#PLEaSE FORGIVE THE BANNER ITS BEEN LIKE A YEAR SINCE I MADE A FIC BANNER

[strxnged]

SKZ: # love letter

word count. 5.5k genre. comedy, platonic with a touch of f2l

overview. you find a love letter addressed to you sitting outside your dorm. by the time you realize it's not a prank, you're too caught up in finding your secret admirer to let it go. of the two plausible suspects, there's one person you'd really like it to be — and one you wouldn't. (uni!au)

warnings. 1: i thought it was hilarious. funny, even. so please read it and tell me if you laughed. and if it’s awfully unfunny, let me know that too. i guess it's bangchan x reader x changbin, but you'll have to tell me if that's an exaggeration. 2, i lost all my italics pasting this from google docs so some sentences may read not quite as intended if i missed them! 3, bangchan is addressed as chris for fun

You found the silence of the library stifling, almost exposing, and so instead it was your habit to sit on the wide front steps outside the entrance, as people occasionally walked past and supplied you with enough noise to keep you focused. You were so accustomed to the setting for studying, in fact, that you could notice from the temperature of the concrete what the weather would be like. They always had a sweaty, dewy feel on days that would be hot, and days it would rain they were cold enough to make your legs go numb.

Today, they were freezing. But you would not risk going inside. Your statistics homework would have to wait for you to read the letter you’d found outside your dorm’s door in the hall, presented carefully and clearly enough to be assumed intentional. The envelope was admirably calligraphed with no addressee but a “from your admirer” in the center that you could have sworn would have made it into a Victorian romance. You weren’t sure, at first, whether to open it. 

You were suspicious of things like this, especially at a university such as yours. Romance wasn’t discreet and suitors had no style. A love letter — if indeed the envelope contained what the embellishments suggested — was rarer than a party without alcohol or an RA on floor three without a stick up their ass.

Anticipation coursed through you as your finger ran under the fold, peeling the sealing off neatly. This in itself was a unique experience for you. Sealed envelopes were never quite… the same, after they passed through your hands. Perhaps the author was experienced at this. Perhaps they wrote them as an elaborate prank.

You took the tri-folded letter into your hands. It was typed — of course it was — in a small font with little spacing. Your eyes were dazzled by the number of words, and you were at once convinced that it was either not any kind of a love letter, or was meant for another’s eyes. Nobody could have this much to write about you in the context of romance. 

The letter addressed you inconveniently by your room number. All this could clarify for you was that it wasn’t accidentally placed at the wrong door, though there was still potential for a misinformed author on the resident of that dorm.

“Dear 310,

“I hope you were expecting this. I don’t mean to shock you.

“It will rain today, so I hope you remember to bring an umbrella. You’re the forgetful type. I would like to be the person to remind you of things, you know?

“I’m getting ahead of myself. I wanted you to know, in the case you hadn’t figured this out by this point, that I like you. I fancy you. I am very, very interested in you. But you aren’t in me, are you? I hope this can change. I hope you will keep your eyes off the floor and see me, someday soon. …”

A raindrop landed on the page, leaving a grey spot to distract your eyes. It would rain, and you would have forgotten your umbrella, of course. That was not indicative of the letter really being meant for you, but it did still unsettle you sufficiently.

You didn’t have a chance to resume reading. Your nerves got the best of you at the sound of a pair of heavy footsteps up the stairs, and you wasted no time restoring the letter to the envelope and shoving it between random pages of the textbook resting closed on your lap. The rain was beginning to pick up, now. You normally didn’t mind the weather unless it was wreaking havoc on your work, but the letter had made it a bit eerie.

The rain seemed to stop for a moment, and you looked up to realize a clear umbrella was being held over your head. For a whole three seconds, you froze, wondering if this was the admirer revealing theirself.

“Hey, idiot. Try looking at the forecast before you station yourself out here next time. You and Chris both, I swear.”

“Good morning to you, too, Changbin,” you said, standing up. You allowed the umbrella to cover you. You felt a sense of relief that you didn’t have to deal with awkward romanticisms of meeting the author.  “How was the gym this morning?” You considered telling him about the letter. You would have to finish reading it, first. Usually you told your best friend everything, but this felt a little fresh to be chattered about.

He flashed a dimple and clicked his tongue. “Worried Chris is gonna injure himself. My man is working the deadlift like mad, trying to catch up to my level.”

You giggled, looking Changbin in the eye as he winked at you. “Impossible. He should give up while you’re ahead.”

You processed the wink and froze, again. 

No.

Oh, please, no. 

As Changbin rambled — bragged? — about their push-day routine and the two of you set your course to the closest campus cafe, your head was working a mile a minute trying to make up proof that he wasn’t the author. It couldn’t be him. You had had enough bad luck with guy best friends going wrong, either from your end of theirs. It was always unreciprocated, enough times that it couldn’t possibly occur again. Changbin was the friend you told everything and complained about everything and spent your time off with. His dorm kitchen was basically yours, since neither him or Chris minded you bringing in your own ingredients and restoring their faith in oatmeal cookies.

Oatmeal truthing Computer Science Major and hip-hop truthing Sports Psyc Major, dating? You couldn’t lie. You hated the sound of that. Maybe you were both fairly introverted, and had similar senses of humour and all that. But that was perfect for you being friends. Just friends.

You realized you were clenching your teeth. You directed your attention to Changbin, trying to mentally drop the subject.

“I still don’t get why you don't study in the cafe,” Changbin was saying. “It’s never silent in there.”

The friendly door chime announced your arrival to the Java Day, and the bustle of students in and out proved his point well. But the reason you liked noise wasn’t necessarily for the noise itself, and besides, you had personal reasons for avoiding it. Ones that you would have to ignore for the eight-hundredth time, especially now.

Christopher Bang had no reason to be that adorable in an apron. Brown hair tossed over his left eyebrow, a smile glowing warmer than any drink in the venue. It nauseated you. You swore it was the adrenaline rush of him taking your order that woke you up for the day, not the coffee.

You hated that you even knew his schedule by heart, too. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays. All morning shifts. He’d work out with Changbin, go shower, and then by the time you got there, he’d be there, smiling behind the counter. It’s not like you knew all this because you were a stalker. It was because you had a crush on your best friend’s roommate, and the information was freely made available to you especially when you didn’t want it to be.

You couldn’t stand going to the Java Day by yourself on those days. When Changbin and Chris broke into “bro” talk, which was really no different than watching two girls giggle and talk about their weekend plans, you could safely order and sneak a few gazes without suffering from acquainted small talk. 

“Because,” you said, facing Changbin. “Every time I come in here, I buy something. I don’t have the money to buy coffee here more than three times a week, and I cannot study when we stop here together.”

“Then come without me. No, wait, I’d miss you…” He thought for a second. “Just… come in and don’t buy anything, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind…” He frowned. “Okay, maybe don’t do that.”

You were thinking the same thing. Bad courtesy. Could get you on the bad side of the baristas, and it would be fatal to get on the bad side of the employees of the best cafe on campus.

“Befriend Chris, and blackmail him into giving you energy bean juice for free.”

“In what world is that a better idea?”

“Come on. Is that not easier than sitting on the freezing stairs in November, accepting rain as your fate when it falls? He’s nice enough.”

“I can’t stop the rain from falling.”

“Oh yeah. And you certainly can’t change how you respond to it, can you?”

“What can I say? I’m stubborn.”

The two of you had reached the front of the line. “Why’s Bin calling you stubborn?” Chan asked with a smirk.

Changbin punched your arm. “Idiot doesn’t know what roofs are.”

“Hmm… Sounds like ignorance, not obstinance.”

“It’s a combination of both,” you defended. “Um, I’d like—”

“Coffee two cream?”

Frick him for knowing your order. You nodded, feeling a bit shy. “Yes, please.”

“And an iced mocha.” Changbin added.

You gave him a look of contempt.

“No, no, I’m paying,” he clarified.

“Yeah, I got that. But you’re getting an iced coffee in November.”

Chris was shaking his head behind the counter. “I think you’re both crazy. That’s eight fifty-five.”

As Changbin paid, Chris offered you a friendly smile, as if to say, Lucky!

You gave him a blank smile and averted your eyes. The way your ears flamed was irrelevant, now. Because why was Changbin paying for your drink today, right after that letter?

You still had to finish reading it. You would be able to figure it out, you were sure, once you finished reading it. You would have enough information to go off of, then.

As you took a seat with your friend at a table, you could hear the titters of girls who had been standing behind you in line. You couldn't quite make out what was being said but it shoved your head back into reality once again. Chris was a flirt on the job, whether it was intentional or not. A great business strategy. You had heard him a few weeks ago talking humbly about his earnings to Changbin in an attempt to convince him to apply to the Java Day.

“All you gotta do is make coffee the best part of their day, man. And you’re handsome, you’d win all their hearts in no time.”

“No way. Shut up.”

“Think about it.”

He hadn’t been successful, but it had made you imagine for about a week what it would be like to work alongside Chris. You might not have the charm capabilities to earn tips, but you could definitely make a cup of coffee. Reality hit you with your course load; your class schedule clashed with Chris’s work schedule, and there was no room for side jobs on top of what you already did. And with that, you also came to realize there was no room to chase someone way out of your league, too.

You were a realist. Romance was hopeless, if not impossible, for you. And that was why, no matter who it was from, you would read the letter and then forget about it.

—

The rest of the letter was, unfortunately for you, a great deal of meaningless romantic statements — about your eyes, your smile, your devotion to studying. Things that could really apply to anyone who studied in public. Some general statements about being too shy to ask you out in person — as any person writing a love letter might say. And a strange reiteration of something you must have said to this person, something that was vague enough that you had no way to believe it wasn’t you. The part that got you worried, though, was when suddenly went down a more uncomfortable route.

“I know you don’t have any roommates. That must be terribly lonely and quiet. I want to change that for you.”

The level of overall detail in the letter was both confusing and uncomfortable for you. It was more stalkerish than flattering. How did they know about your aversions to silence? And why did that remark have to come across so suggestively? You were also disturbed by the closing request to meet in person.

“I would like to talk to you in person, to apologize for this method of getting in contact with you and answer your questions. And then maybe you can answer mine. Would you fall in love with me too?

“If you’ll meet me, put this letter outside your door where you found it. Let’s meet tomorrow (Saturday) evening at eight, at your favourite place — the Java Day. It’s usually quiet by then, isn’t it?”

You hated it.

However, contrary to your conviction to simply forget about it, you did just as the instructions were asking. You knew curiosity would get the best of you. And, honestly, you were a bit invested in whatever was going on.

You had to have backup, though. You called Changbin, asked him if he was busy Saturday night.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your voice sounds weird. And you’re calling me almost midnight.”

“I’m fine. Just gotta talk to you about something.”

“I’m coming over if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

You considered this. “I’ll come to you and explain.” It would be easier if you both knew what was up.

—

“A what?”

“Changbin, please,” you said, trying not to laugh. “You heard me. So, will you do it?”

“You got a what?” he asked again, eyes wide and jaw dropped comically.

“Come on, Changbin, you gotta do this for me. Otherwise I’ll think it was you who sent it.”

“Ain’t no way…” he said. He was sitting backwards in a chair from the communal area’s table, and he leaned away from the chair back while holding onto it. “No way.”

“I’m hurt. You don’t think anyone’s capable of falling for me?”

He crooked his eyebrows at you. “No, I don’t think anyone on the entire campus is capable of that kind of class.”

He had a point. Still. “I wouldn’t call it class. It was kind of creepy.”

“It could be worse. You wouldn’t believe what happens to Chris when we go to floor four.”

You didn’t want to know what happened to Chris when they went to floor four. “I still don’t get why they put the partiers on the floor above the quiet floor.”

“I think it’s a scheme to make the students feel helpless. And set them against each other.”

“You know, you could be right. Back to the letter…”

Changbin smiled and looked you straight in the eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

“Here, I’ll show you. I will literally go get it, I just had it outside my dorm.”

You went into the hallway and scanned the carpet in front of your door. To make proving any point to Changbin harder, it was gone. It was very much gone. The carpet was devoid of any calligraphed envelopes and romantic notes. Damn, you should have at least taken a picture. You pursed your lips, looking the other way down the hall.

“Hey, Oatmeal.”

Chris. He was approaching his and Changbin’s door with a weird expression on his face.

“Hi,” you said.

“It’s pretty late. Why are you wandering the halls?”

“I… can’t explain.”

“You’re mysterious. Studying on the library steps, majoring in computer science, wandering up and down the hall late at night….”

“What’s the matter with computer science?”

“Mental torture?”

“Fair point. Listen, just get inside the dorm and I’ll explain. I was just… well…”

He unlocked the door, raising an eyebrow at you. “You were just…?”

“You found your love letter?” Changbin asked from inside.

Chris opened the door the rest of the way. “My what?”

“Oh, Chris! You won’t believe this.”

“My what, Bin?”

You followed him inside, made eye contact with Changbin who was on the verge of bursting into laughter, and looked sulkily at the floor as he started to chuckle.

“The hell’s goin’ on?”

“I can explain,” you said. “Just give me a chance.”

Changbin recovered and invited Chris to come and sit. “Where’ve you been, Chris?”

He sucked in his teeth, dragging over a chair to imitate his roommate’s position. “I was in the library studying for a Bio quiz on monday. They had to come over and tell me they were closing up.”

“Nerd.”

“Yeah, whatever. At least I’m doing my homework.”

Changbin pressed his lips together, unable to respond.

“So,” you said. “This morning, I was about to leave my dorm and head to the library—”

“Library steps, you mean,” Chris said.

“Oh, don’t start,” you said with an annoyed smile. “I was leaving my dorm when I found something on the ground. An envelope. So I went and I read it, and it was a love letter. And boy it was long—”

“Are you bragging?” Changbin asked.

“No! I just—”

“It sort of sounds like you’re bragging.” Chris said.

Your ears went red and you put the heel of your hands on your forehead to combat the response. “You guys are useless. Let me finish.”

“Fine. Sorry.”

“I’d love to hear more, but I had actually better get to bed,” Chris said. “Keep me updated.”

“Goodnight, Chris.”

“‘Night, pal.”

He bid you both goodnight and disappeared into his dorm. You took the chair he’d pulled out and sat on it like a normal person. “I was going to ask if you sent it. But you’ve made it abundantly clear that it wasn’t you.”

“No. I’d never ask you out like that.”

“Would you ever ask me out?”

“Debatable.”

You paused. “Would Chris?”

Changbin’s face turned serious. “Well, I’m not quite sure. I don’t think that’s his style.”

You eyed his door. “Seemed a bit weird how he just left once he realized what this was about.”

He thought about it, matching your gaze. “Mmm. I think he’s just tired.”

You didn’t know whether you wanted it to be Chris. On one hand, it would make a little sense. He knew you well enough in comparison to most of your classmates, and if it wasn’t Changbin… But, no, it would be horrendous to find out it was him. That letter was hardly as glamorous as it aspired to be. You liked to think that Chris was incapable of writing such a monstrosity.

He’d had such a weird expression in the hallway. Did you dare suspect him of being the author, of being the one to take it?

“Either way. I guess I’m going on a date tomorrow.”

“I thought you said it was a—”

“That’s why I want you to come. Just show up, after, like, half an hour. If I’m being stood up, we can have coffee together and laugh at the person who wrote it for being a coward.”

He thought about this. “Fine. 8:30?”

You got up, flashing him a thumbs-up. “Just know that if nobody shows up I’m going to keep suspecting you and Chris.”

“Chill. I really, really don’t think that’s the case.”

He sounded almost too certain. As you approached the door, you looked back at him. “Chris doesn’t have a — a love interest of his own, does he?”

“Nah. He’s the king letting people down gently.”

“That’s a wonderful trait. We should all be more like Chris.”

“Are you excited?” Changbin asked you.

“Why would I be excited?”

“First date in, like, a year.”

You sighed. “Oh, shut up. No.”

“I’m curious, though.”

You turned the doorknob. “Yeah. Me too.”

—

You had somehow managed to forget about it by the next morning, so the little paper reading “See you tonight!” with a smiley face drawn at the end was a very effective jumpscare. You knew in that moment, peering into the eyes of the crude expression, that you were doomed to have concentration issues for the rest of the day.

Minutes crawled past, probably due to both anticipation and dread. You were useless; you were cursed. What was the purpose of love letters, anyways? Why couldn’t people just say how they felt to each other’s faces? But then… you were hardly one to talk.

You couldn’t get Chris’s face out of your head all day. Either he knew something, he was the something, or your imagination was far too active. One thing you were sure of, though, was that you really didn’t have the time to think about it. Piles of assignments were due Monday, and a group project Wednesday.

Oh, you hadn’t thought of that. What if it was someone from your group?

But after quick deliberation, you were pretty sure the guy in your group, Minho, was dating someone. You even asked him to make sure, and he confirmed a steady five-week relationship. The girls in the group didn’t swing the right way. Besides, it was unlikely that a Computer Science Major would have anything to do with this.

What if it was Chris?

The question kept coming back. You finally came to a conclusion that such images that were floating into your head at the prospect needed to be shut down properly, so in any case, you would have to give him an opportunity to “let you down gently” to save yourself to heartache later on. This could not continue. And you needed to be able to go to the coffee shop without sweating out your very being. 

You traveled to the coffee shop at 7:45. It wasn’t that you were afraid of being late. You were afraid of being alone with your own thoughts for those last fifteen minutes.

When you got the Java Day, you did the biggest double take of your life.

No, this wasn’t right. He only worked three days a week!

Did you know this for sure? It’s not like you’d ever gone here at eight o’clock on a Saturday, so…

Whatever the case was, there was no doubt that Chris was standing behind the counter in a fairly empty coffee shop and he was waving at you as you stepped through the door. This did not make sense, and you could feel yourself malfunctioning and forgetting how to walk.

“Chris?”

“Yes?” he said. 

You made your way to the counter, unable to form any sentences. 

“You know, you shouldn’t drink caffeine late at night.” He looked at you earnestly. “Cramming for something?”

“No, I’m…” You paused, squinting at him. “Yeah. Got a lot of work to do.”

“Gotcha. What’ll it be, then?”

“Espresso, please.”

“You're crazy. Two ninety.”

He didn't know. Thank the heavens, he had no clue what was going on. He thought you were cramming.

Honestly, you should be cramming. A different kind of horror set in, though, realizing that Christopher Bang was going to have a front row seat to whatever would be going down.

You embraced it, taking the window seat closest to the counter. On one hand, yeah, he might witness some things you wished he wouldn't. But on the other, the whole situation was making you nervous and rather alright with sitting closer to someone who wasn't writing you creepy letters.

Chris set your espresso in front of you. “You alright? You look kinda spaced out.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just dreading the work I’ve gotta do tonight.”

Chris leaned on the counter, tilting his head. “Do you study with anyone?”

“Nope. In case you haven’t figured it out, Changbin’s study habits aren’t exactly…”

“Consistent. Yeah.”

“So I just do it by myself.”

“I hope you don’t plan to go and sit on the steps in the dark.”

You sipped the espresso, making a bit of a scowl at the potency. “No. It’s not busy enough at night.”

“Oh, I see. You like blending in.”

He got it. “Yeah. For some reason, actually being inside the library sure doesn’t do that for me.”

“Almost too quiet, eh?”

“Almost?” you said. “It’s deafening.”

“Well, um…” Chris glanced at the door for a second. He seemed almost… shy. What the hell? “If you need someone to, you know. Help you feel less alone while you’re studying. I can help you out. I’ve got stacks of notes to write up, I wouldn’t be distracting…” He held his palms up and his fingers danced, almost like a tiny jazz hands gesture. “I mean, only if you want.”

You were absolutely sure now that this could not be the same person who wrote the sentence “I am very, very interested in you” and certainly not the kind to make a suggestive comment about the silence in your dorm. All the same, he was inviting you, rather shyly, to hang out. To study together. Did he ask just anyone to study with him? And this was all three— no, two minutes from when you were supposed to meet someone confessing their love for you.

The answer you would give him was obvious.

But before you had the chance, you heard the Java Day’s entrance bell. Was this it? You wouldn’t dare look away from Chris, you could feel panic rising in your chest. It would be half an hour still before Changbin showed up. You should have told him to just come with you in the first place, really.

Chris looked away from you at the new customer.

“Chrisssss!”

You felt your panic sink back to where it came from, replaced by a sort of uncomfortable disgust.

“Hi?”

“Heyyyy!”

Either this girl was drunk or very, very air-headed. The cafe had been moderately quiet before her grand entrance.

“Do we know each other!”

“Of course we do! It’s me.”

You watched this interaction with interest.

“Who’s ‘me’?” He seemed to be attempting to hold a smile on his face and be friendly, but he was clearly confused.

“You know.”

“I don’t.”

Even you were confused at this point.

“C’monnnn… three-ten!”

You almost shot out of your chair, asserting yourself into the conversation. “Three-ten?!”

The girl eyed you for a moment. Half of her bubbliness dissolved. “Stay out of it, sweetheart.”

Your eyes bugged out of your head.

“I’m sorry, do you want something?”

“Yes, please, Chris.”

No way.

Your attention from the conversation next to you was stolen by the chime ringing again. Changbin spotted you and took the chair across from you. “Where’s the person? It’s 8:10.”

“You’re early. Um…”  You didn’t know what to say.

You looked between him and the conversation happening a few feet away, not sure whether to laugh or cry. You settled on drinking your espresso with a distressed expression. Changbin was watching Chris and the girl.

She was the author. You figured that much out, now. And he was the — he was the intended recipient.

You set down the espresso shot glass, aware your hands were shaking. You covered your mouth with one hand. It was all too much.

You got even the attention of the girl. Really, you hated being the center of attention and so it was hardly on purpose to laugh as loudly as you were. It was ridiculous. You made eye contact with Changbin and he suddenly understood, somehow. He began to chuckle, too, shaking his head.

Chris was watching you two, and then studied the girl carefully. “You were at that party last weekend…” he said. “Right?” Both you and Changbin shut up, shamelessly eavesdropping.

“Yes! And then I asked you for your number, ‘n’ you wouldn’t give it to me, so I… Chris, I didn’t know you worked here. But you’re here. So, do you have an answer?”

You were so tempted to say something. But you were also incredibly interested in how he might respond.

“Remind me your name again?”

“Adilene! I was in your Biology class.”

You and Changbin made eye contact and he mouthed “was.” You made a face of despairing efforts not to laugh. You failed.

“Listen, Chris,” she said, “I’m sorry about the letter. It was a bit of a dare, but I also had no other way to contact you. But do you think…” Adilene looked very obviously at you and Changbin, and you both stared right back at her. “... We could go to your dorm to continue discussing this after your shift? I thought it would be emptier here.”

“This— this late on a Saturday night? I don’t think my roommate would appreciate that,” he said.

“You said you didn’t have any roommates.”

“Did I?” He frowned, and then gasped in realization. “I did. Oh, well, I’m sorry. That wasn’t true. I, um…”

“He says that to reel you in,” Changbin volunteered. “It’s a fun game of his. He likes to pretend I don’t exist.”

“You—huh?”

“That’s… that’s my roommate,” Chris admitted. He looked like he was done with the conversation. While Adilene’s attention was in your direction, you took the opportunity to introduce yourself. You stood up and offered her your hand. 

“Hi,” you said. “I’m their neighbour. One and only resident of three-ten. I got your letter. I really didn’t like the part where you said you had the hots for me.”

Really, it was a fairly innocent letter, although wrong. You felt a bit of sympathy for her. Except, no, you didn’t. You could feel sympathy for her later, right now you were in stitches over her terrified expression.

Chris’s expression was one very large “oh.”

“Your dorm… isn’t three-ten?” Adilene turned to him. She seemed to be receding into herself, somehow. Her overarching “charms” were retracting.

“Nope. Three-twelve.”

The three of you watched her take a whole step back, look at the door, and make a dash for it as if one of you were planning on chasing her. The cafe sat in silence for a few seconds before you and Changbin exploded into laughter. Chris leaned over the counter, head in hands.

“Chris,” Changbin said, catching his breath, “do you want to come over here and explain yourself?”

He made eye contact with you, a bewildered smile on his face, and ran his hand through his hair. “Not sure how much of what just happened I understood, unfortunately.”

“Really?” you interjected. “Not even the part where she said…” You pitched your voice up, “‘Chrisssss’?”

“Is this what goes on at parties when I don’t show? You tell girls I don’t exist and give them the wrong room number?”

“Bin.” He was physically cringing, utter distress on his face. He looked at you and the looked away. You had never seen Chris blush. He looked humiliated.

“I feel like I’m watching you go through the five stages of grief. I think Kubler Ross got ‘em right. Look, here comes anger.”

“Bin, shut up!” he wailed. “I… I just…”

You spoke up. “Why my room number? I’ve been so confused…”

“I didn’t tell anyone my room number!” He pulled his phone out of his apron’s pocket. “Look! She must have seen this… It’s my birthday…” Sure enough, the back of his phone said 0-3-1-0.

You squinted at it. “You sociopath. Why on earth do you use day before month?”

“Because it matches my room number. You know. Three-ten, three eleven… Why does it matter, anyways…”

“Why are you so embarrassed?” Changbin asked Chris.

“Because that was uncomfortable! You’d feel the same.”

“However many girls throw themselves at you, and you get embarrassed…” Changbin tsked and shook his head. “Is it because you feel competition with me that you don’t tell girls I’m your roommate?”

He sighed. “You would think that. No, it’s because it usually makes girls wonder what I must have done so wrong that my roommate moved out.”

“What are you implying about living alone?” you asked.

He threw his hands up. “Look, it works.”

“Yeah, on the smart ones,” Changbin pointed out.

The three of you gave Adilene a moment of silence for implicitly not being one of that demographic.

“I have so many questions left,” you said. “Most of them would be directed at her. And most of them, I wouldn’t like to know the answer to.”

“What was in that letter?” Chris asked.

You looked him dead in the eye. “I think it’s better you didn’t know.” You recalled how he acted about it last night, and you had to ask: “How come you didn’t want to know last night?”

He glanced at Changbin and then at the table. “I was just tired.”

“He was jealous, man.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You were.”

“Don’t be weird.”

Chris finally looked you in the eye and you knew Changbin was telling the truth. 

“I saw her last night, I think,” he finally said. “I saw her rounding the corner, and then I saw you in the hall. I could have sworn she giggled at me.”

“That’s why you were…”

But you didn’t have a chance to dwell on it, as someone walked into the cafe. It was Minho, from your group that met earlier over the project.

“Hey, guys. Chris, have you seen my girlfriend? She said she was meeting someone in here — we just had a fight…”

“Who’s your girlfriend?”

“Adilene Kauffer.”

At this, you picked up your espresso and downed the rest of it in one shot.

Chris cleared his throat. “Minho, my friend. I think… I think you should sit down.”

note. ok so that happened. i ummmm. i lost my mind writing this. i was cackling. so i hope you laughed too lmao. lowkey thinking of writing more for this, these four could be pretty chaotic........... anyways. weird writing fanfics for real people. or at all. it’s been like 8 months since i did that. also there are so many loose ends i still haven’t gotten a chance to tie together and realized i cannot do that in a short fic lmao. tagging @aunty-tiger-potato​ for the barista!chan (not that there’s much of that actually happening here).

reblogs are highly appreciated! thank you for reading!

[cozy-the-overlord]

Until Tomorrow

Summary:  Quarantine by itself is lonely enough. Quarantine amidst a rainstorm of biblical proportions is downright depressing. Lucky for you, a visitor arrives just in time to keep you company.

Word Count:  2,463

Pairing: Loki x Reader

A/N: Sooo..... I did a thing. I’ve never written fanfiction or reader-inserts before, but it was pouring rain last night and I’ve been reading so many quarantine fics on Ao3 that I thought I’d give it a whirl. I’ve never been more nervous about posting a story before... I hope you like it!

Also, I got an Ao3 account now, so you can read it here if you’d like

              It was raining.

              Although raining didn’t seem to do the weather justice. You couldn’t remember the last time you had witnessed such a torrential downpour. The pattering of raindrops rushing down your slanted roof had been drowned out by the wooshing of the fast-moving river that a few hours ago had been your street. Between the dark storm clouds and fog so thick you could cut it with a knife, you couldn’t make out exactly how bad the road was, but the waves that crashed against your window every time a car came skidding past your house told you that you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

              Not that you currently had any great travel plans.

              You sat on the couch at your front window, a book lying open and ignored in your lap, watching water droplets race down the glass as a shiver raced down your spine. Usually, you loved the rain. You had grown where storms were a treasured rarity, where you’d insist your mother buy you rainboots for your birthday only for her to give them away a year later when they became too small, balls of paper still stuffed into their toes. Usually, when it poured, you’d run into your driveway with your head back and arms out, belting out “Singin’ in the Rain” as you attempted dance moves that would make Gene Kelly role in his grave, just because you could.

              But today, you didn’t feel like dancing. With everything going on right now, the rain seemed less like a cause for celebration and more like a sign of impending doom. It had been weeks since you left the sanctuary of your tiny suburban house. You were lucky, everything considered— your parents were safely quarantined in your childhood home on the other side of the country, from where they FaceTimed with you at least once a day.

              Your job was secure. That was one of the wonderful things about working for Tony Stark: the day everyone was sent home, the head man himself sent out an email swearing to keep everyone on the payroll through the quarantine, regardless of how long it lasted. He had even set up a system for delivering groceries to his employees: you texted a number with your order, and a few hours later a red and gold drone dumped a box of overflowing plastic bags on your doorstep. That was something your mom couldn’t get over—Iron Man bringing you milk!— and honestly the ridiculousness of it all made you want to giggle, too.

              Sometimes, though, it was all too much. It had been ages since you’d seen anybody, ages since you had heard another voice unfiltered by the garbled speaker of your cell phone. You had never considered yourself to be an overtly social person, but damn did you wish you had somebody here to talk to. Your mother had been trying for years to convince you to adopt a pet, insisting that it wasn’t healthy for you to be living completely alone, but you had always brushed her off, saying that you were working so often that you were rarely at home and it would be cruel to the animal. Now, you promised yourself that as soon as this was over, you were heading to the Humane Society.

              If this was ever over.

              Outside, the rain kept pouring. The trickling water seemed to be whispering to you—sinister promises of something worse yet to come. You curled tighter upon yourself, pressing your cheek to your knees.

              Let this end. Please, just let this end.

              A crash behind you startled you out of your thoughts. You shrieked, whipping around to see a figure standing in your living room, soaking bags sprawled about him, staining the carpet. He scowled.

              “Bloody rainstorm. You can’t see a damn thing out there.” He shook his head and began wringing out his hair, muttering in a language you didn’t understand.

              It was several moments before you could find your voice. Once you did, it slipped out cautiously. “Loki?”

              “At your service, my lady.” He gave a grand bow, his words dripping with sarcasm.

               You stared. You knew Loki, of course. You were familiar with all of the Avengers who lived in the tower—your office was located on one of the higher levels, and as a result it wasn’t uncommon to see celebrities like Dr. Banner or Captain Rodgers making their way across the floor to meet with one of your coworkers. Unlike the others, however, you had actually spoken with Loki.

              The two of you had a little run in a few months ago, when you were refilling your coffee mug at the break room. You were already on edge because Dr. Foster was visiting, Dr. Jane Foster, and word about the floor was that she would be stopping by with Thor to meet some of the higher-level workers at some point during the day. You felt silly for feeling so starstruck, but Dr. Foster’s work was on another level of world-shattering, and the thought that you might be shaking her hand by the end of the day had you all sorts of jittery.

              Then the coffee pot exploded.

              Exploded wasn’t exactly the right word. It was more like an eruption— all at once the pitcher just vomited its contents across the counter, up to the ceiling, all over the floor, writing like an animal and spitting out more coffee than it possibly could’ve been holding previously. With a scream, you threw the anthropomorphic pot to the floor, adding shattered glass to the absolute mess in the break room.

              There wasn’t time to comprehend what just happened before he was there, pulling you out of the puddle of lukewarm coffee.

              “Forgive me, that was not supposed to happen. Are you hurt?” Loki scanned your form with an anxious sort of urgency. There was a tinge of pink on his cheeks—if you hadn’t known better, you would’ve said he was blushing. “Are you hurt?” he asked again when you only gaped at him like a dead fish. “Burned? That was not meant—forgive me.”

              “No,” you finally said. The coffee hadn’t been warm enough to do any damage. “Just… my clothes—”

               He waved his hand, and the sticky moisture clinging to your front disappeared. You ran your hand over your shirt, now dry and stainless. That’s useful.

               “Are you certain you are uninjured?” he asked. “I swear, that was not what I intended—”

               “I’m fine.” Now that the shock had worn off, you found yourself stifling the urge to giggle. “What were you trying to do?”

               Loki looked embarrassed. “My brother has the tendency of laying claim to the refreshments of any floor he visits, without leaving anything for those working on said floors. I thought I’d teach him a lesson.” He cast a glance back at the mess behind him. “The charm was meant only to react to him. I suppose I made a mistake in casting it.” He turned back to you. “I am sorry.”

               You smiled. “It’s alright. I guess I could use a bit of excitement in my life.”

               He grinned. “Words to live by.”

               After that, you had been friendly. You’d greet each other when you walked by one another, you’d make small talk in the elevator if you were riding together, he’d hold the door for you if he had the chance. Nothing serious, nothing even that personal really, just office-friendly.

              Definitely not crashing-unannounced-into-your-living-room-during-a-rainstorm-in-the-middle-of-a-pandemic friendly.

              “What—?” you sputtered, springing off the couch. “What are you doing here?”

              Loki dramatically gestured to the bags on the floor. “It seems I have been relegated to the status of a delivery boy.”

              Craning your neck, you recognized the label of your local grocery market. You frowned. “Did—did you bring me groceries?”

              The Asgardian in your living room huffed irritably. “You had an order for today, did you not?”

              You nodded slowly. Yes, you were waiting on an order today, and now that you were looking you could see that it was sprawled across the floor at Loki’s feet: a carton of orange juice, a tub of ice cream, a bag of potato chips… but what was Loki doing dropping off food for you?

              He sighed. “Stark, in his infinite wisdom, failed to consider the effect of such the elements—” he gestured to the monsoon outside your window “—on his mechanical messengers. As I am the only individual he knows with means of instantaneous travel, I have been encouraged to assist with deliveries. I am—what is the phrase?—making the rounds, if you will. ”

              “Oh.” You found yourself at a loss for words, likely looking every bit as dumbfounded as when you first met in the break room. You mentally slapped yourself. “Um… thank you. Here,” you moved to collect to foodstuff off the carpet, “I can, uh, start putting things away—”

              With one swift motion, Loki scooped everything up. “Allow me. Just tell me where you want me to put it.” You glanced up at him cautiously. He raised his eyebrows.

              “Uh, okay.”

              He followed you into your kitchen, and you cringed as you realized how truly disgusting your sink was. It had been ages since you had the motivation to do the dishes, and they had been piling up in your sink like the leaning tower of cheap ceramics for at least a week now. Loki didn’t say anything though. At your direction, he placed the bags on the counter and watched as you silently put the contents away.

              Even amidst all the awkwardness, there was something soothing about his presence. For the first time in weeks, there was a living, breathing person in your house, someone real to talk to and laugh with. So when Loki said that he had to finish his deliveries, the question that popped out of your mouth was birthed by pure desperation.

“Do you want something to drink before you go?” you asked. “Like, a glass of water? Or… I have coffee, if you don’t mind it being reheated.”

              If Loki was surprised by your offer, he masked the emotion quickly with a smirk. “Do you really trust me with coffee?”

              You giggled. “I don’t know. Can I?”

              “You shouldn’t trust me with anything,” he said, slipping into one of the seats at your kitchen table. “But I think we can make an exception just this once.”

              You sat and talked for nearly an hour, sipping your microwaved coffee as the rain pounded on the roof. Loki had plenty of quarantine stories from the Tower, stories that always seemed to end with Thor accidentally blowing something up.

              “He is not used to staying in such a limited space for this long of a time period,” he said reflectively. “I think perhaps confinement is having a detrimental effect on his intellect. Stark has installed a ‘Days Without an Accident’ count at the kitchen table, and thus far my brother has managed to reset it every day.”

              You snorted. “That sounds hilarious. I wish I was there to see that.”

              “No, you don’t. Everyone is fed up with everyone else.” Loki stared into his mug absently. “They have been starting altercations over the minutest details. It’s quite chaotic.”

              You frowned. “Aren’t you supposed to like chaos?”

              “When it’s within my control. This is far beyond that.” He took another sip, emptying it. “You are lucky to live alone. I would gladly welcome the peace you have here.”

              “I don’t know. There’s not much to do in here.” You held in a sigh. “It gets kind of depressing after a while.”

              Loki cocked his head, brow furrowed. “You are lonely?”

              Your cheeks heated with embarrassment. It was such a menial complaint to have, especially when so many others were suffering. “Kind of,” you muttered. “It’s not so bad, though.”

              Loki continued pressing. “You have access to communication, yes?” he asked, leaning forward. “I thought all of you mortals were addicted to your cellular devices.”

              “Yeah,” you replied slowly. “But it’s not the same thing as, you know, actually talking to someone. Like, when they’re actually there.”

              “I understand.” He reached out to set his mug on the table. Somewhere hidden under your smile, your heart sank. He’d be leaving soon.

               Loki cleared his throat. “If you would like,” he said, “I could pay you a visit every so often, as we are doing now.”

              What?

              “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you rushed to say, even though the thought of having a regular visitor sent your pulse thrumming.

              “No, but I think I would appreciate the respite. Today has been quite lovely, if I may say so.” He smiled— a genuine smile, not a smirk or a grin—and you felt rather silly for the way your heart seemed to soar. “Of course,” he added quickly, “if you don’t wish for my company, I completely—”

              “No!” The volume of your voice made you cringe. Jeez, he must think you haven’t spoken to anyone in months. “No, I—if you want to come over, then…” For a moment, you fumbled with your words, searching for an eloquent way to accept his offer. “I’d like that,” you finally said, giving up. “I’d like that a lot.”

              He laughed. “In that case, I’ll stop by tomorrow.” When he stood, you stood with him, following him back to your living room where he had left the groceries you hadn’t claimed. “I do need to be going now, though,” he said, scooping up the remaining bags. “The last thing I need is Stark having a fit over my failure to deliver his employees’ groceries on time.”  He nodded at you. “Thank you very much for the coffee.”

              “No problem,” you said. “Thanks for—thanks.”

              He chuckled. “Until tomorrow, my lady.”

              “Until tomorrow.”

              And just like that, he was gone. It was a noiseless disappearance: one moment he was there, the next, you were once again alone with the pouring rain. With a sigh, you made your way back to the couch, scooping up your book off the floor. Once again, however, you found your attention drifting to the water running down the window, the rushing waves of your street outside. Nothing had changed, and yet it seemed so much less frightening than it had an hour before. No, now, it was almost soothing. You had the sudden urge to run out on to your driveway and belt “Singin’ In the Rain.”

              I should’ve done that while Loki was here, you thought sleepily, pressing your cheek to the cushion. He would’ve gotten a kick out of that.

              Maybe you could, if it was still raining tomorrow.

              Tomorrow.

              You dozed off to the peaceful lullaby of the rainfall, smiling softly and thinking of tomorrow.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ @sasuhinabigflash2020​​ || Day Sixteen: Showers ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Neji, Uchiha Itachi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Divine Light ] [ AO3 Link ]

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Not every night is fit for travel.

Hooves gives muffled thuds along the well-worn dirt road. Above the pair of riders, a clear night sky has slowly been clouding, blotting out the stars as the weather subtly shifts. The summer evening is cool, a breeze winding its way through the trees that line the path.

“Another mile or so, and we’ll be upon the inn I mentioned,” the lead rider announces, glancing over his shoulder to his companion. “A suitable place to rest for the night.”

“Must we stop?” is the quiet counter question. “Surely we can make it by daybreak if we press on.”

“We may, but then we will be exhausted and sore from so many hours in the saddle. It’s best we take the time instead to give ourselves a well-earned respite. A few hours will make little difference. The day will be the same, and we’ll not need to waste daylight on sleeping.”

Lips slightly pursing, Hinata nevertheless offers no further argument.

“Besides,” her cousin then offers, glancing skyward as a few leaves begin to bounce around them. “I believe we are in for some showers, lady Hinata. It won’t do for you to get drenched and catch cold.”

“...very well.”

Urging their mounts to a swift trot from their steady walk, the pair hurry the last stretch before reaching the inn. Horses tethered in the adjoined stable, they step in and breathe sighs of relief.

Within, the main floor is largely taken by a tavern. Though the hearth is empty of flame, the atmosphere is still warm and pleasant, the lighting a cheery glow from lanterns and candles. Tables are filled with boisterous patrons, many indulging in spirited drinks before conceding for the night. At the opening of the door, several glance up but offer no greeting, returning to their own conversations once curiosity is sated.

“It is not...entirely suitable,” Neji mutters, eyeing the common rabble a bit warily.

“It will do fine. Not everything must live up to my father’s expectations,” is Hinata’s gentle counter, stepping further in as her cousin follows. “We are warm, dry, and will soon have full bellies and a place to sleep. There’s little else to ask for.”

Not looking as convinced, Neji nonetheless keeps to her side, his wary expression making it more than clear he won’t tolerate any interference as they approach the barkeep.

“Have you any free rooms?” Hinata inquires, ignoring Neji’s hawkish gaze behind her.

“Aye. Have y’need of one, or two?”

“Two,” Neji cuts in, earning a roll of Hinata’s eyes at his prudishness.

“Would you not feel better keeping a close eye on me?” she counters, glancing to him.

“Two rooms,” is his simple insistence.

She sighs. “...two, please.”

The keep then slides as many keys across the bar, each engraved with a number. “Take a seat anywheres y’like, and you’ll be served. May be a tad slow - the weather seems to be swelling our walls this evening.”

“It’s no trouble - thank you.” Pocketing the keys, Hinata heads for an empty table along a wall, settling primly on her seat. “...do you need to be so tense?” she then chastises Neji. “You’re attracting more attention than you’re s-scaring off.”

“Common places make me nervous.”

“It was your idea we stop here. I thought it better to press on.”

“I’ll not have you nodding off tomorrow when we meet the other dignitaries,” is his rebuke. “Even if it means going without rest myself.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine. Honestly Neji, you can be so -”

“Begging your pardon my lord and lady, but...have you need for these extra seats?”

Both Hyūga turn to see a third figure standing at the edge of their table, gesturing to the empty chairs opposite them. Just beside him is a fourth. Both of raven hair and ruddy eyes, Hinata can quickly tell what they are.

Thankfully she recovers from her surprise faster than Neji, and smiles at the pair. “We’ve no need, no - empty chairs are vanishing by the moment. Please, sit.”

Even as Neji glances to her incredulously, Hinata ignores him and watches the pair of young men. The latter seems to be about her age, the other a few years older. “Much obliged,” he offers with a smile of his own.

Hinata offers a nod in return.

“Forgive me, but...I could not help but overhear your conversation. Are you by chance headed to Salustia as well?”

In spite of herself, Hinata blinks. “I...yes, we are. I am vying for a position under Auquiana. Are you…?”

“Ignitrios,” he replies. “Our family has direct ties back to the original blessings. My father insisted we try our hand. Speaking of which…” He holds his out. “Itachi, of the Uchiha. And my younger brother, Sasuke.”

“Hinata of the Hyūga. And my cousin, Neji. Forgive his expression, he is...wary to be so far from home.”

“As are we...we have rarely left the city of our birth. But such a chance could not be passed by so easily.”

“Precisely. Perhaps we can make the last leg of the journey come morning together? Given we’re all headed the same place.”

“An excellent idea. I must admit, it’s comforting to introduce ourselves in a more...secluded venue. I suspect the meeting proper will be quite daunting. Knowing we are not completely isolated will be a comfort.”

“A good point!” It’s then Hinata looks to the younger brother curiously. “Are you vying for a position, or…?”

“I’ll be content either way,” is his reply, tone low and soft. “If I’m chosen, so be it. If not, I’ll still be an attendant for my brother.”

“That is Neji’s hope: to be my aide should I be chosen. But that all remains to be s-seen, of course. I’m sure I will be far from the only hopeful.”

“My brother is heir - I have little doubt he’ll take the role,” Sasuke replies, and she can’t help a smile at the pride in his tone. “He’s far better suited for politics, anyway. I’ve not the patience for them.”

“They can be quite daunting, yes. But I am eager to try and make a difference. My clan has long been divided, and...I have hopes of unification should I be accepted.”

At the idea of division, Sasuke’s brow furrows in obvious curiosity. But before he can ask more, a server finally finds them and asks for their orders. The group then fall back into easy conversation, Neji soon finding a conversational partner in Itachi as Hinata speaks to Sasuke.

“Have you ever been to Salustia?”

“Once, when I was very young,” Sasuke replies with a shrug. “I remember little of it.”

“I’ve never been...but I’ve heard it’s breathtaking. So much white marble and beautiful architecture. And the statue of Luxeria…! I cannot wait to see it with my own eyes.”

“That’s about all I do recall, admittedly. It’s far larger than you imagine it to be. And looks like it could leap to life at any moment.”

“Wow...I’m all the more eager, then! And I’m glad we won’t arrive alone. I’m fearful we’ll get lost…!”

“The castle sits atop a knoll and overlooks the entire city. If you ever get lost, just head there and reorient yourself. It’s where we’ll all be for the majority of the time, anyway. All roads eventually lead to it. At least that’s what my brother says - he recalls more than I.”

“Another wonder to behold, I’m sure.”

“We never got that close, so I can’t tell you. But it was beautiful even from a distance.”

Sinking into daydreams, Hinata rests her chin in a hand, watching rain slither down the window beside her. She can’t help but hope the weather will be clear when they arrive - to see the capital in anything less than a sunny day will surely be a grave disappointment. Hopefully Luxeria will bless the day with sunshine...with a little help from Ignitrios, of course.

Maybe it’s fate she’s met some of the hopefuls under the banner of fire. Still...she’ll pray to Auquiana to stop the rain nonetheless.

...but at least it helped drive them all here.

Once full of both food and gossip, the four part ways and head to their rooms until morning. Neji, as always, gives Hinata stern instructions to best protect her space.

“I’ll be fine,” is her weary insistence. “Besides, you are right next door. Should I scream, you’ll be a moment away.”

“Damn right I will be,” is how he leaves it with a grumble, bidding her goodnight before shutting the door.

Readying for sleep, Hinata sits for a time atop her bed, listening to the rain with closed eyes. For a moment, she can pretend she’s home in her room in the familiar showers of her coastal city. But the ambient noise beneath the rain is still too telling to ignore.

She thought she’d be more nervous, but...maybe meeting a few others and realizing they’re just as human as they are has helped quell any unease. It’s a big day, but...she has faith it will go well. At the very least, even if she isn’t chosen to represent her element, she’ll have an experience of a lifetime. Seeing the Luxerian capital, meeting so many other el’ven people…! Something she’d never get to do under her father’s thumb back home otherwise.

And maybe, just maybe...she’s already made some friends to hang onto once it’s all said and done.

     I will admit, I am...not sure what this is, plot-wise xD I was at a bit of a loss for what to write. Not much actual ship content, my apologies. Seems I’m not as entirely over my burnout as I’d hoped, eh heh~      Anywho, just some fantasy verse nonsense, really. Uchiha and Hyūga crossing paths on their way to the same destination~ I doubt I’ll ever do a full fic of this crossover since I’m already doing one that’s more OC-centric. Got plenty of other ideas anyway, once I’m in a better place to sit and do so :’D      Buuut it’s late, I’m wiped, and better call it a night. Thanks for reading~

[drrjsb]

Body & Soul: The Endgame Fix “Part One: The Price”

Summary: If you weren’t happy with Avengers: Endgame, here’s your fix-it fic! We start on Monday, October 22, 2023: Eleven days after achieving time travel, six days since losing Natasha, five days after the Hulk Snap, two days since Tony's funeral, and one since Steve went into the Quantum Realm and Old Man Steve appeared.

[Monday, October 22, 2023]

“Five days! It’s been FIVE WHOLE DAYS that you’ve been walking around like this? Just what the hell were you thinking, Bruce?” Dr. Helen Cho swore intensely as she escorted an ailing Dr. Bruce Banner down the Avengers Quinjet ramp to the rooftop at the U-GEN building in Soule, South Korea. The more she saw of the obvious physical damage inflicted by the Infinity Stones, the more the geneticist was getting wound up. This was a complete reversal of their normal temperaments as the healer began to rant at her friend and professional collaborator, and the physicist calmly accepted her chastisement with a sheepish smile and a shrug of his broad shoulders underneath his tailored charcoal gray suit.

His right arm was now out of the sling he’d used during Tony’s funeral a few days before, but it was an obvious mismatch with his healthy left arm. “안녕하세요to you, too, Helen,” Bruce replied with a good-humored laugh. “By the way, this is Princess Shuri of Wakanda,” he said, gesturing behind them with his good hand to the slim, bright-eyed teen who was enjoying a laugh at his expense as she tucked a meter-long cylindrical container under her arm to bring off the Quinjet with her. “I believe you’ve already been consulting over the Internet,” the physicist added.

Helen suddenly flushed with embarrassment and turned to her other visitor. “Oh, my apologies, Princess Shuri. I’m sorry for being so rude. It’s good to finally meet you in person, your highness.”

“No problem, Dr. Cho. Please, just ‘Shuri’ is a lot easier.” She reached up and gave Bruce’s good arm a pat. “This is more important, and you are right to give him Hell for not getting here sooner,” the young woman chided Bruce.

“Just ‘Helen,’ please,” the older scientist said, feeling very chagrined.

“Hey, I tried to get here faster, and you know that, Princess,” Bruce needled the young Wakandan prodigy in return since they’d had to detour for her to pick up her package in Oakland, CA, on the way from Upstate New York to South Korea. Bruce turned to his colleague, “Please, Helen, you’d just gotten back to your family, and there were too many other things going on after the battle at the Avengers Compound to have more than triage done anyway. Thanks to Shuri and her medics, it’s been stable or improving over the last four days, and if you look closely,” he pulled back his blue dress shirt’s collar and bent down for a better view of his neck, “it’s starting to regenerate around the edges of the burn.”

“I could tell that from some of the scans you sent, but let’s get inside the lab, and I’ll judge for myself.” Bruce was just able to fit his oversized frame inside the freight elevator with the two scientists by ducking and crouching a bit. Squeezing through the doors on the staircase would have been worse. When they arrived at the correct floor, Dr. Cho led them into one of her lab spaces where the third generation of “the Cradle” and its related research projects now resided. “I’m sorry for the mess and disorganization. The program and our research agenda continued in my absence, but I’m almost back up to speed.” Bruce noted everything looked as neat and well-organized as it always had in the past.

Helen kept grumbling to herself in both English and Korean as she helped him take off his clothing from the waist up before tackling the protective sheathing and nutrient treatment wrap shielding his right arm. The irony of their character reversal—her anger and his calm—wasn’t lost on him, and he bit his lower lip to avoid smiling too much and antagonizing her. She still shot him a deadly glance. “Don’t you dare smile unless that’s from the pain meds, Banner,” Helen threatened. He doubted there were currently any pain meds involved since they’d never been effective for long after his original “accident” altered his metabolism. He was used to being stoic about it as Banner and irritable when he’d been just Hulk about three years ago. Now that he’d co-integrated, he was enduring it as good-naturedly as he could.

When Bruce had Skyped Helen very early that morning (tomorrow afternoon for her with the 13-hour time difference), her husband Philip had to reassure her she wasn’t being pranked. A much larger and greener Bruce explained to her that while she was gone for five years, he had made peace with his anger-prone alter ego and “merged” with the Hulk. If it weren’t for his voice and facial expressions, she wouldn’t have recognized her old colleague in the new Bruce. Even face-to-face, she was still feeling a bit unnerved by his floor-to-ceiling size, but he was surprisingly nimble and coordinated as he maneuvered around the delicate equipment. She had to admit, especially with the geeky glasses and easy-going confidence, the new Bruce was pretty charming.

The U-GEN staff had brought in a reinforced examination table for Helen to use, so she could examine him since he was now roughly seven and a half feet tall and about 900 lbs. Not as big as his former temperamental Hulk form had been, but this Bruce was now closer to Hulk physically than Banner’s spare 5’ 9” frame. Thankfully, his intellect and puckish sense of humor were as prominent as ever; still, this was a lot to wrap her head around on top of everything else she’d missed in five years. To be honest, having a project like rehabbing Bruce’s arm helped her focus since she was having difficulty fitting back into her own projects that had moved on without her. In cutting-edge science, five years felt like a lifetime. She wondered what Nat thought about this metamorphosis since he hadn’t mentioned her yet, and they’d seemed to be getting so close. They were all definitely going to have to catch up and talk about this later. Right now, the geneticist needed to see what they had left to work with function-wise and determine a course of treatment or make some tough decisions about whether or not to remove the limb. She guessed this was just one of several likely reasons for the Wakandan wunderkind to be involved since she’d reportedly redesigned Sergeant Barnes’ prosthetic.

Now that Bruce’s upper body was exposed, Helen studied the extensive wrapping protecting his arm and shoulder. “Here, may I please assist you, Helen?” Shuri offered as she caught back up to them in the right section of the interconnected areas. She’d gotten a little lost in thought as she’d curiously looked around the cluster of labs on that floor. (She could hardly wait for the tour!) She’d been taking a lot of mental notes since the final showdown at the Avenger’s Compound as she’d met many interesting people.

As soon as Tony’s body had been taken away from the battlefield crater, she’d approached the exhausted Hulk as he collapsed onto his knees in the rubble. It didn’t take a genius to see he was obviously injured and overwrought, but she was surprised to learn he was not the angry alter ego she was expecting, but the good-humored physicist she’d teased about Vision’s neural configuration who was now broken down before her. Bast forgive her, how she’d mercilessly critiqued Banner and Stark’s work on the synthezoid just before the Snap! Now, it felt like a lifetime ago, and so much had changed while she was “blipped.”

On the day of the second battle, Shuri had quickly sent an assistant to look for Natasha Romanoff, knowing that’s who should have been there to share their loss together only to be told by one of the Dora Milaje that the warrior and spy had sacrificed herself before the battle had even started. Shuri had quickly stepped forward and taken charge of Banner’s care on the battlefield. It was devastatingly obvious to her he’d lost the two most important people in the world to him, but she’d be damned if he was going to lose his life or his arm next.

Tents were set up in a field away from the blast crater where the Compound had been. Only a few of the storage buildings and a maintenance facility toward the very back of the property had been spared due to the angle of attack, so the survivors took Bruce and the other wounded there where they still had electricity and running water. Her initial scans showed he had unusual radiation burns, similar to what Stark had suffered. “So, are you the fool or the hero responsible for bringing us all back, Dr. Banner?” she surmised.

“It was a team effort,” Bruce acknowledged, yet he demurred taking credit even after paying such an awful price. She estimated he had paid about 160 pounds of flesh to return half of all life in the universe—including hers and T’Challa’s—so maybe it wasn’t such a bad deal? Of course, that put a lot of people in his debt. She, however, was one of the few in the unique position of being able to pay him something back now when he needed it.

“Joint effort or not, you alone wore the Gauntlet and made it happen. Thank you, Dr. Bruce Banner. You don’t even have to say, ‘You’re welcome,’” she added pertly.

Despite the pain, he’d smiled and nodded. “You are welcome, Shuri. I just wish Tony had let me do it the second time.”

She shook her head. “Even I, who never met Mr. Stark, know he wouldn’t have let you, and it was not your fate.” The older physicist simply sighed and shook his head as the tears started to fill his eyes again. “Whether you like it or not, Bruce Banner, you are the one who is going to survive, especially if I have anything to say about it.” He looked at her and almost laughed through his tears. That’s when she was sure he had some fight left in him. “Besides, who am I going to teach how to make synthetic synapses work properly if you don’t stick around, hmm?”

That had gotten a small chuckle out of him, so she and an assistant had set to work removing the burned purple, grey, and black tech suit from him. The tricky part had been separating it from where the material had melted onto his tough skin, especially the spots on his back and hand where the healthy tissue was starting to regenerate around the fibers. That wouldn’t have been an issue if the uniform had been made out of Vibranium, which she could easily have made to separate or meld with organic tissue by merely adjusting it with one of her Kimoyo Beads. This was a different carbon-based weave that incorporated organic materials with the high-tech microstructures. At Bruce’s suggestion, the healers used their Beads to apply cold and the fibers shrunk enough to be removed with a dental water jet. They were nothing if not resourceful that afternoon. Next, they applied a Wakandan cooling nutrient wrap to disperse the heat and protect the burned tissue from infection. It was no secret that aloe was a major ingredient, and it also had a pretty powerful anesthetic. However, her patient didn’t need to know that. Eventually, he’d slept stretched across four cots.

Continue on AO3, WattPad, or FanFiction.Net

[sexysilverstrider]

k hey listen I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Hey, same person who submitted that Berkut player unit sheet to you a couple days ago, back again, but this time with a fun little fic based on that AU that you might enjoy! Also, as a side note, I was looking over that character sheet and I realized…that mourning quote that Rinea has for Berkut pre-end of his plot arc…shouldn’t exist. Because, for the AU, I picture the battle against Berkut going down before the battle against Rudolf (as I’ll detail a little bit in the fic). And while Berkut can retreat before that, he can’t be killed off before that since he’s plot important and he and Rinea don’t have the relationship upgrade unless he survives his battle. So, there’s literally no point where Rinea’s pre-end of Berkut’s plot arc mourning quote for Berkut would show up…That actually has nothing to do with this fic, it’s just that I realized it looking over that character sheet and it bugged me that I forgot to take that line out before submitting it to you…Ah well, back to the fic, hope you like it!

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

There was a quiet murmur in the entry room of Rigel’s castle as the members of the Deliverance bustled about, healing from their wounds following the unexpectedly tragic fight with Emperor Rudolf’s army and preparing for their upcoming battle against the mad god Duma and his followers. Berkut, having finished being patched up himself, slowly walked about the room, searching for Rinea, who he hadn’t seen since the battle started, and for Alm, who he knew wasn’t taking the reality revealed to him by the fight with Rigel’s emperor well at all.

“Hey, Berry, you doing alright?” Gray called out to him.

“What have I said about that blasted nickname?” Berkut responded as he approached where Gray was seated on the floor beside Tobin, Faye, and Kliff, Faye busily healing the boys’ wounds.

“Oh, you’ve said many things about it over the years,” Tobin laughed, flinching slightly when Faye tightened the bandages on his arm, “We just prefer to ignore you!”

Berkut fought down the fond smile that threatened to show up on his face. As annoyed as he ever was over the silly nickname, the fact is he that just a few days earlier could’ve easily never heard their voices calling out that name ever again…And all because of his own foolish jealousy…

“Have you seen Rinea or Alm?” he asked, trying to ignore the burst of anger at himself over the reminder of his past actions.

“I think Silque asked for Rinea’s help to treat those who were severely wounded,” Faye replied.

“As for Alm,” Kliff continued, a slight frown on his face, “…Well, he said he wanted to be alone for a while…Can’t blame him for that.”

“No, we can’t,” Berkut murmured before nodding at the group and turning to leave, “Thank you.”

“Berkut.”

Berkut turned back at Tobin’s voice, curious about the unexpectedly serious tone of it.

“C’mon, quit being so distant with us,” Tobin said with a frown, “You’re acting like you did back when we were kids.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tobin’s right, surprisingly,” Kliff said, “Ever since we beat you back when you were possessed, you’ve been doing everything you can to stay away from us. You only ever really talk with Alm and Rinea now.”

“I…That is…” Berkut struggled for what to tell them.

“We get it,” Faye interrupted, “We know you’re angry that you hurt us in that battle. That you let yourself get manipulated so badly in the first place…That, maybe, you’re having a hard time forgiving yourself for all that…”

Berkut opened his mouth, whether to refute those words or to apologize for what he’d done yet again he wasn’t sure. But Gray held up a hand to stop him.

“You might not be able to forgive yourself, and we can’t speak for the other members of the Deliverance,” Gray said, “But the four of us have already forgiven you…So stop being such a stranger with us. You’re one of the Ram Village brats too, Berry.”

The others smiled and nodded in agreement with Gray’s words. Berkut looked at them all in surprise for a moment before nodding his head slightly, unable to find the right words to express what he wanted to say.

“I’ll remember that…Thanks.”

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

While he had yet to see a trace of Alm, Berkut did finally spot his beloved Rinea coming out of one of the side rooms, an empty bottle in her hands. When they made eye contact, a breathtaking smile appeared on her face and she hurried to his side.

“Berkut!” her eyes quickly looked over his figure, lingering on his bandaged arms and the healing would on his forehead, “I’m glad you’re alright. I’m so sorry I didn’t come to you earlier.”

“I’m glad to see you as well, my dear,” Berkut said, a smile on his face as he brought his hand to her cheek, “I hear you’ve been hard at work.”

“There were so many wounded in the battle, I’ve barely had a moment to rest,” Rinea replied, gently nuzzling her cheek against Berkut’s hand, “…You might think it petty, but I must say that I’m jealous that I wasn’t the one to take care of your wounds.”

“I can hardly say anything considering the ‘childish jealousy’, as Alm called it, that I’ve displayed when you take care of others,” Berkut said with a laugh.

“How is Lord Alm?” Rinea asked worriedly.

“I would tell you if I could find him. Killing Emperor Rudolf, only to learn the man is his father. Mycen…Grandfather, may have said this is not the time to mourn but…”

“…And how are you faring?”

Berkut met her concerned gaze for a moment before looking at one of the many Rigelian banners adorning the walls. Mycen had told him a little about his true past. It turned out that a few months after his birth his father, a respected noble and soldier, was killed in battle. His mother, who had always been sickly and wasn’t expected to last long after his birth, begged Emperor Rudolf to take him in and raise him alongside the newly born Alm, his mother leaving behind the ring he’s carried with him since childhood. Soon afterwards, Rudolf gave both Berkut and Alm to Mycen and the rest was history.

Truthfully, Berkut didn’t feel as torn apart over his uncle’s death as his cousin was. Even though he’d been told the emperor had wanted Berkut and Alm to be raised together, in happiness and safety. Free from the dangers of the Duma Faithful, if only until the time came for Alm to fulfill his destiny as one with the Brand. His uncle had such fond wishes for him and his cousin, yet Berkut couldn’t bring himself to feel bereaved by his death.

“Perhaps I’m too coldhearted,” Berkut told Rinea after telling her what he’d heard from Mycen.

“I refuse to believe it,” Rinea said, an uncharacteristic glare on her face, “Just because you aren’t reacting as Lord Alm is, that doesn’t make you coldhearted. And it certainly doesn’t mean you aren’t grateful for what the emperor did for you or Lord Alm. There’s no one right way to react to such events.”

Berkut smiled tenderly at Rinea’s words, causing a light blush to spread across her cheeks. He took one of her hands and pressed a gentle kiss against her palm.

“I believe you are right yet again, my love,” he said, “…Thank you, Rinea…Truly…”

“I’m always happy to do what I can for you, Berkut. Now please, go and find Lord Alm. I’m certain he could use your company.”

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

“So, this where you’ve hidden yourself.”

It had taken some time after parting from Rinea, but Berkut finally spotted a familiar green haired young man on the upper floors, looking out at the lands of Rigel from one of the castle’s many balconies.

Alm tensed slightly at Berkut’s words but made no movement, not even to turn and look at him. Berkut slowly approached his cousin, taking his place next to him and looking out in the distance.

Berkut had always imagined Rigel to look harsh and cold, to match the teachings it believed in. But while the country was certainly cold, though not uncomfortable so for the pair of cousins, there was a certain beauty about it. It wasn’t so different from Zofia. In fact, Berkut could easily envision a life for himself here.

“You knew…”

Alm’s sudden words broke Berkut out of thoughts. He glanced over at Alm, who wasn’t meeting his gaze. He decided not to bring attention to how red and puffy Alm’s eyes were, or how tired his gaze was.

“Back when I fought you,” Alm muttered, “You said some strange stuff about me and Emperor Rudolf…Nothing outright but, now, it’s obvious. You knew he was my father.”

“It was the last straw, so to speak,” Berkut replied softly, “I only needed one more push from the Faithful for Duma to get ahold of me.”

“You knew he was my father, your uncle, before we fought him…And yet you didn’t tell me.”

“And that was all I knew, Alm,” Berkut said heatedly, “I was told he was your father, I knew nothing about his character. For all I knew, he was still the warmonger we thought he was, he just happened to share blood with us.”

“You still could’ve said something!” Alm snapped. A moment passed before he let out a sigh and looked over at Berkut, “I’m sorry…I can’t really blame anyone for what happened, can I?”

“But you’re right. I should’ve told you, regardless…”

The two fell back into silence as a cold breeze kicked up.

“Grandfather’s right, I don’t have time to deal with this,” Alm said, looking up at the sky, “I have to focus on facing Duma. And Celica…I have to see her again. I need to see her!”

“This war is almost at its end, Alm. Once we bring down the mad god, there will be all the time in the world to mourn.”

Alm nodded, his gaze still one of exhaustion.

“You know, I overheard some Rigelian soldiers talk about your mother,” Berkut said after a moment.

“My mother?” Alm ask, turning to Berkut, a light back in his eyes.

“From what I heard, it seems you look a lot like her. She was a fearsome sniper who died a year after your birth.”

“A sniper?” Alm repeated. He and Berkut glanced over where Alm’s sword and bow were laid, “Well, I guess that means I should work on my archery. I have to live up to her reputation, huh?”

The pair went back to watching the soldiers enter and exit the castle down below, preparing the supplies for the next stage of the war.

“Did you learn anything about your parents?” Alm asked.

Berkut replied with what little Mycen told him and the small bits of information he picked up from some of the Rigelian soldiers. Alm looked just as eager to learn all he could about his aunt and uncle as he was about his own parents. In turn, Berkut couldn’t help but get more invested in learning more about his past, his family. Their family. He had figured that all he would truly focus on after the war would be a future with Rinea, but now…

“There isn’t much time for us to learn about our lineage,” Berkut said, turning to press his back against the balcony railing, “At least not now. But after the war, we can scour all the books and pester every Rigelian we meet to find out all we can.”

“But we still won’t truly know them,” Alm answered, “They’re gone, and with them the memories that only they could share.”

“Feeling unnaturally pessimistic, are we, cousin?”

“Heh…Sorry for bringing down the mood. You’re right, I-”

“Prince Albein! Lord Berkut!”

The two turned in the direction of the voice. Massena, the captain of the Rigelian imperial guard, stood in the entryway to the balcony.

“Sir Mycen and Sir Clive sent me to find you,” Massena explained, “It seems it is almost time for you all to set out.”

“The finale awaits us,” Berkut sighed after Massena left, “Let’s not keep them waiting long.”

Berkut headed towards the entryway, only to be stopped by Alm’s hand on his shoulder. The troubled expression on Alm’s face worried Berkut.

“Berkut,” Alm’s voice was serious, his gaze piercing Berkut’s, “Promise me…Promise you won’t die.”

“Didn’t I already tell you I wouldn’t?” Berkut replied, recalling them having this conversation while they were recovering after their battle days earlier.

“I know, but…One more time. Just once more…Please…”

Berkut couldn’t help but flinch at the unexpected vulnerability that laced that “please”. Though he could understand very well where Alm was coming from.

“You softhearted fool…I give you my word, Alm. This war will not take me. I have every intention of living a long life after all this.”

Having received Berkut’s vow, Alm released his shoulder. Berkut made his way to the entryway, pausing to look over his shoulder at his cousin, his trademark cocky smirk on his face.

“After all, I can’t die and let you take all the glory.”

As Berkut began to descend the stairs, he grinned at the genuine laugh Alm let out, the first he’d heard in the past few days. He chuckled, almost missing the gentle words, filled with gratitude and affection, Alm murmured next.

“Thank you, Berkut…I’m glad you’re still with us.”