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akiranzee · 4 months

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🤪 • ° ` — “HEAVEN HELP A FOOL WHO FALLS IN LOVE”

-> PAIRINGS: Gojo Satoru x f!Jujutsu Sorcerer!Y/n -> SUMMARY: Shoko Ieiri and Geto Suguru compare the song Ophelia by The Lumineers similarly to two of their friends, Y/n L/n and Gojo Satoru’s situation. -> WORD COUNT: 3.0k+ -> CONTAINS: fluff, slowburn(?), ANGSTY PINING, fools in love lmao, slightly suggestive, GETO IS SUCH A GOOD BFFFFFFF🫶, & gojo and reader are both 17. -> A/N: gojo, geto, and shoko had met each other when children (specifically 10 years old). THERE IS A PART WHERE ITS ⚠️CRINGE WARNING⚠️.

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I, I, when I was younger I, I, should have known better And I can’t feel no remorse And you don’t feel nothing back

Ten years ago, a young Gojo Satoru could be found sitting under a tree, pouting and sulking for some reason.

Then here comes Y/n L/n, handing the young, pouting, sulking, Gojo Satoru a lollipop.

Gojo looked up, to see Y/n smiling at him, “you okay? Here, take my candy!” Gojo hesitated, but he took the candy either way.

The candy looked similar, one that he bought for Geto.

He was about to open it, when young Geto and Shoko arrived at the location, where Gojo and Y/n is.

“Hey, isn’t that the candy I gave you?“ Geto asked, looking at the candy and at Y/n suspiciously.

“Yeah? I told you, I don’t like sweets.“ You looked at Geto back, with eyes that said; ‘you were not listening, were you?’

Then, suddenly, Gojo interrupted, “hey, what- Geto, ain’t this the candy I gave you?”

“Yeah, but I don’t like strawberries now.” Geto shrugged his shoulders as he proceeded to sit down beside Gojo.

“Hmph.” Gojo crossed his arms and looked the other way, before saying; “This is all your fault. Why are you even here?“ As his eyes met yours dead straight.

“I- excuse me? How is it my fault?” You put both your hands on your hips and replied with a hint of sarcasm and anger.

“Well- maybe if you weren’t here, Geto would be eating my candy, now!” Gojo stood up, as if about to fight you. Geto stood up too, planning to stop any fights from happening.

But instead of a fight, an argument broke out with the two of you, both protecting your claims with reasons. Geto just facepalmed while Shoko just deadpanned.

You laughed at this certain memory, remembering how childish you both were, even up until now.

I, I, got a new girlfriend She feels like he's on top And I don't feel no remorse And you can't see past my blinders

Those memories were something fun that you wished to return. But ever since Satoru got a girlfriend, he rarely has any time to spend on you and your friend group, especially when his girlfriend is one jealous woman.

You had a feeling though, that she was only using Satoru for his money and fame, but was not with him for his love and affection.

Even though you guys were always fighting, even when he was a crazy menace, you were still friends, so you still cared for him.

But your heart clenched achily whenever you see her clung to his arm, whenever she kisses his cheeks, or when she wears his jacket.

You didn’t know why, but he’s just a friend... right?

Oh, Ophelia You've been on my mind girl since the flood Oh, Ophelia Heaven help a fool who falls in love

Days passed, and it was time for the first mission Jujutsu Tokyo High will be holding.

It’s a big day, for this first mission will determine who shall be selected to be sent to various cities, and if lucky enough, to other countries. Of course, every completed mission will grant them a hefty reward — cash, to be exact.

Then, the mission starts.

“You guys know what to do, right?” The host asked, and all of you nodded your head in agreement. The mechanics were; to randomly pick a number, then go to the designated area your number was assigned. The top 3 that finishes first, will be selected then.

As the mission started, all of you ran to your designated areas.

“Hey, emo. Why so serious?” Gojo caught up beside you, and joked about your serious expression.

“You’re wearing black too.” You replied back sarcastically, with your eyes only on the pathway and nothing else.

“Aw, nice observation ya got there. Too bad though, I can’t see you losing.” Gojo winked and ran off to his designated area, which so happened to be beside yours.

“Hah. Don’t get cocky.” You huffed back, and rolled your eyes before entering your designated area too.

Minutes passed, and you couldn’t find any curses in your designated area. You tried climbing at the tallest tree there, but you saw nothing other than the life of nature.

It was pure emptiness to put it shortly; but just then, you heard a loud boom. You ran towards that direction; and immediately saw a gigantic curse. Using your cursed technique, you managed to get closer without the curse knowing, as you had now taken its life away.

Exhausted from all the running, you sat down on a fallen tree log and wiped your sweat away.

As you tried to catch your breath, a certain white haired man sauntered towards you as he gave you a confused look, “hey, what was that about? That was my curse.”

“Huh? That was my curse.” You looked at him as confused, repeating his last sentence as you continued to wipe your sweat away.

“This is my area.” Gojo looked even more confused, now. The both of you were confused, but suddenly, you had an idea in mind. You walked over to where the curse dissipated, and crouched down to reach it, and found that the number in it is indeed 3; your designated number.

“What the hell? What’s your curse doing here?” Gojo took the number off of your hand as he investigated it to see if it was really the paper given.

“My question, exactly.” You stood up from the ground, but then suddenly, once again, the ground started shaking as if it was earthquaking.

“Ha! Look how they even have backups!” Not even waiting for the horde of curses to get closer, he ran towards them and ended all with just one big boom.

You can’t deny the fact that he’s amazing if you put his attitude and personality aside, but even so, that doesn’t stop you from being amazing yourself.

On the opposite side, comes another horde of curses. Gojo was far off fending the other side, so you took the initiative and took on this side. You used your cursed techniques and fended off a gigantic curse, then comes along a series of annoying little curses. Honestly, it was hard to eliminate them, but once you get the hang of it, surely, they all fell in one big hit swoop.

As you tried your best to one hit all of them, trying to best over Satoru, you didn’t realize that Satoru was done and that he served as an audience at your little battle. But little did you know, he was not focusing at the battle. Not at all. Rather — he was focusing on somewhere, specifically, somewhere below. He stared and studied each and every time your ass would sway and bounce at the sudden movements and techniques you’d do, like a little pervert.

It was quite long after all, that you guys had a proper hang out, making Satoru forget that you were no longer the girl he met, rather — the girl he once met has now turned into a lady.

To say the least, he was attracted to you — no, he became more attracted to you.

Satoru had always found you attractive. Even with that “candy fight” you guys had as ten year olds, he had found you adorable when you puffed both your cheeks out in anger, together with putting your hands on your hips, along with your grumpy cute voice, and eyes that planned a cruel and grotesque murder. But surely, as a child, you were far from thinking that; instead you perhaps planned on either punching him on the face or kicking him on the groin.

As you landed on the ground, finally finished, you expected Satoru to give out a sarcastic comment as usual, but instead, you were only met with a stare that held too long up at the ground.

“Satoru,” flicking his forehead, thinking that this menace could have totally, finally, lost his mind. “what the hell are you thinking now?” As if he saw the most ugly curse, he jolted and moved backwards, as you only sighed at the overreaction.

“Look, you’re getting cree-” A yell had cut off your sarcastic comment towards Satoru, only to see his little girlfriend behind him, running towards him.

Before Satoru could even fully turn around, he was met with the longest hug ever. Satoru didn’t even hug her back even when her literal two minutes hug ended.

Then, Satoru was attacked with a melena of questions — “Oh god! Are you okay!?” “What is this!?” “Are you hurt!?” And so on and so forth. Satoru only scratched the back side of his head whilst you sighed, both of you sharing the same thoughts; my/his girlfriend is so dramatic.

Satoru don’t even know why he’s with her. All he knows is that he should’ve been with you- ah shit, he’s thinking about that again.

Again, because every single night he rolls helplessly from left to right and right to left in his bed, thinking what life could’ve been like if he chose a different path. Specifically — a path where he is with you.

It just so happens that Satoru’s jealousy caught the best of him when he saw you training with a fellow rookie, and stormed off where he then lost his mind and agreed to what should never be in the first place. If only he set his mind right, he wouldn’t have agreed to become that woman’s man, no. Because he should’ve been your man from the start.

And now, ever since that day, whenever he sleeps at night, the image of you fighting and your ass never leaves his mind. Oh, he wonders, how soft would that be once he gets a hold of it?

I, I, got a little paycheck You got big plans and you gotta move And I don't feel nothing at all And you can't feel nothing small

After that Tokyo Jujutsu High first ever mission, the Top 3 students selected were you, Gojo, and a random student. Gojo, as expected, topped the rankings. But due to the command of higher-ups, he is to stay here for protection purposes, which leaves you and the other student to be sent overseas. Not to worry though, Gojo will still receive a hefty amount of cash as a reward.

Gojo knows, that in the next few weeks, you’ll be sent overseas. That’s why, he’s in front of your dorm door, wanting to hang out and cherish the last moments together before you go.

He knocks, and you don’t reply. He knocks again, and no reply again. He realizes though, that the door is not locked, just closed. So he opens it, only to reveal a ton of boxes — packaging boxes to be more specific.

“...Satoru...? What are you doing here?” You asked behind him, making him jolt in surprise. As he turned around, he saw you, with your arms wrapped around random things in a box. There were bracelets, picture frames, books, coats, and more.

He looked at them curiously, with you following where his eyes landed. “Ah, these are goodbye souvenirs from everyone.”

“What- you’re already leaving?” Satoru was shocked, to say the least, as he looked at your eyes now.

“Yeah, it’s in the next three days, you didn’t know?” The last three words kind of hurt, for your mind has once again reminded you that Satoru Gojo could never care less as to not even know when you’re already leaving. Hell, being sent overseas sure is exciting, yet the bad part of it is; you’ll never see the people you hold dear here for such a long time. That’s why, it pains you to imagine how Satoru — your very bestfriend, just didn’t care about your presence away for a long time.

“I... no, I thought it was in the next few weeks?” Gojo looked confused, his tone too, which made you feel a little relieved.

“Well, you thought wrong.” You walked past him, and began taping all the boxes scattered in your dorm.

“Tomorrow, at the park, 10AM.” Gojo suddenly said, but before you could even turn and look at him, he had already left.

~~~~~

10:01AM, Sakarenye Park.

“You’re a minute late.” Gojo said, as he looked up at you wearing a white floral dress that you looked like an angel just sent down from heaven as he slowly stood up from his seat at the bench.

“Oh come on, it’s just a minute.” You rolled your eyes, as you proceeded to walk towards him.

He reached his hand out, saying, “Let’s go?” And of course, you could never say no everytime he smiles at you that way.

~~~~~

7:05PM, Jujutsu Tokyo High Dormitory.

“Thanks, today was fun.” You sheepishly smiled at him whilst looking down, attempting to hide the forming pink on your cheeks.

Gently, he held your right cheek on his hand, making you look up. As you did, you only realized that your faces were only a few inches away. His warm breath hitting your face, his eyes looking at yours with affection so undescribable, his lips slightly opening, as if wanting to kiss and devour those plushy lips of yours.

But he stopped himself. He knew damn well his feelings are not gonna be reciprocated. Or so he thinks.

“I’m gonna miss you. That annoying voice of yours, I mean.” Satoru slightly chuckled before backing a few steps away, your cheek feeling immediately lonely after his hand left it.

“Yeah, no one’s got your annoying personality there.” You replied, while Satoru laughed and just said, “well, what can I say? I am a unique individual after all.” You chuckled at that. Soon, the laughter died down and changed into an atmosphere you’d never thought existed with him.

Sadness. Satoru’s eyes lingered on you once more before looking to the side, “well, I better head off now, see you soon, Y/n.” And with that, Satoru left. Leaving you all alone.

A part of you wanted to call out to him and ask him to stay, but the part of you that needed to let him go had won. You hated how it was so easy for him to let you go, yet it was so hard for you to do so.

Honey, I love you, that's all she wrote Oh, Ophelia You've been on my mind girl like a drug Oh, Ophelia

“Five years? Isn’t that... so long?” You questioned the higher-ups worrily. You just had to be sent to an unknown country all alone, with a student you don’t even know, and what’s worse- you don’t even speak korean.

“Oh c’mon, five years ain’t that long, woman. Besides, ya don’t have to do nothin’ but to eliminate curses there. So long as those curses speak korean, you’ll be finee.” Ugh, the sarcasm and accent of that old man. If only looks could kill, he’d be long dead by your glare now.

It may not be long for them, but it was long enough for Satoru to forget about you. Even if he doesn’t feel the same way as you do, you wanted to leave something that will make him remember you, even if it’s just as a friend.

You sat down on your desk and pondered what to leave behind for him. Then, you remembered the necklace you bought for his last year's birthday, which backfired because of his stupid girlfriend. You picked it up from the top shelf, still keeping it safe and clean, as if it was still fresh and new. As you placed it on your desk, you ripped out a piece of paper and wrote on it.

Minutes later, you turned off the lamp in the desk, as you yawned yourself to sleep, bidding goodbye to your dorm as tomorrow was the day to come.

~~~~~

Tears and snots filled your colleagues, while Gojo only remained nonchalant, with his usual sunglasses on. Even Shoko and Suguru were obviously trying so hard not to cry. And, it really disturbed you on how his “girlfriend” happily bid you goodbye, the only one standing out amongst all.

After you had hopped in on the taxi, Gojo immediately departed and went to a secluded area, where he took off his sunglasses and let his tears spill. Staying long enough to see you gone was hard for him. What more if you were completely gone for so long?

Days and nights passed, and he couldn’t sleep. Especially upon finding out you had left a letter specifically for him, that contained all your heartfelt feelings and desires to him, also gifting him a necklace when he never got the chance to gift you something back. And now he regrets letting you go so easily.

He broke up with his girlfriend, who basically barked like a dog and complained like a child when he did. That was the mistake he ever made. Again, he should’ve been with you, not with anyone else.

If only he knew how you felt all this time, then he would’ve been yours. Now he worries that you’ll find someone new in another country, and leave Japan for good. No, he can’t let that happen right? He can’t possibly... But what can he even do? He’s pathetically sulking in the darkness of his dorm that smells literal shit considering he hasn’t even bathed for almost a week.

“Satoruu. Get out of there.” A knock on the door was heard, and he knew for a fact that it was Geto. He opened the door, and Geto’s eyes immediately opened wide too, as he saw the miserable state of his dear bestfriend.

You were Gojo’s first love, for as long as Geto can remember. But he never expected to ruin Gojo this much. Even though Gojo was an annoying shit of a bestfriend, Geto cherished and cared for nothing more but Gojo. He wanted his bestfriend to be happy.

“Get up your lazy ass, would you?” Geto held his breath as he stepped in Gojo’s dorm and dragged him towards his bathroom, “c’mon, I’ll treat you out.” But Gojo further resisted, insisting he wanted you, and only you. He couldn’t care less if anybody else heard him, if they found out “the strongest” is this weak.

“No, no no no waaaayyy!! I want Y/n back Geto! It hurts so much!” Gojo whined again and again, because the memory of you leaving would just always replay in his mind.

How many days has it really been? Gojo could feel the cold water piercing his delicate skin, as he contemplated what could really be the opposite if he just wasn’t so cowardly.

His forehead was pressed against the cold bathroom wall, as his hands lazily stayed still. It was obvious that he had been crying — the red under his eyes was no joke — Geto felt cruel for having to expose his helpless face to the public, but this was him trying to cheer his bestfriend up.

As they strolled on the park, Gojo had been reminded of your latest, and last hangout. He remembered you wearing a white floral dress, along with the lightest shade of pink tinting your lips and cheeks.

He passed by at the bench he once sat on, and it brought along a lot of memories, in which where he stayed there for a long time, waiting patiently for your angelic presence.

Heaven help a fool who falls in love Oh, Ophelia You've been on my mind girl since the flood

Then, both Gojo and Geto ate at the restaurant in which both you and Gojo ate too, on your very last hangout.

It seems, for Geto, that everywhere he leads Gojo to, only adds insult to his injury. Everywhere he goes, he’s just reminded of you. It was a tormenting pain, at least.

~~~~~

Painfully slowly for Gojo, he had to sleep and return to his dorm by night, without even having to keep connection with you.

The line of connection of messages from Japan to Korea is just simply nonexistent, so even if Gojo did want to connect to you, there’d be no way at all.

His situation was getting worse, he had long neglected his duties as a sorcerer, neglecting the higher-ups, and himself. Partly blaming himself, even. He didn’t even have time to bid a proper goodbye, one that would tell you his response to your letter, one that would reciprocate your supposedly “one-sided feelings”.

And Geto never failed to see through his pain. And so, he did what everyone would do in his situation.

“Yet isn’t it far too cruel to let her stay there for 5 years?” Geto retorted back to the higher-ups.

“Silence! What authority do you even have to request such a thing? We held that event fairly — she even signed the contract! It is her fault if she didn’t read it thoroughly.” One of the higher-ups crossed their arms and huffed in annoyance,

“Then — let me issue a request to go to Korea.” Geto’s patience was holding on a thin line of thread as he continued to talk with the stubborn higher-ups, “you can’t expect me to sit down here while I haven’t even heard news of how she's doing out there.” Anger boiled within Geto, but he kept his calm facade intact.

“And you can’t expect us to just grant your request simply because you requested. Remember; you are in no place to talk like that.” The higher-up with a lengthy white beared appeared behind all of them, and that was all but enough for Geto to clench his fist and turn away to slam the door.

“This was a complete waste of time.” Geto thought and mumbled, but Geto is Geto. He will not give up just like that, so he’ll do it in his own way.

Geto knocked again on Gojo’s door, the white-haired man groaned and opened his door in annoyance, about to rebuke Geto, when suddenly- Geto pushed him towards his bathroom and preparing his things for him.

Gojo, already within the bathroom, stared at the wall with pure confusion. “Hey, what-” Gojo peeked out of the bathroom door only for a towel to be thrown in his face, “you’re going to Korea.” Geto said nonchalantly, “you haven’t used all your cash prize, did you? That would be all enough for your travel fee and stay there.”

“You’re... joking. How...” Gojo was still in a daze, you see, “now go take a bath”, now not anymore thanks to Geto’s help slamming the bathroom door in his face as he pushed him inside again.

Gojo couldn’t help but smile. His isolation within his dorm was driving him insane, that he’s thinking if this was just a dream. He wished it wasn’t.

~~~~~

Oh, Ophelia Heaven help a fool who falls in love Oh, Ophelia

As Geto bid him goodbye at the airport, Gojo's cheeky smile radiated amongst the walls of the building — he was finally going to see you.

“To hell with it,” Geto whispered under his breath, along with a chuckle, he finally saw the smug smile of his bestfriend after weeks. Now, he couldn’t care less on what the higher-ups will punish him for for slipping Gojo out of the school.

Gojo literally waited impatiently in the front row of the airplane to Korea. He couldn’t wait long. He misses you. Two hours and thirty-five minutes of flight will seriously drive him insane, even though it’s so short.

As he finally sat on the plane, he watched as the airplane slowly departed, reaching through the highest fluff of clouds. Time seemed to pass by slowly, painfully, even.

When he finally felt relief that he’d be able to see you soon though, two hours more and thirty-five minutes, he felt the sleep striking to him, after for so long sleepless nights.

Slowly, he leaned against the window and peacefully closed his eyes, pressing both his thumb and index finger on the necklace you gifted him.

~~~~~

By the time the plane arrived, Gojo immediately rushed to the Jujutsu High of Korea, not even caring if people looked at him with luggage following behind him, or if he looked like a fool with his messy hair.

There, then, with one turn of his eye, he immediately sees the one he had been always longing for.

You've been on my mind girl like a drug Oh, Ophelia Heaven help a fool who falls in love

“Y/n...!” You hadn’t had enough time to even turn your head toward the familiar voice, as you were immediately tackled to the ground.

As you felt heavy arms that wrapped around your waist, you felt a tinge of safety, and when your nose hit his neck, you immediately knew who that scent came from.

“‘Toru...?” With eyes widened, you couldn’t believe who was in front of you, now embracing you. “How...?”

Gojo cut you off, “shut up...” breathlessly, as he finally hovered his lips over yours, the very moment you’ve both been waiting for, for what seemed impossible, and for an eternity to ever happen.

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saltsicklover · 8 months

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Title: Fated to Run - Fated to Fly ꨄ︎ Part Four (The final part!)

This is the final part of this little story! Thank you all so much for reading, and thank you for the request! I really enjoyed writing this one! Cheers to finally meeting Bob!

Read Part One and Two and Three

Prompt from THIS ASK

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader SOULMATE AU

Word Count: 9700+

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Crying, Gentle Jake, Mention of throwing up, mention of a rank kink, lots of apologies, Bob kinda ruining things at first but things get better I promise!!

---

I want to rip my arm away from Jake's gentle grasp. I hate how he still holds me so kindly after how I treated him. After I ran. Tolerant fingertips against stilted skin. The area feels exposed. I feel exposed, too. Jake's hand is still on my elbow, warmth trickling into streams of amenity. There is no nettle of anxiety and that fact makes me want to cry. Fuck. I don't really want to cry, not again. But the gentleness of this almost perfect stranger tempts the fate of my tear ducts.

The breeze sends an achily dry feeling over my tear chapped skin. I grimace lightly at the feeling. It's nothing but mere distraction. It's nature's own fingertips grazing against my skin.

"You ran," Jake starts, his eyes darting over my face but never settling exactly on my eyes. His tone holds no accusation, thought it should be dripping in it. Instead, Jake remains soft spoken. He drops his hold on my elbow. I miss it as soon as it's gone, worried that now, I may float into space with nothing to tether me down. Nothing to tether me to this: here and now.

"I did," It's a confirmation that pains me as it leaves my lips.

"I'm sorry I scared you," The apology catches me off guard. So does the way Jake looks broken up about it. God, that makes me feel worse. And then I'm surging forward to wrap my arms around him. For a moment, it's just like it was in the airport, awkward and clunky. Then he relaxes a bit, wrapping his arms loosely around my shoulders.

Maybe this is what our relationship is bound to be, not written by the universe, but instead untangling from the bonds that came before. Maybe that's what friendship is. The unabated way we fold each other into embraces. My aplomb tendencies when it comes to the truth and the way it meets Jake's largess fits together like patchwork. Stitches made of brazen conversation hold us together, felicific.

"It wasn't you that scared me, it was the fucking words!" I explain, though it comes out all mumbled, though urgent, into the fabric of his flight suit. I turn my head, pressing my ear into his chest.

His heart beats in my ears, off rhythm with my own. Thump, thump, thuthumpump, thumpthump. Thump thumpthump, thump, thump.

"I have carried these words around for so long, and I've always hated what I thought they meant. I always understood it as a negative, and I never understood that it could be so gentle. And I know that you didn't pick them out to mean more than just simply what they do. But, Oh, it's just Bob, seriously?" I'm somewhere between laughing and crying by the end. Jake rubs a hand up and down the length of my back, right over my spine. It's warm and comforting.

"Still, I'm sorry," Jake mumble, his chin resting atop my head.

"Well, even though you don't need to apologize, apology accepted," I squeeze him around the middle, punctuating my words. Thump thumpthump thump.

"Thanks, Birdie," Jake hums, his hand never stilling. We stand like that for a few moments, the wind blowing past us. It's barely lukewarm and cooling under the slow dying sun. Jake's hands are torrid in their place around my body, an even heat exchange.

"I wanted to punch you," I admit, not even feigning sympathy. "Not today- but, a long time ago... Somewhere around fourteen I got fed up with the way people reacted to the "just " in my sentence. Everyone always saw it in a bad light, and it made me want to punch whoever said it, or would say it."

"Do you still want to punch me?" Jake's laugher rumbles over the beat of his heart.

My laugh rumbles over mine too. "No. I just... I decided that Bob is my everything so long ago, and so at the time it felt right to throw hands over him."

Jake's laughter doesn't stop, instead the rumbling in my ear gets louder and louder. He mumbles something about how Bob would turn bright red if he'd heard that but I think it was meant more for himself than for me. Silence overtakes us, save for the usual bustle of the airfield and the ever present sound of our heartbeats. Thump, thump, thump. Still, Jake keeps up his ministrations against my spine.

"What's he like?" The question breaks the silence. A jet takes off somewhere in the distance, neither of us comment on it.

"Bob?" Jake inquires, his hand stilling.

"No, Jay Leno," I gaze up at him with one of those seriously looks on my face, the best one I can muster, "Yes, Bob,"

"Well..." Jake takes a deep breath in, swishing his words around in his mouth like a sip of expensive wine, "You've got a good one, Birdie, truly. He's one of the best men I know. Smart as a whip, quiet, observant to the point where never misses a damn thing, it drives us all nuts,"

Jake's laughter thunders.

My heart stutters, still I'm quick to quip back a response.

"Everyone or just you?"

"Oh, shut it," The words are all playful.

"He looks just like Rhett," I mumble. I take my bottom lip between my teeth, rolling over the fullness of it. Jake erupts in heavier laugher.

"Yeah, twins usually do,"

"Shut up," I retaliate quickly, releasing my lip to make sure he hears me. "How is Rhett? I feel so bad for running. Fuck, I haven't even apologized to you. I am sorry, Jake, I really am,"

"You don't have to apologize. I was there, remember? I know how it went down. I probably would've run too," Jake admits, resuming his motions up and down my spine.

"I don't think that makes me feel any better," I hide my laugher in his chest, my barely wet skin almost squeaking against the material of his flight suit. "But thanks anyway,"

"You bet," Jake hums, "Rhett is alright, worried. We... We didn't really get a chance to talk about the airport thing because Bob picked us up. I think Rhett was avoiding saying anything so he didn't say the wrong thing,"

"I don't think you can say the wrong thing," I pull away from the warmth of his embrace to look up at him, "It's all predestined, you know. And if they are close, wouldn't Rhett know what Bob's sentence is anyway?"

"You would think," Jake chuckles.

"Do you know what his says?" My voice wavers at the question. I probably shouldn't have asked. Fuck my curiosity for getting the better of me. Another jet takes off, loud and unbothered by our conversation.

"I do,"

"And?"

"I'm not going to say as it's not mine to share... But..." A few beats pass between us, a jet soaring overhead. It buys Jake nothing more than a few seconds. "I think I'm the one who's supposed to say it," There's only a sliver of apprehension in his tone.

"How do you figure?"

"Because I know the words, and I know that we are standing here right now having this conversation and by now I'm sure everyone else is in that hanger waiting on me to show up to start the hop," Jake brings his hands up to my shoulders, pushing me back far enough to look at me without having to crane his neck. "And I know that we could wrap this up right now and walk back to the hanger and I could say those words and everything would go from there, just as it should."

"Right now?"

"Right now," I can barely hear him over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. I swear, if it wasn't for his hands on my shoulders, I would be vibrating away from how hard my heart is hitting my ribcage.

"It's not too fast?" I ask, finally deciding on some sort of sentence that doesn't really capture what I'm trying to say.

"Bridie, people wait their whole lives for this. They fight wars and move across the world for this. They take the same bus to work everyday. They run for political offices. They develop apps and services for this sort of thing and right now, Bob is sitting in that hanger right there," Jake thrusts a pointed finger towards the hanger, his tone getting a bit louder with each sentence, "And you are standing here asking me if it's too soon?"

"I guess I just-"

"Bob already talks about you," Jake interjects, not caring for my excuses.

"He doesn't even know me," I retort, once again defensive. There is a part of me that wishes I'd stayed hidden away in my father's office, staring out his too big windows and allowing myself to bargain over the importance of this situation. Instead, Jake is like a reflector for excuses and bullshit, cutting through all of the excess and highlighting the point with less than eloquence. My heart still pounds, I can feel it in my fingertips as they graze over my thighs. I try and push the incessant thumping sound out of my ears in a better attempt to hear what Jake is saying.

"It doesn't matter. Bob's a quiet guy, but when he is talking, it's often about his soulmate. He wonders, usually out loud, about what you will be like. He worries too, about if you'll care he's in the Navy, or that he's a Wizzo. He worries that you'll hate moving all the time, or won't want to be with him because there's the risk of deployments and all the other bullshit we go through. At the bar, he wonders about what your signature drink is, and if you like to play pool or if you prefer darts, or dancing. He hopes that you'll be beautiful, but not in the face or body, but in the soul. I'm telling you Birdie, he wants to know everything, and he's not very good at waiting for it,"

I can only stand there, still as stone with Jake's hands cupped over the caps of my shoulders. I can't even flounder over words. There are none stuck in my throat, in fact, for the first time in a long time I am speechless.

So Jake continues, "Birdie, Robert Floyd is head over heels for you already. My Mama always used to say that there is no difference between a wise man and a fool when it comes to love, and looking at Baby on Board I can say that, and I mean this as kindly as I can, there is no telling if he's wise," There is a chuckle stirring somewhere deep in his chest at the notion.

"That's a lot to live up to," I mumble, hoping Jake misses the words over the jets racing over us. He doesn't. Of course he doesn't.

"You're not living up to anything, Birdie, that's the thing. Bob hasn't even met you yet and you're everything. I already know it," Jake's admission is brazenly honest in a way that has me teetering over the precipice of my own self conscious mind. "And think about it this way, with as much time as he spends talking about ya, think about how much time he spends thinking aboutcha,"

Jake has a point, as hard as it is to admit.

"Can I be honest about something?" Jake's shoes are the most interesting thing in the world, with the way my eyes are locked onto the dark leather. I trace the eyelets with my eyes, up the wrapping of the laces to where the legs of his flight suit are bloused into his boots.

Jake's hands slide from my shoulders, hitting his thighs with a low smack. "Have we not been?"

Glancing up, I take in the sight of Jake's crimped expression, how his eyes glint in the lowness of the sun. His shoulders dip. A deep sigh escapes from the prison of his chest, edged with more concern than hostility. It's met with my own, the lukewarm air swirling in my lungs only to mingle with the wind again, now a few degrees hotter. Everything feels hotter now.

"Brutally," The word is overwhelmingly correct, cutting the tip of my tongue as it passes. "But I think I have more to say before I reach a consensus or a breakdown."

I chuckle out a dry laugh. Jake nods, squaring his shoulders just a little bit. It's an urge to continue, not that I needed one at this point.

"Up until this point, I don't think I ever thought past wanting Bob. I decided that Bob was it for me so long ago that I never found a need to think past it," I shove my hands as deep into my pockets as they will go to keep myself from picking at my nails.

"I've never been focused on finding him. Never focused on if he would like me, or if I would like him because I knew that it was in the hands of the universe, you know? And maybe if I believed in a God or something it would be in their handsand then I really wouldn't have to think about it. I mean, the universe picked me for Bob and him for me, so why would there be anything to worry about? But..."

My gaze finds itself just over Jake's shoulder, fixated on the hanger. The hanger that Bob is probably standing in waiting for the hop to start. Maybe he's cursing out Jake for being late. Or sitting next to that beautiful brunette laughing like there isn't a care in the world. Perhaps he's worried about being late, the hop in the forefront of his mind. It could be what he's going home to after work. Maybe he has a cat, an entire collection of Lego flowers, or an alcoholic roommate.

Standing here for just a few moments longer keeps that information at bay, along with all the questions I'm too afraid to ask myself.

And even though Jake swears six ways to Sunday that Bob wants me, maybe it's just because he thinks he has to. What if Bob only likes me because the universe told him to? Or what if he doesn't like me at all- the whole thing just an overexaggerated front to keep those he's closest to from asking questions.

There are so many questions.

Jake sways into the forefront of my now glassy vision, his face just a little out of focus. His brows are furrowed, tightening as I blink a few times to refocus everything.

"But what? What is it?" Concern. There is so much concern in the gravel of his voice.

"I... I think..." Another deep, slow breathe of air that smells thick of jet fuel. It burns my lungs as it passes, more now than it has before. Everything burns more now. I can feel my skin glazing at the heat, like I'm more glass than paint. More sugar than starch. More myself than destiny.

"No, I know," I meet Jake's eyes, ignoring how they burn too, "I don't want Bob to like me out of obligation. I don't want a relationship born out of a feeling of moral imperative, or because he's being backed into it. I don't want him to fall in love with me, I-"

Jake looks addled, and maybe... marred? There is something unreadable in his expression, his eyes ever fixated. I only stutter for a second, over my words, over that look, over the glazing of my own flesh.

"I want Bob to walk into love with me," There's a scuff of realization the moment the words are said, something akin to a record scratch. I am more than a predestined prediction, a proportional kind of perfect. "I can't have the same retronym love story of duty with no real choice. Soulmates or not, Bob needs to choose me or I'm not the one for him."

The conclusion is finite and final. That's all it needs to be.

Jake is all slack jaw and flashbulb eyes. His hand make's it's way slowly through the air until it's stoking back his hair. He follows around the top of his head until he's at the nape. Scratching at the back of his neck, Jake still looks my way. I can't see anything in his face other than astonishment bordering on incredulous. A small part of myself, a part that I didn't know existed past the pedant preteen years that bled into formalist youth, begs for a sort of validation. But I stay quiet. I don't need Jake to dignify this. Not when I know in my bones that it's true.

We stand just like this for a few minutes. I count the number of deep, slow breaths he takes. Three thousand three hundred sixty miles the Earth has rotated in the time it took Jake to take just under forty five deep breathes.

My heart beats hard against my ribs, and for the first time today I spend a moment calculating my heart beat. It's more than thumps thrown against the backside of my ribs. In times like this I break the world down into numbers, into something tangible and bite sized- easily digested. Somewhere around beat eighty five a jet pulls my attention away.

Jake's eyes are locked on the ground in front of his toes. I can just barely see the way his eyes trace the hairline fractures of the concrete. They mirror the fractures of this conversation, though words go unsaid the concrete beneath out feet seems more like ice. We are drifting.

"You've made me reevaluate this entire thing," The words are a mess of mumbled whispers feathering off his tongue. Then he laughs, one of those thick honeyed laughs that rattles your entire being. I didn't bring this point up to have Jake question his entire reality and from the sound of his laugh all slick and marred he may be doing just that.

"Let me ask you something," My words are somewhere between a peace offering and a threat of war. An olive branch paired with cocklebur and thistle; a fucked up bouquet. "Do you love Bradley?"

"Of course I do," There is no hesitation, just conviction, "He's my everything,"

"Are you in love with him?" The words are like chem trails hanging visible between us. Jake's tongue laves over the corner of his mouth for a second. Our eyes meet and he cocks a small smile.

"Honestly, he's the only person I've ever been in love with. I think I was in love with him before we even got together. Somewhere between butting heads over work shit to the time we hauled each other into that filthy bathroom stall while on shore leave, I fell for him. We uhh..." There's another moment of hesitation, heavier than the one before, "Rooster wasn't looking for his soulmate. Too much tragedy and loss when he was growin' up. He didn't want to lose anyone else. I on the other hand have one of those sentences,"

Jake fumbles with the zipper on his flight suit, his fingers shaking just a tad. The zipper pulls with a metallic buzz all the way down to his waist, far enough for Jake to pull his left arm free of the fabric. With a twist of his arm, I can read the fragile script inked into the soft underside of his bicep, I just hope he's okay.

Two beats and a breath.

"Is he?"

"Not all the time, but, things with Mav are getting better everyday. He still struggles but that's life," It's all warmly honest and sweet coming off of Jake's tongue. I share a smile with him. Jake traces over the words with his thumb, pulling gently at the skin. The air between us is lighter now. I am no longer counting heart beats. Instead, I let them pass through my chest without a second thought. The seconds pass, the Earth rotates and I breathe without fraction.

"But enough about us," Jake waves his hand in dismissal, "Are you ready?" He pulls his flight suit back over his shoulder, threading his arm though. The zipper hums that metallic zip again as I chew on the inside of my cheek. Am I ready? I don't know, but standing here under the slow setting sun makes me feel like I could be.

"How long does the beginning last?" I meet his eyes with question. His jaw ticks but the corner of his smile ticks up too. There is so much knowing in that look.

I've always been more at home in endings. With autumn, dying flowers in vases, and sunsets. Last words, whispered goodbyes, and the feeling of fingertips grazing palms after handshakes; those make sense to me.

Beginnings and I are strangers sharing fleeting glances. We are curtesy smiles across crowded rooms when our eyes meet on accident. Business cards and for sale posters pinned to public bulletin boards and the passing of cigarettes at concerts. Beginnings haze past me and if I don't move, don't breathe, don't blink, I can coast into the now, the middle of moments, what's left between the beginning and the end.

"Only a second,"

Jake takes my hand in his own. He rubs his thumb reassuringly over the joint of my thumb, our palms pressed together. Gently, he's guiding me back to the hanger. The whole ordeal is regulated by his kind touches. My skin burns under his hands, but it's not that romantic kind of burning. Instead, Jake's fingertips pressing into my skin are a smoke signal; I follow it diligently.

The walk to the hanger is quiet. No words spoken between us. The only sounds come from the base itself and the way our shoes hit the pavement. I wish there was a sort of de rigueur for situations like this. A handbook outlining exactly what you're supposed to say in the limbo moment between past and future. It's that moment where the word present doesn't quite fit. It's too liminal, a sort of aberration. Jake's soothing touch is pithy in the same way it is integral.

The sound of our shoes against the pavement changes as we pass through the threshold. It's far less crunch and a bit more scuff, now. Jake's boots are louder than the soft rubber of my sneakers. They give me a little bit more height, in turn I feel harder to miss. As if the only civilian in a hanger full of flight suit clad aviators would be difficult to miss in the first place.

We only make it about half way into the hanger, just about the point where the chilled breeze warms over when Jake stops me. I go to take another step but his hand tightening around my own. It's a quiet plea to stay put. There's more to unfold, and for a moment I wonder if the beginning has past yet or if I'm on the cusp of it. Jake separates his hand from mine, the warmth of his palm sticking for a few fleeting seconds.

Maybe that's how much time the universe spent connecting souls together in friendship. The few fleeting moments in the flick of a pen, ink still drying on the parchment of the universe.

The aviators all sit facing the board at the front, a couple to a table. There's only six aviators sitting, but that accounts for the main team, save for Hangman walking up the aisle. My father, Tom and Pete are at the front of the room, similar to the way I left them. Now, though, Pete is leaning against the table with his husband rather than taking up residence on the floor. My father is still sat in a chair at the front, but he's now facing the group of young aviators. His eyes catch mine from across the room, a small reassuring grin taking it's place on his lips. It keeps me from wavering, then it disappears as fast as it came.

I catch Tom's eyes next. From this far away, the usual stark blue of his eyes are less icy. Now, they're more soft, welcoming like a clear sky. He places a hand on Pete's knee, the younger man agog with excitement to the point where he's almost buzzing. He must've spotted Jake and I when we walked in, but the famous Maverick is good at keeping people's attention where he wants it. Everyone's eyes are still focused forward on him as he natters on. I will my ears to hear over the newfound sound of blood thrashing through my ears.

But it's not Pete's voice I catch, instead it belongs to a woman.

"Why are you two sharing this story now? I know that Payback and Coyote have been asking about this for months and you're finally talking? Something doesn't add up, if you ask me,"

Pete goes to open his mouth again, but Tom squeezes his knee again. His grip looks a little too hard. Mav doesn't seem to acknowledge the uniform wrinkling grip his husband has on his knee, but he keeps his mouth shut.

"I was thinking the same thing," Bradley pipes up, his chin resting against his closed fist, elbow propped up on the table in front of him. "Even though I've heard this story about a thousand times, I know Jake wanted to hear it-"

"Where is Bagman? I thought he came in with you, Bradshaw," The woman counters back.

"I'm right here, Phoenix," Jake pipes up, his tone more smug than I've ever heard it, as he's walking right past the empty seats to stand next to my father. "I was working on something for the Air Boss, is that alright with you lot?"

There are murmurs, nothing intelligible. The usual glower on my father's features when he's in front of his subordinates is no where to be seen. Instead, his features are schooled into neutral disinterest. Jake leans towards him to whisper into his ear- my father's expression remains still. Then Jake is moving towards Pete. He leans in between Mav and his husband, letting them both listen to what he has to say. With a clap of his hands, Pete is interrupting whatever Jake is telling him. I am a bit taken aback by Pete's sudden command but it seems no one else is surprised. Tom shakes his head a bit but does nothing to hold back his husband.

"Alright team, change of plans!" The words are met with a groan. "Our lovely COMPACFLT is going to take you guys for a little trip across the air field, I'll be there to join you shortly. Lt. Floyd, could you hang back for a moment, Admiral Simpson and I would like to have a word with you. Same goes for you as well, Lt. Seresin,"

"That's a lot of formality there, old man," Jake jests over the sound of scooching chairs and boots against the cement. I watch as the small group files out of a door at the back of the hanger, diligently following after Tom.

It's only then that it really hits me.

The only people left standing in this hanger with me are my father, Pete, Jake and Robert Floyd. My Robert Floyd, the man I have spent so long imagining. When I was a child, I used to talk to the moon about him. The habit started after my teacher told us the story about the man in the moon. He served as my confidant, my secret keeper, and my light for the future. It wasn't uncommon to commune with the milky light of the moon as it shown through the sheer curtains of my childhood bedroom.

I suppose it's fitting that my soulmate, too, has a love for the sky. I wonder if he's friends with the moon in that same way. Childlike innocence held over with white knuckles while tucked under blankets, anything to fend off the monsters turned Sunday scaries.

I let my eyes trail over his frame, though I can't make out much. Only the back of his head, with his clean, Navy regulation hair cut. He is that dishwater blond that Rhett is, hair shining with a slick coat of gel to keep his bangs out of his eyes. Bob wears his flight suit, which gives me absolutely no clue into his world of personal style. But, I like the way it stretches over the expanse of his shoulders and down the broadness of his back. The slick-ish green material pulling taught over the the caps of his shoulders as he slumps forward a bit.

Sitting alone like he is almost makes him look like a little kid who got into trouble at recess. He keeps his hands tucked in front of him, the picture of polite as he waits for his next instruction. Maybe it's instinct, maybe it's Navy issued, either way he's all patience and clean corners tucked into a military grade flight suit.

The sight of my father leaning down in front of Bob pulls me back to reality. He wears a kind smile, that same one he used to wear at father-daughter dances and parent-teacher conferences. That smile belongs wholly to my father- Cyclone: the Admiral is no where to be seen. It's strange, for a moment he almost looks out of place in his uniform, but I don't have time to dwell on that fact.

Pete is pulling Jake towards me, a hand on his collar.

"I'm telling you right now, Jake," Maverick punctuates his seriousness with the use of Jake's first name, "You are going to go easy on Bob, alright?"

"I think he's a lot stronger than you give him credit for," Jake shoots back, nudging Pete in the ribs with his elbow. "I know we all joke around and treat Bob like he's the kid of the group, but he's worked just as hard as the rest of the team to be here. He deserves it. There's no doubt in my mind that he won't take this in stride,"

"This isn't like you, Hangman," Pete chuckles, punching him playfully in the chest, "If I didn't know any better I'd think there's a heart in there somewhere,"

"You're forgetting I'm practically engaged to your son, you know," Jake is all jest and shinning eyes as he looks down at the shorter man.

"The word practically gives me pause,"

The moment between the men is as sweet as it is endearing, but my heartbeat threatens to take over my senses again. Anxiety swirls like thick smoke, overtaking my lungs and burning my eyes. I can feel myself tearing up.

"I can appreciate the father-in-law son-in-law bonding that's happening right now, but in case you two have forgotten I am this fucking close to losing it," I hold my fingers up for emphasis, my pointer dangerously close to my thumb, "Watching y'all, I feel like the lunatics are running the asylum,"

"Dangerously accurate," Pete laughs, earning a scowl from me. I turn to Jake for some sort of help. Standing here, the seconds ticking down, I feel myself wavering.

"So, this is it?"

"This is it," Pete echoes, unhelpfully, "You've got this, Little Bird,"

Pete uses that as his exit, patting Jake on the arm as he leaves. I don't turn to watch him walk away. My eyes are somewhere on the center of Jake's chest, but the images are all muddled and glassy. He takes my hand in his own, thumbing over the ridges of my fingers.

"Walking into love, eyes wide open, I promise," Jake's susurrus voice barely audible over the blood rushing through my ears. Gently, he guides me down the aisle between the tables. It seems a million miles from here to there, a sentiment I've only ever heard brides use. Then, he's stopping me a row back from where Bob is seated, still talking to my father. Jake himself does not stop, instead going to stand next to my father.

"You got it from here, Lieutenant?" My father asks, turning his quirked eyebrow Jake's direction.

"I do," Jake confirms confidently, his hands coming down to rest palm down on the tabletop in front of Bob.

"Alright then," My father straightens up, "I'll see you in a few minutes, Lt. Seresin. Have a good night, Lt. Floyd,"

From my new vantage point, I can see a sliver of Bob's side profile. A clean shaven jaw gives way to a long, pale neck. He wears glasses, that little fact feels more concrete than anything else up unto this moment. Robert Floyd wears glasses- those Navy issued, Birth Control Goggles that I've always had an affinity for.

Once when I was a kid, I had asked my father why the Navy glasses were hated. I liked them, truly. They reminded me of the vintage models in my mother's old magazines- and that look was the height of fashion circa 1976. My mother had a love for all things vintage fashion, and I developed a love for a well dressed man whilst looking over her shoulder. My father's response to the question was nothing that made sense until I understood exactly how cruel people could be.

"What's going on, Hangman?" There's a round quality to Bob's accent, though it is decidedly more formal than Rhett's.

"I'm getting to that, Baby on Board," Jake chuckles, leaning closer to Bob effectively keeping the other man's eyes on him, "Close your eyes,"

"Close my eyes? Yeah, right," Bob scoffs, "I think I learned better when it comes to you, all the way back when we were kids. Nice try. Now, tell me, what's goin' on?"

I watch Jake's smile bloom larger on his face, but he doesn't spare a glance my direction. I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, nervous energy threatening to boil over. Even though energy buzzes under my skin, I want nothing more than to hear Bob speak again.

"Seriously Robby," The nickname makes me almost laugh. It's said with just a dash of sweetness, something closer to fond. Bob lets out a slightly exasperated sigh. "Close'em up,"

"I swear to god, Seresin, if this is some sort of overdue hazing or some other bullshit I am going to kick your ass," Bob grumbles, but must closes his eyes by the pleased look reflecting on Jake's features.

"It's not, honest," Jake swears, a hand placed over his heart. I watch the pair as I rock back and fourth. It's a gentle movement, anything to keep myself from crawling out of my skin. "And you and I both know that you couldn't kick my ass if you tried," Bob looks like he's going to retort, but instead he sinks down a little further in his seat with a roll of his eyes.

"Well, get on with it," Bob mumbles, his shoulders dipping a bit.

"Will you take this seriously, please, Robby," There's that nickname again. Jake's words are met with a low grumble about how he really is taking something absolutely ridiculous as seriously as he can. "Let me ask you somethin'"

"Alright," Bob shrugs his shoulders, his uniform wrinkling under his movement. Bob is so apprehensive, rightfully so. Jake is still looking down at him, hands pressed to the table. The look Jake has painted across his face is nothing short of mischievous, a look that I would not want to be on the receiving end of, for fear of trouble.

"Now, no matter what I ask, you've gotta keep your eyes closed, alright?"

"Okay, alright, Jake. I get it, eyes are to remain closed,"

Then Jake is waving me over with a flick of his wrist. There is still a wide smile across his cheeks which makes it a fraction harder to say no. Still, I shake my head, eyes wide, trying to deny his request. He huffs out a sigh when I manage to scoot myself less than two steps closer. A second later he is crossing over to me, taking my hand in his again. He guides me back to where he was standing before, in front of Bob.

I can see his whole face now.

From the tender slope of his nose to his dusty brown lashes, the first thing that strikes me is just how kind he looks. I take in the gentle wave of his hair and the way it's pushed back from his eyes. I wonder what is would look like without all the product. Would it slope down onto his forehead, the obvious wave more prominent? From here, though his features are so similar to Rhett's, he looks so incredibly different. There is a softness to Bob that I wouldn't have expected. The points where Rhett is hard lines and calloused skin, Bob is undisturbed water, crystal clear and inviting.

Robert Floyd looks nothing like the idea of men I have come to picture in my head: the ideal man outlined for me since childhood. Those men were all beefy hands and square jaws, sharp lines that lead to a commanding presence. Instead, Bob is lean muscle and something so unbelievably oneiric. He is soft in the way the best things are, seafoam and clouds, the feeling of coming home. It's strange, really, the settled feeling that makes a home near my diaphragm. It's all delicate revelation.

The anxiety still lingers in my extremities, dancing through my thighs and down to my toes just to accompany the pulsing feeling in my fingertips.

And suddenly, I want to know everything. The dam breaks, cracks running through the concrete that held back my terse reaction and adjunct feeling of crumbling resolve.

The tears come fast and unexpected, the only thing keeping in a surprised gasp is my hands cupped over my mouth. Get it together, get it together, get it together! Those are the only words going through my head, accompanied by the sound of blood rushing though my ears. Jake grazes his knuckles over the exposed skin of my arm, his expression still as kind as ever. He doesn't take his eyes off me when he addresses Bob again.

"I had a point brought up to me today, about the whole soulmate thing," It's a start. Jake looks like he's hunting for the words, "And I'm embarrassed about it. I mean, it makes so much sense and I can't have you looking at me when I admit this,"

Jake is really hamming it up, leaning into this whole bit. I'm not sure if it's to ease my anxiety or if it's to mess with Bob, but either way I don't care. I am stuck standing here, in front of my person and will listen to every word that leaves Jake's lips if it means I get to look at Bob unbothered for a few more moments.

God, he's pretty. His lips look soft, even though they are lightly sun kissed. Or maybe that's just their natural color. His cheeks match, though. A stained sort of blush that looks like crushed berries. I want to trace the ridge of his cupids bow with the tip of my nose, a precursor to a kiss that is a long time coming. I want to wear that raspberry stain on my skin, too.

"Okay..." Bob's tone is nothing short of patient. "My eyes are still closed, I promise. Go on when you're ready,"

"The thought is this: people begin a life with their soulmate with their eyes closed, blinders on. They jump into something purely because something in the universe deemed it that way. I wonder what would happen if we walked into the whole thing with our eyes open instead of falling blindly, or out of obligation," Jake is summing up the sentiment well. He hits each detail in a way that threatens to make my head spin to hear them out in the open like that. It's one thing to admit those things out loud, but hearing them fall from someone else's lips is dizzying.

"That's the thing, Jake, I don't think it's all out of obligation," I suck in a deep breath at those words, holding it hard within my lungs. Jake looks at me with a knowing sort of look that doesn't make holding in this breath any less of a necessity. It's a few more seconds before I finally let go, the breath escaping my lungs slowly.

"What do you mean?" Jake probes further, doing his best to hide the joy in his tone. If Bob notices, he doesn't say anything.

"Just because we've got these words doesn't mean it dictates our future. Anyone who tells you different is drinking the Kool-Aid. I mean, I hope more than anything that my person wants me just as much as I want them, but the words don't make it so. It also doesn't mean shit the other way. Things can work out even if your words don't match up, because that's not what love is, Jake," Bob's tone has turned soft now, a care laced into his words. He takes his glasses from his face, setting them down onto the tabletop so he can rub at his still closed eyes. His expression is still soft, though he moves to rub his temples.

"Love is a choice. Plain and simple. I mean, look at my parents. You know they don't have each other's words, but they are the most in-love people I've ever seen. The universe didn't do that, they did. It was a choice they made every single day, to wake up and love each other and build that life together. And so, if you're worried about everything with Rooster, you don't have to be. Not as long as you wake up every day, love each other and build a life together, whatever that looks like for you,"

"So," Jake's words are interrupted by the smile growing on his face. His cheeks are red from the force it takes to smile so big, but he doesn't seem to mind. "Great love is walking in to it with eyes wide open?"

"That's exactly what it means," Bob confirms, bringing his hands back to his lap. At his confirmation, the world seems to slow. Each second lasts longer than the previous, the beating of my heart the only thing out of sync now. Tick, tick, ti-thump thump tick. Jake squeezes my shoulder, keeping his eyes firmly on me once again.

"There's something else I have to tell you, Robby," The joy in Jake's voice is palpable, warm like sunshine on skin. The ever-present burning feeling mellows to this. That static burn of the sun shinning from high in the sky, enough to turn skin hot with blush. "Birdie's here,"

The room goes almost silent, save for the sounds of Bob's deep, uncertain breathes. A moment passes. Then another. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. For the first moment I consider my attire, a white t-shirt and jeans. Could've been worse. At least it's something else to think about other than counting moments, minutes, heartbeats or breathes.

"Excuse me?" The words are taught, leaving an equally tight throat. Bob sounds almost pained, somewhere in the rigidness of his tone. Bob cracks his eyes open, reaching for his glasses. He slots them back into place on his nose, adjusting them with his long fingers.

That's something else concrete; the cleanliness of Bob's nails. I bite my lip to keep from laughing at the thought, after all, I'm taking comfort in something so silly. Anything to distract from the pulsing of anxiety.

Bob looks up, his pupils dilating as he refocuses to the light of the hanger. His eyes focus on Jake first, his expression something I can't quite read. Then his eyes flick to me. The best thing I can offer him is a sheepish smile but it makes Bob cock is head to the side like a confused animal. Like things will make more sense at forty-five degrees.

"Robert Floyd, Birdie Simpson," Jake introduces us as easy as if he were introducing two friends. "Birdie, this is Just Bob," That part is accompanied by wink and a hint of a chuckle.

"I shoulda hit you," I grumble, dashing a glace over to Jake. His laughter fills the room, bastard. Bob doesn't move, his head still cocked to the side as if he's trying to make sense of it all, dot the I's, cross the T's, but his mental pen's out of ink. I watch his gaze bounce between Jake and I a couple times as he flounders. His eyes are a notch wider than what I would consider normal, the delicate blue of them shining like ocean baubles under the florescence of the hanger.

"Well, say somethin' to 'er Robby!" Jake's drawl sneaks out with his desperation. He holds his hands out, almost like he's trying to display me to Bob, the only thing that's missing is the jazz hands. I am clutching the material of my jeans in tight, sweaty fists. This whole thing is going somehow worse than I had anticipated, even through Jake's good natured exchange and I can't help feeling exposed.

Jake mumbles out a "See, no tellin' if he's wise," just barely loud enough for me to hear. It's supposed to be a comfort, I suppose, but the limbo look I find myself locked in keeps my nerves from settling.

A sound akin to scrambled vowels escapes Bob's lips. His eyes widen impossibly further, his cheeks going crimson . That same color accompanies the skin around his collar. It would be an endearing sight if he didn't look so totally mortified. His expression isn't at all comfortable, mirroring the exact feeling zinging underneath my skin. This wasn't how this was supposed to go... God, this is so much worse.

The universe could have delt us better cards. All happy smiles and those movie reel, airport hugs that knock the wind out of you. Those Hollywood kisses with hands cupping faces accompanied by breathless words. I've been waiting for you. You look beautiful. I can't believe you're finally here in my arms. But that's not this. After all, the only hand the universe has wields a pen. The moment the words are wrote, we are on our own, ink stained and pleading.

"I don't think you were ready for this- either of us," I correct myself, "So, I uh... I think I'm just going to go," I start backing up slowly, heading for the back door of the hanger. I can't place the look Bob gives me, but it makes my stomach twist. "I'm sorry, again. To all three of you,"

"Birdie, please don't-" The door slams behind me, cutting Jake's words off. The chill of the outside air rapidly cools my heated skin. It's still California, but with the sun barely visible over the horizon, the air is cool.

Tears are rapidly forming in my eyes, though I don't exactly feel like crying. Instead, its the feeling of insurmountable stress weighing on my nervous system. Out of everything I am feeling, I can only name the things I don't want to experience because of the emotions wrecking through my body.

Though I don't want to cry, my body doesn't seem to be getting the message as fat tears dribble onto my cheeks. I don't feel like running, which in itself makes me chuckle. Usually, when things get hard I want to disappear, take time to figure out exactly what's going on. It's why I've been away from my father for so long to begin with, and why I ran from Rhett and Jake at the airport. What has always taken me distance to see is coming through remarkable clear this close up.

Maybe I should be broken hearted, or maybe I already am and whatever this fucking feeling buzzing in my chest is only serves as temporary cover. I can't hold back the laughter that vibrates through me. After all of the stock I put into meeting my soulmate, my person, and it having gone down just like a sinking ship only serves to make one thing so perfectly crystal clear. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. It has me turning on my heel and headed right back through that door.

Jake and Rhett haven't moved too far in the minute or so I've been gone. Jake is still standing in front of the table, looking down at Bob who now has his head buried in his hands. His glasses are pushed up his face, balancing oddly over his forehead.

"Birdie?" Jake questions, voice louder than necessary. Bob lifts his face from his hands, his glasses falling back crookedly over his nose. I ignore Jake's question along with his gaze, my sights firmly squared on Bob.

"Could that have gone worse?"

Bob still wears that deer in the headlights look, eyes like flashbulbs, but he finds his voice. "Statistically? Yes,"

Jake mumbles an oh, for Christ's sake to himself but doesn't say anything forthcoming. My hands cup my own face, palms cool against my still hot skin as I cross the concrete to stand in front of the table. Bob watches my each and every move until he is looking up at me from his seat wearing a mimic furrowed brow. My hands make homes of my jean pockets once more.

"For us I mean," I offer more criteria, "I mean, we really didn't say much to each other, so it's not like we could have said something to offend one another. There hasn't been time to make an impression besides the minute or so of blatant staring. No body threw up, or fainted, or cried. I didn't dump a cup of hot coffee on your lap or anything. Hell, I even had a friend meet her soulmate after they got into a car accident. So really, Bobby, could this have gone worse?

There's a sort of dry chuckle to my words, a humor that's been left out in the wind too long. We've officially made it past the beginning now, that much I know to be true, and there is already so much comfort in that fact.

Bob looks to be pondering over my words for a moment before a small, cheeky smirk makes a home on his lips. I can't help but mirror that smile.

"Well, when you put it that way," Bob places his hands on the tabletop, pushing himself to his feet, "I think that was probably the worst we could have managed. Considering the circumstances, what do you think?"

"I think we faired alright," I offer, "Could have been better, but life's good at hitting you right in the kneecaps,"

Bob smiles widely at me, and this time it's me who's looking up. Bob is tall, just like Rhett, but looking up at the man in front of me is so much sweeter. He thrusts his hand out, offering it to me, "Robert Floyd,"

I wrap my hand around his, squeezing, "Birdie Simpson,"

"You two do know that I did this already, right?" Jake interjects. Neither Bob nor I turn to look at the blond, his presence all but forgotten.

"It's wonderful to finally meet you, Birdie," Bob's voice is smooth, anxiety hidden in the upturn of his smile. God, he's got a nice smile.

"Likewise, Lieutenant," I stick my tongue out at him playfully, nose scrunched.

"No, absolutely not," Bob still holds my hand in his, "If this is going to be anything other than friendly acquaintances, you don't get to call me that here,"

"Here?" The question belongs solely to Jake.

"Then what can I call you?" It's all mischief.

"Let's start with Bobby, I quite liked that," He admits, his cheeks flushing again, this time it's gentle. The blush that overtakes his skin isn't out of embarrassment, instead it's out of a new found fondness. I can feel it creeping up on my own skin.

"Alright, Bobby,"

"It's Robby..." Jake interjects once more, this time earning a glance from Bob.

"Maybe to you and the family, but to Birdie here, it's Bobby," Bob explains, as if he hasn't just decided that fact for himself. "Don't you have to go meet up with the squad and Admiral Kazansky?"

Its more of a get out of here than it is an actual question. Jake seems to miss the scram message hidden in the kindness of Bob's tone.

"Uh... Not technically. Everyone is actually going to the Hard Deck. Pops called off the hop. Figured you wouldn't want to be flyin' after this and we couldn't let Phoenix without her back seater,"

At the explanation, I finally pull my eyes from Bob to look at Jake with an unimpressed expression. "What I think Bob's trying to say is get lost,"

"Well, yes. But nicer than that," Bob tries to offer at Jake's open mouthed surprise.

"I know he talked me down today," I gesture to Jake, "But, I don't think he deserves nice. Have you ever sat next to that man on a plane? God, he bounced his leg the whole time! I thought he was going to buzz right out of his skin,"

"You should hear him over coms while he's actually the only piloting," Bob laughs under his breath, "He's sort of insufferable,"

"That's not a surprise, but at least Rhett's not up there with you. I was stuck in between the of of 'em the whole damn trip,"

"Oh god, both of them?" Bob asks, his thumb stroking over my own. He still holds my hand, slightly awkwardly over the table but I don't care. In fact, he is so warm and I want him to hold me closer.

"Both of them," I confirm with a wry smile.

"In that case, scram Bagman," Bob laughs, hooking his thumb over his shoulder.

He holds his hands up in defense, "You don't have to tell me twice. I know when I'm not wanted," We watch Jake walk away for a moment before turning back to look at each other once again.

"I can't believe you grew up with him," I laugh. Bob laughs too, almost like he's in agreement. After the laughter dies down, we stand there in silence for a few moments. In times like this I would usually be counting down the tick of the clock but for once I am totally wrapped up in the present. That's when Bob clears his throat.

"I owe you an apology," Bob leaves no room for me to brush off his words, "I'm sorry I handled that as poorly as I did. I was caught off guard and then made a fool of myself. I'm not trying to make excuses, I really am sorry, Birdie," At the end of his apology, Bob's eyes slip from my face, a blush taking over his own.

"Oh Bobby," I squeeze his hand, pulling his gaze back to my own. "You don't need to apologize. That's not how I was expecting things to happen. Jake make the choice and I just let it happen. I think I should be apologizing to you. So, I'm sorry,"

"Apology accepted," Bob smiles.

"Apology accepted," I return. In that moment we settle into the quiet again, but it doesn't last very long.

"So," Bob starts again, a bit unsure of his words.

"So?"

"Do you think we've got a chance at this? The crash and burn beginning behind us?" Bob looks so damn hopeful. I can't help but swoon the second that look it turned down to meet my eyes.

"Let's look at the facts. You're a WSO, so you're already trusting, brilliant, a hard worker. I grew up a Navy brat, so I know what this life looks like. I'm not a stranger to the deployments or the work that has to happen for something like this to work out. I've got no where I have to be, nothing committed to. Hell, I was coming home, technically, the home being where your family is or whatever. And you already know my father, so there's no awkward introduction there. I already know Rhett, and Jake, not to mention I'm just a few members short of having met your whole team. I live out of a fucking duffle bag of fucks sake," The words spill from my mouth with no abandon. Bob just listens, a dopey smile drawn over his lips. "All things considered, I think we've got a good chance. I hear it's all about making the choice to make it all work,"

Its not totally clear if Bob picks up the little joke because the smile on his face hasn't faltered. Neither has his hand, still holding my own, even through my little speech. Carefully, Bob uses his free hand to adjust his frames over his nose so they sit a little bit straighter.

"What do you say we get out of here? Dinner maybe?" He offers, eyebrows raised. He looks a little nervous. I offer him my nicest smile. "And then we can talk more about all this,"

"That depends, Lieutenant, are you going to wear the flight suit?" I flirt shamelessly. It's met with that confused look that I've already come to recognize, though his head only tilts about fifteen degrees this time.

"Uh, no? I was going to change before we left," Oh sweet, sweet Bobby.

"I know," I giggle, "I was flirting with you,"

"Oh," The blush crawls across his skin again. I want to kiss every bit it colors.

"I can't believe you outed the fact that you have a rank kink in front of your friend and wingman, but you can't pick up when I'm flirting with you," I pull my hand from his, only to hit him playfully in the chest.

Bob's eyes go wide again, "Oh my god, did I?"

"You did," I confirm through laughter, watching Bob go from pink to red. "Now go get changed, I've gotta hear more about that,"

"Okay, okay," Bob holds his hands up in defense, walking himself out into the aisle between the tables. "One thing, first,"

"What's that?" Bob just holds his hand out to me, beckoning me into the aisle with him. I take it, rounding around the table to stand in front of him. He is taller now, this close. He looks down at me over the bottom wire of his glasses, a cheeky smile on his features.

"I'd like to kiss you first, if that's alright," He leans closer and closer with each whispered word. The last thing I see before my eyes slip closed is the still pink tint to Bob's cheeks, the same tint that matches the gentle blush of his sun kissed lips.

"You better," I mumble, our lips meeting a moment after. Bob's hands snake around my body, fingers threading through the beltloops at the the back of my hips. I wrap my fingers around his collar, clutching onto the fabric, holding him close. The kiss is all gentle, though there is so much warmth taking over my skin from his touch. It burns like new flame, the kind that gives light to the future. To our future, together, tangled in each other's embrace.

That first kiss is a brand new beginning taking flight. The first beginning I don't want to end.

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