.” With that, Roman turns up the radio and hums along quietly, careful to keep the noise low, to let Logan rest. Until tomorrow, at least, when Roman has every intention of screwing with his friends’ love life.

    Come on, you’ve gotta let Roman have some fun.

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

    “Ma’am, I’m sorry, we really don’t have blond espresso beans here, and we don’t have blond roast, and we don’t have decaf roast, as our shipment doesn’t come in ’til tomorrow. Is there anything else we can help you with?” To tell the truth, it is taking every single miniscule last ounce of willpower for Virgil not to vault over this counter and punch the very nice lady in the face.

    “Okay, but could you just do a blond pour over?” The very nice lady seems to be getting very agitated, but Virgil very much does not care. “Like, I get that you don’t have blond roast brewed, but I’m willing to wait for a while for a pour over.”

    Virgil is incredibly close to having to physically restrain himself from saying you’ll have to wait until tomorrow, since that’s when your stupid shipment will come in. Instead, he continues, “Sorry, no, we can’t do that. No blond roast beans.”

    “Yeah, but I’m not asking for blond roast beans. I am asking for a blond pour over.”

    “Pour over machine’s broke,” Virgil finally sighs. Yeah, sure, it just takes a small filter and some hot water, but he doesn’t have the patience for this person, much less to find any missing blond beans. So. Broken and nonexistent machine.

    “Oh, well that’s perfectly understandable!” the very nice lady says. “I’ll just take a medium blond roast, then.”

    Virgil leans over to grab Kim’s shoulder, pulling her closer to hiss in her ear, “if there are any hammers in here, you need to find and hide them immediately, because it will end up inside of this lady’s skull, and it will then find mine in quick succession. Fix her situation, I’ll catch up on the hot bar drinks.” Kim nods quickly, and Virgil is half-convinced that she thinks he’s serious. Maybe he is.

    Nonetheless, he moves past her for the mastrena machine, praying for the end of his shift to come quickly and with reckless abandon. It does not.

    “Grande affogato vanilla bean frap for Jenna?” he calls, handing off the espresso-drenched smoothie. “Thanks, have a nice day.” She probably says something or other about him having a good one,  but Virgil doesn’t even bother pretending to care, already busying himself with the next drink. “Couldn’t’ve possibly picked a better day to start grinding beans slower,” he mutters, wincing against the comparatively louder screams from steaming coconut milk. Of literally all the times for the mastrena to decide that it was being too efficient with the espresso, this is the worst time imaginable—smack dab in the middle of a rush of people, none of whom understand the concept of ‘not having blond espresso.’

    “Venti iced americano in a trenta cup with extra ice for Matthias?”

    The end of his shift literally cannot come fast enough.

    “Okay, dude, I’m really trying here, but I have absolutely no idea what this says,” Virgil informs Kim, showing her the illegible box on the cup. “You need to write the order down, and when you do, you need to make it possible for the most basic computer to decipher.”

    “It’s a salted caramel mocha with two extra shots and almond milk instead of two percent for Tommy,” Kim says. It does not slip Virgil’s notice that she has to squint incredibly close at the cup for a solid five seconds to figure out what it says.

    “Awesome. Great. Try to write it more neatly next time, yeah?” Finding a rare moment of gratefulness for his constantly cold hands, Virgil presses a frozen finger to his temple as he waits for the machine to finish rinsing. Is his shift over yet?

    Miracle of miracles, his boss, Anne, pops her head around the corner of the bar. “Hey, Virge, call for you guys, I’m covering food av, can you take it?” Virgil plasters a fake smile on his face and nods, neglecting to comment on how he never agreed to that nickname as he accepts the phone.

“Gainesville Starbucks north, this is Kim speaking, how can I help you?”

“Breakfast sandwiches.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Breakfast. Sandwiches.”

“I, ah, I apologize, I’m unclear what you’re asking me.”

“Breakfast sandwiches! You got any?”

“Oh! Yes, um, we’ve got tomato mozzarella paninis, sausage egg and cheddar sandwiches, ham and cheese croissants, turkey basil—and they hung up. Cool.” Virgil nods at the dial tone coming from his hand, quirking his mouth to the side. “Just, uh, just gonna stick that right down there.” Dropping the phone on a nearby counter, he returns to the hot bar, where Kim is absolutely drowning in the chaos she caused by sucking so much.

“Virge? Seriously?”

“If you even think about calling me that, I am going to go find that hammer I was talking about and bury it in your spine.” Kim pulls her lips between her teeth and nods, turning back to the register. Sniffing twice, Virgil tops off the next round of drinks. “Salted caramel mocha, two extra shots and almond milk for Tommy?”

“Hey, Virge, over here,” Anne calls again. “Need to see you for a sec.” Virgil bites back a relieved huff for the break from Kim, instead settling for a long exhale through his nose. No, he doesn’t really care for the nickname, but he’ll suffer through it for a brief reprieve like this.

“What’s up?” he asks, leaning over the swinging door. “’Nother phone call?”

“No, it’s just—you’ve got a lot of overtime, you know that?” Virgil glances back at Kim, who is currently occupied with trying to find the serious strawberry frappuccino button.

“Frapp creme, second row, last on the right,” he calls, taking great pride in how he doesn’t roll his eyes at her. Turning back to Anne, he continues, “yeah, I kind of have to have a lot, since she’s kind of, you know…” Virgil trails off, hoping Anne is enough on his page to fill in the blanks.

“Drowning? Yeah, I noticed. You’re doing a great job carrying her, you know that?”

Virgil pokes a tongue against his cheek, unsure how to respond. “I mean, I’ve only been here a couple months.”

“You’re really doing great. Anyway, too much overtime for you, and we aren’t supposed to be letting team members have any overtime. You think you’d be good to head home early?”

“There’s nothing that would make me happier, but are you sure she’ll be okay with this on her own?”

“Definitely not, which is why I’m here. I’ll relieve your position, but you need to get going, like, now.” If Virgil were a more confident person, he would take Anne by both hands and press them to his lips in a show of relieved thankfulness. As it stands, he snaps and offers her a pair of finger guns, skirting the swinging door and making a run for the break room before Anne can change her mind.

“No human has ever existed with a better soul than Anne,” he murmurs, punching out faster than he’d ever done so before. There’s a certain cafe he’s interested in getting to a little earlier today.

In his car, Virgil hisses lightly as he scrapes his bare wrist against the scalding metal of the seat belt buckle. Now safely secured and ready to go, he queues up the route to the cafe on his maps, bopping his head along as a song starts up on the radio. Skip, skip, skip, skip, skip, he chants in his head, getting through a solid twenty songs on shuffle before finding one he likes.

The lights of the streets, not yet bright as they battle the sun for dominance over the mid-afternoon sky, pepper the sidewalks with golden flecks between the cracks of beige and white. Virgil tilts his head to avoid the glare of the light reflecting in his eyes, skipping through his chosen song before it’s over. As he flicks on his indicator to pull into the cafe’s parking lot, he belatedly wonders whether the owners will start to think he’s weird for showing up this often. Especially that Remy guy, what was his deal?

This worry chases him past several traffic lights and more than a few disconcertingly fast drivers, right up to pulling into the same parking spot as yesterday—decently far from the doors, but not so far that it’d be a hassle to get there if he happened to be holding seven cups of coffee. He shifts into reverse, triple-checking that he’s perfectly within the lines before parking the car and sliding out.

A cold breeze swipes over his face, startlingly out of place in the mid-June heat. Were it not for this abnormality giving him pause, maybe he would’ve gotten inside safely without drawing the attention of the silver car careening into the parking lot. It beeps brightly as it pulls into the furthest spot from the door, spitting out a driver dressed in bright blues and pale greys.

“Virge, hey, you made it! I was wondering whether you’d ever listened to my suggestions!” he calls, running over to Virgil and ignoring how his loose sleeves smack against his chin. “Find your way okay?”

“I mean, I’m here, so I guess I did.” Virgil shrugs, electing not to comment on the forbidden nickname that he would punch Kim in the face for using again. “And anyway, I always listen to your suggestions. Come here, try your usual—not a fan, by the way—and call you Pat. I’m not really one for nicknames, either, so I’d rather stick with Patton, if that’s okay with you.”

“Whatever makes you happiest!” Patton replies, taking Virgil by the hand and swinging it violently as he leads the barista inside. “So did you get to meet the owner yet, or is this your first time? I can introduce you to—”

“Pantone!” Remy exclaims, vaulting over the register counter to greet Patton. Virgil steps aside, bumping into someone’s shoulders and muttering his apologies as they leave. “I haven’t seen you around here in forever, what the heck, man? Hanging around with the cutest riffraff in town, I see.” Virgil scowls, moving for the register and scanning his eyes over the menus. Handwritten in white chalk, they look much more personal than the ones at Starbucks. Maybe not very colorful, but nice enough.

“Remy, how many times have I told you not to let any part of your body make contact with that counter? It doesn’t know where you’ve been,” someone scolds from a nearby table. The same person Ho Man and Remy were tormenting yesterday. Remy ignores them, still chatting up a storm with Patton. The person sighs, pushing back from a table covered in loose papers and moving to the register.

Virgil sizes them up as they walk, inspecting their carefully strict gait, the tie cinched perfectly around their neck, the strict khakis with only the most uniform of creases. If Virgil didn’t know better, he’d swear they were going out for a job interview at some craphole like Starbucks.

“Sorry about Remy. Little brothers, what can I do, right? What can I get started for you?” Virgil doesn’t answer, his gaze fixated on a speck of dirt marring their sharp glasses. They blink, waiting patiently and having no idea of where Virgil’s attention is directed.

Ho Man appears from around the corner, where only a few other patrons occupy the tables overlooking the windows. “Hey, it’s you! Logan, buddy, he was the guy here yesterday, the one Remy gave the wrong mug to! Wrong mug guy, this is Logan, he runs this joint!”

“Wrong mug?” Virgil repeats.

“Wrong mug,” the new person—Logan, apparently—confirms. “We carefully select mugs based on the person they go to, rather than selecting one at random like Remy does. He refuses to learn the process behind choosing mugs, so whatever he hands you, it’s probably wrong.”

“Sounds about right,” Virgil agrees, glancing back at Remy and Patton, both of whom are staring at him and giggling.

“So what can I get started for you?” Logan repeats. Virgil cocks his head to the side, considering Logan for a long moment.

“Surprise me.” Logan’s steely expression lightens for the briefest of seconds, revealing a soft grin and bright eyes. It vanishes as quickly as it came.

“I’ll have that right out for you.”

Virgil offers a small smile in return, passing over a five dollar bill and waving off Logan as he tries to hand him his change. “Just keep it.”

“We really don’t do tips—”

“Just. Keep it.” Virgil slips around the bar and moves for his seat from yesterday, tucking his legs under himself and watching Remy nudge Patton repeatedly. After a solid few bumps to the back, Patton stumbles forward, bumping into Ho Man as he curbs around the bar to straighten the creamer cart. Distracted by the way Patton’s hands flutter around his face as he talks to Ho Man, Virgil hardly notices Logan until he’s positioned himself in the empty seat across from him.

“Drink it first, then tell me what you think it is.” Logan pushes a mug across the table toward Virgil, careful to keep the motion near the bottom so it doesn’t splash. Unlike the cup covered in cups from yesterday, this one is something Virgil might actually consider stealing, if they hadn’t drained the excitement of doing so by explicitly allowing thievery.

Midnight blue and splattered with tiny white dots, this mug looks to be plucked straight from the heavens themselves. The inside offers a pale blue to offset the darkness folding in at the rim, enveloping the top of the drink’s meniscus in hues to rival the sky. Virgil traces a finger over some of the constellations skirting the outside—bright enough against the blue to be recognizable, but not going so far as to connect the dots with garish straight lines. All in all, a good mug. Maybe he will steal it.

Virgil takes a long, slow pull from the cup, pretending to be deep in thought as Logan stares unabashedly into his eyes. He holds the mug over his mouth a few seconds later, waiting for the flush in his cheeks to subside. Why couldn’t Logan have been the one to take his order yesterday?

Virgil lowers the mug, licking away the drink moustache on his upper lid and pulling his tongue back in with a pop. “First guess?”

“First guess.”

“Green tea latte.”

Logan grins, rapping the table three times. “Nailed it.”

“It’s ’cause I’m a genius,” Virgil says, lifting the mug once more. This Logan guy might keep some strange company, but he can make a mean green tea latte. “Eleven out of ten, would order again.”

“That’s an improper fraction,” Logan mutters, but there’s a gleam dancing behind his eyes. The bell chimes over the door, drawing Virgil’s attention to where Ho Man and Patton look to be in a particularly compromising position. With Patton flattened against the door and Ho Man hovering closer than necessary, Virgil can only watch as Remy appears out of nowhere, shoving Ho Man forward without warning. Logan releases a breathy laugh as he watches the debacle—moreover, as he watches Ho Man thrust his hands out to brace himself on the wall, as well as caging Patton in around the shoulders by doing so. If this were a romance movie, they’d probably start kissing right about now.

As it is, Ho Man stammers out some excuse, cheeks almost as red as the roses smattered his white shirt. Patton only smiles back widely, not moving from the wall. If Virgil didn’t know better, he’d swear his eyes were delirious. Maybe he doesn’t know better.

“I see you understand the nonsense I’m forced to endure around here,” Logan says. “With Roman being a flirt and Remy being the charming everyman, I do pretty much everything myself. Any tips on how to better survive it?”

Virgil blinks, unsure why Logan decided to dump all this on him. At least he knows what Ho Man’s actual name is now. Full disclosure, Virgil’s gonna miss calling him Ho Man. “I don’t know that I’m your best bet for help running a small coffee shop.”

Logan huffs something close to a laugh, gnawing on the corner of his lip. “Not a problem, I’m just uncertain where to go from here, and they’re being of little help. All they’ve done is force me to get sleep and toss a couple papers about pride at me, and that’s hardly a reliable way of forming a more successful business.”

“Sleep is important,” Virgil says. “I can’t speak from experience, but I’ve heard a lot of people say so.” Still midway through processing Logan’s words, his mind catches on a certain piece of information. “Did you say papers about pride?”

“Indeed, Roman thinks I ought to spruce the place up for pride month, and he’s even managed to pull Remy into the idea. You’re welcome to help, if you want to, but there’s no obligation on your end.”

“Sounds fun,” Virgil admits, raising the cup again and startling himself as he finds it empty. “I’ll take a look, if you want to show me those papers. Oh, by the way, my name is Virgil, in case I haven’t said that yet.”

“Virgil,” Logan repeats, testing the word and rolling it around his mouth. He peels his lower lip out slowly, savoring the V, puckering his lips out around the R and letting his tongue hesitate against his teeth on the L. “It’s a pleasure. I’m sure one of the other two said it at some point or another, but I’m Logan.”

“Logan,” Virgil confirms. “So, Logan, about those pride papers and this empty mug?”

Logan stands, somehow managing not to scrape his chair as he pushes it back. Virgil attempts a similarly graceful move, wincing at the grating sound of metal on tile. “Let me get that mug from you and I’ll fill you up—do not even think about handing me another five, this one is on the house, and I am returning your three dollars and fifty cents at my first opportunity. These papers, disorganized and chaotic as they are, are the only things we’ve got in the way of ideas to drum up more business.”

Virgil seats himself at the cluttered table, grabbing a sheet at random and letting the distant clanks of Logan behind the bar fill his head. Stuff about colored whipped cream—probably too expensive, not to mention non-vegan friendly, and powdered sugar colors—kind of similar to Starbucks with their colored drink gimmicks, which doesn’t seem like Logan’s style. He pauses on the mention of white fairy lights, glancing around the room and imagining how they might look framing the windows. Maybe a little too winter-holiday for mid June, but the tackiness could very well add to the overall charm of the place. Certainly a warmth that overcrowded Starbucks stores could never hope to have. Or they could line the windows in different colors, if Logan really does want to keep with the whole pride thing, or else—

“Try that, tell me what you think,” Logan says, plunking the blue mug on one of very few clear spaces between the papers. Virgil complies, poking his tongue at a crooked front tooth as he considers the flavor.

“Tastes like cinnamon, but that’s all I’ve got.”

“Cinnamon and almond milk latte, one of our most popular drinks,” Logan confirms.

“You don’t get called out for it being too similar to the one Starbucks does?” Logan goes deathly still, an expression somewhere between fury and shock freezing on his face.

“We are nothing like Starbucks here, and I’m going to pretend you didn’t just compare me to that steaming pile of garbage.” Virgil nods, deciding this probably isn’t the best time to inform Logan about his own line of work. “Anything good come out of that disaster?”

“Maybe.” Virgil takes another swig from his mug, running his tongue over his lips and humming to himself. “The colored powders and whipped creams seem kind of impractical, but the lights and quiet-hour thing doesn’t seem to bad. You could do soft pastels for a warmer tone around the room as a whole, and different colors around each window to fit pride month. I don’t know about open mic, since that’s a lot to organize, but maybe use that empty corner on the other side of the door for some little bookshelves and comfy chairs, have a chill zone when the lights go down and the moon comes up? Oh, and this is definitely just a suggestion, so you don’t, like, have to do it, or anything like that, but it might be cool if you changed up the colors of your menu signs, so they weren’t all just white and plain. You could do one board in blue and purple and pink for bi, and another in purple and yellow and white for nonbinary, and another in pink and yellow and blue for pan, and then do a bunch of little drink drawings on all of them in every color to represent gay pride as a whole?” Virgil bites his lip, suddenly realizing that Logan is staring intently at him. Again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—I mean, I wasn’t trying to—you don’t have to do all that, obviously, and it’s not like I’m forcing you to, and I wasn’t trying to—” Virgil cuts himself off, ducking his head down and hiding his face behind his mug.

“No, no, that’s great, really, I love those ideas,” Logan stammers, waving his hands frantically to shake away Virgil’s hesitation. “They’re splendid, exactly what I was looking for.” Virgil nods quickly, not coming out from behind his mug. Logan places a hesitant hand on Virgil’s shoulder, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. Against his own volition, Virgil leans into the touch, tilting his head toward Logan’s knuckles before he can stop himself. The moment his ear grazes the back of Logan’s hand, he jerks out of the seat, spilling the rest of his mug all over his work-mandated khakis.

“Oh, jeez, oh man, I mean, shoot, crap, okay, I just, I’m just gonna go,” Virgil rambles, stumbling for the door and clutching his unwittingly emptied mug tightly in his shaking fingers. Before Logan can even think about calling after him, he’s behind the wheel of his car and careening out of the parking lot, already berating himself for being such a dork.

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

“Where’d Wrong Mug Man go?” Remy asks, popping his head over the bar as he pauses midway through restocking the milk fridge. “Scare him off with your utter lack of charm and cold exterior?”

“A little too on the nose,” Roman calls out from his usual spot in the corner. Well, not ‘usual,’ per se—Roman can barely tolerate staying in the same place for more than a week before moving on for bigger, better seating options. He’s had much the same opinion regarding boys for as long as Logan can remember, and the selection of the week seems to be Patton on the windowsill with the Toy Story clouds mug. Practically a real-life version of Clue, with romantic motives to boot.

Remy finger guns at Roman and ducks back down to finish with the fridge. Logan blinks, the exchange flying past him as he tries to come up with a reason for Virgil’s sudden disappearance. The first person to choose his flatter tones over his brother’s exuberance, and they run away like an owl from a forest fire in the middle of Canada.

Logan has never been one for analogies.

He reaches across the counter, startling Remy in the process as he grabs for a clean rag and sanitizing spray. In no less than five minutes, the spilled latte is gone without a trace. At least Virgil took the mug with him—if nothing else, he’ll come back to return it. Maybe even to use it for that discount—not that Logan would charge him. Virgil doesn’t seem like the type to acquiesce not to pay, but Logan is the owner, so what’s to stop him from making every drink free for the short instances when Virgil shows up?

“Roman,” Logan says, “what are the odds you have some colored chalk you don’t need?”

“Fifteen out of three,” Roman calls back, not looking up from the phone tucked in his lap. Across from him, Patton mirrors the position, curled into the corner of the windowsill—not strictly a real seat, but they both seem to be making do well enough.

“So five?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. I’ve got, like, a whole crate full of art supplies that I can’t use, because someone told me not to pursue my lifelong dream of becoming the next Leonardo Dicaprio.”

“Da Vinci. And I would hardly phrase it like that—I merely suggested that, were you to aim for realism, it might be wise to avoid giving your elephants tails for trunks and trunks for tails.”

“Stop stifling my creative energy!”

“Stop stifling his creative energy,” Patton echoes. Oddly enough, Logan doesn’t feel that familiar urge to roll his eyes as he watches Roman glance up from under a curtain of bangs, staring at an oblivious Patton. He’s never looked at one of his weekly obsessions like that before. Or maybe he has, Logan doesn’t pay very much attention to that sort of thing.

“The point being, you do have colorful chalk, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because I need some. Bring it in with you tomorrow, if you would be so kind.”

For reasons Logan doesn’t care to puzzle out, Roman tumbles off the windowsill, jumping to his feet and brushing off his knees as he rushes to Logan’s side. “Or,” he whispers excitedly, bouncing on his toes and waving his hands around his face, “I could run home and get them now! I could even go out to a store, buy more stuff you didn’t know you needed, spruce the whole place up! Patton could come with me!”

Patton’s head perks up at this revelation, and he pockets his phone before joining the other two. Even Remy leans over the bar, half-intruding on the conversation as he waits for the next guest to decide what they want. Logan crosses his arms, considering Roman’s eagerness.

“You know very well that I don’t trust you to decorate my cafe to your tastes, much less on your own dime.” Glancing at the menus in plain black and white, Logan does have to admit they look, well, plain. Boring. Virgil wasn’t wrong when he said they might look better with more colors. And yes, Logan would greatly prefer having Virgil here to coach him on how to properly execute the pride color schemes—Logan’s never been one for art—but Patton doesn’t seem totally hopeless. “Tell you what. I’ll close up early tonight, and us three can all go out and stock up on decorations. Keep the place closed tomorrow, and we’ll plan out how to make it look best to ramp up business.”

“Excuse you,” Remy cuts in, “but I think you mean us four. Don’t go excluding me from the party.”

“Who said you were invited?” Logan retorts. Roman stifles a snort behind his fist as Patton’s jaw drops in startlingly believable dismay.

“Logan! We have to take Remy with us, he brings half the fun! It wouldn’t be as exciting without him there!”

“Who said I wanted it to be exciting?” Logan mutters to himself, shooting a quick look toward the back of the cafe. Pretty empty, save for a couple patrons here and there nursing at their personal mugs. Casting his eyes to the ceiling, Logan pulls in a long breath through his nose, blowing it out through his lips and wondering why Virgil couldn’t be here to endure this nonsense with him. Immediately thereafter, he wonders why he wonders that. He didn’t even know Virgil’s name yesterday, why is he so set on having him here now?

Remy and Patton’s hopeful expressions drag him back to the moment—specifically, the moment where Logan is being forced to take three overgrown toddlers on a shopping spree to decorate the building that makes up his entire livelihood. No pressure.

“I am definitely going to regret this,” Logan sighs. Pretending as if he hadn’t said that, he continues, “fine, I guess Remy can accompany us. No candy, though—we don’t need to be buying food when we already have some upstairs.”

“Aha, but I have tips!” Remy declares, shaking a paper cup full of coins. “I’m gonna buy so many peanuts with these.”

“Explain how,” Roman says.

“Do not explain how,” Logan says. Not allowing either of them the chance to finish their charade, Logan turns to Patton. “You walked in with Virgil, didn’t you? Do you two know each other?”

“Something like that. I’m a frequent customer where he works.” This catches Logan’s attention. A direct pipeline to the owl that got away.

Again, Logan has never been one for analogies.

“Where does he work?”

A mischievous glint takes residence in Patton’s eye as he nudges Roman’s shoulder.  The latter snickers quietly, nudging right back as the former gets out between giggles, “that’s just something you’re gonna have to figure out on your own. The answer will shock you.”

“If he works as a clickbait journalist for Buzzfeed, I am banning both you and him from this establishment.”

“He does not work as a clickbait journalist for Buzzfeed, but you’ll never guess what he does instead!” Roman hisses in an action-star voice. “This summer, coming directly to your screens, and coming soon to own on video and DVD—” He drops his tone to an impossibly deep register while ramping up his volume, drawing the attention of pretty much everyone in the room. Patton and Remy join in on the tagline, both yelling at the top of their lungs.

“Are you quite finished?” Logan asks, wholly unimpressed. Having failed to get so much as a huff of acknowledgement, the other three sigh dejectedly and nod. “Good. Remy, finish cleaning up behind the bar. Roman, can you wipe down the tables and start stacking chairs? Patton, I know you don’t work here, but—”

“On it,” Patton interrupts, already moving toward the back to gently rouse the student that fell asleep doing their homework at a table. Morally, Logan has no problem letting people stay as long as they like, even if they don’t buy anything, but it’s a little more difficult to be lenient about that sort of thing when he’s closing up the cafe. He turns his attention back to the papers scattered across the table as the other three flit about their respective tasks, and wonders whether Virgil might try to come back tomorrow. If they close the cafe for renovations, would he even get out of his car? Or would the lack of business  and other patrons scare him off? Maybe Logan should position the other three at various seats in the back as he does all the work himself, making it look like he kept the place open so Virgil would still come in, without being terribly obvious about that being his goal all along. Of course, that brings up the inevitable he knows that I know that he knows situation, but it’s not as if—

“Hello? Earth to Logan? Paging alien squadron fleet two K four one nine oh?” Roman waves a hand in front of Logan’s face, pulling him out of his head. Before him is the only unwashed table in the cafe, still littered with papers that have yet to be picked up. The  only page that managed to find its way into Logan’s arms is the one Virgil was talking about when he made additional suggestions. Logan blinks, gathers up the rest in a haphazard bundle, and steps back to let Roman finish his cleaning.

“Can I drive?” Remy asks. He slides around the bar, dusting his hands off on his pants and tossing a dirty rag over the lip of the sink.

“We need to get you an apron,” Logan replies absently, eyeing the gathering dirt stains on Remy’s thighs.

“I didn’t hear a no!” Remy singsongs, tilting his head to lean against Logan’s shoulder. The top of the mess of hair tickles along the crook where his jaw meets his earlobe, and Logan blinks as his mind unhelpfully conjures an image of Virgil in the same position under a blanket of stars. Where on Earth did that come from?

“No, you cannot drive. Give me Roman’s car keys.”

Roman emits an unholy shriek, somewhere between miffed and scandalized that Remy had managed to steal the keys to his soccer mom car. Granted, those things basically live in various spots around the cafe as it is, but still. Groaning in a pitiful attempt at getting sympathy, Remy tosses the jingling chain to Logan, who snatches them out of the air with ease. Before the owner of said keys can protest, Logan passes them on to him, biting back a laugh as Roman instinctively ducks.

“Hey! No dangerous projectiles in the house!” Roman whines. The keys hit the door and clatter to the tiles below.

“Not a house, and you don’t make the rules here, anyway.” Logan wisely keeps his gaze elsewhere as Patton makes his way to the door, grabbing the keys to pass them to Roman. Of course, the windows are reflective surfaces—this unfortunate reality fails to protect Logan from having to see how Patton’s hand lingers a moment too long on Roman’s. Honestly, the whole point of looking away was to not have to deal with their nonsense in the first place. “Let’s go.”

Lingering at the back of the group, Logan lets the other three exit before him, double- and triple-checking that everything is off, unplugged, cleaned up, closed, and generally in various states of presentable. The last thing he needs right now is for his life’s savings to literally go up in flames. Well, not his life’s savings. He’s got some common sense—everything he hasn’t spent is carefully accumulating interest in various reputable banks. So. The expendable portion of his life’s savings. That’s what he doesn’t want to go up in flames.

“What happened to ‘let’s go,’ sonny boy?” Roman calls, popping his head back in the door and making the bell chime. Logan tilts his head, wondering if anyone would ever question why he picked that bell in particular to greet his guests.

“I’m older than you.”

“Patton dared me to call you kiddo, but I thought mine was funnier,” Roman admits.

“I’m older than Patton, too.”

“You didn’t even tell me Patton’s name until last week!”

“Ever heard of barista-guest confidentiality?”

“No, because it doesn’t exist. Now hurry up and get in the car, or we’re tying you to the roof and I’m letting Patton use the backseat as his own personal lounge area.”

Tossing a sigh to the ceiling and casting one last glance at the way his cafe was always meant to be—before everyone else barges in to redecorate for him—Logan follows Roman out.

He slides into the back on the passenger’s side, not voicing his apprehension at Patton taking the front seat. That’s Remy’s seat, he thinks. Remy doesn’t seem to mind, though, already pressing his nose to the window and bouncing on the worn cushion.

“Seatbelt,” Logan reminds his brother—and the car as a whole, he supposes, as even Roman jolts to comply. “I am hereby imposing a price limit of one hundred dollars on this excursion. Anything over that will be coming off of your dime.”

“I don’t even—” Roman begins, but Logan isn’t having any of it.

“I know, I know, you don’t even work for me, but if you want to? And you want to help, shall we say, ‘spruce up the place,’ you will refrain from exceeding my budget, lest you pay the overages.”

    “If we go to the place on the corner of Eighth and Main, I’ve got an employee discount for ten percent,” Patton offers.

    “By the Texaco?” Roman punches the coordinates into the car, tapping his foot impatiently as Siri attempts to connect with his dwindling internet connection.

    “You really ought to know your way around the town by now,” Logan opines. “You’ve been to the Texaco more times than Remy’s flirted with my guests.”

    “Shut up, Logan!” Remy hisses. Were his face not pressed against the window and his shoulders hunched defensively, Logan is certain his comment would be rewarded with cheeks glittering ruby.

    “Got it!” Roman exclaims, punching the roof. “And I refilled the tank a couple days ago, which means no gas money going into this excursion! Can I get a what what?”

    “You cannot,” Logan says.

    “What what,” Patton agrees.

    “Plus,” Roman continues, shifting into drive and doing a mediocre job of backing away from the building, “with the discount, just think of how much more stuff we can get!”

    “Yay.” Logan has never known his own voice to be more flat. He glances up just in time to see Patton shoot him an apologetic look, mouthing the word sorry. He smiles as he does it, though, so Logan isn’t completely convinced of Patton’s regret.

    The excited conversation of the other three fills up the car as Logan lets his gaze drift out the window, watching the bright greens of summer flash by in bursts between the blemishes of humanity’s invasion upon the world. Traffic lights, street signs, lampposts, telephone lines, couches at curbs, discarded plastic bags, crushed coffee cups, dead patches of grass, cracked squares of concrete, buildings crawling for the skies and stretching to escape the natural world without which they could never dream of existing.

    Logan does not particularly care for the overdevelopment of what used to be a homey nook of nature around his cafe. He can hardly see the stars at night anymore, what with all the city lights pulling his eyes to the ground.

    “Beep beep!” Roman announces, punching the roof again before slipping out of the car.  Logan blinks, suddenly realizing they’d already arrived at the store. Time to suffer.

    “One hundred dollars,” he reminds the others. His words fall on deaf ears as they all sprint for the doors, chattering excitedly amongst themselves about color schemes and bargaining and how to make the most of spending every last dime they can squeeze out of Logan’s pockets. More to himself than anyone else, he murmurs, “I bet Virgil would understand the significance of imposing a spending limit before getting surprised with an obscenely high total crowning the receipt.”

    “Come on,” Remy groans, doubling back to grab Logan’s wrist. Patton and Roman have already vanished, probably traipsing through the birthday party aisles for decoration ideas. “At least pretend you’re having fun, yeah? Show some enthusiasm for Virgil’s ideas, I bet he’d love that.”

    “When did he tell you his name?”

    “He didn’t. You used it when you asked Patton where he worked.”

    “Where does he work?”

    “If you push the price limit up to two fifty, maybe I’ll tell you.”

    “Maybe I’ll stop letting you accept tips.”

    Remy’s eyes widen slightly at that, and he wobbles on his toes before running the rest of the way to the door, waving his hands over his head. “La la la, I can’t hear you, I’m too fast for the sound barrier to keep up!”

    “That’s not how—oh, whatever,” Logan mutters. Hands in his pockets, he dips a chin to the greeters just inside the door and maintains a leisurely pace, waiting for his friends to reveal themselves. Admittedly, he’s a little impressed when he sees them next—they’ve managed to avoid getting covered in streamers and sparkles. So far, at least. Unfortunately for Logan, the night is still young.

    “Hey, what about these?” Patton asks, grabbing a pack of pride-themed playing cards from an end cap display.

    “How are those supposed to drum up business?”

    Patton shrugs, turning the cards over in his hand. “I dunno, they just look neat.”

    “Make it a puzzle,” Roman suggests, picking up a matching set. “Have different fun facts about pride history written on cards from one set, but keep out a piece of important information. Someone finds a card and can tell you the answer without having to look it up, they get a card from the deck you didn’t write on. Get a full suit, get a prize. Maybe they get all the diamonds, then they get to name a drink after themselves. Get all the hearts, they can save ten cents instead of five.”

    Logan has to admit, it isn’t the worst idea Roman’s ever come up with. The worst was probably that time with the stuffed sheep, the empty ramen cup, and the half-eaten ring pop. He shudders at the memory before relenting. “How much for a pack?”

    Patton glances at the sticker on the side, sucks a sharp inhale through his teeth, and sets the deck back where he found it. “More than it’s worth, even with the discount. Come on, I know where the shelf is for stuff we’re trying to get rid of. It’s hidden in the back so we can make more money, but who ever had fun paying full price?”

    “I did, back when it meant doing less damage to my cafe,” Logan grumbles. Nevertheless, he follows dutifully behind, stifling a snort as Roman grabs Patton’s hand and they skip—literally skip—down the aisles. Every few steps, one yanks the other to a stop, cooing over some toy or game meant to catch the eye of passing toddlers. Remy’s eyes sparkle, and he leans over to Logan when he thinks the other two aren’t listening.

    “You know,” he whispers, “I like this one a lot more than Roman’s other flings.”

    “They’ve barely been talking for more than a few days,” Logan retorts, careful to keep his voice low. “You cannot place all your eggs in the basket when the eggs don’t even exist yet.”

    “You lost me, but seriously, bro, look at them.” Tutting to himself, Logan watches the way Roman’s eyes catch on Patton more often than they catch on bargain bin attractions. “You can’t honestly expect me to believe you don’t see it.”

    “That’s hardly any of my business. All I care about is how much they’re making me spend. And what did I tell you about that ridiculous nickname? It isn’t even original.”

    “Nothing’s original, not even originality,” Remy fires back. “A redux of something that already exists is way more fun than not doing it in the first place. Or would you rather have me tell Virgil the real reason you opened up the cafe?”

    Logan yanks Remy to a stop by the neck of his shirt, balling the fabric up in his fists. “If you do that, then so help me, I will have you shipped back home faster than you can spit out that infernal nickname, and you will never set foot in my cafe again.” Remy blinks, laughs, and bops Logan’s nose.

    “I bet Virgil would think you’re cute when you get all angry like that.”

    “That’s not—I don’t—shut up!” Logan sputters. The epitome of elegance.

    When Logan’s first instinct upon releasing Remy is to wonder whether Virgil would think he looked cute like that, he knows he is well and truly screwed.

    Elegance, indeed.

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

    Virgil’s current favorite shift is opening. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he shows up at the ass crack of dawn for work. A solid hour by himself to get the bar set up to his liking, to work in silence without worrying about angry guests, and the knowledge that he’ll be out by noon. The turning stomach of too little sleep is certainly less than ideal, but he’s lying to himself about liking being here this early. Cut him some slack.

    “Just fire her already,” he mutters to himself, moving faster than he’d like to as he restocks the pastries. Not for the first time, Natalia closed last night, and she never does any of the shift’s duties right. Case in point, the expired pastries still being in the serving zone. The milk fridge being barren. Having less than three whips. Forgetting the refresher shaker lid in the washing machine—still dirty, mind you. Not wiping down the tables before stacking the chairs. Not washing the half and half from the little cart. A quick sniff reveals the insides to be well past curdled.

    You know, maybe Virgil just wants to gripe in general about the incompetence of his fellow team members, and it really has nothing to do with the quality of his workplace experience.

    Or it could be that he’s still reeling from the ridiculous note he left Logan on yesterday. That is a very strong possibility.

    Glancing at the clock on the register he has yet to open, Virgil weighs his options. He can either sprint for the milk fridge and pray there’s enough left to restock, or he can stay up here and try to straighten up the place for the off chance that corporate shows up and tears Anne a new one. Though he likes Anne well enough, he’d rather face the consequences of corporate’s wrath than deal with pissed-off customers who can’t have their precious two percent milk.

    Just his luck—the stock fridge is empty. This is the moment Virgil’s mind chooses to remind him that today is Monday, and that they’re supposed to be getting a shipment in later. So no half and half, no two percent, no heavy whipping cream, and an insatiable desire to go home before the whole ‘interacting with the public’ part of his shift has even started.

    As the clock ticks over to eight, his boss’s boss’s boss, Stephen, walks over with his usual fistful of crumpled singles. Virgil doesn’t even bother asking for his numbers, already keying in the discount and punching the order into the register. In the amount of time it takes him to start lingering on yesterday’s disaster, Stephen’s usual—grande mocha, no whip—is already done and gone. Whether this is because Virgil is fast with making drinks or because he’s very adamant about the masochism of reliving embarrassment is open for debate.

    Seriously, what was that? Logan puts a hand on his shoulder and gravity decides to be a little bitch, dragging Virgil’s head to the side to lean on a basic stranger? Naturally followed by the most logical reaction—dumping his entire drink all over himself. Yesterday was the first day he wore those pants after their wash, too; he can usually get three or four days out of a pair before they need to be cleaned. What a waste.

    One singular glimmer of positivity in the hellscape that is the opening shift, though, is how much faster it seems to go by on Mondays. When the mid shows up, they vanish to the back to take care of the order, so Virgil basically has the bar to himself for four hours, then the fifteen minutes of dealing with the other mid. All the better to suffer through his own blunders in peace.

    At least it’s a slower stream of guests.

    “I’ll take a trenta very berry, but with all the kinds of berries in it,” some guy with a greasy man bun says, strolling up and scrolling through his phone. Virgil nods, keying it in and going through the usual polite spiel while he waits for him to pay.

    “Anything else for you?”

    Man Bun glances up from texting, raking his eyes over the purple fading from Virgil’s bangs. “Yeah, can I also get extra blackberries—”

    “Sure.”

    “—and your number?”

    “No. Five twenty-nine.” Virgil turns his back to the register as Man Bun sets about dealing with his credit card, and wonders whether this guy’ll be a nuisance for him as he finishes the drink. “Trenta very berry, extra blackberries, have a good one.”

    Man Bun takes the cup, tearing off the straw wrapper and throwing it on the floor. Literally, the garbage can is, like, right there, dude. Don’t be an ass. “So I seriously don’t have a chance with you?”

    “Definitely not.”

    “What, are you not gay? I mean, with the hair, and with—”

    “I’m gay, just not for you. Have a good one.” To escape any further annoying questions, Virgil vanishes into the near back, organizing the drying dishes to wait out Man Bun. Once the coast is finally clear, Virgil returns to the bar, where Patton awaits with a bright grin. Fantastic.

    “Hi, Virge!” Patton calls, bouncing on his toes. He does a twirl to make sure no one else is in line behind him before propping his elbows on the counter and leaning in as if he were sharing a secret. “I’ll take a venti iced caramel mach-yeet-ato with an extra shot of eek-spresso, if you please.” With another spin, Patton nearly crashes to the floor, the weight of the bag on his back yanking him faster than he can recover from.

    “I got the yeet, but you’re gonna have to explain the eek bit.”

    “I want you to pull three shots like normal, but scream at the fourth one. Scare it into submission. Then I’ll drink it, and get the scared bean energy.”

    Virgil blinks, his pen hovering over the boxes on the side of the cup. “You. Want me. To scream at your espresso?”

    “Only the fourth one! I need the other three to be brave, so I can have the bravery in addition to the terror.”

Virgil opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and shakes his head. “Okay. Five thirty five.” Patton presses a ten across the counter, refusing as Virgil tries to pass back the change, and slides to the end of the bar before Virgil can force him to take his money. True to form, Patton leans over the counter to watch Virgil making the drink, scrutinizing the pouring shots. “You know,” Virgil remarks, “it’s faster to pull two and two shots than two and one and one.”

“Yeah, but then my drink would be half scared, and we can’t have that, now, can we?”

“I guess not. What if I just pull the last two into two separate cups, and apologize to one to get rid of the scared emotions?”

Patton quirks his mouth to the side and hums. “I guess that could work. Make sure the apology’s genuine though, so I can have some empathy in my drink, too. And you don’t have to actually scream at it, either—just rile it up a bit. Scare it into submission however you see fit.”

This was one of the worst possible things Patton could have told Virgil to do. The barista leans in as the second round of shots pours, putting his mouth as close to the cup as he dares. “I’m going to stand outside your house and chant ominously about your sins while pouring expired coffee grounds on your sidewalk, then I’m going to hack into your sims account, give everyone full autonomy, and age them up to the maximum elderly age possible. Sorry, other espresso—I promise your sims are safe and your sidewalk is clean. For now.”

Patton looks understandably disconcerted by the time Virgil has finished, although the latter isn’t completely convinced that what he said was necessarily scary. He hands off the drink, drenching it in far more caramel than necessary and leaving the lid off. With an unholy grin on his face, Patton brings the cup to his lips and swallows half the caramel drizzle before the scared espresso even has a chance to settle.

“So hey, are you coming by Logan’s cafe today?” Patton asks. Virgil glances at the clock—five more minutes, and no line to be seen. He swings around the bar to sit at one of the guest tables, pulling out a sharpie and setting about dating the pastries. Whoever the mid is, they didn’t bother to show up on time, so they certainly can’t be trusted to do something literally in their job description. “You kind of left in a hurry yesterday.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t need a repeat of that embarrassment. I’m just gonna go home and hide under a blanket.”

“What embarrassment? I think Logan liked talking to you, I bet he’d like to have you come back.”

“Definitely. I’m sure he’d adore talking to the guy who couldn’t even keep his drink in his mug, much less remember to leave the mug there.”

“Virge, that’s the point of the mug system. You weren’t supposed to leave the mug there.”

“It’s not the point of my system, though. Now I’m basically, like, obligated to go back and return the cup, if not use it for that discount. Not to mention—which I already did—how I literally dumped my drink all over myself. I do not want that to happen again.”

“So just don’t drop your drink, and it won’t happen again! Simple.”

“Oh, and I bet you’ll just go ahead and police Logan so he doesn’t touch my shoulder again, prompting the situation that drove me to run out in the first place.” At the way Patton’s eyes sparkle, Virgil rushes to backtrack. “Not that it meant anything! It just startled me, so I shook my hand and my drink spilled.” Virgil glances at the bar, but there’s still no guests appearing to save him from this disaster of his conversation. All the pastries are dated, too, so he doesn’t even have the excuse of occupying his hands. “I do not want to go back.”

Patton grins. “So you’re going back?”

Virgil throws his hands in the air and groans. “I’m going back.”

“Promise?” Holding back a sigh as Patton thrusts out a pinky, Virgil links it with his own.

“Promise.”

“Great! Because your shift just ended, and Logan’s keeping it closed for the day so he can do renovations. Just you, him, and a few other people for as long as we’re there, doing decorations and generally engaging in close teamwork. Forming bonds to last a lifetime.”

“You tricked me,” Virgil hisses. “You scheming snot.”

“But it worked, didn’t it? And oh, look, there’s your mid! Let’s leave.”

Virgil glares behind him, where Natalia is tying her impeccably clean apron around her waist and fastening the hat on her hair. The only reason her stupid apron is so clean is because she’s impossibly slow, so as not to get anything dirty. The one time he could use her tardiness to his advantage, too.

“Fine, whatever, give me five minutes to clock out and I’ll meet you back here.”

Patton takes another sip from his quarter-scared drink and nods. “But if you aren’t back within those five minutes, I’m gonna find your boss and file a missing team member report.”

“You don’t even work here.”

“You don’t even understand the extent of my relentless matchmaking skills.”

“Nor do I want to. See you in five.”

“Make it four.”

This is how Virgil finds himself begrudgingly driving toward Logan’s cafe, with Patton’s car hot on his heels. Clever enough, he supposes, since now there’s a literal heavy piece of machinery holding him accountable for reaching the destination he pinky promised to attend. Virgil would rather be hiding under the covers at home.

Swinging into the parking lot and taking his normal spot, Virgil wonders whether Patton would notice if he just hid out in the bathroom until everyone went home. He glances at the mug nestled in the passenger seat—secured with a seatbelt, of course—and decides against it. If nothing else, Logan would probably get suspicious about the goings-on in there, not to mention he’d be the one to have to clean it. Patton’s cheerful honk rings through the air as he locks his car, scooting over to press his nose to Virgil’s window.

Virgil raps the glass lightly, jolting Patton into taking a few steps back before he not-so-discreetly points at the door and dances on his toes. To tell the truth, Virgil is procrastinating, because he absolutely does not want to go inside and see Logan.

“Hi, Logan!” Patton calls, bursting through the door with Virgil in tow. “We’ve been waiting all day to see you!”

“We?” Virgil repeats skeptically.

“Oh, right, right, my bad,” Patton says, waving his hands sheepishly. “Virgil has been waiting all day to see you!”

“That is not better,” Virgil mutters. He lifts a hand to his shoulder, massaging a sore spot along the slope of his neck and wishing he could be literally anywhere else right now. In an effort to diffuse the awkwardness that Logan hasn’t bothered to notice, he continues, “looks nice in here with the lights down. Kind of home-y.”

    “Indeed,” Logan agrees, balanced precariously on the second-highest rung of an unreasonably tall ladder. At its base, Roman holds the legs steady, grinning as Patton slings his backpack onto a nearby table. “Patton, I assume you brought more decorations I never greenlit?”

    “You know it.” Patton grins, upending the bag and watching every manner of rainbow trinket spill over the tabletop and onto the floor. “Okay, so see these? They look like normal food coloring, but they actually—”

    “If they sparkle or make the drink behave like pop rocks, I do not want them.”

    Patton pouts before tossing the food coloring stuff back in the bag. “Alright, well how about this one? It’s like a DIY mug for—”

    “Don’t use acronyms out loud, and I am not having mugs that guests design themselves. That defeats the purpose of my system.” Patton puts the mugs away.

    “Fine, so I also found these little mythical creature trinkets that—”

    “No.” Patton puts the trinkets away.

    “Or these things that look like scratch off tickets, but instead of the lottery, you can—”

    “No.” Patton puts the tickets away.

    “I found this book of stickers that has—”

    “No.” Patton puts the stickers away.

    “You know, I’m beginning to think you didn’t want me to bring all this stuff.”

    “I did not want you to bring all that stuff.”

    “Well, fine! I’ll just take it back home, then!”

    “Good! I do not want it here! Please remove it from my establishment!” Virgil cocks his head to the side, his thoughts catching on the mock enthusiasm in Logan’s voice. If anyone could possibly be the breathing personification of a sarcastic exclamation point, it’s Logan.

    “Can I help you up there?” Virgil offers. Logan glances down, still precariously balanced on his ladder and stretching out an arm to toss a strand of string lights over the menu boards. “You know, it might be more effective to pull the signs down and write the menu first, then tape some lights to the top, then hang them back up.”

    Thrusting out a hand for stability on the top rung, Logan lowers the spool of lights waiting to be thrown. “You may have a point. Roman, if you even think about shaking this ladder, I am going to ban you from helping any further with the decorations.”

    “Come on, dude, it’s pride month! Show some spirit!” Roman whines. Regardless, he holds the ladder steady as Logan descends.

    “I’ve already shown my spirit by deigning to allow you in my cafe while it’s closed. Don’t push your luck.” At the sound of a yelp and something crashing near the seats around the corner, Logan presses his middle finger to his glabella and groans deeply. “Remy, if you broke one of my windows, I am legally obligated to inform our parents that you are unfit to be an adult, and that I am sending you back to them, effective immediately.”

    “No, nope, everything is totally fine back here. You aren’t legally obligated to do anything whatsoever.” Remy pops his head into view, his cheeks flushed and his hair flopping into his eyes. Taking one look at Logan’s stern face and Virgil’s reserved one, he jerks his head at Roman. “Hey, wanna give me a hand back here? Your boyfriend can come too, I guess.”

    “He’s not my—” Roman begins, but Patton barrels right through it.

    “Sounds fun!” he declares, grabbing Roman by the elbow and dragging him toward whatever chaos Remy already caused. With a quick pause to point from his eyes to Virgil’s and back, Patton winks and vanishes from sight. In their absence, silence reigns supreme.

    “So,” Logan says.

    “So,” Virgil agrees.

    “How’s your handwriting?” Logan asks, clearly just as desperate to fill the awkward silence as Virgil.

    Virgil shrugs, grabbing one of many pens spilling from Patton’s abandoned backpack and twirling it between his fingers. “Not terrible, I guess. I do most of the boards where I work.” For a brief moment, Virgil wonders whether he’s ever mentioned to Logan where he works, but ultimately decides it’s not important just yet. He watches the pen spins for another few moments before continuing, “I have this style of super straight lines, though. Not exactly bubbly and inviting for your guests.”

    “My guests know I own this place. They aren’t expecting any manner of bubbliness, inviting or otherwise. Help me pull down the signs?” Allowing himself the smallest laugh at Logan’s matter-of-factness, Virgil moves for the lower right corner of the trifold board, hoisting it off the wall in tandem with Logan. “I suppose we ought to erase it first, before we go about ruining it.”

    “Do you know what kind of scheme you’re going for?” Virgil asks, shifting into decoration mode as he starts wiping off the first section. He shoves aside any lingering thoughts of yesterday’s fiasco in favor of focusing on the task at hand. Maybe if he pretends to have forgotten, it’ll be like it never happened in the first place.

    “Scheme? I was simply going to write the drink options in various colors,” Logan admits. He scrapes together a pile of chalk from a children’s craft box leaning against the bar, grimacing as he rubs the dust from between his fingers. “Unless you know of a better idea.”

    “I mean, we could do something like cold drinks here, and hot ones here, and you could have some people personalize based on this third one over here? And then, like, each third can be a different pride flag, like how I was saying yesterday—maybe make the miscellaneous board the pan flag, since it’s basically everything? Unless you don’t like the pun side of that, of course, then we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. Or we could do the whole rainbow there, again with the ‘everything’ deal, but it might not look so cohesive as being strictly separated thirds of the menu. We don’t even have to separate by themes, if you wanted the whole menu to be just one section. Maybe we could do the bi flag for the cold drinks—if you decide to go for the cold, hot, miscellaneous boards, I mean—just because the blues and purples could go well with cold drinks, color theory and all? Or I guess there’s also the possibility of stuff like the transgender flag, or the polyamorous flag—maybe you could have a pastry menu, and put it there for a sort of pie-pi pun? I don’t know how well that one would go over, but if it sticks out to you well enough…”

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

    Logan props his chin on a fist, his legs crossed beneath him and his knee supporting his elbow. All of Virgil’s words are floating straight over his head, and he doesn’t even pretend to hide it, so entranced is he by Virgil’s enthusiasm. In all honesty, Logan stopped listening by the third sentence, more focused on how Virgil’s pale lips formed the soundless words, washing the cafe in an ocean of rolling tones and low asides. Not ten seconds into his rambling, Logan is certain he saw Virgil’s eyes light up, ever so slightly, at the prospect of having creative control over something so simple as menu theming.

    “Does that work for you?”

    Shit. Logan forgot he was supposed to be listening.

    “Er, I’m actually somewhat unclear on what you meant. Do you mind rewording your suggestion?”

    Virgil blinks at him, and Logan feels his soul melt—no human has a right to look that much like a confused puppy. “I don’t really know how you expect me to reword ‘I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick while you think about which theme you like,’ but I’m certainly willing to try if you need me to.”

    “Yes, no, I mean—of course, absolutely. Go right ahead, second door on the right in the back.” Logan waves a flippant hand as Virgil pushes off from his knees, tossing a two-fingered salute to the other three working in the back. Logan has no idea what they’re doing back there anymore, nor does he really care. He’s slightly more concerned with that complete social blunder between Virgil and him. Could he have come across any more ridiculous?

    “So what do you think of Virgil, hm?” Patton asks, appearing over Logan’s shoulder. Logan flinches, sitting up straighter and nearly slamming his head into Patton’s chin. “Think he’s got a cute butt?”

    Pausing to absorb the second question, Logan wonders whether he doesn’t look too dissimilar to a computer rebooting itself. “He certainly has an ass.”

    “Do you know any other swear words?” Remy groans, trudging over and draping himself across the bar. Meanwhile, Patton is spluttering in disgust at Logan for daring to use a more crude synonym for the word ‘butt.’

    “You should be proud that he even knows that one,” Roman chimes in. “Why, when I first met Logan—”

    “We are not doing emotional history montages,” Logan declares, getting to his feet and waving a hand at Roman. “We are here only to improve the environment in and around my cafe, so that is what we are going to do.”

    “Actually,” Remy corrects, “I’m mostly here because I want to set you up with Virgil. He was a dick from the moment he walked in that first time, which is exactly your type.” Pointing at Logan with a wink, Remy moves to lean against the wall.

    Logan doesn’t bother to question his motives, and pretends he didn’t hear the first half of Remy’s statement. He does, however, hear the general motivation behind the words, and responds accordingly. The sly grin on his face makes Roman take a subconscious step back.

    “Oh, and you aren’t here to set Roman up with Patton?” Turning his focus on them, Logan wonders in the back of his mind whether Virgil might walk in on this. “Of course, everyone’s talking about it, Remy. Don’t you want to be the first trendsetter with the newest, hottest couple?”

    “Since when does he know what ‘hottest’ means?” Roman hisses in a stage whisper. Patton shrugs, pressing his lips together as his cheeks stay annoyingly neutral, not at all embarrassed by Logan’s tirade. “Do you think he doesn’t know?”

    “I think he doesn’t know,” Patton replies. He doesn’t even bother to lower his voice, which serves only to further infuriate Logan.

    “What don’t I know?”

    “He definitely doesn’t know,” Remy agrees, peeling himself away from the wall. “It’s almost pity full, really.”

    “You don’t know the meaning of the word. You don’t even know the pronunciation.”

    “But I know you use it on me, like, all the time, which is only that much more pity full for you.”

    “Pitiful. Like your tenuous grasp of the English language.” At the sound of the sink faucet turning on around the corner, Logan glances back at Roman and Patton, who are still whispering together intently. Patton is barely hiding his giggles. “So, tell me; what is it, exactly, that I don’t know?”

    “Should we tell him?” Roman whispers. Patton shrugs, pushing his glasses up by pressing his finger directly against the lens. Logan can feel something shattering, deep inside his innermost soul.

    “Oh, tell him, you dorks,” Remy groans. “It’s literally, like, so obvious, it’s almost sad that he hasn’t figured it out yet.”

    “Figured out what?” Virgil asks, materializing around the corner.

    “That me ‘n Patton are dating,” Roman says.

    “Duh, everybody knows that.” Glancing around, a look of concern grows on Virgil’s face. “Was I not supposed to know that?”

    “Well, actually, Logan here—” Remy begins, but with a swift smack to the arm from Logan, he cuts himself off. “Nope, yep, totally justified in knowing that. Seven out of three. Good job. So smart. We stan a clever icon.”

    “Please stop talking,” Logan says. “Can we just get back to decorating?”

    “Way ahead of you.” Virgil drops to his knees, gathering up scattered pieces of chalk and positioning the blank slates in front of him. “Did you decide which theme you liked?”

    Logan very much did not do that. “I like both the gender flags and the sexuality flags. What do you think?”

    Virgil, clearly not prepared to be in control, blinks twice. “Um. Well. Maybe we could make the first board sexualities, and the second one genders, and have each drink be a different flag based on which menu theme they’re under? And Remy likes making up drinks, yeah?”

    “Yes,” Remy unnecessarily confirms. Logan scowls at him until he disappears around the corner with Patton and Roman.

    “Cool,” Virgil continues, “So that way we can do a little of everything on the menus, and then the lights can just look nice in general, and they don’t strictly have to coordinate with the menus.”

    “Where do you work, some interior design place?” Logan asks, raising an eyebrow at Virgil’s confidence, which rapidly grows the more he talks himself through ideas. “You really seem to know what you’re talking about.”

    “Not exactly,” Virgil admits. “Where I work doesn’t really matter, though, does it?”

    “Want to work here?” Logan blurts, before immediately clapping his hands over his mouth. “Sorry, that was probably too forward. I don’t even know why I said it, I mean, look at this place, I can barely pay Remy, let alone add another hire, not to mention—”

    “You’re fine,” Virgil says absently, more focused on the menu spread. “Anyway, so the flags. Do you want to start listing off some drinks you serve, and I’ll write them on my phone, and we can just go from there to decide which drink goes with which flag?”

    Logan swallows thickly and nods, launching into his perfectly memorized list of everything he makes on a day-to-day basis. At least Virgil elected to ignore his outburst.

    As the sun makes its trek toward the horizon, shooting beams of light through floating bits of dust in the air, Logan sits back on his haunches to admire Virgil’s handiwork. For how consistently they’d been working all day, he has to admit some small amount of pride in the outcome.

    The first board, comprised of iced and frozen drinks, proudly bears all manner of gender orientation flags that Logan could find, both common and obscure. Each in bright pastels, of course, as neither Roman nor Patton had the foresight to bring darker colored chalk. The second board boasts hot drinks and sexuality flags, and despite himself, Logan quite likes the soft brightness of the middle menu. The third is still blank, with an added wooden board at the bottom to hold chalk.

    “That way,” Virgil explained, “whoever makes the custom drink of the day can draw it there, and write the ingredients without having to hunt for the chalk.” Although Logan doesn’t particularly care for letting guests take control of the menu, he begrudgingly agreed that it was a good idea.

    “You guys took, like, forever to do basically nothing,” Remy complains, now sprawled out across a table.

    “Guests eat off those,” Logan remarks, still more focused on the menus than his brother’s antics. “And you only managed to string up a few sets of lights between the three of you. I would hardly call that an achievement.”

    “Among,” Virgil corrects.

    “What?”

    “You said between the three of them. Since it’s more than two, it’s among the three of them.” Logan can’t decide whether to be horrified or enchanted by how Virgil managed to catch his own grammar mistake.

    “Roman?” Logan calls, drawing attention away from his flub. “What, exactly, might you be doing?”

    Roman merely grins in response, precariously balanced on one of the tables near the front. He lowers his hands from the upper frame of the window and jumps to the floor, trying to duck into a somersault and failing miserably. Patton giggles before helping him up and glancing at what he’d been messing with.

    “This is my cafe,” Logan reminds them, “so I believe I ought to know what you’ve done to it.”

    Offering a shrug and a wince, Roman follows Patton’s gaze to the window. “Mistletoe.”

    “Mistletoe,” Logan repeats.

    “Mistletoe!” Patton agrees.

    “Mistletoe,” Remy choruses. At Logan’s glare, he raises his hands defensively. “Sorry, I just wanted to feel included.”

    “Why, pray tell, is there mistletoe in my cafe?” Logan sighs.

    “Bitchmas in July,” Roman replies. Logan can’t decide whether to throttle him or to simply scream.

    “Roman?”

    “Yes, my dearest friend and barista?”

    “It is June.”

    “Yes.”

    “Bitchmas, as you say, is in July.”

    “Yes.”

    “June is not July.”

    “You lost me.”

    “Actually,” Patton cuts in, “I think I know why Roman put mistletoe there.”

    “Why might that be?” Logan is extremely close to tossing one of the people in this room out the window, and based solely on proximity, it very well might be Virgil.

    “For this.” With no further warning, Patton grabs Roman by the neck of his shirt and yanks him to stand behind the chair he’d been using as a stepstool. Logan hardly has the chance to blink before Patton is pulling Roman in, closing his eyes, and—

    “Yep, nope, super cool, very much did not need to see that,” Virgil announces, mercifully drawing Logan’s eyes away from the scene. “Besides that nonsense, did you guys get the lights all finished? I need to peace out pretty soon here, but I want to see the cafe in its full glory before the guests come and destroy it by existing in its presence.”

    Roman hesitates to answer, still breathless beside a beaming Patton. Remy cuts in first, allowing the other two to regain their composure.

    “We got everything done, so if you wanted to pack up whatever stuff you brought, I’ll get the last of the connections and cords all set up, so you can bask in the splendor before you go.” Leaning in close enough to whisper so that Virgil can’t hear, Remy’s breath tickles Logan’s ear. “His mug is on the side pocket of his bag. Sneak it away while I distract him, and make him a personalized drink. It’ll be totally endearing, I know it.”

    “I am not doing that.”

    Remy dangles the mug from his fingers with a smirk, thrusting it at Logan when Virgil isn’t looking. “You are doing that.”

    Logan frowns and reluctantly takes the mug. “I am doing that.”

    “Unless you want to be doing—”

    “Don’t you dare say it,” Logan hisses, snapping his head around to cast the entirety of his glare at Remy. “If you swear, in this moment, to shut your damn mouth, I will make him a drink.”

    “That’s all I want,” Remy says, dusting his hands off and tugging Virgil to stand in front of the door. The mistletoe dangles a few ominous feet away. Logan’s scowl melts into a vague feeling of contentedness as he watches Virgil taking in the unlit decorations. His hands work on autopilot, making an old favorite of his that has long since outgrown its recipe. When Remy clicks the lights on and Logan catches Virgil’s face in the light, the barista is pretty convinced he might just collapse right then and there, coffee and all.

    Framed in the soft blues and yellows of twinkling artificial lights, Virgil’s pale skin almost seems to glow against his jet black hair, a silhouette of ethereal splendor captured oh-so-perfectly for a split second, before the illusion shatters. Virgil turns to look at Logan as the latter absently slides the full mug across the counter, so entranced is he by the former.

    “You good?” Virgil asks. Logan can only manage the smallest of nods, barely capable of closing his stunned mouth as he watches the way the moonlight flicks off the purple tips of Virgil’s hair. “Dude, you didn’t have to go and make me anything!”

    “It’s one of his oldest favorites,” Remy cuts in, rescuing Logan from himself. “No, no, put your money away, this one’s on the house for helping us remodel.”

    “All I really did was draw on a couple menus,” Virgil protests. Nevertheless, he pockets his wallet and takes a hesitant sip from the mug. A beauty to rival that of his shape against the night sky lights in his eyes as he tips the mug, draining the rest as fast as he can manage.

    “Good, right?” Remy asks. Logan wonders whether his own mouth will decide to start functioning properly any time soon.

    “So good,” Virgil murmurs, still holding the rim of the mug to his nose and inhaling deeply. “Smells amazing, too.”

    With a swift elbow jab to the side from Remy, Logan manages to choke out a broken “thanks,” his voice cracking on the vowel. Miracle of miracles, Virgil doesn’t notice. Or, if he does, he pretends not to, which only makes it worse—or better, Logan isn’t sure.

    “Well, uh, thank you too,” Virgil mumbles. He clutches the mug as tight as he can manage, shouldering his way out the door. Not two feet beyond the threshold of the door, he absently raises his shoulders toward his ears against a cool summer breeze.

    “Logan, close your mouth,” Roman calls. Logan moves his jaw up, realizing all too late that he’d been staring open-mouthed at Virgil for no reason. Turning his face toward Patton’s neck, Roman giggles and whispers, “he’s so head over heels.”

    “That’s an understatement,” Patton replies. “If his head is where it is now, you’d need a cinderblock and the Mariana Trench to get to his heels.”

    “That was a bit of a stretch,” Remy says. “I know you’re trying, hon, but maybe try more puns, fewer metaphors?”

    “Puns,” Patton echoes, rolling the word between his lips and chewing the n. “Pun pun pun.”

    “Now look what you’ve done,” Roman groans.

    “Pun,” Patton repeats, pointing up and nudging Roman to the side. Roman blinks and follows his finger to the mistletoe, which is wobbling dangerously. “Don’t think you used enough tape there, Crumb cake.”

    “Maybe not,” Roman agrees. As he reaches up to adjust the decoration, Logan’s hand thrusts out of its own volition.

    “Do you maybe want to move that over the door instead? Maybe? I mean, you don’t have to, I just—”

    “Logan’s rambling,” Remy announces. “Better do what he wants before he short circuits entirely.” Roman and Patton titter at this before the former pulls down the mistletoe, removing the old tape and producing a new roll from his pocket.

    “Thanks,” Logan sighs, watching Roman stick the mistletoe just to the right of the bell. What he wouldn’t give to be under that with—

    “Closing time!” Logan shouts suddenly, ignoring how the other three flinch. “It was all very fun and nice, but it is time for everyone to go home. Right now. Please leave. This very second. Immediately. Get out.”

    Remy exits first, followed quickly by Patton and Roman, none of whom bother trying to hide their laughter. Logan is the last to leave, still focused on that mistletoe. Still focused on who he wants to see beneath it.

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

    Virgil is having a bad day.

    He woke up with only two minutes to spare before having to leave for work. He stepped on poop from his neighbor’s dog when he went outside. He found a smear of mocha syrup along the seam of his pants in a very conspicuous pattern. He didn’t have any other clean pants ready. His car wouldn’t start fast enough. His USB cord to his phone wouldn’t connect, no matter how many times he turned it. His throat ached, but without a fever, he was still legally allowed to work with food. His voice was all but gone.

    Virgil wants nothing more than to go back home, crawl under a mountain of blankets, and stay there until the sun goes away.

    This would be a task much more easily achieved if Natalia would bother to show up on time. Virgil forces a tight smile onto his face as he mindlessly nods along to the latest guest’s conversation. Ten more minutes and he’ll hit compliance, which means a stern talking-to between Anne and her boss, which means a stern talking-to between Anne and him, which is basically the last thing keeping Virgil from walking out of the store right now.

    Virgil wants to go home.

    “Have you seen Natalia?” Anne asks, appearing on the other side of the bar once the line dribbles down to nothing. Virgil shakes his head, already halfway through making her usual order as she groans. “Okay, well, you’re gonna hit compliance in a second here.”

    “I know that,” Virgil snaps. “There’s not exactly a whole lot I can do about it.”

    “Mind your tone,” Anne chides lightly, and though Virgil can tell she’s kidding, he really isn’t in the mood for it today.

    “Yeah, sorry. Do you mind, uh, you know?” He tilts his chin to the next guest, as well as the cluster of families preparing to queue up behind them. Anne nods and apologizes with a laugh, scurrying off to do whatever it is she deems more important than helping Virgil to keep this line in check.

    This is the part where Virgil is supposed to launch into a spiel of every drink he makes, as well as the struggles that accompany calling out complete orders with a voice that basically doesn’t exist, but based on the morning he’s had so far? He has absolutely zero desire to get into it. Guests are rude, baby boomers are impatient, the sky is blue, Virgil is in hell, next question.

    “Hey, um, excuse me?” Some dude leans over the counter, shaking his empty cold cup at Virgil. Evidently, he did not notice the line waiting to be helped. “Barista boy?”

    Virgil glances where his name tag should be, shrugs at its absence, and nods. Yeah, that’s a fair nickname. “What’s up?”

    “You made my drink wrong.” His empty drink, that is.

    “Oh, I’m so sorry about that, did you want me to remake it for you?”

    “No, I want you to give me a refund.”

    “Sir, I—you already finished your—by store policy, I can only make you a new drink, I can’t give you a refund if there’s no drink to take back in return for the money, sorry.”

    “Yeah, but I didn’t like it.”

    “Then why did you—never mind, would you like me to make you a new one?”

    “No, I want compensation for a miserable drinking experience.”

    This goes on for some time, and while Virgil is largely skilled at keeping his composure when he has to, that’s much more easily said than done when the guest is flinging curse words at him left and right.

    “Sir, I’m sorry, it’s—there’s a long line, so unless you want to have me remake your drink for you, there’s really nothing I can do.” Angry Guest Man rips out a few more choice words before storming off, shouldering patiently waiting customers out of the way. Virgil rolls his shoulders back and moves on to the next guest, relieved when all they want is a grande mocha.

    Virgil.

    Wants.

    To.

    Go.

    Home.

    “Hey, I’m here to cover for Natalia!” Kim announces, prancing behind the bar without a hat on, as if she doesn’t notice the hold up Virgil’s dealing with.

    “Awesome. Get here sooner next time. Put on a hat—or a hairnet, I don’t care which—and start taking orders while I catch up on hot bar. We’re almost out of skim milk, and the almond milk shipment is behind today, so only offer coconut and soy milk.” Virgil tosses out orders almost as fast as he hands off drinks, waving off Kim’s bewildered demands. “I don’t care how or why Natalia got you to show up late—better than not at all—but I need you to kick into gear. I’ll get you as caught up as I can, but I’m gonna hit compliance, so savor this partnership before you’re on your own.”

    Kim bites back whatever protests she might’ve had, instead nodding and moving for the register. She plasters a welcoming smile on her face and starts chatting up the next guest as Virgil slowly but surely picks apart his backlog of orders.

    Virgil does not want to be here.

    Another guest complaining about their cappuccino not having enough foam is incredibly close to being the straw that shatters his back. Virgil bites back a groan as he gingerly takes the unlidded cup from her, nodding his apologies and profusely assuring her he’d remake it. She scowls and mutters something about hurrying up.

    “There you go, sorry ’bout that,” Virgil says, passing off the new cup.

    She removes the lid, glaring at the drink and completely ignoring the swarm of people behind her that would very much like to get their orders. “There isn’t enough foam for the caramel to sit on top.”

    “Yeah, that’s how physics—I mean, yes, my bad, do you want more caramel drizzle?”

    “No, I want you to make it right.” With no further warning, she scrapes off the top layer of foam and flicks it at Virgil, cocking her head to the side as it plops across the bridge of his nose.

    He might just scream.

    “So you’ll have me remake it, then?” Virgil forces himself to smile as she nods with a harrumph. “Right, okay, just give me a minute here, aaand—there you go.” He pushes the latest creation over the bar and comforts his shot nerves with the mental image of throwing the drink in her face.

    “There’s not enough foam.” Before Virgil can even pretend to be sympathetic to her first world problems, she dips her finger into the foam.

    And flicks this one square at his chest.

    “Anne?” Virgil’s voice is sugary sweet as Anne drifts lazily over from across the seating area, moving as if she had all the time in the world. “I’m going to hit compliance in less than two minutes, so I am going to clock out. I will not be coming in tomorrow, as I have a backlog of sick days, and I will be using one to figure out whether I want to come in the day after that. Good luck getting someone to cover for me, since it was obviously such a difficult task for Natalia.”

    “Virgil, if you don’t come in tomorrow, you can kiss this job goodbye,” Anne snaps.

    Virgil considers this, removes his hat, and places it squarely on her head. “If you want me to stay away, I’ll do so happily. In case you haven’t noticed, there isn’t a whole lot of qualified backup for you here.” Anne can only manage bewildered sputters in response as Virgil unties his apron, drapes it over a chair, and strolls off to the break room.

    Virgil is leaving this hellscape.

    “I really wanna leave this stupid town,” he sings to himself in the car, ignoring his blatantly wrong lyrics as he tears out of the parking lot. “And today, the time has come.” Ramping up his voice to little less than a furious scream, he pounds the steering wheel to the rhythm, and feels an odd lightness when he sees the empty passenger seat. For once, he doesn’t have to have the ever-present company of that obnoxious apron, wrapped up and tucked inside that ridiculous hat.

    Virgil is going home.

    At least, Virgil thought he was going home.

    No one could be more surprised than him when he finds his hands steering the car toward Logan’s cafe of their own volition.

    “Hey, Virgil, what’s going—wait, hey, you walked under the mistletoe!” Roman whines from the counter, where Remy is closely monitoring his work behind the bar. “You can’t just walk past mistletoe without a kiss-letoe!”

    “Stop talking, or that mistletoe is going up your ass-letoe,” Virgil mutters, making a beeline for the mound of bean bag chairs in the corner. A nice touch of comfort amidst the soft lighting and colorful menus they’d added yesterday. Probably Patton’s idea.

    He falls to his knees before he knows what he’s doing, shoving his face into the plasticky surface and letting the rustling beans consume his senses. He’d barely bothered to notice how loudly his pulse was thrumming through his head until it stopped, overpowered by the artificial cushion beneath him. At the sound of footsteps drawing near his head, Virgil briefly considers sweeping out a leg and knocking them to the floor. An action movie sequence fantasy at best.

    He feels them speak before any words come out, and has never felt closer to cussing out someone he met mere days ago.

    “Hey. Rough day?” By some merciful chance, it’s not Roman, or Remy, or even Patton. Logan continues, careful to keep his voice low and measured, “I get that. I had the lights turned down temporarily to test the environment in direct sunlight, but I’ll leave them down for your sake. We also received several compliments on the new menus—all your handiwork, of course.

    “Remy’s training Roman on how to make drinks right now, since I’ve heard many guests discussing how to get their friends to join them on trips here. With that kind of increase in business, I could really use his extra set of hands, no matter how inexperienced. I see you brought your mug, as well—if it doesn’t upset you too terribly, I’ve already had Remy begin teaching Roman how to make up drinks, so you might get an odd flavor combination, what with the steep learning curve and all. Roman is creative, I’ll give him that, but he’s never truly been one for understanding the intricacies of taste and texture among our staple ingredients.”

    With every word out of Logan’s mouth, Virgil can feel his mounting headache slowly, ever so slowly, draining away. In the wake of Anne and Kim’s nonsense, he hadn’t cared to notice the exhaustion, much less how severely it hurt. Even now, his pulse is pounding like a jackhammer against the roof of his skull.

    “When Remy first picked out that mug covered in cups for you, I have to say, I was horrified. As far as I could tell, it was just the first thing he grabbed, which is about as basic a tactic as any other. Your current one, with all the constellations and the blues, just felt right, if you know what I mean. Not exactly a logical way to select your mug, but I can’t really explain it.”

    “I like to call them mug-mates!” Roman announces. “You know, mug, soulmate, mug-mate?” An image crosses Virgil’s mind of throwing his current mug at Roman’s head, and he laughs. “See, Remy, told you I was funny.”

    “I hate to break it to you,” Remy says gently, “but Patton was only lying about you being funny because you suck at everything else.”

    “Shut up,” Logan singsongs, his voice achingly calm against their raising tones. In a voice that somehow manages to be even more soothing than before, almost dulcet, he continues, “most of my guests have a particular piece of clothing or accessory that stands out, matching their immediate mug. You just felt, well, different, somehow.”

    Virgil fights the instinct to flinch as he feels something come to rest against his head. A moment passes, two, before it starts to move, lightly combing through his matted hair and gently scratching at his aching head beneath. Against his own volition, a contented sigh escapes his lips. The scratching continues unaffected.

    If it were possible, Virgil would stay here, just like this, forever. Motionless in a pile of bean bags, with only Logan’s presence to remind him he still exists. Naturally, this isn’t possible, as a gentle set of three raps against the wall over his head jerks him out of his half-conscious state.

    Logan nods with a smile as a guest lowers their hand, moving for the door and stashing their mug in their bag. At Virgil’s questioning gaze, Logan raises his hands and explains, “that’s how my best guests say goodbye. The first few regulars I had liked the peaceful silence, so instead of cutting through the air with words, they’d just knock on the tables. It sort of became habit, I suppose.” Virgil glances from Logan’s mouth to his shoulder and back, releasing another sigh as the scratching shifts down to his back.

    “Feel any better?” Logan asks. His eyes are filled with a warmth that Virgil swears wasn’t there yesterday.

    “Little bit,” Virgil mumbles. “Work sucks.”

    “And where, exactly, do you work?”

    “Starbucks north.”

    The shock in Logan’s expression is almost laughable. “I have never been more disgusted with a single human being in all my life than I am right now.”

    “Yeah, that’s fair. I think I just kind of quit, though. Not exactly a ceremonious end to my shift, if you know what I mean.”

    “Rude guests?”

    “Try obscene and pathetic. One flicked her foam at me.”

    “Wait, don’t you get free drinks when you work there? Why buy my drinks when you can get stuff without paying for it at all?”

    “We aren’t, like, a chain place, since we’re owned by the department store we’re in, so we kind of follow different rules than the regular stores. I only get one grande drink per shift, and it has to be while I’m on the clock.”

    “Okay, but you can still get those drinks. Just make them on your last five minutes and walk out with them. Why bother spending money on what could be free?”

    “I’m not funneling the money I get from that place directly back into it. They are a capitalist regime based on the basic downfall of the foremost man empowering story, and I refuse to fuel their fire.”

    “How closely did you analyze Moby Dick?”

    “Sparknotes.” Virgil pushes himself onto his elbows, still savoring the feeling of Logan’s fingers gently scraping along his back. “Hey, what was that you were saying yesterday about offering for me to work here?”

    Logan’s face colors immediately, flush with about as much red as is humanly safe. “I didn’t mean to impose—I mean, er, I didn’t want you to feel like—”

    “It’s cool,” Virgil interrupts. “Anyway, were you even a little bit serious? Because I don’t really have a reference from my last place, but if you’re willing to accept a new hire with a shady history who knows how to run a coffee bar, I’m your guy.”

    Logan nods quickly, glancing back to where Roman is struggling considerably under Remy’s watch. “You’re hired. You start today.”

    “Actually, I know this is probably a bad first impression on my new boss, but do you mind if I start tomorrow? I’m not really feeling it today.”

    “Indeed, I should probably draw up the paperwork, as well.”

    The finality of this tenuous agreement hangs in the air, an oddly relaxed cloud of, well, something that can only wait to be shattered.

    Roman does a perfectly fine job of carrying out this task.

    “Logan, you’re gonna be so proud of me in a second here—I made my very first drink! Remy said I have to give it to Virgil, since you won’t take it.” Roman passes the constellation-covered mug over to Virgil, who glances warily at the murky substance rippling within. “Relax, it’s literally the easiest drink I can make.”

    “Earl grey tea,” Remy calls over. “Two tea bags, hot water, and honey. I promise he didn’t poison it.” Only after Remy’s reassurance does Virgil take a hesitant sip, admiring the flavor as soon as it hits his tongue.

    “Oh, that reminds me!” Logan exclaims, raising a finger in the air. It takes everything in Virgil not to whine at the loss of the reassuring hand against his back. “I got something as a thank you for helping us with the decorations yesterday—it’s right upstairs, actually. Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll have it right back down here for you.” As Logan rises, something jingles and clatters to the floor, escaping his notice as he moves for the door. A keyring, covered in at least ten keys and even more keychains.

    “Hey, wait, you dropped these,” Virgil says, grabbing the keys and following Logan to the door. Logan lifts his chin slightly, taking the keys and shoving them in his pocket—careful enough that they won’t fall out this time.

    “Oh, look at that,” Roman coos. Virgil raises an eyebrow, turning to see where Roman and Remy are excitedly elbowing each other and giggling. Even Patton appears from around the corner and smiles along with them—probably leaving the bathroom.

    “Look at what?” Logan asks, obviously quite finished with their nonsense. Rather than dignify him with an answer, Roman merely points above their heads. Virgil follows the motion to see the last decoration he could’ve expected in June.

    Mistletoe.

    To the tune of the other three quietly chanting, “kiss, kiss, kiss,” Virgil swallows an annoyed moan and glances at Logan, whose face somehow managed to turn an even deeper shade of pink.

    “If you don’t want to, I mean, if you didn’t, you know, feel comfortable with—” Logan stammers, every word darkening his cheeks, but Virgil cuts him off with a laugh.

    “Maybe I do want to. Kiss you, that is. I mean, if you want to.”

    “No, yeah, I mean—yes. I would like that. To kiss you, I mean.”

    Virgil’s face glows like a rose on fire. “Okay, cool, because I also want to do that. Also.”

    So he does.

[theoddcatlady]

My sister dropped off my niece last night. I don’t think she’s coming back.

To clarify, I haven’t seen my younger sister Mara in a little over five years. She was a little over eighteen years old, a few months pregnant, and was determined to keep her baby. I told her exactly what I thought- I thought she was a goddamn idiot and that she either needed to give it up for adoption or I’d drive her to the abortion clinic myself.

We had a screaming fight before she stormed out, saying she was going to stay with her baby’s daddy and that they’d be a happy family together.

Like I said, it’s been five years. Five years and a lot changed. I tried contacting her probably a dozen times, but when she sent me a picture flipping up her middle finger, I got the message. I gave up. If she wanted to live like that, fine by me. She ended up blocking me on Facebook, she cut off both our parents, and I figured I’d never see her again.

When I heard the doorbell I thought that one of my friends stopped by to return a book they’d borrowed a few weeks back, they’d told me they were almost done and that they couldn’t put it down so I expected them to give it back any day now.

I opened the door and there she was. I didn’t even recognize her at first. She’d gotten a lot thinner and had dyed her hair black, but I recognized that cheap tattoo on her hand and the dimple in her right cheek. It was my baby sister.

And clutching her hand was a little girl with rosy cheeks, blonde curls, and my sister’s green eyes.

“Thomas,” Her face broke into a tired smile and she pulled me into a hug. I couldn’t respond. I just froze. She stepped back and smiled even brighter. “Ariel, this is your Uncle Thomas.”

The little girl waved and smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Uncle Thomas,” She said in a chipper tone.

Ariel. Mara’s favorite Disney Princess.

I cleared my throat. “H… hi, Ariel.” I looked up at Mara. “Do… do you want to come inside?”

“I’d really love that, actually.” Mara walked inside. “I can’t stay long, but… oh man, when did you get ripped?” Even her laughter sounded tired.

“Uh, three years ago, I wanted to get in shape, do you want something?” I didn’t even know what to say at this point, in the light it was clear she’d been through some serious shit.

Saying she’d gotten a ‘lot thinner’ is understating it. She looked skeletal, her once vivid eyes were now dull and too large, like they were ready to roll out of her skull. Her fists were all bruised up and she had a black eye that wasn’t quite hidden under thickly applied foundation.

“I’m fine. Really. It’s just been a bad week.” Mara gently pushed Ariel to the couch. “Sit right there, honey, okay?”

I’d never seen such a well behaved five year old in my life. Like a prim little angel, Ariel walked over to the couch and sat, her bare feet dangling a few inches above the floor. I turned back to Mara. “What happened? Where’s Bradley?” Just saying the scumbag’s name made me feel nauseated.

Mara’s gaze dropped to the floor. “He didn’t even see Ariel get born,” She grumbled.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” I rested a hand on her shoulder.

Mara jerked away. “It’s fine!” She yelped before coughing a few times. She wrapped her bony arms around herself. “… It’s fine. I… found someone else to stay with… but I can’t… I can’t stay there… right now. Not right now.”

Oh god, what have you gotten yourself into, sis? “Well, you’re welcome here, Mom and Dad really miss you,” I said.

“Um...” Mara chewed her bottom lip. “… Can you do me a solid? Don’t tell Mom and Dad I was here. Really, it’d be great if you didn’t tell anyone. You work from home, right?”

“Most of the time,” I frowned, “Why?”

“… Can you please watch Ariel for a day?”

I looked at the tiny girl on my couch. My niece. “What will you be doing?”

“Don’t ask me that.” Mara shook her head. “Just… don’t leave the house. Don’t let Ariel near the windows.”

“Are you in danger?”

“Just- promise me. Please.”

At this point, I had two theories about why my sister was wigging out- either she had gotten in an abusive relationship and was on the run… or she had completely lost her mind on drugs and was a nutcase.

Either way, I knew I had to help.

“Sure. She can sleep on the couch, right?” I don’t have kids, I know literally nothing about caring for a kid.

Mara wrapped me in another tight bear hug. “Thank you so much,” She sobbed, nearly crushing my ribs before stepping back. “… I’ll be back tomorrow night, I hope. I love you, Thomas… and I’m sorry. You were right.”

With that, Mara slunk out the door and into the night, like she’d never been there.

This whole time, Ariel sat on the couch, her hands neatly folded on her lap as she kicked her feet back and forth. I coughed a few times before sitting next to her. “Sooo… when’s bed time?” I asked.

Again- I don’t know how to deal with kids.

Ariel giggled, and I saw more bits of my sister in her- the smile, the way her nose wrinkled when she was amused. “You’re funny, Uncle Thomas. Can I color?” She asked.

“I might have some colored pencils and paper somewhere…” Listen, I love that they make coloring books for adults nowadays, and I am completely in on the fad. So in about ten minutes, I had Ariel sitting at my dining room table with some paper and watched as her tiny fist clutched onto a bright pink pencil as she drew a shape that could’ve been a horse or an airplane.

I tried to fill the silence with conversation. That went as well as you’d expect.

“So, what’s your favorite color?”

“Pink.”

“Do you go to kindergarten yet?”

“I stay with Mommy. She’s taught me my ABC’s.”

“Do you have a pet?”

“We’re not allowed to.”

“Um, do you like snakes? I have a snake.”

That had her pause. She stopped her scribbles and looked up, her eyes wide. “Wow! You have a pet snake?!” She said with a gasp, her face lit up with delight.

“Yeah, his name’s Popcorn,” Finally, something I could distract her with, “Come on, let’s go see him. He’s in my room.”

Popcorn is a Corn Snake I adopted about a year back, a friend had to move and couldn’t take him with. Since then, he’s been my little buddy. Ariel squealed as I flicked on the light and ran to the other cage in my room. “Mice!” She pointed at the cage of small white mice wriggling around.

“Yeah, those are my other buddies,” I laughed as I walked up to the cage. “Come here, Popcorn...” I carefully lifted him out.

“Are we gonna feed him?”

I turned around to see that Ariel had one of my mice curled up in her hands. “Oh, honey, no,” I laughed, the mouse in question seemed content and it wasn’t like she was dangling it by its tail, “Popcorn already ate recently and uh, those aren’t the mice he eats. Can you put him back in his cage now?”

Ariel shrugged and gently placed the mouse back inside the cage. “Can I see Popcorn now?” She extended her arm expectantly.

“He probably won’t want to crawl on your arm, sweetie.” I knelt down and carefully lifted Popcorn forward. “He’s a bit shy, and-”

Popcorn naturally slid from my hand onto Ariel, twisting around her arm and I swear he never looked more content. My jaw dropped. “Are you a freaking Parseltongue or something?” I said.

“I don’t know what that means. But snakes like me.” Ariel leaned her face forward, slitting her eyes and staring at Popcorn, who flicked his tongue out a few times before slithering forward, crawling around her neck and hanging loosely there. “Father says it’s because they know I’m their friend.”

“Father? I thought your mom said your dad…  wasn’t around.”

Ariel looked puzzled before she bust out laughing. “Oh, no no no! Father isn’t my daddy, I don’t have a daddy. Father is all of our father.”

I felt an unpleasant chill go down my spine. “… What… is this Father like?” I asked carefully.

“He’s very kind!” Ariel grinned and nodded her head. “He reads from the Book every morning and makes sure that we all know right from wrong. One of my friends, her daddy is the Father but he’s not my daddy. He wants us all to stick together. Last week, he chose me for something really important!”

“What was that?” I had to know. What the hell had Mara gotten into?

Ariel glanced out the window. “… Well, I’m not supposed to say, but…” Ariel giggled and clapped her hands. “I’m going to be the Daughter!”

What. I had no idea what to say to that. “Really,” I found myself looking out the window as well, almost expecting someone to be there, “And what does that mean?”

“I have no idea!” Ariel removed Popcorn from her neck and handed him back to me. “I’m hungry, I’m gonna get something to eat,” She said before running out of the room.

I settled Popcorn back into his cage and gently ran my finger down his back. “I’m gonna kick Mara’s ass when she gets back,” I grumbled before heading back into the kitchen.

I saw Ariel peering into the freezer. “Do you want pizza rolls, Ariel?” It might’ve been close to midnight but I had no idea when she’d eaten last. “Or chicken strips?”

I heard a crunch and the sound of chewing. “No thank you!” Swallow. “I found something yummy!” Another crunch.

Frowning, I walked up to Ariel. “Honey, you can’t just eat something frozen...” I turned her around and the words died in my mouth.

Ariel was clutching my bag of frozen feeder mice in her hands, her mouth smeared with blood. A small frozen tail was sticking out between her lips. She swallowed and it vanished. “They’re a little cold, could you warm them up?” She handed the bag to me.

What the fuck? “Ariel!” I grabbed a paper towel and wiped off her face. “Jesus Christ, kid, you don’t eat mice!”

“Why not?” Ariel cocked her head to the side. “Popcorn eats mice.”

“Well, you’re not Popcorn, oh fuck, Mara’s gonna kill me…” I groaned and put the feeder mice back on the top shelf, she’d have to dig past the frozen bread to get it. “How about we have some pizza rolls instead?”

Ariel pouted and crossed her arms. “I don’t want pizza rolls,” She grumbled. “Can I go to bed now?”

I ended up just putting Ariel to sleep on the couch. I was done. That was my limit. Children eating fucking frozen mice.

I woke up about midnight to see her standing over the mice cage. The lid had been taken off and her head was cocked to the side. I almost sat up and asked what the hell was she doing when she opened her mouth and something long and thin fell out of her mouth, plopping into the floor of the cage. For a second, I thought she had Popcorn in her mouth, but a glance confirmed that Popcorn was chilling in his cage under his lamp.

Ariel’s tongue slowly felt its way around the cage, slithering about until it touched one of the sleeping mice. I don’t know why they were asleep, they were usually jumping around this time of night. Her tongue slowly wrapped around the mouse and lifted it to her mouth. It hung limply in its grasp until she brought it into her mouth. Then it jerked about and I heard it squeal before she brought her jaws down on it.

That crunch was one of the most horrifying things I’d ever heard.

Humming pleasantly, Ariel skipped out of the room and back to the couch. In just a few minutes I heard her softly snoring.

I didn’t get a wink of sleep the rest of the night.

Ariel’s been a normal kid all day but I can’t shake that image out of my head of her tongue just dragging that mouse to its doom. I counted them to make sure and one was absolutely gone.

But what’s worse is that Mara’s not come back. I’ve tried texting her but apparently her phone number belongs to someone else now. And I swear I’ve seen the same car drive past my house five times today.

I don’t know what to do.

And I’m scared of what I’ll see if I wake up tonight and see Ariel again.

[iwillphysicallyfiteyou]

11. “gosh, you're adorable.”♡ Just Peachy

Summary: Virgil is having his birthday party.

Paring: Logicality/ Ex- Deceit & Patton

Content warning for the series is in the promo.

FYI: Dean is Deceit.

Masterlist.

Previous, Next.

♡ ♡ ♡

“Happy Birthday,” an uncle that Virgil almost never sees greets.

“Thank you,” he says as the uncle hugs him.

More people enter the house. Usually, Virgil would be at Dean’s house since it’s a Saturday, however, Patton’s house is bigger and therefore better for Virgil’s birthday party.

“Hey buddy,” Dean greets, “happy birthday.”

Virgil gives him a quick smile. Dean was holding a pretty sizeable bag, which was weird. Usually, he just gives Virgil a shirt or videogame.

“Virge!”

“Talyn!” Virgil gets up to greet his friend. This is the first time Talyn’s been to his house, and the first time that she’s been in public without their mom, besides school of course. 

“Your house is so nice. It’s also very white.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Even more people come in as Talyn and Virgil continue talking.

“Hey, Oldie,” Remus greets.

“You’re older,” Virgil says.

“That doesn’t make you any less old.”

“I guess.”

After that riveting conversation, Remus walks away.

“Is that Remus? Talyn asks.

“Yup.”

“He looks like a homeless person.”

“Hey, that’s not very nice.”

“He has long hair and he’s wearing a mucky jacket.”

“A mucky jacket?”

“Yeah man, it’s dark green, so mucky.”

“Do all homeless people wear dark green jackets?”

“Oh, hush.”

“You clearly like the color green,” Virgil gestures to Talyn’s green hair, “maybe you’re insulting him because you like him.”

“I can’t believe you right now.”

“Ooh, Talyn has a crush.”

“You are so immature.”

Patton walks over to Dean.

“Have you told Roman and Remus yet?” He asks as Dean takes a sip of his Sprite.

“Nope.”

“Dean.”

“I am not going to ruin Virgil's birthday,” Dean snarls.

Patton huffs at him.

“I’ll talk to them on Monday,” Dean assures him.

“Thank you,” Patton says before walking over to Virgil. “Can we do presents now?”

“You’re the dad, not me,” Virgil responds.

“Right, then let’s do presents.”

Patton ushers everyone into the living room.

Virgil receives quite a bit of cards and money from distant relatives, and even some gift cards. Remus got Virgil a pair of Skullcandy wireless headphones. Roman got him a black beanie, an instant camera with film, and got me the book Carrie by Stephen King. Talyn got him lotion, hand sanitizer, a friendship bracelet, and an apple spice candle.

Virgil grabs a galaxy themed bag and is confused until he sees who it’s from. Of course, Logan the astronomy professor got him a space bag. In the bag was a starlight projector and a box of chocolates.

Virgil taps his foot impatiently as Dean’s present is put into his lap. He tears the tissue paper out of the bag and dove in. He got a black sweater, cologne, a leather journal, a leather wallet, a leather belt, a plain black messenger bag, and plain black shoes. The last thing he got from Dean was a framed photo of Virgil, Dean, Roman, and Remus.

Patton then puts his bag on Virgil’s lap. Virgil opens it up to find a black and white sweater, black nail polish, black pencil eyeliner, and his own laptop so that he no longer has to borrow Roman’s.

Virgil says thank you so many times that he’s actually told to stop, he even says thank you to Dean. 

Finally, it’s time for cake. Patton made a cake, realized that he put in salt instead of sugar, then went to Costco and bought a new cake. It’s a strawberry cake with chocolate frosting, Virgil’s favorite. The ice cream is strawberry flavored with chocolate syrup, which is also Virgil’s favorite.

“This cake is so good,” Talyn says with their mouth full of food.

“Yeah,” Virgil says before shoving some ice cream into his mouth. He feels guilty for eating such unhealthy food, but he tries to ignore it since it’s his birthday.

Once everyone’s done eating some of Virgil’s extended family leave.

“In twenty minutes I have to leave,” Talyn says.

“One day you should sleepover.”

“I wish, but my mom is still paranoid.”

Remus walks over to Virgil and Talyn.

“Hey Oldie, how’s your girlfriend?” Remus asks as he sits in between them.

“Don’t misgender me,” Talyn demands.

“Someone’s feisty.”

“Please don’t make fun of my friend,” Virgil says.

“Why? Is the little emo gonna cry?”

“Remus.”

“Aww, li-

“Remus!”

“Remus,” Dean scolds from a couple of feet away.

“Sorry,” Remus mumbles before walking away.

Patton sighs as he puts the ice cream into the freezer.

“Hey, Babe,” Logan says as he walks over to Patton.

“Hi.” Patton gives Logan a quick kiss on the cheek. “You look nice.”

Logan is wearing a black polo with a blue tie and black jeans.

“Thank you, you look good as well.” 

Patton is wearing a beige sweater with black skinny jeans.

Patton can’t help but blush.

“Gosh, you’re adorable.” Logan quickly kisses his nose.

“Gag,” Roman says, and the two men look over at the teenager.

“What are you doing in here?” Patton asks.

“It’s my kitchen too,” Roman responds before filling up his water bottle with water. The two men stare at him in silence until Roman leaves the room.

“I hope Virgil likes what I got him,” Logan says.

“He definitely does, especially the chocolate,” Patton reassures him as he looks up at his boyfriend. When they’re not wearing shoes Logan’s only two inches bigger than him, but when they are wearing shoes Logan’s a whole five inches taller. It may not seem like a lot, but to Patton it is.

“Where are your parents?” Logan asks. “I thought they were going to be here.”

“There was an emergency at my dad’s company and they couldn’t make it. They want Virgil to spend the night next weekend.”

“Will Virgil want to go there?”

“Probably not, he thinks they’re pretentious, and he’s not exactly wrong. However, they are his grandparents so he should spend time with them.”

“Does Dean know?”

“Yes, he also thinks he should go.”

“When are you going to tell him?” Logan asks as he grabs a soda can.

“When the party is done.”

Logan nods his head before getting a glass cup and filling it with tap water. He takes a sip and tries not to make a face. Tap water is nasty.

♡

“Hey, Virgil,” Patton says as Virgil starts to walk up the stairs.

Virgil stops in his tracks and looks at his dad. “Yeah?”

“Grandma and grandpa weren’t able to come to the party.”

“I noticed.”

“They want you to spend the night at their house next weekend.”

“Ew, why?”

“Because they love you, and because you’re their grandchild,” Patton explains.

“But, Dad-”

“You’re going. If you want I can ask if Roman and Remus can come as well so that there will be less attention on you, but I can’t promise anything.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

“No problem. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Virgil says before walking upstairs. 

Previous, Next.

[freyjaiam]

Part of ‘Frey’s 12 Days of Ficmas’

03: Peraltiago: The Battle of Turkeys

Holidays were always chaotic for Amy. She just wanted them to be perfect. She always made a plan and did her best to stick with it so that there was no discord. If one thing went wrong it rocked her. She did her best to keep it cool, her friends and husband always there to try and ease her nerves in a way her parents never could when she was younger. However, being married to Jake was a new pressure she hadn’t dealt with before. Her husband didn’t have many fond memories of any holiday. She wanted to change that. Which was why she was up at four in the morning opening her binder to start the day. She had many pieces of the puzzle already in play.

Gifts?

Wrapped and under the tree her and Jake decorated on December first. Half of Jake’s were decoys because she knew he was impatient and did his best to guess what she’d gotten him by shaking and “accidentally” opening gifts. Socks, underwear, and other random things were under that tree. His real gifts were safely stashed with Rosa, who would be bringing them at dinner. Save for the one gift she still had to pick up before the dinner started.

The table?

Already set. She’d been up until midnight making sure it was perfect. She’d researched many websites, magazines, and even watched some daytime television to get these ideas. Her colors were traditional. The plates each had a little sheer giftbag coordinated with the person assigned to that seat. Gina had promised her that she’d get the flowers for her centerpiece, but since Amy knew Gina liked to sabotage her due to thinking it was funny she also bought extra flowers which she had in the fridge to keep them as fresh as possible.

Alcohol?

Alcohol is a must for parties. Especially with the precinct. Jake’s parents were also coming. Not Amy’s. They decided to visit her brother this year. Her and Jake had bought some and everyone else attending said they would bring something as well. Needless to say it wasn’t going to be a dry party.

Food?

Amy had a slight fight with Charles about the food. She knew she wasn’t a great cook. Despite her promise to always follow the recipe, and despite Charles having gone to the store with her to make sure she had all the ingredients for everything she said she wanted to make, he still insisted on coming to help cook. All Amy could think about was the food truck fiasco where both her and Gina quit because they weren’t cutting the bread right. She didn’t want a hospital visit this holiday, and she knew if Charles was in the kitchen with her she’d probably stab him in the face with her best kitchen knife. So they eventually agreed to split the side dishes in half. She would be in charge of the potatoes, gravy, and green bean casserole. They argued over the turkey. He finally relented but she knew that sneaky sonuvabitch  was making his own turkey to bring here. She just knew it. The little attention whore was probably hoping she’d fail so that he could take the credit for—

“Okay, Amy, focus,” she said outloud with a shake of her head. “You got this. Just…” She checked her watch. “Just under ten hours until people start to show up.”

She went to the fridge to pull out the turkey that she’d taken out of the freezer and—

“Oh… Oh no…” She set it on the counter and it thunked. “WHY ARE YOU STILL FROZEN?!”

.

.

.

“JAKE!” Jake bolted up from bed. His heart was racing and his hand went over it as he looked at his wife. He instantly knew something was wrong due to the wild look on her face. Well that and the giant nicotine patch he saw on her forehead. He hadn’t seen that since their wedding. “We have an emergency!”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“We have more important things to worry about than your heart, Jake!”

“Ouch. Okay. Hurtful. But okay.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just really freaking out, because I already messed up this morning. Jake, the turkey is frozen. Frozen! There is no way I’m going to get it thawed out, in the oven, and ready in time for dinner.”

“Can’t we just, I don’t know, put it in the oven to thaw out?”

“No Jake, that is how you get raw turkey in the middle and dry and burnt turkey on the outside. I’m a disaster in the kitchen but even I know that! I need your help!”

“Okay,” he crawled out of bed and walked to her. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Breathe Amy. We got this. We’re a team, now, remember?”

“Yeah.” She took a calming breath. “Jake, what are we going to do?”

“I’ll put on some pants and find us a turkey. Shouldn’t be too hard since its still early. Right? I mean, corporate America cares more about making the extra dollar now than taking a holiday off for their employees so… I’m sure I’ll find something.”

“Thanks. I’ll start the other stuff but… Please hurry.”

Jake slipped on a shirt, shrugged on his jacket, and found his wallet and keys. On his way out the door he didn’t ask once about the turkey wedged in the microwave that was destroyed due to the door being on the kitchen floor. He just hoped to God he found a turkey before it was more than just the microwave receiving a beating from Amy today.

.

.

.

“Jake? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, nooooooooooooo—-Hey Charles!” Jake spun around to see his best friend. “Just picking up a few things we forgot.”

“Really? But I went shopping with Amy the other day. She should have everything.” Jake hated the almost gleeful look that came upon his best friend’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” insisted Jake.

“Then why are you here?”

“I told you-”

“No, nope, not buying it,” said Charles, hands on his hips. He was practically bouncing on the heels of his shoes. “Something is up. I can smell it.”

“Well… Get your nose checked. Because we’re fine!” Jake then decided to flip the tables. “Why are you here?”

“Amy said I could make a dessert so I’m making pecan pie. All the extra hours we got this week I couldn’t make the trip until now…”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you went shopping with Amy this week?”

“I did.”

And there it was. The small hiccup. The slight catch of breath, the way Charles slightly adjusted his brown tie, something was up with him. Jake didn’t know what it was, but he was the best damn detective in the city, so he was going to sniff it out.

“Oh? Then why are you here? If you went shopping with Amy then you should have everything you need as well. So, Boyle, why are you really here?”

They stood, face to face, waiting for the other to break. They stood like that for a good minute before Charles cleared his throat and backed off. They silently regarded one another and then separated. Jake sighed a sigh of relief when Charles exited into the pasta aisle. He then made his move. He went down the cookie aisle, knowing Charles would be following him. He knew his friend, and he knew he’d be watching. He took a sharp left down the the dairy aisle, apologizing to the woman whose cart he ran into when he was too busy looking to see where Charles was. Little did Jake know, Charles was doing the same thing, and they both froze in slight surprise when they met again near the turkeys.

“Aha! I knew it! Something is wrong! She messed up the turkey already, hasn’t she?!”

“What? No! I’m just…”

“Oh save it, Jake. I know you’re covering for her.”

“Okay, then why are you here?” Jake raised an accusatory finger at Charles. “You’re here for turkey, too. Aren’t you? You promised me you wouldn’t interfere with Amy’s turkey!”

“My toes were crossed, Jake, no promise was made!”

“Dammit. I forgot about your freakishly long toes,” muttered Jake. “Rookie mistake. Next time I make a promise with you the shoes come off, Buddy!”

“Admit defeat, Jake. I’m going to make the best turkey, and you can’t stop me,” said Charles, showing his ugly side, but Jake could get ugly, too. “I knew she couldn’t do it. I was going to just let the chips fall where they may but decided that swooping in with the better turkey would be better.”

“You know what?” Jake grabbed a turkey. It was perfect. And not frozen at all. “There will be no swooping today! Amy and I are going to make the best turkey. Better than any dry piece of meat you’ll have to offer!”

Charles gasped, then snagged his own turkey. “All have you know my turkey is moist and delicious and it will beat the pants off of your turkey! So bring it, Bitch!”

Challenge accepted.

Merry freaking Christmas.

.

.

.

“Amy! Amy we need to…” It was quiet. Too quiet. Jake locked the door and timidly made his way to the kitchen, hoping she was ok. Amy wasn’t there. There was a pile of potatoes, half peeled and half not. There was also a bag of green beans on the counter. He set the turkey in the sink because he remembered something about a turkey needing to be in the sink from his mother. It was now eight in the morning. They had six hours. They needed to get this bird in the oven. “Ames? Where are you?”

It was then he realized she wasn’t there. He pulled out his phone and texted her that he was home with the turkey. He saw her start to reply, but no message was sent. Did she not trust him to do it? Had she thought he’d fail at getting them a turkey? The thought hurt a little, but he couldn’t let it get to him. Not yet.

Because he had to beat Charles.

How hard could it be to make a turkey?

He removed the plastic and only puked one when pulling out all the guts from the ass of the turkey. Thankfully he made it to the trash can. He threw the guts over his vomit and then took out the trash to remove the evidence of him yaking in the bin. Twenty minutes later he heard the jangling of keys in the door right after he finished cramming stuffing back up the ass he’d just pulled guts out of.  He was washing his hands and talking as he heard someone approaching him from behind.

“Amy, not cool, where have you-” He turned around and the woman in front of him wasn’t Amy. She had long, brunette hair, blue eyes, and was smiling nervously while wringing her hands before placing them in the back pockets of her jeans. “You aren’t Amy.”

“Jake…” Amy stepped into the kitchen. She had an easygoing smile as she approached him. She took his hand then tugged him forward a little closer to the mystery woman. “Jake this is Victoria. Your half-sister.”

“My…” He looked her over once more. She had Dad’s nose. “Oh.”

“Um… Surprise?” said Victoria before letting out a nervous laugh.

“Um, yeah… Hi!” Jake eagerly opened his arms for a hug and she gave him one. She was tense at first but relaxed slightly before he pulled away. “Victoria, huh?”

“Vicki, please, only my mother calls me Victoria and usually that’s when I did something pretty bad,” she said with a laugh.

“Right. Right. So, where are you from?”

“Minneapolis, Minnesota originally but currently living in Fargo, North Dakota.”

“Oh, you don’t sound like—”

“Yeah, trust me, not everyone from there talks like the people from the movie,” she said with a laugh. “Everyone from that town hates that damn movie.”

“Right,” said Jake, chancing a look to Amy, who loved that movie. She seemed unphased about it though. “Fargo sucks. I mean, if you want a good movie, then the one to watch is Die Hard, right?”

“Let me show you where to put your stuff while Jake processes,” said Amy, gesturing toward the hall that lead to the spare bedroom, shaking her head at Jake’s poor attempt to see if his sister liked the movie he loved. When she returned she wrapped her arms around Jake. “Hey… Doing okay?”

“How… When…”

“I kinda went over your notes, and babe we really have to work on your organizational skills, but I managed to track down Vicki with the help of your dad. Um, I didn’t give him a heads up about her being here today either. But she wanted to meet you. More than him. Um… She’s never met your dad so…”

“That’ll be interesting.”

“You’re okay with this?” she asked, her eyes searching his.

“What? Are you kidding me? I love it. I’m just surprised you kept the secret that long from everyone or that no one found out. Wait… Did you fake a turkey emergency to get me out of the apartment or…”

“Oh, no, the turkey is a disaster. I really did need a new one that wasn’t a solid brick of ice. But I see you got one, and started it, thanks Babe.”

“Yeah, about that…”

Jake filled in Amy about meeting Charles at the store. Suddenly, gone was the bubbly woman he loved and in her place was a demon ready to suck the soul out of Boyle’s body and place it into the fiery pits of hell.

“We need to destroy him,” she said flatly.

“Okay, but it’s Charles,” said Jake. “The guy can cook. And let’s be honest, the two of us can barely manage not burning a pizza in the oven.”

“Yeah, but we have a secret weapon,” said Amy with a grin.

“What is that?” asked Jake as Vicki entered the kitchen.

“Hey, Vicki, I was just telling Jake that you are part owner of a restaurant up in Fargo,” said Amy, giving Jake a slight nudge.

“Oh, really?” said Jake, a sneaky smiling on his face as he pressed his fingertips together.

“Okay. I’ve only known you both for a couple hours but I can see something is going on,” said Victoria. “What’s up?”

“Well…”

.

.

.

Charles felt pretty damn smug. His turkey was perfect. Along with the cranberry sauce and desserts Amy asked him for after their little fight over cooking dinner. He also made some sweet potatoes, just to be safe. Oh, and some fresh rolls. He nodded to Rosa who had a sack full of gifts as well as some beer. The girl she was dating, the one she met on Jake and Amy’s wedding day, was with her parents instead. Their relationship being new Rosa had turned down the idea of meeting her parents on the holiday and instead decided to celebrate with her second family.

“Charles.”

“Hey Rosa! What’s with all the gifts?”

“None of your business.”

“Okay, okay…”

“What’s with all the food?” asked Rosa, nodding toward the bag. “I thought Amy was cooking.”

“We decided to split the cooking duties this year.”

“Uh huh… But wasn’t she making the turkey?”

“Well… I figured—”

“You went behind her back and made your own, didn’t you? Bad move Charles. Though I approve because it’ll be funny to see Amy annihilate you when you come in the door with it.”

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later,” said Charles as they got to the door. He knocked and it was Jake who answered. His face stern as he looked at Charles. “Hello, Jake.”

“Charles.”

“Ugh,” said Rosa, shouldering her way in with her stuff, avoiding the standoff at the door. She nodded to those who were there. When she noticed a new face she turned to Amy with a questioning look.

“That is Victoria,” said Amy, taking the bag of gifts. “Jake’s sister.”

“Holy crap,” said Rosa. “Well that’s a surprise.”

“Yeah, he thought so, too. Thanks for keeping his gifts. Glasses are in the kitchen for drinks.”

“Okay. Hey, just a heads up, Charles-”

“Oh, I know, Jake told me. Don’t worry. We have it handled.”

Rosa had to admit. It smelled damn good in the kitchen when she got her drink. She also noticed the perfectly cooked pies cooling on the counter top. She smirked at that, remembering Charles saying something about cooking the desserts. Rosa poured her drink and went into the living room to ready herself for the fireworks.

.

.

.

“Oh, Charles, sorry. I had no room for the turkey in the oven,” said Amy. “Your sweet potatoes went in there though. They fit just fine.”

“That’s ok, Amy, my turkey will be fine sitting out for the next couple minutes. Since it’s done and perfect. Oh, I saw the pies. Where did you buy them from?”

“I didn’t buy them,” said Amy with a smug grin. “They’re homemade.”

Charles scoffed at that. “Oh, please, no one here will believe that.”

“Ohhh, but it is the truth,” said Jake, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “They are homemade. My sister made them.”

“Kate?” asked Charles. “Well now no one will eat your food. There will probably be glass in it!”

“No, not Kate,” said a woman Charles didn’t know, hands on her hips and her eyebrow quirked. Charles instantly disliked her. “Me.”

“Charles, I’d like for you to meet my sister Vicki. She is a co-owner to a wonderful little restaurant and OUR FOOD IS GOING TO WIN! In your face!”

“Oh, bring it, Jake. My palette is superior in every way. I’m going to wipe the floor with you!” Charles then quickly shifted gears. Because since she was Jake’s sister he totally loved her already. “My name is Charles, I’m Jake’s best friend, it’s really nice to meet you by the way–-Now get ready to suck it!”

“Wow,” said Vicki as Charles marched out of the kitchen area. “He’s… A lot.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s very intense. Maybe a little insane. But he’s my partner and best friend aside from Amy and means a lot to me so hopefully we can get along after all this.”

“Who cares. I just want to win,” said Amy, taking another drink for herself before announcing that dinner was ready.

Jake’s dad had cancelled. Which was fine with Amy but heartbreaking for Jake so she supported him with a half hug. Vicki wasn’t too sad about the dad she never met not showing. Surprisingly she got along really well with Jake’s mother and Kevin, the both of them very curious about her business at home. When it came time to carve the turkeys Amy and Charles faced off at opposite ends of the table. Everyone got a helping of each turkey. From the looks of it Amy and Vicki’s looked better. But looks weren’t everything. They took their seats. Amy cut her toast in half so that the eating could start, and then she just watched. Everyone seemed happy with all the food and that made her feel better by a lot. The turkey was what mattered the most. Charles tried to say she cheated by not making it. Vicki intervened by saying she never touched the turkey and only gave guidance while making the pies.

That had shut him up.

“Okay, you have to settle this for us, who had the better turkey?”

“Must we really?” Kevin sighed before sharing a look with Vicki. “I must warn you. This group of individuals are always involved in some inane quarrel about who is better at what.”

“Competition is healthy, Kevin, and I must say that Santiago had the best turkey,” said Raymond Holt. “Properly cooked. Properly seasoned.”

“Hah, suck it Charles!” sneered Amy.

“I pick Charles,” said Gina.

“Oh you would,” scoffed Amy. “Just like I knew you wouldn’t bring the flowers.”

“Get off my back, Amy, damn!” said Gina before grabbing her wine.

They all went around the table. It was close. Charles was ahead by two before they got to the last of the guests. Rosa picked Amy as did Jake’s mom, which rocked Charles because apparently he’d been trying to butter her up all night. The final vote came to Kevin and everyone looked at him expectantly. He sighed, finally relenting, placing his cutlery down before pondering his decision.

“I’m with Raymond. Amy had the better dish.”

“YES!” Amy cheered before standing up and starting her celebration dance.

“NOOOOOOOO!” shouted Charles at the same time, hands slamming on the table and rattling everything on it.

“Hey, can we get some pie now?” asked Scully.

“We saw the pies cooling on the counter and if you make us wait any longer we may just burn the place down,” said Hitchcock.

“This is the best Christmas ever,” said Rosa, laughing at Charles losing it once more when his pie was bypassed in favor of Vicki’s when he tried to say his pies would be better than hers—then losing tremendously.

.

.

.

Everyone was gone. Vicki was in the guest room getting ready for bed. Amy was putting the last of the dishes away when two arms wrapped around her middle. She smiled, hands settling over his as he hugged her tightly.

“Can I say this was probably the best Christmas I ever had. Meeting Victoria at the top of the list and then beating Charles in the Battle of Turkeys. Also, present decoys? Nioce.”

“I’m glad you’re happy,” she said turning in his embrace so that she could wrap her arms around him fully. “I’m sorry your dad didn’t show.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

“Hey-oh. Sorry,” said Vicki, who’d come into the kitchen. “I’ll come back.”

“No, no, we’re cool. What’s up?” asked Amy.

“Well I’m not quite tired yet since it’s only nine where I’m from. I was going to ask if you all wanted to watch a movie or something.”

“We… We could watch Die Hard,” said Jake almost breathlessly.

“Oh, yeah. That’d be good. I like that movie.” said Vicki. “Just let me take my contacts out!”

“Oh my God I love her,” said Jake as she left, making Amy laugh. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers for a quick yet satisfying kiss. “I love you, Ames. Merry Christmas.”

“I love you, too. Merry Christmas.”

END

[datauthorress]

Ashes of Night [Chapter 1: The Man from the Past]

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character

Summary: A young college student stumbles upon a man from the past, right in her very apartment. The man doesn't know why he's suddenly 119 years in the future, but maybe this is a second chance at a better life.

Warnings: Some strong language, some nudity and one confused cowboy.

The only thing that Shelby wanted to come home to was her animals, and then settle down and give them all the attention they needed. Her landlord, Mrs. Parish, had greeted her back home with a hug and a container of baked chocolate chip cookies, which she knew were Shelby's favorite. Shelby had been out of town for a couple of days for an interview on her new novelette, and it had been a very good couple of days.

Mrs. Parish had been more than happy to make sure Shelby's pets were watered and feed. Shelby owned two; a black cat named Kirby, whom she had rescued off a highway in the middle of a storm, and an albino ball python that she affectionately named Ghost, due to his color scheme. He was quite the sweet reptile, and loved people. He had been born in captivity and Shelby absolutely adored snakes, so she adopted one to give him a wonderful home.

As soon as Shelby walks up to the second floor to get to her apartment, Mrs. Parish greets her with cookies and mentions that she heard a thud from her apartment a couple of hours ago. Shelby deduced that Kirby had more than likely knocked something over, or was running around like a crackhead.

Boy, she had been clearly wrong.

As soon as she had stepped into her apartment, she had been aware of the motionless form lying in the middle of her living room. It was a man, and a rather stocky one at that. He was sprawled out on his back, a black hat lying on it's side not to far from him. He appeared to be in his late 30's, with a full head of thick, light brown hair that nearly seemed blond to her. He had facial hair, though not too much and wore a blue plaid shirt with dark brown overalls, with brown cowboy boots and what looked like a bandanna around his neck. There was a worn satchel around his torso, and she was startled to see a silver revolver in a holster on his belt.

Where the hell did this guy come from?

Shelby knelt down, sitting on her knees beside the unconscious man. She scrunched her eyebrows and leaned down a bit, tilting her head so she could see if he was breathing. She waited a few moments and finally heard a soft breath come from the man. So he was alive, and he didn't look injured. Very dirty, but not injured. She sat back up, her eyes trailing down to the revolver at his hip.

This stranger could be dangerous. Looked dangerous.

She complemented calling 911, but this guy looked like he came straight from the late 1800's, so the man would probably freak out if he realized he was in a jail cell, with no memory of where he was. Shelby sighed quietly and slowly reached down, curling the fingers of her left hand around the handle of the revolver. She checked to see if the man was awake and when he hadn't even stirred, she carefully pulled the weapon away from the man's hip. She let out a quiet sigh of relief and stood up, glad she had taken her boots off so the thudding of them on the carpet wouldn't wake the man up. She wrapped the gun up in a thick towel, and hid it underneath the couch, for now. She quietly ventured to her bedroom down the hallway, where she grabbed a couple of ties from her closet and went back out to the living room. She used the thick cloth tie his wrists together firmly, but not tightly enough to cause any damage. She took his boots off and cringed at the smell, before tying his ankles together.

Better safe than sorry.

Shelby then proceeded to drag the man by his shoulders onto the couch, making sure he was comfortable in his position. She sighed quietly, grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch and draping it over his prone form.

Kirby meowed softly as she hopped onto the couch, sitting down next to the man. “Think you can keep an eye on him while I feed your brother?” Shelby asked, and got a meow in response. “Thank you, sweetie.”

She took the next few quiet moments to straighten up a bit, grabbing Ghost's food out of the freezer. She walked over to the reptile tank and cooed as she opened the top. “Hi, baby. I got you some food. Yeah, I know...I missed you guys too.” she smiled, as Ghost slithered up a bit, bumping into her hand. “Here you go, baby.”

Ghost took the food gladly and she closed the top, letting him eat.

At this time, she heard a soft groan and glanced over to the john doe. He was stirring, his body moving slightly. She went over to him and stood about five feet away from him, as the man's head snapped up and his eyes opened.

Shelby was met with a pair of steel blue eyes, which chilled her to her very core. She swallowed thickly, before she spoke.

“You awake, buddy?”

The man blinked once, twice, before he glanced around, surprise evident in his eyes. Kirby meowed, her tail moving from side to side and the man looked down at her, before blinking once more. He then finally turned his attention to Shelby.

“Where am I?” the man asked, his accent deep, thick and rich. It was something Shelby hadn't expected, but she didn't let her guard down.

“My apartment.” she replied. “In Plymouth, Indiana. It's the summer of 2018, June 4th.”

“2018....?” the man muttered.

Shelby waited for a moment, looking around to see if she could show him the date. She remembered she bought a newspaper this morning, so she walked over to where her bag was hanging by the door and grabbed the newspaper out of it. She flipped it to the date and approached the man, showing him the date.

“Well.....shit.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked, tossing the newspaper onto the coffee table. “Your attire isn't really suitable for this day and age....late 1800's?”

“1899, if I remember correctly.” the man spoke, reaching up with his hands, and then just now realizing his hands were bound. “Why am I tied up?”

“Well, when a man appears from out of nowhere in my apartment and has a weapon on his person, the owner of said apartment is a little cautious.” Shelby replied. “And before you ask, yes, I took your revolver. It's hidden right now.”

“Are ya going to report me to the authorities?” he asked, steel blue eyes looking up into her own hazel ones.

“No.” Shelby replied, shaking her head. “You got a name?”

“Everyone's got a name, kid.” the man scoffed quietly. “My name is Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur Morgan? Why does that name sound familiar...? Shelby thought, scrunching her eyebrows. She held up a hand and went over to her backpack, rummaging through it and getting out the notebook she was looking for. She rummaged through the used notebook, soon coming upon the little project she had started earlier in the year. “Arthur Morgan.....Morgan....” she muttered to herself, getting out a small pile of newspaper clippings and pictures. She flipped through the pictures until she came upon a drawn picture of a man that fit Arthur Morgan's face.

Once she deemed the picture the right one, she walked over to the man and placed the picture close to his face. Same face structure.....

And the name at the bottom of the picture was what sold it.

“You're really Arthur Morgan.....” Shelby said softly. “Same face structure, eye color, hair color, everything...”

“Well, who else the hell would I be?” he drawled. “What's that in yer hand?”

“A drawn picture you, from the 1890's.” she replied. “Supposedly....you died from tuberculosis in 1899-”

“I did. I contracted the god awful disease from a diseased farmer and died from it.” the older man replied. “So.....this situation may be...”

“That you somehow got sent 119 years into the future, and here you are.” Shelby finished, putting the paper back with the others. She took the blanket off of him and grimaced, knowing she was going to need to wash it now. “Mr. Morgan, 2018 is a very different era from where you're from....things are very different now. I suppose, for now, I'll let you stay here until I can figure out what to do.”

“Yer letting a complete stranger stay in yer home?” Arthur questioned, arching an eyebrow.

“Where else can you go?” she asked, reaching forward to undo the cloth around his ankles. She undid his wrists next and took a few steps back, just in case he decided to attack or anything. When he didn't, she relaxed a bit. “Mr. Morgan, my name is Shelby Hartford.”

“Alright, Miss Hartford-”

“Uh....drop the miss, please. Just call me Shelby.” she said, a bit uncomfortable with the 'miss'.

“Only if ya call me Arthur.” he said, standing up.

Damn, he was taller than she thought. Shelby could only assume he was almost a foot taller than her, since she as only five feet, five inches. “Sure. Okay....um....” she paused for a moment, rubbing her hands together. “You need to clean up.....no man is going to be staying filthy in my home. I'm a neat freak.”

“I can't 'member the last time I took a well-deserved bath.” he mused.

“Alright, then. We'll get you cleaned up, and then we'll discuss rules for you staying here.” she nodded, motioning for him to follow her.

Shelby guided Arthur to the guest bathroom, letting him know where things were. She plugged the tub, and started the water, feeling it before setting it to a very warm temperature. She put a bit of bubble bath in it, and turned around, only to quickly cover her eyes when she realized the man was half-naked, and getting ready to take his overalls off.

“You could've waited until I was out of the room!” she exclaimed, keeping her eyes covered as a blush stained her cheeks.

“Girly, where I'm from, women don't shy away from a naked man.” Arthur's voice caught her ears.

“Shut up and just get in the tub.” she grumbled, keeping her eyes covered.

There was the rustling of clothing, and then the slight breeze as the man walked past her. She heard splashing and after a moment, uncovered her eyes. She refused to look towards the tub, and grabbed a large, fluffy towel from the small cabinet next to the sink. She placed the towel on the rack next to the tub, and spoke, while getting out some body wash and shampoo that her brother had left here.

“I don't have any clothes for you, so I'll have to wash your clothes until we can go shopping.” she spoke, placing the body wash and shampoo on the edge of the tub. “Which will probably be tomorrow. I'll have to measure your torso, waist and get your shoe size. Also.....no overalls. You can wear them tomorrow, but after that, no more. Overalls aren't really a thing anymore.”

“Way t' kill my style, kid.” the older man joked.

Shelby rolled her eyes. “Just call for me when you're done.”

She left the bathroom, picking up the filthy clothes before Arthur could say another word, closing the door behind her. She sighed quietly, before she made her way to the living room and set the clothes down with the dirty blanket. She walked over to Ghost's tank and lifted the hood, cooing as she reached in to pick up the snake. He immediately bumped into her hand as she lifted him out of the tank, holding him up to her neck. He slithered up to her neck and around her neck, resting his head just on the right side of her neck. She rubbed his head gently, and went back over to the clothes, picking them up. She tossed them into the washer and put some soap inside, then started the washer for a medium load.

Shelby went into the kitchen, searching for something to eat. It was only 5 PM, so she was hungry. And she was sure Arthur was hungry as well.

“I wonder if he's ever had spaghetti...” she mused. “What do you think, Ghost?”

Ghost flicked his tongue out and Shelby nodded. “Spaghetti it is.”

She grabbed out two jars of Prego sauce and mixed them in a deep pan, putting some spices into the sauce. She mixed it together well, before she allowed it to heat up and cook. She never realized that Arthur had walked out into the living room, with only a towel wrapped around his hips.

“Hey, kiddo, I was thinkin'.....is that a snake?!”

Shelby yelped and jumped, quickly turning around and felt heat creep onto her cheeks again. She slapped her hands over her eyes. “I told you to call for me!”

“Why is there a snake around yer neck?!”

“He's my baby!”

“Snakes aren't pets! Are ya goddamn crazy, girl?! Gimme that reptile!”

That drew the line and Shelby grabbed up her cast iron skillet, holding it threateningly. Arthur stopped a mere ten feet away from her, staring down at the young woman before him. The python around her neck lifted it's head up, flicking it's tongue out.

“Don't you touch Ghost.” Shelby warned. “In this century, snakes can be have as pets. Especially pythons. Pythons are sweet creatures who done no harm, except crush their prey.”

“Exactly! And you have it around yer neck.”

“I've had Ghost for two years now. Not once has he ever tried to hurt me.” Shelby said. “I adopted him from a pet store and gave him a better home than they ever would.”

“Okay....okay, jus'....put the pan down.” Arthur said, holding a hand out in defense.

Shelby eyed him for a moment, then put her skillet down. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just....gimme a sec. I'll have to give you a blanket for now.”

After calming down, Shelby grabbed a blanket out from the hallway closet, throwing it onto Arthur. “Cover up with that for now. Your clothes won't be done until later, and I don't have any underwear for you, so tough it out, cowboy.”

“Kid, I've been toughin' it out for years.” Arthur said back, wrapping the blanket around himself, and sitting on the couch. “What the goddamn hell is that....thing?” he asked, pointing to the television.

“It's a television.” Shelby replied, walking out of the kitchen and grabbing the remote. She turned the television on, and switched it to the sci-fi channel. “Watch the shitty b-rated movie while I make dinner.”

“Back in my time, movies were sure as hell not like 'his.” Arthur drawled, scrunching his eyes at the weird screen.

“Well, you're not in 1899 anymore, Arthur.” she sighed.

Arthur went quiet afterwards, his attention focused on the screen. He seemed....actually quite interested in it. Something about a winged, red-eyed creature going after some kids. Over the next hour, Shelby would occasionally glance over to the man on her couch, finding this whole situation just a complete weird-ass dream. She had to be dreaming, right?

Eventually, Kirby stretched out next to Arthur, flopping onto her side. Arthur had questioned about Kirby and Shelby answered, 'she likes men'. Arthur didn't seem to mind, and would occasionally pet Kirby's belly.

Shelby closed her eyes and rubbed her face.

How the hell was she going to deal with this?  

[writing-in-the-impala]

St Louis: Part 1

Pairing: Rob Benedict x Reader

Series Summary: A lake house, a high school reunion and a fake girlfriend with a real crush, what could go wrong?

Warnings: Fuff, angst, just a emotional rollercoaster.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: This will either be a short mini series (10k words/ 2 parts) or if you guys like this I’ll make this longer. I know this is aa ‘fake girlfriend” trope that is done all the time but I love to mess around with it.

St Louis Masterlist

You were packing your bag to go to a holiday lake house in St Louis, Missouri. You were flying out there to go see your friends and spend a week with them there while, Rob whose house it was went to his high-school reunion. You were on the phone to Rob while packing getting some last details.

"So the address is 32 Ladue Mdws, SAINT LOUIS, MO 63141." Rob said leaving time for you to write it down. "Got it?"

"Yep." You confirmed.

"Okay so when you, Kim and Briana arrive me Rich and probably Osric will already be here, the house has five bedrooms."

"Wow." You said.

"I know it's amazing, anyway there isn't a pool but it's a lake house so there's a lake, hm what else," Rob thought.

"What's the sleeping arrangements?" You asked.

"So I'm sleeping in one of the rooms alone and Rich is sleeping in a room alone, Kim and Bri have a double room, Osric is sleeping in a room with Matt and your sleeping in a room with your friend umm.."

"What you can't remember my best friends name because she isn't in Supernatural? Does that mean you forget who I am?" You teased Rob.

"hmm what your name again?" Rob asked playfully.

"I'm gonna get to Missouri and I'm gonna slap you." You said.

"Wait, wait I remember who you are, your Y/N Y/L/N , you've been my best friend for what like three years now? You have a tendency of hitting my shoulder whenever I say anything to offend you, when you wake up every morning if you don't listen to music you have a terrible day, you love supernatural conventions, you started watching Supernatural because you wanted to understand what's going on at the convention s and then you got obssesed, your-"

"Okay, okay Robbie you proved it you know me, wow you could write my autolbiography-"

"Well biography auto means that you-" Rob began correcting you.

"Anyway I need to pick up Charlie, yes that's her name," you said changing the topic.

"I- I know her name, I just forgot it, we hang out with her a lot, I mean it was my and Rich's idea to invite her along too." Rob interjected.

"I know, I know, any way I really have to go I need to go pick Charlie up and then meet Kim and Bri at the airport and then we're all coming to your house for a major sleepover."

"Okay talk to you soon, have a safe flight."

"Thanks, talk to you soon." You say hanging up.

The four of you arrived at the lake house around 1 am, you were meant to arrive earlier but your flight was delayed. A tired Rob opened the door, your eyes drifted over his whole body and you internally kicked yourself for it , over the past year it's been a habit to check Rob out but you couldn't let yourself, he was your best friend you weren't allowed to have a crush on him, of course no one but Charlie knew about those feelings so thank god you kept it secret.

"Hi girls, come on in." He said in a groggy voice. "Any drinks, food?"

"Rob it's 1 am we all just want sleep." Kim said walking in first.

"R-right I'll take you all upstairs to your rooms I'll show you around tomorrow." And then Rob took you to your rooms, before going back to sleep.

The next morning you woke up quite early, you went downstairs looking for the kitchen, still in your pyjamas which were booty shorts and a vest, you found the kitchen easily and then took out your phone and played some music on shuffle quietly while you made some coffee. You turned around to find Rob was standing in the door way.

"Morning." You said with a smile.

"Good morning." He replied. "How come you're up so early?"

"I slept on the plane and at the airport so I wasn't actually tried."

"Ah okay, I wish I could sleep on planes but with Rich it's hard to."

"You guys really are a old married couple." You stated picking up the coffee that finished brewing. "Coffee?"

"Please." Rob said, he was also wearing his pyjamas matching top and trousers.

"You look like such a dad." You said handing him his cup of coffee and sitting down at the breakfast bar opposite him.

"How so?"

"You sleep in a matching shirt and pants."

"Well if I'm a dad I'd tell you to put more clothes on because otherwise Rich will perv on you." He said and quickly you thought did Rob check you out? "L- Like I- we both know Rich is the type of guy to perv on someone so like beware." He said and you thought of course Rob didn't check you out how stupid are you he's just looking out for you.

"Yeah but it gives me a self esteem boost." You said and both of you laughed.

"Hungry?" Rob asked hearing your stomach make noises.

"Very much so, I haven't eaten since yesterday morning."

"Wow let's eat breakfast then." Rob said standing up. "What would you like?" He asked.

"What do you have?"

"Umm.." Rob thought looking in the fridge. "Nothing, I guess someone needs to buy groceries." Rob said returning to his seat.

"Damn, if you want I can go I just need to shower first." You suggested Rob thought for a bit.

"That would be great we can go together, I'll need to shower and stuff too so why don't you finish your coffee I'll go get ready and then you can get ready ect."

"Sounds good." You said and Rob went to get ready. By the time both of you were ready some people were already downstairs looking for something to eat.

"Okay Y/N and I are going to buy food any request?" Rob asked Kim , Briana and Osric.

"Beer," Briana said.

"Alcohol," Kim added.

"Food." Osric added.

"Okay, bye guys." Rob said. You guys took the rented car - that you all chipped in for to have a car this week - and went to the closest large grocery store, the car ride was mostly comfortable silence you and Rob listening to the radio. It was nice because you both have a similar music taste so there was never fights over what to listen to. When you got to the store you walked around picking up different food items, you were at the meat section and Rob was picking stuff out, you picked up the bacon and put it back in the freezer. "Wait why?" Rob said slightly offended.

"Follow me." You said and he did so you walked over to the fruit section, you picked up a melon and walked over to Rob who was watching you while leaning on the trolley. "Smell this." You said holding it up to his nose and he gave you a "mmm" while smiling.

"Now can I have the bacon ?" He asked with an adorable look on his face.

"Nope," you said putting the melon in the trolley. "Because bacon is bad for your heart." You said poking his chest. "And plant based diets have been proven to help unclog your arteries and help prevent , heart disease, cancer and diabetes while bacon causes Cancer, meat causes diabetes ect and I'm not letting you have another stroke Mr, so instead of bacon for the next week you're eating healthy breakfasts." You said proud of yourself that you are taking care of Rob.

"Thanks for looking out for me, what would I do without you?" Rob said sounding suspiciously sarcastic.

"Be bored out of your mind." You said turning around to pick some other fruit up as Rob laughed. Then all of a sudden Rob felt somebody poke his back.  "Robert! Fancy seeing you here." The tall man greeted him.

"Jeremy? Oh my god it's been forever, how are you man?" Rob said to his old high school buddy giving him a hug.

"I've been good, are you coming to the reunion?" Jeremy asked Rob.

"Yeah, actually it's the reason I'm back in town." Rob explains you shyly walked back to him and put the fruit in the trolley. "We're just here for some groceries, Y/N this is Jeremy a old buddy of mine." Rob said to you.

"Nice to meet you." You said shyly shaking the mans hand and then standing next to Rob or more like hiding behind Rob because meeting new people is all kinds of anxiety.

"Likewise, I've gotta say you two are cute together, I saw you two earlier with the melon and the first thing my wife Susan said was aw they're cute and then I realised it was you Rob." Jeremy explained and you smiled shyly waiting for Rob to explain you guys aren't together but instead Rob put a arm around your waist pulling you closer to him and said "Thanks, she's been trying to make me eat healthy, I'd die without her." Rob said with a chuckle looking at you with his signature grin and you laughed shyly. Jeremy said his goodbye's and you and Rob finished off shopping not talking about the incident, later in the car after spending $350 on only a week groceries you were in a comfortable silence when Rob spoke up. "Y/N..." He started unsure.

"hm?" You replied.

"I- I I have a question... Actually a favour to ask .... Well most people from my high school got married, and have kids or are engaged or something while me , nothing, can you come to the reunion with me and pretend to be my girlfriend?" Rob asked you looking at you for a second before returning his attention to driving.

"eh Rob, you are a successful actor and musician, everyone will be jelous of you already, but umm sure I'll be your fake girlfriend." You said wishing the word fake wasn't part of that sentence. You looked over at him and he was smiling as he said. "Thank you."

---

The next day you woke up early however this time Charlie was awake too, you promised her last night to explain what happened with Rob but you didn't have any alone time until now.

"Morning." You said turning towards her.

"Hey, okay tell me." She said.

"What?"

"The Rob thing."

"Right, okay so: we were buying food and this guy from his highschool came up to him and said that we were a cute couple." You said sitting up.

"Right is that it? I waited for hours for that?"

"No, Rob like didn't deny we are a couple and then in the car he asked if I will be his fake girlfriend for the reunion." You said.

"Oh no." Charlie said fully aware how this will affect your feelings.

"So I said yes." You said not making eye contact with her.

"No, no, no this will destroy you."

"I know." You said looking at the floor.

"Why are you doing this to yourself? You're just hurting yourself pretending that you guys are together when you're not." She whisper shouted at you.

"I know, I know, but this is the closest I will ever get to being with him, and maybe being his fake girlfriend will be awful which will destroy my crush meaning that only good comes out of this bad situation." You tried to reason.

"No." Charlie said. "You know you're just lying to yourself."

"What am I meant to say Charlie? There's nothing I can do, he doesn't like me, I wish he did, but he doesn't, he gave me the opportunity to date him for one afternoon of course I'm gonna take it." You explained standing up and picking up clothes to go take a showing change into them.

"Your just being pathetic." Charlie said.

"Conversation over." You said walking out the room.

"You're pathetic Y/N grow a pair." Charlie shouted behind you.

"Yeah love you too." You shouted back not realising that both Rob and Osric were standing hearing the shouting since you left the room.

After you took a shower you put on some shorts, a T-shirt and a checkered shirt on over the T-shirt. The shirt used to belong to Rob months ago but when you once mentioned "this outfit would look good with a checkered shirt." He gave you his and told you to keep it to make that outfit look better, you wore it with loads of outfits because it looked good.

You walked downstairs to the open plan kitchen and living room where you saw Osric, Charlie, Rob and Rich sitting around the whole area. When you walked in Charlie got up from her seat at the breakfast bar that was opposite Osric and made a B- line for you.

"What do you think you're doing?" She whisper shouted at you leading you back to the hallway away from everyone.

"Getting some coffee and breakfast." You said in a normal voice.

"You know what I mean." She said whisper shouting still.

"No I don't Charlie." You said slightly pissed off.

"You're fucking wearing his shirt, it's like you're trying to hurt yourself." She whispered less aggressively showing you that she just cares for you.

"So? It's my life Charlie! So stay out of it." You shouted too loud.

"Y/N I'm just trying to look out for you seeing that you're behaving like a fucking child." Charlie said matching your volume now you were sure everyone could hear.

"You know what I'm done!" You said harshly turning around and going to put your shoes on.

"Y/N-" Charlie tried to reason with you.

"No, I'm done all I wanted to do is drink some coffee and you're harassing me about this since I woke up." You said tying your shoes.

"I'm not harassing you I'm trying to be a voice of reason because you are behaving recklessly!"

"Sure whatever." You said standing up and walking out the door.

You walked sulking to yourself, you didn't know anyone here it was okay they could see you crying. You walked for about twenty minutes before walking into a park, it had the usual stuff, swings, a slide, a sand pit and a climbing frame however if you walked on a bit there was a skate park. You decided to sit on the top of the half pipe. You took a little run up to not fall trying to sit at the top. You sat there, legs hanging off the edge as you lay back starring at the sky.

Only minutes past, you're eyes blood shot with tears, you hated yourself for liking Rob it made everything so much harder, you were shocked when you heard a little sprint, you sat up to see Rob slip trying to get to the top of the half pipe, he got himself up as you giggled slightly and finally successfully got up and sat next to you not saying a thing.

The two of you looked into each others eyes, Rob looked slightly out of breath, but neither of you said a thing, you shut your eyes tight not allowing yourself to cry anymore, your biggest crush is sitting in front of you and you can't kiss him, hug him do anything because you're friends and the worst thing ever would be to loose this friendship.

Surprising you Rob put his arms around you pulling you in, your head being buried on his chest as he held you tight and placed his chin on your head, you felt safe for a second before remembering this is just a friendly gesture because you were sad. Rob still didn't say anything he just held you as you cried a bit into his chest, when he realised your crying again he said "shhh, you're okay." In the most calm and gentle tone, following it up with "shh, shhh everything will be okay, just please stop crying baby." Your heart paused "baby?". Rob's heart also pause as he thought "shit, shit" he wanted to call you his, he wanted to be affectionate with you but he knew you're never going to be more than his best friend, after all he is nearly double your age, he isn't the most attractive guy and you even hesitated on being his fake girlfriend. He carried on shushing you and telling you it'll be okay until you finally stopped crying but stayed in that one position.

"Rob?" You quietly asked.

"hm?" He chimed.

"How did you find me?" You asked.

"Well I knew you like to go to parks and sit on the swings so I sprinted to the closest park I knew of, and you weren't on the swing so I decided to walk around the park and I noticed you here." He explained.

"Thank you." You simply said hugging him tighter, before letting go and pulling away. "I'm sorry I soaked your shirt." You said looking at his chest that was stained with your tears.

"It's okay." He said giving you a gentle smile. "Are you okay?" He asked as you two sat next to each other looking down at your feet that were hanging over the edge.

"I'm better than I was."

"What happened?" Rob asked.

"Well, Charlie said something I did was reckless, it was but I wanted to do it, so she tried to protect me but I'm dumb and I ruin everything and ugh I just, I messed up, my head's messed up, it's all a mess." You explained best you could.

"Well I think you're a cute mess, come on I know something we can buy to make today awesome, instead of miserable." He said casually.

You and Rob went to a shop that was nearby and bought loads of pool floaties, you carried them all back home and as soon as you got back you started to blow them all up.

"What's going on?" Osric asked walking into the living room.

"We're blowing up loads of floaties." Rob casually replied.

"Mhm, we can see that Robo the question is why." Rich chimed in.

"For the lake." You answered.

"We're all going to go out on the lake and just have fun." Rob added.

-- When you got changed into your red bikini and got outside most people were already there. Rob, Matt and Osric were all in the lake while Charlie, Rich and Briana were on the side, Charlie reading a book, Briana and Rich sunbathing.

When Rich noticed you walk outside he whistled. "Y/N you look amazing, red is your colour, doesn't she look smoking Robbie?" He shouted.

"Y-yeah she looks great, come on in the waters  warm." Rob shorted from a float.

You were happy they couldn't see your face clearly as it was burning a bright red that matched your swimming costume. The water was in fact warm. When you got in the water it was feel so you decided to swim towards Rob's float and flip him. You approached slowly as he was relaxing now looking up at the sky, when you were close you were ready to flip him but Rob was clever and knew your plan all along so he was able to splash your face with water. That made you retaliate, you decided you'd jump and attack him off of his float, it lead to him falling in the water pulling you under with him, when you both swam up you jumped on the float at the same time as he did, leading to Rob lying on top of you faces inches apart. The two of you froze.

"Now this, this is comfortable." Rob said making you giggle.

"Get off of me you're heavy." You complained while you giggled.

"Oh so you'd prefer to be top, huh?" Rob said suggestively ending by chuckling.

"Ye- uh, no, fuck." You said laughing along with Rob.

"Now I'm intrigued what the answer is." Rob said still laughing.

"No answer." You simply replied.

"Only one way to find out eh? Let's take this to the bedroom." Rob chuckles winking at you and you laughed thinking that this was too much for you . You pushed him off playfully, into the water before submerging yourself in to, when he swam up he saw you swimming to the edge of the lake. You got out the water picked up a towel and went inside without a word. Charlie was watching this interaction and decided to stand up and follow you inside.

She found you on the bedroom floor crying. "Y/N, it's okay, please don't cry." She said wrapping her arms around you.

"No, you don't get it I can't do this it hurts too much." You whispered.

"I know, I know that's why I wanted to stop you earlier, that's why I said this whole trip was a bad idea." She was still comforting you.

"Thanks... I just," you said moving to sit normally without her hugging you as you drapped the towel over your own shoulders so it could supply some warmth. "The best I've ever had is just a daydream of my dreams, but I want more, but I can't have it , and I don't know how I cope with this." You explained.

"Tell him, maybe, see if it's mutual and if it's not you'll know that it won't work removing that little bit of hope."

"No, I don't want to, I like that hope, but I don't like my feelings."

"Just ignore it? I don't know pretend it's all fake feelings." Charlie suggested and you wiped the tears out of your eyes.

"I'll try." You sat there thinking, in silence just looking at the floor as Charlie looked at you when there was a faint knock on the door. Both of your heads snapped and Charlie stood up to check who it is. "Oh hi Rob." She said opening the door and you looked at him instead of the floor, he was still in just his swimming trunks.

"I'm sorry am I interrupting you guys?" He asked

"Oh, I was just leaving." Charlie said walking out the room. No one said anything for a moment and then Rob sat down opposite you.

"Hi." He said with a small smile.

"Hi." You replied with a shy smile.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." You answered unsurely.

"Are you sure , this is the second time you walked away I'm starting to worry."

"Don't it's just me being stupid."

"Did I- I upset you somehow because-" You could see how genuinely worried he was that he might've upset you and it made you fall even more.

"No, Rob you didn't do anything wrong."

"You sure?"

"Positive." Rob stayed some time changing subject as you two sat and talked until Osric came looking for Rob because Rich broke something downstairs.

"You coming down or staying upstairs?" He asked from the doorway.

"Well I need to get dressed so I'm not walking around in a bikini and then I might come down."

"I like your current attire." He said chuckling and sending you a wink.

"Rob!" You shouted throwing a pillow at him. "You pervert." He laughed raising his arms in a surrender before walking out. You got changed and then sat down on your bed breathing out deeply only five days left.

Part 2 | More Rob

TAGS (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @waywardswain @supernatural-everyday @winchestergirl-13  @livingthelifeofafangirleverday @natasha-cole @girl-next-door-writes @itsfunnierin-enochian @rblstrash @shanghai88

[theoutdoorpursuit]

A Virgin Tip To Alaska

The Last Frontier, a vast wilderness tucked between Mother Russia and our friendly Canadian neighbors up North. It certainly didn’t feel like America, yet they spoke the language and happily accepted all of my American Dollars. To say the 49th state was unique would be a vast understatement, nearly as vast as its endless vistas. I grew up in the Appalachians, hiked the Rockies, yet these were but foothills compared to the monstrous Alaskan peaks. I put my boots on the ground, ate and caught my fair share of halibut, searched for Grizzlies, and soaked in the never ending sunlight. Here are my takeaways from a first-timing Alaskan Tourist:

Float Planes Are A Way of Life

Researching Alaska months prior to my visit, I had every intention of riding a Float Plane through the mountains and landing in one of the endless remote glaciers in Alaska’s wilderness. After an 8 hour flight across country from Atlanta to Anchorage, my desire to leave the earth had left me and it wasn’t because of the lack of access. The hotel we stayed at in Anchorage backed up to the busiest Float Plane lake in Alaska. Non-stop, throughout the day, planes cruised back in and took back off out into Alaska’s unknown. I can only imagine the views and the bumpy ride that entailed on one of these $100 dollar four hour excursions. 

Alaska is a sportsman’s paradise and almost all hunters and brave anglers reach their remote destinations by Float Plane. We learned that on a typical five day hunt, a plane drops off a group and are informed to draw an “X” in the sand if they need an early emergency pickup. A plane would fly by once a day. No phone service. No one else around. It doesn’t get much more primal in today’s world than a backcountry Alaskan hunt by plane.  

The Sun Never Sets

We arrived into Alaska during the first week of June which means one thing, The sun “set” at 11:15 PM and rose at 4:00 AM. But here is the kicker, the sun never truly set. It merely dipped down behind the mountains. It’s always light out in Alaska in June. Our first night in Anchorage we ate dinner at 7:30 PM… 11:30 PM at home. I struggled to keep my eyes open as I nibbled at a halibut burger, while the sun, high in the middle of the sky, taunted me as if to say “We’re just getting started buddy.” One morning, we left for a fishing trip at 3:15 AM and it looked as if the sun had been up for an hour. I’d advise looking into a hotel or cabin that has black out blinds or at least purchase an eye mask because the constant light was quite detrimental to the sleep cycle. I couldn’t help but wonder what the winters were like as they would be the opposite, dark nearly all day long. Talk about intense seasonal depression. I guess the light is better than the dark, but I had never been so excited to see the sun set as the day I returned home and climbed into bed. 

Grizzlies are Tough to Find… Moose are Not

The animal I wanted to see the most… from a distance, the ever elusive Grizzly bear, was not sighted. I saw plenty of black bear, but the majestic beast on every Alaskan postcard was nowhere to be found. I took the bear spray everywhere I went, even on the two mile hike in the backyard of the ski resort, looking like quite the tourist with a camera around my neck and a bear spray canister holstered to my hip. Thankfully, no bear spray was discharged in the making of this trip. 

Now what was surprisingly everywhere was the Alaskan state animal, the Moose. These things are the equivalent to white tail deer on the East Coast. They’re on your hiking trail, in suburban backyards, and terrifyingly close to the roads. The major Alaskan highways are lined with ten foot high fences to deter Moose from coming in contact with a car, which would not be a pretty sight as these beasts can be well over a thousand pounds. We certainly drove with caution as every few hundred yards a Moose crossing sign warned of potential danger. Go for the Grizzly, see a hundred Moose, as they say.

Everything is Far, Hence the Planes

Anchorage, where we stayed the first part of the week, was fairly convenient. It’s a normal, small sized city which has about 300,000 inhabitants, half the population of Alaska. While in Anchorage everything from restaurants to grocery stores was an easy 20 minute drive. Everywhere else in Alaska is a haul. We drove 8 hours total one day from Anchorage to Denali, 2 and a half hours to Kenai, and then a combined 3 hours of driving to our fishing trip in Seward. We put many of miles on the rental car and while normally traveling long distances after you’ve already traveled long distances is devastating, the scenery and roadside wildlife made the road time worth it. It’s no wonder planes are abundant. I saw but a small sliver of the massive state and felt like I drove the distance of my home state of Virginia. If you want to see it all, you’ll have to see it by air.

Pictured Below: While Alaska is vast, one doesn’t have to go far for an adventure. In the heart of downtown Anchorage, anglers can hook on to world class Salmon passing through the states largest city.

It’s Never “Warm” In Alaska

I left the balmy, Southern, 90 degree temps of Virginia, excited for some cooler weather in Alaska, but of course I underpacked on warm clothes. I wore my only sweatshirt every morning. The highs in Alaska during June are in the low 60’s, however the mornings were a chilly 40 something degrees. On our morning drive to our fishing adventure the car’s thermostat read 35 degrees. Nothing says summer vacation like long johns, a winter beanie, long sleeved Under Armour, and a rain jacket over top of a sweatshirt as a desperate attempt to keep in warmth. Again if this is what it was like in the summer, I cringe to even comprehend a cold, dark Alaskan winter. At first thought, conversing with our firstmate who had made the move from Virginia to Alaska, I was jealous, until I remembered this poor sap had to endure the cold for likely 9 months of the year.

Everyone Leaves With A Box of Fish

Enter into the Anchorage Airport and people all around you are hauling their catch in foam coolers. It is a sportsman’s paradise after all. We learned that freezing your catch and checking your cooler as a carry-on for $25 dollars is the most cost efficient method to get your harvest back home. Shipping frozen meat can add up quickly at over $6 a pound. We ended up with close to 40 lbs of halibut and after two days in our cabin freezer it easily made the 10 plus hour journey home in a foam cooler, still mostly frozen when we arrived at our house.

Don’t Drive To Denali Without A Camper And Couple Days to Spare

Mount Denali. “The High One” 20,000 feet of mountain, the tallest in North America. You can’t go to Alaska without seeing Denali right? That was our thought. Four hours there, four hours back. The drive itself may be worth the road time. Following adjacent to the mountains with Denali in the background was a scenic view unlike any other. However when we got there we soon found out that you could only get so far in your own vehicle. Only about 15 miles are available to personal vehicles, the rest of the vast national park has to be seen from a registered camper or tour bus. 

Fun fact: At least a few backcountry backpackers get lost every year in Denali and have to be rescued, searching for the “Magical School Bus” from the popular book and movie Into the Wild. 

“The Magical School Bus” was not in the sights of our day trip so we settled for one of three possible hikes. Albeit limited, the trail we hiked, “The Savage Alpine Trail” was possibly the coolest hike I’ve been on. 1,500 feet of elevation in a four mile hike was a workout, but the views were truly unbelievable. Near the summit we spotted a lone Dall Sheep which paid no attention to us as we climbed within a hundred yards of the rare beast. The hike, accompanied with Caribou and Sheep sighting, made the long day trek worth it, but a return trip to Alaska’s most infamous park will entail a multiple day trip into it’s never ending backcountry.

Everywhere You Look, is A Desktop Background

Since returning home, I’ve had many people ask me to explain what Alaska was like. It’s difficult to put into words how truly breathtaking the country is; you simply have to lay eyes on it. No words, picture, or 4k video would do it justice. From the plane ride into Alaska to driving around Anchorage, the surrounding setting is something unimaginable. The mountains touch the sky, the air tastes pure, its as if your walking around in a National Geographic documentary, constantly. 

I bought a DSLR camera before our vacation, I needed something more than an Iphone to capture this trip. While I got my fair share of solid pics, it became increasingly frustrating throughout the week as every turn on the road provided an image worthy of a Desktop background. You know the picture I’m talking about, pre-loaded on your computer, annoying beautiful to the point you wonder if such a place actually exists. I snapped away and each night I’d fume over which photos to keep. They were all, “Instagrammable.” Bring a camera and several memory cards.

[zoebechtle-blog]

Unlikey Chapter 6

At Niall’s insistence, I let him take me home. Paul was pissed that I was missing quiz night for the second week in a row, a fight not being a reasonable excuse for abandoning him and not defending our honor. He let it be known that if I missed next week he was breaking up with me for good. I kissed his cheek, and when I went to lift my head, he whispered, “I love you. And if he hurts you again, know they won’t find his body. I’m from Lincolnshire. I know hog farmers.” This boy watched too much true crime TV. I gave him a second kiss (God, I couldn’t have found a better gay boyfriend) and assured him that if that was the case, I’d help him.

Leaving, we encountered something new for me. Two girls, probably nineteen or so, stopped Niall as we walked out of the pub. One looked absolutely starstruck, mouth agape (girl, I feel ya), and the other took charge, asking questions. They verified his identity and let out little squeals. He sweetly hugged them both and took the selfies with them himself because their hands shook too much to hold the phones. I dug in my bag with my left hand, and retrieved a small notebook and pen I always carried, and thrusted them at him.

“Here, so they can have your autograph, too.” The shocked girl smiled at me and whispered a thank you. I gave her a thumbs up.

The ride to my flat was fairly quiet. I tried to give him directions, but ended up thoroughly confusing him. He put my address into his navigation system and let it lead the way. I was hit with a bit of who he was - his fame and his wealth (and that we didn’t really exist on the same planet) this evening. I was pretty sure this SUV cost more than my entire post-secondary education (six years, if you’re keeping track).  The seats were made of leather so soft that I wanted to rub my cheek against them. Casually, I did. When he turned on my seat warmer, I let out a little moan.

“Like that, huh?” He sided eyed me at the stoplight, giving me a cocky little grin.

“Mmmm. A warm ass is a great thing.”

He shook his head and kept up his smile. I think we both knew what he was thinking. And it was on my mind, too. Unable to meet his eye, I watched London pass by out the window and tapped my feet to the music playing.

“Who is this? I really like it.”

“It’s good, right? My mate Bressie’s band, The Blizzards. Big back home.”

“Bressie. He commented on your Insta the other day, didn’t he?” I knew exactly who Bressie was. I’d almost licked my phone when I saw his picture. Big, tall, and muscular, he was every crush I’d ever had wrapped up into one. And it might be fun to see where Niall stood.

“Yep. One of my best buddies.”

“He’s hot.” I side eyed Niall and caught his jaw drop just a hint. “Like really, really, hot. He should have auditioned to play Superman.” He gripped the wheel a little tighter, and it was everything I could do not to laugh out loud. “I’d hit that like the wrath of God.” He had a cute little vein in his neck that bulged, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer, shaking with laughter. “You’re a little green there, punkin’.”

“That wasn’t nice. Thought I was going to have to beat up my own friend to win your affection.” He gave me a relieved smile, and I grinned back at him.

I had warned him that parking near my flat was a challenge. Having never owned a  car in London, I didn’t quite grasp how annoying on the street parking was until now. The only time I rode in a car I was usually picked up or dropped off. Niall circled around twice, muttering to himself.

“You can just let me out,” I offered. I wasn’t really sure what his plans were, and I didn’t want to impose on his time. “My flat is a mess anyhow and I fear I might scare you away if you see what a disaster I am.”

“Not possible.”

“No, really. It’ll be like that old episode of Full House when Danny goes on a date and gets back to the girl’s place and there are clothes and food everywhere and he about has a coronary. I’m trying to save you.” And now this seemed kind of real and I was more than a little terrified.

He chuckled. “Are you comparing me to Danny Tanner? I’m totally a Joey and Uncle Jesse hybrid.” Oh snap, he knows his Full House. “I’m not that much of a neat freak.”

I scoffed, “Dude, I’ve slept in your room. I creeped your closet. I’m terrified of your anal retentive wa-Stop!”

He slammed on the brakes, both of us jerking forward a bit. “Old Man Flannigan is walking to his car,” I gestured wildly behind us. “It’s the red VW.”

“Shite, it’ll be gone by the time we can get around the block again. This street is too narrow for me to let him by so I can back up.”

“No problem.” I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door as Flannigan flipped on his headlights. “I’ve got it. Go.” I motioned him to leave.

“Z, I’m coming inside with ya, I’m not leaving you here.” Flannigan had pulled out and was behind us and honked his horn, looking as annoyed as ever.

“No, dummy. I’m going to save the space. Go around the block again.” I rolled my eyes at him and shut the door, walking back and giving the old man behind us my biggest, fakest smile. He flipped me off. I stood in the empty space and waited for Niall to come back around, waving off people who thought they could slide in. It had gotten chilly, as it’s prone to do in mid-March London, and I danced around trying to warm myself a bit. My hand throbbed and had swollen to what felt like an Incredible Hulk sized fist, and there was going to be a lovely bruise, but I could move it so I figured I was okay. When the black SUV approached, I raised my arms and shook my hips, turning in a circle. He shook his head and rolled down the window.

“Move, ya nutter.” Surprising myself, I blew him an exaggerated kiss that he caught and pretended to rub on his lips. I waited on the sidewalk as he maneuvered into the space.

“Ya know, there’s something undeniably sexy about a man who can parallel park,” I informed him as he got out, hopping from foot to foot to keep my blood flowing.

“Really? You should see me do a three point turn.”

“Dirty talk.”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulder as we walked the four doors down to my building. “Ya cold? Your jacket isn’t very thick.”

“Freezing. Let’s get inside.” He pulled me closer and I rested my head on his shoulder.

I’d considered making him wait in the hall for ten minutes while I did a quick sweep through, but honestly, I didn’t have that much energy. And I was one handed. To know me is to love me, and part of that is my propensity for leaving a trail of my belongings anywhere I’d been. And to realize I wasn’t going to do the dishes until they smelled.

We went inside and he looked around, as you do in a new space. It wasn’t as messy as I feared (I’d gotten ready in a flash this morning, having accidentally turned off my alarm). There was, however, a bra lying on the kitchen table. A very large, very red lace bra. Our eyes landed on it at the same time, and I dove to retrieve it, stuffing it in my purse as he let out a hyena laugh.

“So this is my place. Grand tour - kitchen is there, this is the living room, bathroom is back there, and the magic happens there,” I pointed to my bedroom and gave him a half smile. “By magic, of course, I mean sleep.”

“Yeah. Course.” He wiggled his eyebrow and shot me a wry smile. “Let’s get you some fresh ice, yeah? You’re swelling up pretty good.”

“There’s a bag of peas in the freezer. Could you grab them for me?” I toed off my boots as he walked into the kitchen. I watched him walk in and open the fridge and felt my heart squeeze just a little. This is the first time, other than the pub bathroom and hallway, that we had ever been in a space alone. Trying to control myself, I walked over and turned on my “chill” playlist (creative at naming such things I am not). “Beg, Steal, or Borrow” by Ray LaMontagne filled the flat as I walked into the kitchen.

“Are these your nephews?” He motioned at the picture on the fridge of me with three golden haired boys, tucked among various invitations and save-the-dates as he handed me the peas.

“There’s beer in there if you want to grab some,” I told him, reaching into the cabinet and getting out a bottle of ibuprofen. “And yeah, those are the boys. Jack is the oldest, Sam in the middle, and Charlie is the little guy I’m holding. That’s a from Christmas a year ago, the last time I was home.” I accepted the bottle of Harp he handed me and I passed him the medicine bottle. “Could you open these for me, please?” He handed me three and I washed them down with the beer. We stood awkwardly, both leaning against the counter. I faced him, truly appreciating how handsome he was as he swallowed his drink, his lean body in skinnies and a comfy looking blue henley. Something about his Adam’s apple moving caused a definite clench in my pants. And his profile was amazing. He might just have the world’s most perfect nose, and those lips. It took a hundredth of a second for me to imagine, for the umpteenth time, kissing them and how’d they feel on any and every part of my body.

“You’re starin’,” his deep voice interrupted my dirty thoughts. Shit, he caught me. “What’s going on it that mind of yours, Zo?”

Jeff Buckley sang about lilac wine in the other room, and surprisingly my flush wasn’t as bad as it could be. What the hell, might as well go for it.

“I was thinking about you.”

“Yeah?” He turned his body towards mine, and stepped closer. “I’m right here. Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“I’ve told you about my most embarrassing experience (falling down a flight of stairs in my prom dress in front of the whole senior class), how much I can’t stand my brother, why I love my job, and all that. I know your fear of needles, all about the first time you got drunk, and why you’re never allowed back in that hotel in Tokyo. We’ve shared more than I have with some people I’ve been with for months. And we’ve never kissed.” Your move, Horan.

I’m happy to say that he took the gauntlet I’d thrown down. Before I could close my mouth completely from my last words, his hand was behind my ear and the other arm wrapped around my waist. His lips were every bit as soft as they looked, and his breath was warm. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and I opened slightly for him. I could taste the beer, but also a touch of mint, like he’d been chewing gum earlier. It was sweet and my god, I never wanted anything else. He made tiny little noises of pleasure, as he held me against the cabinets, his thumbs rubbing circles in their locations. My arms were around his neck, holding his head to mine with my good hand. I could feel his smile against my mouth. I hoped he felt mine, too.

We broke apart, and it took everything in my power not to climb him like a tree. I know my grin was goofy, but to be fair, so was his. Maybe even sillier than mine. His hand stayed behind my ear, anchoring my forehead against his. When he exhaled again, he let out a little laugh that warmed me down to my toes.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a month now. Christ, woman.”

Not one to ever do anything in moderation, ever (my ass can testify to that), I pulled his head back down for more. This time he was a little more forceful, pinning me with his hips, his left hand running down my side. My nipples responded to the electricity, and I pressed them into his chest. He groaned and sucked on my tongue. I was done. These underwear just went the way of the Titanic.

We ended up on the sofa, kissing like horny sixteen year olds. The little bit of scruff he had was rubbing my chin raw, but I had zero fucks to give. His weight on top of me was perfect, and I’d wrapped a leg around the back of his thigh. When Chet Faker’s cover of “No Diggity” started in the background, he raised his head and smiled, his eyes crinkling, showing his eye dimple, which I decided I wanted to claim as mine.

“Love this song.”

In response I started singing along. “...gettin’ paid is our forte, each and every day, true player way.” He joined me me, our faces inches from each others, so close that I could count the freckles on his nose and observe the lines in his forehead when he raised his eyebrows, both of us singing and laughing. The moment was something out of Nicholas Sparks novel, if he used folk covers of 90s rap hits as a plot device. I lifted my head and rubbed my nose against his, and whispered in my best phone sex operator voice, “Stroke. Stroke.” His peals of laughter had to be heard on the street. That noise was a high I’d never experienced, and I was going to crave it from there on out. I was hooked on this stupid dork to spite myself. I didn’t care about who he was or what he did. This guy on top of me, even if he was a street sweeper living in a van down by the river, could own me just with those eyes, that laugh, and his grin. What surprised me most was what he said next:

“You scare me, Z.”

Huh? To quote the man himself, I’m about as intimidating as a baby penguin (all bark and absolutely no bite). My confusion was written all over my face, and he ran his thumb across the furrow of my brows.

“I’ve already fucked this up once. I have no idea what I’m doing and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Okay. Don’t then. Don’t get in your own head. Let’s just be.”

Now if that isn’t easier said than done.

[nordics-out-for-harambe]

Anon requested more Nøkken!Norway, but with him sick because of pollution. I hope that you like this as much as the other one! Thanks for the request! (By the way, I’m pretty sure that the singular form of nøkken is nøkk. I searched and searched, that was the best conclusion I could draw from what I read) I hope that you like it!

True to his word, Mathias returned to the lake. He visited on a near-daily basis to sit at the water’s edge and talk. While Lukas had been tempted to pull the Dane in, he had resolved to accept that he was not really harmful. Besides, it was entertaining to listen to the man’s stories – no matter how annoying he was or how much he tried to flirt with him.

“Hej, Bright Eyes! Where are you?” Mathias had left Norway to visit his family in Denmark for a few weeks, so he had had to postpone his visits with his friend. Now that he was back, however, he couldn’t find Lukas.

“Lukas, come out buddy!” As he peered deeper into the water, he realized how dark and murky it seemed. Usually, even at night, he could see at least a few fish. An empty bottle floated past, a Norwegian beer logo just barely visible. “Mathias?!” An unfamiliar voice called out weakly from a nearby rock.

“Who’s there?” Mathias squinted and tried to see the pale figure. “Lukas?” The figure coughed and swam closer, revealing himself to the man. “Not quite, you’re Mathias, right?” Mathias knelt down to be more level with the pale, blonde boy. “Yeah, and what’s your name? I haven’t seen you around here.”

“I’ve been here, just not out. Y’know, underwater?” Mathias grinned with realization. “You’re Lukas’s little brother, Emil! Aw, you’re so cute!” The young teenager pouted, indigo eyes flaring with indignation. “I’m not cute! Anyway, that’s not important right now. Lukas is-“ He suddenly burst into a coughing fit, wheezing in between barks.

“Whoa, whoa! Take it easy! Here,” Mathias slapped the other’s back, trying to help alleviate the symptoms. When he could finally breathe, Emil tried to talk again, “Lukas…is…sick” he croaked. Mathias paled. “Sick? What do you mean? Where, where is he?!” Emil pointed to a cave on the other side of the lake, his breath still short. “Can you swim there? I’m going to walk around and I’ll meet you.” With that, Mathias ran to the nearby bridge. While running across, he barely registered the piles of floating trash underneath him.

The lake’s water ran into the cave through a small stream. Following the stream, Mathias found a small pool deep within the cave. Mathias slowly scanned with his flashlight, eyes adjusting to the dark interior. “Lukas!!!” There at the water’s edge lay the nøkk, his upper body collapsed on the bank.

“Lukas, talk to me!” Mathias picked him up and laid him on his lap, frantically searching for any indication of life. The nøkk’s usually pale skin had adapted a deathly pallor. Dark circles ringed his tightly clenched eyes, pain apparent on his face. Mathias only knew that he was alive when he laid a trembling hand to the creature’s neck to find a faint heartbeat.

“How long has he been like this?” Emil surfaced nearby and sighed softly. “He got really bad yesterday. We were both feeling a little off before, but you know Lukas. He insisted on taking care of me. When he came in a few days ago to check on me, he collapsed. I made him stay in here while I hunted and all that. It hasn’t gotten any better.” Emil began to hack again, but tried to contain the worst of the fit. “H-he said…it’s the water…”

Mathias stroked Lukas’s hair. “Can you guys be out of the water?” Lukas breathed slowly. “Yes, for a while. Maybe…a few weeks at most. But…we can’t leave it for too long.” Mathias bit his lip. “What happens if you’re out too long?”

“We can breathe oxygen fine and we even have legs…we just get depressed.” Emil turned hollow violet eyes upwards. “When I say depressed…I mean it. We need water. It’s like you and the sun. You need to be near some of it to be happy. You can survive without it, but you can’t really live. Without our lake…” Emil couldn’t look at Mathias anymore, tears falling into the pool below him.

“Alright, my house is just a mile from here. Do you think you can walk there with me?” Emil drug himself to lay on the bank by his brother, refusing to look at Mathias. “I..I can try. I haven’t walked before… Lukas does all the hunting…I’ve never been out of the lake.” Mathias stood, hoisting Lukas over his shoulder and securely holding him in place. Sure enough, he did have legs. “Here, I’ll help you along. You can lean on me.”

Emil pulled himself so that he was sitting on his knees, eyes wary and lip quivering. “…We’ll come back, right?” Mathias took the smaller nøkk’s hand, determination in his smile. “As long as I’m Mathias Köhler, you both will be back in this lake.”

For three days, Emil barely moved from his vigil beside his brother.  To help the young nøkk, Mathias had introduced him to indoor plumbing. The bathtub in particular piqued the boy’s interest. From that day on, Mathias could find him basking in the overflowing tub with an almost tranquil expression on his face. Sometimes he would simply run his hands under the running tap water in the sink. He would remain like that for hours, eyes distant and clouded.

Luckily for Mathias, the brothers ate fish as well as humans. Even more advantageous was the fact that Mathias could fish. He would leave at dawn and not return until dusk – covered in grime but always with a smile on his face. He brought Emil pollock, cod, whiting, and anything else that he could catch. The two always made sure to put some of the fish in the freezer for Lukas. “He’ll want some when he wakes up” The two would then look into each other’s eyes and know that they shared the same fear, yet neither dared to phrase it.

Finally, five days after leaving the lake, Lukas awoke. “E…Emil?” Beside him, Emil gasped. “Lukas...” He sobbed and clutched his brother, quickly soaking the blankets that they were wrapped in. “I thought that you were dead!” Lukas smiled faintly and wrapped his arms around him “Shh, it is alright. I am here now. Shh…”

A few moments later, the door swung open. “Emil! I brought some cod this time! Does Lukas-“ The fish fell on the table with a dull thud and Mathias ran to the bed. “Oh my God, LUKAS!” Now it was Mathias’s turn to sob as he collapsed on the floor beside the bed, clasping one of Lukas’s hands. “Oh my God, you’re here. You’re back! Oh my God…”

Lukas did NOT want to be cried over. “Mathias, I am fine. Let me sit up, I can do that much.” Mathias kissed Lukas’s palm (much to his outward disgust) and released his hand, a thousand-watt smile truly lighting his face for the first time in days. Lukas slowly sat up with Emil’s help, his head spinning. “Where are we?”

Mathias’s smile never wavered. “You and Emil were too sick to live in the lake, so I took you two to my house.” Before he could say another word, Lukas had gripped his throat with surprisingly strong hands. “You took us away from our lake?!?!?!” Mathias gargled, face turning violet.

Emil desperately pulled at Lukas’s hands. “Brother, it’s ok! He saved us! And he’s going to take us back, he swore!” Lukas paused in thought, loosening his grip. “You intend to take us back?” “Y-Yes!” the man choked out. “I’ve been cleaning the lake every day since I brought you two here! I couldn’t stand to see you two depressed, you need to be there!”

“You’ve been cleaning our lake?” Lukas fully released the man’s neck, eyes unreadable. “Yeah, I’m actually getting close to done. I think that it’ll be ready for you guys soon. The fish may still be sick…but I’ve been thinking that I can bring some healthy ones over from where I fish from. We actually have some cod and pollock in the fr-!” Mathias was cut off by a pair of arms clutching his shirt front.

“Thank you.” Mathias felt his shirt become soaked in a matter of seconds as the nøkk silently cried. He sat on the edge of the bed and cradled him, smiling fondly. “You’re welcome.”

A few weeks later, the nøkken and the man slowly made their way to the lake. Mathias was excitedly telling the two all that he had done to (in his words) “improve” the lake.

“I made sure to take out any fish that were swimming funny, those I just buried. If there are any that smell weird, don’t eat ‘em. Just gather them up and I’ll take care of them when I come by. You guys are really serious about your music, so I left some violin strings in the cave. You can’t miss ‘em, they’re right along the back wall. Oh! And I read somewhere that you guys don’t take well to silver, so I took the silver crosses that I found in the bottom of the lake. I figured that you guys would like to swim there again. Oh, and-“

They finally reached the lake. Emil and Lukas gasped, eyes becoming damp. “It…It is just like when we first came here…” The water was clear once again, the fish visible and swimming just under the surface. The empty cans and bottles were gone, replaced instead with floating baubles and bubbles. Lukas bent down and cautiously dipped his hand in the water. “It…it is beautiful.” Emil copied his movements, then dove into the lake. He stayed underneath for a while, surfacing again with a bubbling laugh. “Lukas, it’s better than ever!” He dove under again with another laugh, his eyes flashing with the excitement of a child on Christmas.

Lukas slowly eased his legs into the water, then a toothy grin spread across his face. He disappeared after his brother with a chortle. Mathias watched the two dancing underneath the surface, blinking a few times to get rid of the mist rising in his eyes.

Lukas returned minutes later to give Mathias an honest smile. “Thank you, thank you so much. We are both indebted to you.” “No, it was the right thing to do, you don’t owe me anything!” Lukas pulled himself out of the water and sat beside Mathias, eyes twinkling. “I owe you something.” The nøkk grinned lustfully and pulled on Mathias’s jacket. “Uh, Lukas?” “I have owed you this for a long time.” And with that, the water creature’s mouth was on his.

Moments later, Emil’s head appeared in the water nearby. “Ew, really you two? Warn me before you start making out.” Lukas broke from the kiss to half-heartedly glare at his brother. “Emil, stop being so dramatic.” Mathias’s usual grin had merged into a dopey counterpart of itself, his eyes clouded with love. “Lukas, c’mere,” he muttered with a giggle. He pulled the nøkk back for a second kiss, cheeks flushed. Lukas willingly gave into the kiss with a smile on his lips.

“I told you that I like your eyes.” “Mmm, and I told you that you were an idiot.” “Do you still mean it?” “…for loving a nøkk? Yes. For putting yourself in danger to take my brother and me to your home, then exhausting yourself by providing for us and restoring our lake?...yes.” Mathias sat back to protest, but Lukas tangled his hands in his hair. “Do I hold that against you? No. In fact,” he closed the distance between them and rested his cold forehead against Mathias’s warm skin. “I love you even more for all that you have done. You are the most valiant human that I have met in all my centuries of living.”

Emil smirked from below the couple. “Oh shut up and kiss him again, you’ve wanted to ever since you met him!” “Emil!!!” The nøkken dove under again, leaving Mathias to hoot with laughter.