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kaistarus · 4 years

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Clickbait(YouTuberAU)--Chapter 5

Pairings: Kiribaku, Tododeku

Words: 4,437

Summary: A lot of great things came with being a big name YouTuber, but along with those perks were some serious drawbacks. One of the biggest being your lack of personal privacy.

Due to just one video, Kirishima's least well-kept secret has become a viral sensation overnight, and now he has to deal with the repercussions from both the YouTube community and the public. Hopefully, those he's dragging down with him won't mind...

Notes: Welcome to how many Buzzfeed Unsolved references can I fit into one chapter lol. Had a lot of fun with this, so I hope you all like it!!

Read the full thing here

Kirishima laid haphazardly across the leather sofa, upper body sunk perfectly into the cushion now melded for his form. He shoveled a mouthful of Americanized-Chinese take-out that had been ordered once too often that week and numbed his mind with another Disney princess movie. As Rapunzel cupped Eugene’s cheek, singing through tears to bring her new love back from the dead he brushed his thumb longingly against his cell phone. If only he had someone who would cut their hair and sing to him if he were dying.

“Are you just going lay there and mope all day?

Kirishima groaned, pausing the movie with his phone. “I’m not moping. I’m relaxing.”

“You’ve been on that couch for the past three days,” Sero said. He kicked one of many take-out boxes surrounding Kirishima. “In those same clothes.”

Kirishima pulled his childhood Crimson Riot blanket above his head. It had been a full week since he and Bakugou exchanged numbers, and the only thing he received from him was a thumbs-up emoji when Kirishima texted him about their video hitting number one trending. An emoji like that basically meant ‘fuck off’ in text lingo. Kirishima hadn’t known what he did wrong, but he could take a hint.

“Do you think you could be… overreacting?” Sero asked.

Kirishima pulled the blanket down far enough to glare at Sero. “I would never overreact about this.”

“Clearly.”

Kirishima didn’t care what Sero thought. He would rather lay here in the mingled smell of Chinese leftovers and armpit stench than face reality.

His cocoon of warmth was ripped away as Sero pulled the fleece blanket off. Kirishima sat up and reached after the covers, but Sero had been too fast.

“What the hell, dude,” Kirishima said, giving up and lying back down.

“Mina told me I needed to get you up today, and I fear her more on a good day than you on your worst.”

That was fair, but it didn’t mean Kirishima liked it. He turned to face away from Sero and burrow further into the cushion’s warmth, not suspecting Sero to grip his legs and drag him off the sofa. “Bro, what the fuck!” Kirishima said, kicking at Sero’s hands and gripping the armrest for dear life.

Sero won. Kirishima flopped belly first onto plush carpet, feet atop Sero’s lap who’d fallen over the moment Kirishima lost his holding on the side of the couch. Before Kirishima could berate Sero for ruining his depressive episode the couch cushions started to vibrate. He realized his phone fell between the cracks during their tussle.

Kirishima figured Mina was calling to check on him and he had a thing or two to say to her. He dug between the cracks, annoyance allowing him to ignore a large number of crumbs his fingertips were brushing and whipped his phone to his ear.

“Mina if you don’t start minding your own—"

“Kirishima!” Midoriya’s voice threw Kirishima off guard. He pulled the phone away and nearly dropped the device when ‘Bakugou Katsuki’ flashed in all caps. “I’m so glad you picked up.”

“Yeah,” Kirishima said confused. Midoriya was panting heavily, and it sounded like the phone was being jostled around. “Are you okay, dude? Why do you have Bakugou’s—"

“Everything’s fine! Hey, we’re filming today, and I was wondering if you wanted to come to hang out?” Midoriya asked. Kirishima strained to hear what he thought was yelling in the background.

“We, like, Mysteries Unsolved?”

“Yeah! You and I still haven’t talked. I need to get to know the guy that Kacchan—oof.”

There were muffled arguments after Kirishima assumed the phone had been dropped. He called out to Midoriya a few times, growing concerned when he heard a high-pitched squeal.

“Shitty Hair?” A husky voice filtered to his ear. Kirishima’s mouth went dry and he gripped the phone tighter.

“Uh, that’s me?”

“What did that fucker say?” Bakugou asked. “He’s a damn liar. You can’t trust him.”

Kirishima looked up at Sero who had started eating the rest of the General Tso he’d gotten for lunch. Kirishima kicked him onto his side.

“He said you were filming today and that I should come over.”

“Oh.” The line went quiet for a little too long and Kirishima had to check they were still connected. “That’s fine. You should do that.”

“Are you sure? I don’t have—”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Suddenly the fact that he’d been wearing the same clothes for three days became more apparent. “I just gotta get ready and then I’ll head over.”

They said their goodbyes and Kirishima fell back onto his back with a sigh. Sero crawled to hover over him with a mocking look and Kirishima eyed him suspiciously. “What?”

“I would never overreact.” He said, voice pitched higher and face scrunched, shaking his head and clearly mocking him. Kirishima shoved him onto his side again and rolled into a squatting position to boost himself up. He had to wash off his depression stank.

~*~*~*~

Kirishima realized, standing in front of Bakugou’s red-bricked apartment complex, that it was a lot less intimidating than he remembered. Maybe because he didn’t have the feel of impending doom rolling around in his stomach this time.

“Alright,” Sero said, leaning across the passenger seat. “Text me if you need anything.”

“Yes, mom,” Kirishima said while rolling his eyes.

“And be safe. Those are basically strangers up there.”

“Okay, mom.”

“And make sure you use protection. I can’t take care of any more children.”

“Sero. Leave.”

Sero laughed and drove off, leaving Kirishima to grumble his way down the stone path lined with daisies and white-painted benches with hearts cut into the backs. Kirishima paused to watch a small bird drink from a layered fountain—had he seriously been freaking out over this place? He reached the glass vestibule that buzzed the moment he texted Bakugou he’d arrived. Unlike the last time he came to the complex Kirishima navigated the dimly lit halls much easier, only getting lost once. He blamed it on the random flyer informing tenants not to leave their dog’s droppings in the hallway.

He found the silver plaque reading 420 rather quickly and after a self-pep talk knocked strongly on the wooden door. He bounced on the balls of his feet, and when the door pulled open the guy with half his hair dyed from the party was staring blankly back at him. Kirishima remembered Uraraka saying he was Bakugou’s roommate and their editor, how did he forget he’d be here.

“Shitty Hair.” Todoroki—he thinks that’s what Uraraka called him—said. Kirishima waited for more, but after an uncomfortably long time staring at each other, he realized that was it.

“Can I come in, please?”

Todoroki’s eyes narrowed and he found himself shrinking under the gaze. He thought once things had been figured out between him and Bakugou this Todoroki guy wouldn’t hate him anymore, but it looks like he’d been wrong.

“Is that Kirishima?” Midoriya came bounding up from behind Todoroki. “What are you doing in the hall? Come on, we’re almost done setting up!”

Kirishima slid past Todoroki with as much space as possible. The apartment looked massive compared to how it’d felt crammed with all those people the night of the party. The furniture that Kaminari had fallen off was now pushed against the walls to make room for the set that Kirishima had seen in so many of their YouTube videos. An old wooden table and chairs became the focus and a backdrop was being set up behind them. Taped to the backdrop were wanted posters, maps with red string and post-its, and various black and white photos of vehicles, people, and crime scenes. Kirishima felt an uncontrollable smile start to form.

“I always pictured you having a studio or something.”

“It looks more complicated than it is.” Midoriya shrugged. “It’s already intact in Todoroki’s room. We just move it out here.”

“You keep the table in your room?” Kirishima asked turning to Todoroki.

“It’s our dining set.”

Kirishima eyed the old, cracked table and the two uncomfortable chairs. He couldn’t imagine having to sit on those for anything other than a short film session.

“Kacchan is in Todoroki’s room grabbing the last of the camera equipment,” Midoriya said. “If you wanted to go help him.” Kirishima did. He nodded to Midoriya and wandered down the only hallway that could lead to other rooms. He had no clue which door led to Todoroki’s room, but after hearing several curses he had a pretty good idea.

He nudged the ajar door open with his foot and found Bakugou headfirst in a closet.

“Fucking half-and-half bastard. I told him to leave them out, but nobody ever fucking listens to me. I swear to fucking god I’m going to lose my mind.” Bakugou muttered to himself while throwing clothing items and books behind him.

“Would you like help?”

Bakugou pulled out of the closet too quickly, causing a few crashes to be heard inside. “Hey.” He said breathlessly. Kirishima figured from digging around in the closet so long.

“Hi.”

“I’ve almost got it. Just hold on.” Bakugou said before diving back into whatever chaos Todoroki maintained in there.

Kirishima took small steps around the room that was about as plain as the owner itself. The walls were blank, the bedspread was grey, and even his computer desk was barren. The only thing that stood out was the two pictures hung above his bedframe with scotch tape. The first was him, Midoriya, and Bakugou holding their one-millionth subscriber plaque, and the second was two young boys in jerseys covered in dirt, the blonde boy had a cocky grin with his arm slung around a pale-haired boy who smiled shyly.

“You can carry these.” Bakugou offered Kirishima two heavy leather bags filled with equipment only Sero could name. He followed Kirishima’s gaze to the pictures on Todoroki’s wall and scoffed. “I told the hag not to give him that.”

“Is that you?”

“Yeah, but it’s a stupid picture.” Bakugou nudged Kirishima forward with his own case. “I don’t know why he likes it so much.”

Kirishima followed Bakugou out of the room to help him unpack the equipment while Midoriya and Todoroki completed the backdrop.

“Kacchan, I’m going to start recording the voiceover,” Midoriya said, walking toward the hall with Todoroki trailing after.

“Fucking do whatever I don’t care.”

“Voiceover?” Kirishima asked.

“Yeah, the dramatic explaining bull shit. Half-and-half cuts it in with us fucking around. It sounds cleaner that way.”

Kirishima nodded. That made sense. He guessed he never thought about it that intensely while just casually watching. “So, what’s the topic today?”

Bakugou shrugged. “The dynamic works better if I don’t know.” He said, struggling with a tripod. Kirishima sat cross-legged and watched helpfully. “I set up all the outings and Deku does this bull shit.”

Kirishima’s jaw dropped, “but I thought you hated being a ghost hunter.”

“I’m not a fucking ghost hunter.” Bakugou paused, staring blankly ahead. “Am I a ghost hunter?”

“I mean by definition...” Kirishima shrugged. “Sorry, dude.”

“I don’t want to be a fucking ghost hunter. This is bull shit!”

Todoroki poked his head out from the end of the hallway. “Izuku would like me to pass on, ‘Kacchan shut the fuck up. You’re ruining my recording’.”

“Tell him to suck a fat one.”

“I will not.” Todoroki left and Bakugou stuck his tongue out childishly.

“Izuku?” Kirishima asked.

“Yep,” Bakugou motioned for Kirishima to hand him one of the items lying beside him. “You give someone a place to stay and they betray you by sleeping with the enemy.”

“That didn’t sound overdramatic at all.”

“I’m not overdramatic.” He muttered under his breath. Kirishima leaned back on his palms and glanced back to where Todoroki had disappeared.

Midoriya’s head poked out from the hall. “Kirishima there’s a fun ransom note in this case and I was wondering if you wanted to do the voiceover for it?”

“Fun ransom note?” Bakugou shook his head.

“Me?”

“Normally Todoroki would, but since you’re here I figured it’d be fun to switch things up.”

Kirishima scrambled up and bounded down to the room opposite Todoroki’s. Bakugou’s room had a lot more to take in than Todoroki’s had. The amount of superhero merchandise—All Might specifically—that Bakugou had was impressive even to Kirishima. He had posters hung all over, actions figures and Funko Pops on bookshelves—most unopened, comic books resting on his nightstand, and an All Might blanket strewn across his black comforter. In between the superhero posters were a few pop-punk bands from the early 2000s that he was sure Sero would appreciate.

Kirishima’s eyes landed on a silver laptop on Bakugou’s bed that had a few YouTuber’s logo stickers on them. He noticed one was worn and nearly peeling off the surface, and it took him a moment to recognize it as his own logo. It was Kirishima’s first attempt at merch from nearly four years ago. He’d changed his design completely since then since hardly anyone had bought those. Bakugou had said he only knew so much about the Vlog Squad because Midoriya watched their videos in college. If that was true why would he have—

“Alright, here are the sections we need,” Midoriya said, handing him a paper with several highlighted sentences.

“Do I have to read it all dramatic?” Kirishima asked, skimming the words. He took a seat in front of their expensive-looking microphone while Todoroki clicked various buttons on the screen before him. This was all completely out of his basic editing toolbox.

“Just read them like you want to kidnap and murder a little girl,” Todoroki said somehow disinterested.

“Shoto.” Midoriya smacked his arm lightly. He muttered under his breath, leaning back and gesturing to the mic in front of Kirishima. He stared at it blankly.

“Don’t worry too much,” Bakugou said, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms. “Whatever you do will be fine.”

“If not, I’ll just rerecord it when you leave.”

Midoriya smacked Todoroki again. Bakugou gave Kirishima a millisecond half-smile and that was all the encouragement he needed to begin. The ‘fun’ ransom note turned out to be extremely depressing, and unfortunately, Kirishima ended up having to read it several times before getting a good take. He fumbled over a few larger words, but Midoriya was incredibly forgiving. After all the unnecessary compliments he received Kirishima left confident that he’d performed decent enough for a working edit.

“Alright, time to get this bitch over with,” Bakugou said, kicking off the doorframe.

“That’s the spirit Kacchan.”

Excitement fluttered through Kirishima’s stomach as Bakugou and Midoriya took their seats. He sat atop their kitchen counter a few meters behind the film equipment so any noise he made wouldn’t get picked up by audio. Todoroki made a few final adjustments to Bakugou’s set up, ignoring his insulted rants, and counted off to signal the start of filming. Once the camera was on he moved back beside Kirishima, and it was clear by his cold demeanor that he had little intention of humoring him with a conversation.

Like all videos, Midoriya began with explaining that week’s topic while Bakugou half-listened, twirling a red pen between his fingers. They would be covering the unsolved murder of a young girl, a case that their patron had been actively requesting. Midoriya barely got three minutes in before Bakugou interjected.

“Are those business folders going to be a regular thing now?”

“I was planning on it,” Midoriya said. “Why? Does it bother you that I look professional now?”

“No. It pisses me off because I know a bunch of ghost bull shit is going to end up in there.” Bakugou said, leaning back in his chair.

“Well, it’s not bull shit, so sorry but—”

“Wait,” Bakugou turned serious and put his hands up. “Did you hear that?”

Midoriya shook his head and Bakugou pointed his pen downwards. “It was my chair squeaking. Did you think it was a ghost? I’m just making sure you know the difference.”

Kirishima snorted. Bakugou and Midoriya both turned to him, Bakugou’s expression elated and Midoriya’s crestfallen.

“Kirishima,” Midoriya said whining.

“I’m sorry.”

“This is great.” Bakugou crossed his arms behind his head for support as he leaned back. “We should have a live audience more often.”

“This audience is biased, and you know it,” Midoriya muttered under his breath.

Bakugou rolled his eyes and waved for Midoriya to start up again. They continued with the episode and Kirishima tried his best to force down laughter whenever Bakugou made a snide remark. It hadn’t helped that Bakugou would make direct eye contact with him after every incident.

Todoroki started mumbling beside him.

“What?” Kirishima figured there was no harm in trying with Todoroki.

Todoroki side-eyed him. “Bakugou’s showing off. This is going to be annoying to edit.”

Kirishima didn’t know what that meant. As far as he could tell Bakugou was acting like normal.

“Are you taking notes?” Midoriya asked. Bakugou had his head down over his small yellow notepad and Midoriya strained to see what it said. “When have you ever taken notes that doesn’t—Deku is a fucking idiot. That’s…that’s real funny. Are you proud of yourself?”

Bakugou wiggled his eyebrows cockily at the camera and made brief eye-contact with Kirishima again. He supposed Bakugou was acting a little goofier than usual, but Kirishima wouldn’t consider that showing off.

Todoroki groaned dramatically beside him, so he clearly disagreed. Bakugou listened to Midoriya explain the first two suspects and suddenly he slapped his hand over Midoriya’s mouth. Midoriya peeled Bakugou’s hand off and looked at him like he’d gone insane.

“What’s happen—”

“Deku, I’ve connected the fucking dots.”

Midoriya looked a cross between amused and angry. Kirishima had his hands covering his mouth and was keeping his laughter down by sheer willpower alone. He wouldn’t allow himself to ruin what he knew would become a historical moment.

“Kacchan, there is nothing for you to connect yet.”

“I’ve connected them,” Bakugou said. He went on to rattle off a theory connecting the first two suspects to the murder. Kirishima and Todoroki both glanced at each other confused by what was happening before them. Bakugou spoke with such confidence it was hard not to believe he’d just solved the case. Midoriya read through the paper in his hand, looking between it and Bakugou before throwing it behind his back exasperatedly.

“Yeah, that’s… that’s the second theory.”

Bakugou raised his hand for a high-five and Midoriya eyed it wearily. Bakugou didn’t even bother waiting before he high-fived himself.

There were only several minutes of recording left as Midoriya wrapped of the final theory, which was always the most ridiculous and would send Bakugou in a tizzy. He ranted for remaining time as Midoriya laughed, but once Bakugou calmed Midoriya ended their ride with his classic phrase, ‘for now the mystery remains unsolved’. Kirishima grinned giddily as the words left Midoriya’s mouth.

“Those guys were assholes,” Bakugou said, stretching his arms as he stood from his chair.

“I mean they’re all murder suspects,” Deku said, propping his feet onto the wooden table. “Do you think that’s ever been someone’s last words to a murderer? You’re a fucking asshole?”

“Those would be my last words.”

Midoriya laughed getting up to help Todoroki look over the past forty minutes of footage. Bakugou walked straight up to Kirishima who was swinging his legs on the edge of the granite countertop.

“So, was it everything you dreamed it’d be?” Bakugou asked.

“That was amazing,” Kirishima hopped off the counter, accidentally landing a little too close to Bakugou. “You guys were so cool.”

Bakugou flushed with color and looked away from Kirishima’s sunshine smile. “It wasn’t anything special…”

“That’s uncharacteristically humble of you Kacchan,” Midoriya said, a teasing lilt to his voice. Bakugou flipped him the bird.

“Can we eat now? I am hungry.” Todoroki said placing the camera back onto the tripod.

“You’re getting food with us, right?” Midoriya asked Kirishima.

“I didn’t know you were getting food.”

“We always have a celebration meal after we record an episode. Kacchan was supposed to invite you.”

“Nobody fucking told me to—”

“Do I have to do everything,” Midoriya muttered under his breath. He grabbed Todoroki’s hand and led him toward the front door. “Shoto is going to help me take something to my car. We’ll be right back.”

“But we aren’t carrying anything,” Todoroki said. Midoriya didn’t respond and Todoroki shrugged helplessly to Bakugou as he let himself be dragged out his apartment. Bakugou and Kirishima were left staring at the door confused.

“That was…”

“Tactless.” Bakugou offered.

“I was going to say interesting, but yours works.”

“Obviously you’re invited to get food with us,” Bakugou said, avoiding eye contact by staring down at his plain black socks.

Kirishima nodded. “I figured.”

The moment Bakugou did look up Kirishima’s mind was erased of anything he’d planned to say. All he could think about was how intensely attractive his eyes were, how privileged he felt to be in that situation, and how he wished his heart would slow the fuck down because there’s no way Bakugou couldn’t hear it beating.

“I’m glad you were able to show up,” Bakugou admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, uh, I’m glad I got to see you again.” Kirishima didn’t miss the way Bakugou’s eyes briefly widened before he looked away.

“Sorry I never really texted you. We went to the middle of nowhere for four days, so I didn’t have cell service.”

“Middle of nowhere?” Kirishima asked.

“Yeah. We were hunting… bigfoot.”

Kirishima bit his lip to hold back another smile. Only he would find a guy who could use hunting bigfoot as a legitimate excuse for not texting him back. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not like I was depressed eating to Disney movies for three days straight or something.”

Bakugou eyed him suspiciously and Kirishima immediately started backpedaling.

“Besides, we aren’t dating or anything, so you don’t owe me any explanations,” Kirishima said, hoping he could deescalate the suspicion.

“Right. No. Yeah. We’re not… that.”

Kirishima realized he may have de-escalated too much when an ounce of hurt flickered across Bakugou’s face. That was bad. He needed to fix that. Kirishima racked his brain for ideas, but he could only come up with stupid plans. Kirishima noticed Bakugou’s face scrunch up like he was about to overthink something, and he took a deep breath. It was time to do something stupid.

“Not that I would hate if we were…” Kirishima said. “Dating or something.”

Bakugou’s cheeks tinted red and Kirishima hoped that was a good sign.

“Right,” Bakugou nodded. “That wouldn’t completely suck.”

Kirishima didn’t bother holding back the smile that broke out. “Well then maybe we should—"

“We’re back!” The front door swung open and Midoriya strutted into the living room. "Shoto and I were thinking about tacos if that works for you… two…”

Kirishima hadn’t noticed how close they were until Bakugou backed up an exaggerative distance. Kirishima didn’t anger easily, but at that moment if looks could kill Midoriya would’ve dropped on the spot.

“We’ll just wait in the hall,” Midoriya said, quickly pushing a confused Todoroki back out the door.

Bakugou had both his hands on his face and he looked at Kirishima through spread fingers. Kirishima gave him a half-grin and shrugged.

“Can we talk later?” Bakugou asked. “If Deku walks in one more time he’ll be the star of our next video.”

Kirishima felt his face burn. “Yeah. Later works.”

Bakugou nodded. “I have to… get shoes and stuff.”

He left Kirishima alone in the living room. Kirishima smacked his cheeks so the blush would be gone by the time he went into the hall. He had his hand on the brass doorknob when he spotted a whiteboard hanging beside the door.

It was a calendar whiteboard, the type you usually find in college apartments. It was color-coded based on each boy for chores, appointments, meal prep, rent, and bill payments, and other random reminders—Bakugou had one about picking Todoroki up from his dentist appointment. At the bottom left there were stick figures of Todoroki and Bakugou that looked to be drawn by the opposite. Kirishima had never seen something so wholesome and organized in his life. He knew that if his house tried to implement this it would go to shit in less than 12 hours.

The right side was more chaotic and had been invaded by Uraraka and Midoriya. Various things like fuck Deku, altered with a yes please beneath it; Uraraka is awesome, rewritten as Uraraka is stupid; Kacchan smells, a sloppy GOOD scribbled underneath; and Todoroki is a boss ass bitch, which was left alone. This was more like what anything at his home would resemble.

“I got it because half-and-half needed to learn how to be a functioning adult,” Bakugou said, sneaking up behind him. “Nobody takes my shit seriously.”

“Can I write on it?” Kirishima asked, already reaching for the red dry-erase marker. He found a clean spot in the bottom right and wrote ‘Kirishima was here’ with a shark-toothed smiley face.

Bakugou stared intensely at the spot then nodded. “Let’s go.”

The moment they entered the hall Midoriya apologized which started an argument between him and Bakugou. Kirishima tried seeking help in Todoroki as the two trailed behind them, but it appeared Todoroki still wanted nothing to do with him. Kirishima hoped he’d be able to fix whatever was going on because Todoroki seemed like a big part of Bakugou’s life. Mina always told Kirishima that befriending people was his hidden superpower, so he would just have to hope that he’d be able to ware Todoroki down. Kirishima wanted to be a part of Bakugou’s life, and that meant getting along with the people who were in it.

Bakugou aggressively punched the down button for the elevator while informing Midoriya his poor taste in movies made his every opinion irrelevant. When the doors slid open Todoroki shoulder checked him while walking past and Bakugou paused his fight with Midoriya as if thrown off by Todoroki’s actions. Kirishima guessed it really was just something about him then wasn’t it. The two appeared to be having some sort of telepathic conversation now and Kirishima just leaned against the cool metal of the elevator’s wall.

Don’t get him wrong. Kirishima was thrilled to be hanging out with everyone but…

He hoped later wouldn’t be too far away.

#kiribaku #clickbait #youtuber au #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #bakugou x kirishima #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha au

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jincherie · 6 years

Text

a well-oiled machine | i

➛pairing: jungkook x reader ➛genre: android au, futuristic au, prostitute au, fluff, angst, smut (next part) ➛words: 14.3k ➛rating: sfw ➛warnings: none in particular in this part-- some slight drunken behaviour and an android in bad shape! hints at previous abuse ➛notes: for @cinnaminsvga !! happy birthday zee!! i wuv u uwu !! <33 enjoy your roboporn u mecha slutte -- I’m sorry its not completely done!! I’ll do my best to pull the rest out my ass asap!!! <3 <3 <3

Your life takes a bit of a turn when you stumble upon an android in pieces, hidden in an alleyway in an area known for its shadows and debauchery. Taking him home to fix him might have been the best decision you’d ever made, but perhaps there was a little more to the android JK01-97 than you’d initially thought.

→posted; 20.08.2018

→ masterlist | part ii

Through the cool blue and lilac glow that fell from the holographic signs lining the streets, the fat droplets beginning to pelt from the sky and the darkness that began to linger alongside the buildings, a form was just barely visible. Jumbled and disorganised, a mess of metal and synthetic material that had seen better days was propped against a dumpster and the brick wall behind it. Hovering vehicles sped past, women in heels and men in dress shoes strode by, all oblivious to the shape hidden just inside the alley. The droplets that had sprinkled now began to pour from the heavens in earnest, and the form began to grow soaked. Water pooled across the chipped and uneven concrete, dripping and mixing with the deep, burnt violet that trickled slowly from metallic shapes that looked vaguely like limbs, the metal torn and busted, and the flesh-like material spread across it ripped and ruined. As the remaining light of day fled the sky and the distant rumble of brontide pierced the damp air, time began to run out for the form. It had been there for days, untouched by anything but nature, and while the LED light in its eyes had managed to remain, now it had begun to flicker. It was a hopeless night, a hopeless storm growing closer, and the glow of the signs’ light reflecting across the puddles was beginning to overpower the form’s own.

He didn’t have much longer at all.

x x x x x x x x x

The Red Light District wasn’t a place you enjoyed visiting, nor one you frequented by choice. Rather, it was a necessary evil; just on the other side of the district lay a waste field, ripe with discarded technology and all the parts in the world a simple tinkerer like you could ever want. Normally, someone such as yourself seeking to pilfer the field for parts and goods would be refused entry, but you had the luck of knowing and befriending the owner. Mr Bang was a retired scientist, an inventor of sorts, who’d specialised in AI and had even mentored some of your friends in their studies before he reached an age where he decided it was time to leave the profession. It was, in a way, quite peculiar that he now owned and managed what was essentially a trash yard for discarded technology. From simple things like microwaves and hoverboards to the rare early-age android, He collected them and stored them. The only place he’d managed to find big enough for all his, well, junk had been the warehouse on the other side of the Red Light District. And so, that was where you had to go— actually, it was where you were trying to go right now, if the storm and resulting traffic decided to let up.

Your car was somewhat a relic of an older time, but still technologically advanced enough that it was allowed on the road with other vehicles. You’d grown up being taught to drive by your parents, and secretly longed to be able to drive your own car, but the laws in this day and age were quite clear. On roads that hovercraft and wheeled vehicles shared, only automatic, self-driving units were allowed. Gone were the days when you controlled the speed of your own car, the turns and brakes. It was nice not having to think about all of those things on the journey to your destination, but at the same time you found it gave you too much time to think. While it took more mental capacity, driving in itself was a mindless sort of activity. You liked that it quietened your thoughts, but supposed you’d just have to deal as always with how loud they were for now.

You let out a sigh as you remained in the same position you’d been in for the past few minutes, bumper to bumper with two other cars. In a day and age when crashes on the road were few and far between, you weren’t sure what the hold-up was this time. You supposed it was probably the road itself— the rain had come out of nowhere and with so much in so little time, you didn’t doubt the winding, dipping roads of this area were prone to flooding. Automatic cars were incredible in their seamless ability to drive with much less hazard, but had a flaw in their programming; some, especially older models, were so wired to uphold their passenger’s safety that they sometimes jumped the gun a little bit. In example, what was probably happening a little further up the road was that a car or hovercraft was halted before a stream or pool of water. Its sensors and computer would register danger, and would lock the wheels or engine so that the danger was not intercepted. This was problematic when the water was only a few centimetres deep and easily driven through. There was a function for events like this, that allowed the passenger to commandeer the vehicle for a few minutes and override any automatic inhibitors, but the process of accessing that setting was… tedious. In all honesty, the time it took to activate manual driving was probably what caused this back-up of traffic in the first place, rather than a road being completely flooded. Your car thrummed suddenly, engine revving softly, and you moved forward one whole car space before you halted again. Then, no doubt, the process began once more.

You were getting tired of sitting here, gazing out the window in a district where there were things you likely didn’t want to see. The rhythmic swiping of the windshield wipers could only distract you for so long before you were seeking other entertainment. The storm had momentarily interfered with the local cell towers so you couldn’t even browse the internet, and you weren’t in the mood for any of your games. You liked the mindless kind, the easy ones with a little story and detail to spice them up, but your thoughts were currently too active for something like that. So, sitting and staring out the window it was.

You were wondering if it was better to forgo a visit to the tech yard this time. At this rate you were going to tear your own hair out before you even got to the other side of the district, and you didn’t want to even entertain the thought of what it would be like beyond the blocks of buildings and maintained roads. You shuddered. Perhaps you’d give it a few minutes, and if the traffic didn’t sort itself out by then you’d head on home. It was getting late as it was anyway. Well, six o’clock in the evening wasn’t technically that late, but you’d been up since early running the store and you were eager for the day to end.

It was hard to see through the pelting rain that melted against the glass and did its very best to obscure your vision, but you still managed to catch it as a woman in a short dress and crimson heels scurried past, bag held over her head in meagre protection from the rain— until her foot lost traction on the flooded path and she slipped. You gasped, wincing at the way her knees made contact with the concrete, and were opening the door of your car with an umbrella in hand before you could give it a second thought, ignoring it as your car letting loose a string of warning noises and a soft artificial tone, ‘Miss y/n, please get back in the car. Climbing out of a moving vehicle is a safety hazard.’

Well, your car wasn’t exactly moving but she had the right idea.

You hurried over to the woman, your form instantly growing soaked in the downpour. You managed not to flinch as a flash of lightning greeted your vision and thunder boomed and rumbled above almost instantly after. Ah, the storm was right above you, it would seem.

“Hey, are you okay?” you asked, speaking louder so she’d be able to hear you over the rain. The woman looked up, surprised that someone had stopped to help. Her eyes were a warm cocoa that matched her auburn locks, gratitude filtering into her irises as you popped open the umbrella above her. “I saw you slip a bit in the puddle.”

The woman winced, adjusting the way she sat so her knees were removed from the rough texture of the pavement; blood seeped from the scrapes marring her tanned skin, diluting in the water pooling along the path. She accepted your hand and wobbled to a stand. You scooped up her bag for her. “A-ah, yeah, I’m fine. I didn’t slip, though. I tripped on that.”

At the last word she gestured loosely, hands then returning and brushing tentatively over the torn skin on her knees. Your gaze followed the movement, surprise filtering through you at the sight of something metallic a few feet away, gleaming in the glow of the holographic sign above you. You squinted through the rain, trying to discern what it was. The urge to investigate tickled under your skin, tugging your sternum, but you forced yourself to remain where you were by the woman.

“Ah,” you murmured, blinking as you returned your attention to the situation at hand. You passed her the umbrella. “Here, you can have this— my car is just over there. Do you need help walking…?”

The woman blushed, shaky hands dusting her soaked dress as though there would be real dust clinging to the fibres in this weather. A little concern budded within you as you caught sight of her skin again and worried that she was beginning to turn a little blue.

“N-no, thank you though,” she held her hands up, and you winced as you caught the scraped skin of her palms. She took the umbrella from you with a sheepish look. “I’ll be ok. Thank you very much for helping.”

“If you’re sure,” you smiled, passing her the bag you’d picked up; she accepted it with a shy grin. “And it’s no problem. Try not to trip again.”

She let loose a giggle and agreed, offering a brief wave before she was off once more, trekking through the rain at a slightly slower pace now that she had an umbrella to stop her getting soaked. You, on the other hand, were now suffering for your generosity. You didn’t mind though— this was the excuse to go straight home that you’d been looking for, and you weren’t one to turn down an opportunity when it was so nicely presented to you.

Although, before you went back to your car…

You checked behind you quickly, and once assured that traffic wasn’t about to move again anytime soon, you dashed forward in the rain to the alley where the item lay that had tripped that poor lady. It grew clearer the closer you got, and it wasn’t long before you were halting in surprise.

A… hand?

Realisation quickly dawned on you as you caught sight of a thick cord attached to the bottom that lead further into the alley. An android— but what was an android doing here with its hand almost completely severed?

In all honesty, there were a number of likely explanations— androids weren’t human, and as such there were many legal… loopholes, with things one could get away with— and your heart hurt at the thought of every one of them. You quickly ducked into the alleyway, now just barely shielded from the rain by the brick wall of the building to your right. The alleyway was illuminated only by the glow of the holographic signs at the edge of the building, a dim blue and violet cast all you had to go off as you crouched and peered at the large lump before you. It took you a moment to take it in.

It appeared to be a male, of unclear make and model. Your heart throbbed in your chest— god, it was in absolute pieces. There wasn’t a single inch of its form that hadn’t been beaten or damaged. The synthetic material covering its outside was ripped and frayed, stained deep plum from the fluid that ran through droids like blood, the metal frame bent and dented and, in some places, even torn. You knew it was just an android, but the thought of anything— anyone going through something like this, no doubt at the hands of their owner, made your heart ache.

Your gaze scanned its form, sadness gathering within you at each new detail you took in— until you halted, surprise catching your breath in your throat. With the amount of damage this android had sustained, you’d thought it would no doubt be, well, dead. But the dim, flickering light you caught glowing behind closed lids ceased those thoughts— he was hanging on, clinging to life against all odds.

The light was weak, just barely there, and you knew that if you left him here he would die. If he had already gone, you might have taken him for parts— it was a better fate than leaving his frame to rust and decay. But now, knowing that he was alive… you had to help him. You tinkered for a living, you fixed things, repaired things— it was a family thing. In your mother’s case, the things she specialised in fixing were androids. And now, knowing that you had the skills, the knowledge, the opportunity to help one— you couldn’t leave it, couldn’t leave him. Your mother wouldn’t have, and you wouldn’t either.

You moved quickly, not wanting the android to have any more exposure than necessary to this atrocious weather. Thunder rumbled above you once more as you shimmied out of your soaked jacket, using it to gather and wrap up the parts of him that were closest to falling off. Some of his limbs might have been hanging dangerously, some panels popped loose, but for the most part everything was still attached in some way— even if it was only by a few wires or cords. You gathered his pieces, jacket wrapped around him to keep them together, and slipped your arms around his form to heave him up with a great huff. He was heavier than you anticipated, much heavier, but you’d be able to make it to your car okay.

You peered over your shoulder, through the rain, and upon confirming your car was still where you left it, you grasped the android tight and hurried over, wary of slipping in the various puddles. In the short time you’d been out of the car, the relentless downpour seemed to have made them grow deeper.

Your car beeped at you, politely requesting you get back inside as you popped the back door open and carefully laid the android’s cold, slack form across the backseat. Once sure he was safely secured, you shut the door and opened your own, diving into the seat and out of the rain, shivering a little. Right, well. That wasn’t how you’d expected this evening to go.

With cold, stiff fingers, you tapped the navigation panel and input your home as a new destination. The car hummed in affirmation, hot air beginning to blast as it read your significantly lowered body temperature. You allowed a smile as the car shifted and scanned the area before the wheels turned and it was performing a u-turn when safe— you were really beginning to appreciate these automatic vehicles a lot more.

x x x x x x x x

Laid across your workbench like this, all of his pieces rearranged to where they should be, you had to acknowledge that the android was handsome.

You’d connected him to a power port to stabilise his system as soon as you’d arrived home, and now you were talking a moment to admire the sight before you. The level of detail and dedication present in his features, in each suture of synthetic skin and weld of metal framing. You were in awe that someone besides yourself, besides your family, had taken such pride and care in their work— it wasn’t common nowadays, when most things were made by machines. Even for an android, it was difficult to emulate the level of attention to detail present in the works of someone who truly loves and enjoys their craft.

The android— model JK01-97, as you’d seen from the inked code on the inside of the wrist that was still attached to his arm— was almost a work of art. The skin, while you knew it was synthetic, felt real to the touch, and the hair shone beneath your work light with all the radiance of authentic, healthy locks found on humans. The line of thick lashes that crossed and clumped lightly, the sculpt of the brows and face— it was the kind of complete beauty that couldn’t be found in factory perfect androids, modelled after the impossibly image of beauty humans always strived for. His lips were uneven in their fullness, cupid’s bow pronounced, and his skin— the parts that weren’t damaged— was a lovely golden and had the occasional cute freckle decorating it.

It hadn’t been long since you’d arrived home with the android, and as a result you hadn’t had the time to really do anything yet. Your gaze swept over his form, the ripped clothing over his legs and his bare feet. Only pants… had his other clothes been so badly damaged they’d just fallen away? And his collar… most androids had collars with tracking chips in them so that their owner could find them in the event they were ever stolen, but this one… his throat was bare, though there was a slight discolouration on the skin that showed where the collar had been. You let out a sigh, the sight confirming what you’d thought all along; it had been his owner that did this to him— took the chip, beat him and then discarded him like nothing more than a cheap toy. You frowned, hand lifting from your side.

“I’m so sorry they did this to you, JK,” you said softly, brushing the soft raven strands from his forehead. The synthetic skin was stained plum where it was busted open, the android equivalent of blood having seeped out of the lesion. The informal name was Violet Blood, since that was essentially what it was, but it was more technically known as AMF— Android Maintenance Fluid. Not the flashiest name, but it did its job.

You watched as the thin ring that usually ran around the outer edge of an android’s irises glowed dim, deep blue beneath his eyelids. That colour indicated that he was currently in a state similar to very, very deep sleep, or really something more like a coma. It was a state their systems initiated when circumstances were unideal and the need to survive overran the need for more or less ‘conscious’ control. It was as though they went into standby, hibernated, until conditions were ideal once more. This meant when the stressors were gone, and the body was in optimal condition for operation again.

So, for this android— JK, as you’d begun calling him from his model number— to wake up, you needed to fix his body up. His frame, his skin, his wiring and circuitry were all you’d noted to be damaged so far, and you hadn’t even gotten to run scans on his programming and system state yet… you certainly had your work cut out for you. Could you really do it? You’d never fixed an android by yourself before...

Your gaze flicked up, to the right corner of your desk where a holographic picture frame sat. At the sight of your mother in movement, glaring playfully at the camera with the corner of her lips betraying her expression and twitching into a smile before she grinned brightly and waved, you returned your gaze to the figure laying prone before you with a renewed sense of determination. You could do it; it might take some time, and some patience, and probably a fair bit of money, but you could do it.

You adjusted the strands that fell over his forehead, brushing off a speck of dust from his cheek.

“I'll do my best to fix you, JK,” you vowed, tone conveying how serious you were. “I promise.”

And do your best, you did.

x x x x x x x x x

First, you decided, was the frame.

The android’s metal framing was, in a word, wrecked. It was dented, wrangled, and had taken more abuse than you’d thought possible. Considering it was so deep inside of his form, covered by layers of wires and cushioning materials, it was somewhat hard to gain the access you needed to fix it as best as you could. You had to carefully strip back synthetic skin and the harder casing beneath, part the wires and cords that acted as makeshift tendons and ligaments. The only experience you had in this area was when you’d accepted a job to repair some animatronics for an old restaurant franchise that extended from a brand of cinemas. It was similar in essence, but in details… there were more differences than you could count.

It was an activity that required a lot of time and a lot of patience, since you didn’t want to damage any part of him more than it already had been. The fact that you put such care into sorting out the frame, fixing kinks and welding the parts that had torn back together, meant that it took much longer than you originally thought. In amongst your daily tasks and jobs that came from running a second-hand goods and repair store, it took you over a week to completely adjust his frame. But once you were done, at no extra cost to the android, you were excited— the frame was more or less like the bones. Now that you had stable grounds to work on, you could get to the other areas.

As you’d gone along, you’d cleaned the android’s form wherever you were working. But now, as you settled before him once more with the bright warmth of a Saturday morning sun cast across your side, you decided he deserved to be cleaned properly before you continued to the next stage.

“God…” you winced as you brought the damp cloth across his forehead, wiping away the plum and lilac stains that marred his skin. His AMF levels had dropped enough that he’d stopped ‘bleeding’, but the sight of it still wasn’t entirely pleasant. “How could someone do this to you…?”

You couldn’t fathom how someone could expend all the money it required to purchase an android, and then treat it so poorly. It baffled you, but also angered you— with how advanced they had become in recent years, you grew more and more uncomfortable with the fact they were treated with such disregard. At this point, models were in production that could emulate a similar version of the care a parent felt for their child— nanny bots, of course. How long before they went too far in their endeavours and their creations were too human to fit into the box society had created for them?

For some reason, you found yourself talking to the android, JK, more often than you talked to yourself. You thought that perhaps it was the fact he looked so real, so human, that the idea of having company even if it was currently somewhat comatose was better than having no company at all, as it usually was. You weren’t always lonely, per se, but some days you certainly felt it more than others. It was just the way things were, you supposed.

“I’ll have to ask Seokjin if he has a manual for you,” you hummed as you went, talking to both yourself and him. The dark blue LED blinked behind his eyelid. You brought the cloth to his skin over and over, removing the unsightly, crusted stains. AMF was oilier than human blood, had a bit of a sheen, but it came easily off his skin. “I think I know what parts you’ll need, there’s a few that need replacing and some are missing, but I think it would be better to check. You seem… like a special model.”

You tilted your head as you stepped back to dip the cloth in the bucket beside you and wring it out; the water was dyed purple from the fluid that had gathered on the rag, colour dripping from your clenched fist. You allowed one hand to hold it, letting it drip dry for a second, and used your other to run your fingers softly over the planes of his face, almost with a sense of reverence.

“The amount of detail and care in your make… It’s really incredible, JK,” you told him, catching sight of a smudge you’d missed and wringing the rest of the soapy water out of the rag. You dabbed the mark away, resuming your task of cleaning the stains from his form as you spoke. “I really hope I can restore you. You seem like a really advanced android— and you’re almost a work of art, you know. I wonder who made you…”

There were a few companies that made androids, but they were all essentially owned by the same people. Each company hired different scientists, different employees, and tailored to different areas. In your whole life, though, you’d never seen an android, living or dead, as advanced or as detailed as JK. The desire to know what he was designed for, and who made him, burned deeply within you.

Seokjin, someone you’d known a long time, was one of the friends that had studied under Mr Bang. You could never quite remember which company he worked for— didn’t even know if he was allowed to tell you, technically. Not that that had ever stopped him running his mouth— but you knew he was excellent at his job and had a real passion for creating the AI, modelling their bodies and bringing them to life. He had a team that worked with him, some also your friends and a few you didn’t know, but he was usually the head of the projects. You would have to ask Seokjin about a manual, so you could look at the right parts, and if you couldn’t get one through him you’d probably have to hit up Mr Bang. You didn’t doubt he had a fair few collected and lying around from his years in the profession and time spent collecting junk.

“Ok, you’re all clean now and as handsome as ever,” you muttered to the android lying prone and asleep across your workspace, feeling very much like you were talking to a child who couldn’t yet respond back. “Now, I need to get your parts… and for that I need a manual. I can’t hook up your wires without all your pieces back inside you.”

This halted your little project for a few days, along with the fact you received a sudden influx of orders for repairs and fixes that came in through your shop. It wasn’t that hard, running a store on your own, but it was times like these where you had things going on in the background that you really felt it the most. It was only a mild inconvenience, but you were nonetheless glad when you finally managed to get your hands on a manual for JK.

It had been surprisingly hard to find one, and Mr Bang had been the one to help you; Seokjin was currently wrapped up in a big project and you hadn’t been able to get a hold of him. You’d both scoured long and hard, and you didn’t understand why it was so hard to find a manual for JK when there was a plethora of manuals available for all other makes and models— that is, you didn’t understand until you actually read JK’s manual. It was somewhat in pieces, sections missing, but enough was there for you to get most of the information you needed; it was the only one you were able to find, so you’d have to make do.

JK01-97, was part of a special line of androids and, essentially, one of a kind. While not the only one in the JK line, he was the only one of his specific make and model. You’d heard a bit about this line from Seokjin, an extension of the J branch, how each model was the only one in the world to look like that and have that specific personality. It explained the level of detail, commitment and care that you saw in him— he wasn’t just one of a hundred or more, he was the only one of his model to ever be made. His creator took pride in him, and knowing that just saddened you even more at the fact that whoever bought him had then treated him with such disregard and trashed him to such a degree. He deserved better.

Once you had the manual, you were able to begin ordering parts. There were chapters of the manual missing, pages and pages, but all the sections on mechanical components were present and that was good enough for you. Unfortunately, one of the missing sections was the one that covered functioning and purpose, so you still didn’t know exactly what JK had been made for. You supposed you’d find out once he was awake, given you managed to actually fix him.

You ordered the parts you needed, and one by one they began to arrive, with the occasional, expected delay. It took around two weeks for all of the parts to arrive; already this project was beginning to take longer than you usually spent, but you could tell in the end it would be worth it. In the meantime you worked on other things, small devices— the occasional holoframe, phones, a busted coffee machine, even. Your days weren’t overloaded but you were kept busy, and your account was kept full. You did your best to monitor the android in between jobs, making sure his condition didn’t worsen somehow. It was unlikely, but you’d rather be on the safe side.

As soon as you had all the parts, the android JK became your number one priority once more. Since you’d fixed his frame first and gotten the manual, you now had a stable guideline for where you were placing what. Androids were incredibly complex creations, you knew this, but JK… he was something else. You began to notice now as you worked that after you’d cleaned his synthetic skin, it began trying to fuse back together on its own. It was fascinating, the way you watched a small cut draw closed seamlessly, fibres reaching for the other side and binding as soon as they made contact. The way it smoothed over, like there’d never been a cut in the first place, reminded you oddly of the way kinetic sand would move and mould itself back together.

Bolts, screws, little pieces of technology that might have been hard to get a hold of if you didn’t have the contacts you did; bit by bit you put JK’s insides back together. He was missing a few important parts, but most of it was just the odd bolt, gear or wire. His computer system seemed to be intact, but you wouldn’t know for sure if anything was damaged until you hooked him up and ran some scans. That would be the last part of the process, though. You had a little while to go before you were at that point.

You were prone to humming as you worked, singing if you found yourself in a good enough mood, and it was no different as you worked on JK. Compared to the wait time for the parts, it didn’t take long at all for you to put them back where they belonged and fix them in place. You were done in just over a week, to your pleasant surprise. You were excited to move onto the next part— fixing his wires and circuitry was probably the part of the whole process that came easiest to you, after all. Most of the devices you tinkered with on the daily had wiring and you’d come to be pretty well versed in the reparation of items that relied heavily on it.

Idly, as you completed your last task to do with the repair of his parts, you thought that were your mother here to see your work, she’d probably be proud. The thought brought a slight mist to your eye, and your gaze was side-tracked to the holoframe on your workbench before you blinked it back and returned your attention back to JK’s abdomen. Right, things to do. You could get sentimental another time.

His body had been sculpted in a way that was very visually appealing, and while you could appreciate it, you had to wonder what purpose it served. Usually androids were only built with features that directly served the purpose for which they had been made. But, you supposed, the creator of this android had really just gone above and beyond in each and every aspect, you wouldn’t be surprised if there hadn’t been any real reason for it. It happened like that, sometimes. Art was prone to taking on a mind of its own when its creator was immersed and in love with their craft.

Wherever there had been dents or lacerations across his body, you’d attended to the wires that had been damaged as a result, starting on the peripheral and moving inwards. This, while it came easier to you, was still a painstakingly slow process; and while juggling this project with your own work and the shop, it ended up taking several weeks to work your way over the entirety of his body. You tried to do a little every day, but some days you were just too tired, too exhausted, to give the amount of attention and focus needed for the job. You always made up for lost time though, the next day more often than not consisting largely of working on JK. Now you were on the final area, a panel hidden in his abdomen that had been dented inwards and was unable to seal back as the rest of his form did, and were going over the clusters of wires and connections. You’d slipped on a pair of spectacles that magnified your vision and helped you focus, and had spent the better part of a week on this section alone.

Each bundle was grouped specifically and with purpose, and you had to be careful that they weren’t separated or lost from their group. The wires might have been colour coordinated, but that was only in regard to the sections they’d been sorted into; this meant there were double-ups on colours and it would be very difficult to sort one from the other should they get confused. Hence, the amount of time you’d spent here, carefully sorting and repairing wires and circuitry as needed. Your effort and patience paid off, however, and eventually you were finishing, popping the dent out of the panel and watching with fascination as you set it in place and the skin fused as you’d seen it do before, his abdomen soon showing no sign that the panel even existed.

You smiled, proud of how much progress you’d made so far as you gazed upon his form before you. You’d spent the a little over two months altogether working on this android, doing your very best to repair him, and very soon you would be done— it was something you could hardly believe. You were excited, anxious to see if the time and toil you’d poured into fixing this robot had paid off. A gaze to the side where the window sat told you perhaps you’d pushed it a little too close this time, the barest hints of the morning sun beginning to peek across the horizon outside. You let out a sheepish chuckle.

“Whoops,” you murmured, fighting a yawn. “Got a bit too carried away, I suppose. I better sleep— the shop isn’t going to run itself tomorrow, after all. Although, before I go to bed…”

You hummed in thought, allowing your hand to rest gently on his shoulder, finger tapping softly against the skin. As expected, he didn’t stir, remaining motionless on the table. The only thing left to do was run scans and do a full sweep of his system to see what had been affected and what would need to be repaired. Androids had a self-repair function for their programs and processing systems, but if the damage was bad enough there was the possibility you’d need to step in and repair what you could so that it could kick in and take over. Most of the damage he’d taken seemed to be external— you hadn’t had to fix the wiring as much as you had the frame, although both had been in a poor condition in their own ways.

With the technology at your disposal, it wouldn’t take long to perform the initial scan, and it would be good to know what you were working with. So, without much resistance on your end, you decided to perform it now, before you went to bed.

“I think I’ll do the scan now,” you voiced your thoughts aloud, for the android’s sake if nothing else. You didn’t think he could hear you, he was essentially comatose after all, but it felt… right, although you weren’t sure why. “We’re so close to being done, JK. I hope I’ve done enough.”

You hummed a half-hearted tune as you lifted his arm, taking his wrist into your grasp and pressing right where the vein would be in a human. There was a soft pop and shick! as a tiny panel, about the size of your thumbnail, revealed itself before your eyes, lifting vertically before it slid back over the skin of his forearm. You’d hooked JK up to a power source as soon as you arrived home with him so many months ago, but to scan his systems you’d need a different sort of connection. Holding his wrist in one hand, you used the other to fish amongst your tools for the cord you needed.

You let out a soft, victorious noise as you found it, quickly taking it into your grasp and pushing the thin needle into the receiving jack in the android’s wrist. You tapped your tablet, the screen lighting immediately, and slid your finger over the scan button. Immediately, there was a sudden hum and warmth washed down the android’s arm; you watched in awe as a faint purple, rosy hue lit beneath his skin in a pattern so pretty it could almost rival the stars. The LED beneath his eyelids flickered beneath deep blue and rosy violet. The screen of your tablet flashed, telling you that it was beginning the holistic system scan.

It didn’t take long at all for it to complete, thankfully (you might have wanted to continue working, but even you couldn’t deny how exhausted you were), and soon you were sitting, looking upon its results with an expression of concentration. Your teeth found your lip as you swiped through the report, taking in the information rapidly. Most of his systems were intact, if a bit damaged, but one in particular had been severely compromised. A shard of sadness wedged itself into your heart— his memory centres had taken a blow, and while you didn’t know what specifically he had lost or exactly how much, you knew from the scan that it was a lot of data. You felt terrible, despite the fact you knew it more than likely wasn’t a result of your fiddling but of the initial abuse he’d suffered.

Even in your tired state, your fingers managed to fly across the screen with ease. You breezed through his other results, before coming back to the ones that were affected. The others would be able to self-repair; the memory centres would be able to as well, but before you even attempted to task his system with that you’d need to do a bit of work. There was significant data loss, most of which you had no idea how to fix or retrieve, but there were some pathways you could reconnect manually on your own. You did your best with this for a while, finally stopping when your eyes blurred and sunlight began to peek through the window, unable to continue even if you wanted to.

You’d done what you could, now the rest of it was up to him. You stood, stretching your tight, tired limbs and letting loose a loud yawn. It was finally time for bed, but before you went…

“I’m going to go now,” you murmured to the android, reaching for your tablet and tapping across the screen— JK’s systems processed the command for a moment before they initiated self-repair as you’d told them. Purple glowed beneath his skin once more, and you let another soft smile slide across your face. “I’ve done what I can… I hope it’s enough. It’s up to you now, bud. I think you can do it— you hung on in that alley for lord knows how long, you can do this.”

You swallowed, feeling oddly emotional as you gazed upon his form. You didn’t have the words to put to the feeling currently making your eyes water and heart squeeze, and didn’t bother attempting to analyse it right now. You’d worked so hard, he’d worked so hard by clinging to life in that alley for so long before you found him— the fact that there was a possibility he still wouldn’t wake up was almost inconceivable to you. You bit your lip, brushing the hair from his forehead tenderly before, after a moment’s deliberation, you bent and pressed a soft kiss to the skin.

“Sleep well, JK,” you said softly, gazing upon the strong planes of his face with a fondness you hadn’t known you possessed for him— he was an android, but you’d spent the better part of two months tending to his every need and wound, repairing him, fixing him, healing him… it was hard not to grow attached in that time. “I look forward to meeting you whenever you wake up.”

With that you stood and allowed your body to stretch once more, before you began to shuffle out. You hit the light on the way out, the dim glow beneath JK’s skin the only thing illuminating the room now save for the trickling sunlight beginning to peek through the window. You cast one more look his way, chest stirring, before you exited your workroom and allowed the door to close behind you. The trip to your bedroom was spent in a tired daze, and you slipped into your comfiest pair of pyjamas before flopping onto your bed and wriggling comfortably beneath the covers.

You were out the second your head hit the pillow.

Your sleep was deep, and wholesome, and when you woke it wasn’t exactly with full coherency. You yawned, registering the deep sunlight streaming from your window, between the blinds you’d forgotten to close, and the warmth you were encased in as a result. It was just shy of toasty, and you were tempted to stay where you were before your stomach gave a loud, undeniable protest and you were slipping from the bed reluctantly. You tried to remember what you had in your cupboard— you’d been so wrapped up in your work these past weeks you’d forgone a few grocery trips and social outings. You were sure to be feeling the results when you made it to the kitchen—

Hold on.

You halted in your hallway, head tilting as you strained your ears. The slightest, softest shuffling could be heard, gentle cluttering of cutlery against a hard surface— there was someone in your kitchen? You were too tired for the alarm to really sink in, but you were definitely more awake as you continued down the hall quietly, peering around the doorway once you reached the room in question. Your mind ceased for a moment as your gaze fell upon the source of the noise and a gasp fell from your lips, but you didn’t have any longer than that to process it.

The figure in your kitchen turned around, apparently having heard your soft intake of breath, and upon catching sight of you standing in the doorway a bright smile lit across their face.

“Creator!” it was a strikingly familiar male, but the contrast between how you were used to seeing him, across your workbench, to how you were seeing him now, upright and rushing towards you, gave you whiplash. You didn’t have time to prepare as the android you’d been repairing for months, who was now apparently awake, came careening across the kitchen space and into you, his arms wrapping around your form tightly and holding you close.

You let out a soft ‘eep!’ as he buried his face in your neck, swaying you in the hug— he was an android, what was he doing? He was hugging you, like— like he was feeling overwhelmed with joy, or— or emotion. That wasn’t… that shouldn’t be possible!

Your body acted out of habit and muscle memory more than anything as your arms came up to embrace him back, thoughts whirring as you tried to comprehend the current situation. “...JK?”

The android pulled back, a sheepish smile tugging his lips as he released you— your heart fluttered at the detail his creator had put into his face now that you got to see it in action. The wrinkle of his eyes as his whole face smiled, cheeks lifting and bunny teeth peeking from behind his lips. God, his eyes shone, LED around his iris glowing soft lilac. That light was the only thing that betrayed the fact this man was not human.

“You’re awake, creator,” the was such glee in his tone, something in your chest clenched. He shouldn’t be so— so emotive! This… you’d never seen anything like this. It was like you were talking and interacting with a real human; it felt surreal. “I was waiting for you.”

“I’m not your creator,” you murmured, eyes wide as they swept over his form. Everything seemed to be running fine, normal, but… was this normal? In this world and society, no. But was this normal for him? Had he always been like this? Were these detailed emulations, or had something in his programming mutated to allow him to feel genuine emotions? Your mind was reeling.

JK’s head tilted, dark doe eyes holding your own as the ring around his iris ran soft blue. “No, you’re not,” he admitted, appearing for the first time to act like you knew androids to act. “But you are the one that fixed me. You made me anew.”

Your mouth parted; you didn’t have a response to that. The android was quick to read your expression and attempt to decipher it.

“But… if you do not wish to be called that,” he began, a tentative note in his voice, “What shall I call you? Owner? Mistress?”

Heat rushed to your face, embarrassment causing you to stumble over your words slightly. “My name is fine— you can call me y/n.”

“y/n,” the android echoed, as though testing how it rolled from his tongue and lips. A bright smile suddenly split his lips and your heart nearly faltered at the sight of it alone. “Thank you, y/n, for fixing me.”

And with that the android took you into his arms once more, and you were left just as confused and baffled as before.

What the hell did you do now?

x x x x x x x x x

In the two days since JK had risen from his comatose state, you’d learnt a lot— both about him, and in general.

You’d wanted to run another scan to see how his systems were doing, but he’d grown sheepish and assured you that he was already running scans and his damaged systems were in the process of self-repairing. You’d asked about his memories, and with a somewhat indecipherable look he informed you that while he had some, he had lost a majority of them. He couldn’t remember where or what he did before you found him, couldn’t remember his owner or creator. He hadn’t had a name before you found him, but you had a feeling that if he did he wouldn’t remember that either.

Everything you’d expected to experience when your project woke up had been promptly thrown out the window the second you’d found him in your kitchen two days ago. It was very apparent from the get-go that JK was unlike any other android you’d ever seen or even heard of. Aside from those first few hours, the android hadn’t displayed any other intense bouts of emotion, but there was a quality about him that led you to believe he was still feeling. Soft smiles that didn’t feel programmed, but that reached his eyes— the way those eyes would light upon seeing you, and the LED would flicker summer orange. There were little details in his speech and movement, and honestly you were still reeling. Had he been made this way? Was he the greatest achievement to-date in technological advancement? Or had he been made like any other android, and his software, his programming, had mutated? The possibilities were endless, and you didn’t know where to begin looking to find the answer.

One thing you noticed, in particular, was that JK was surprisingly clingy. There was hardly a minute that went by without him by your side or doing something for you around your house. He was very helpful, and it was all of his own volition; not once had you told him to clean— quite the opposite, really— but he’d taken it upon himself to do it anyway. You’d asked him about it on the second day of walking into the kitchen to catch him doing your dishes, and he’d offered you a soft smile, the ring around his eyes glowing warm lilac.

“You have been kind to me,” he’d said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Kinder than most people. I want to pay you back some way, even though this isn’t much...”

You’d had to leave before he picked up the increase in your heart rate and the flustered flush across your cheeks, a hurried ‘thanks’ thrown his way. He’d happily returned to his task, unbothered by your sudden departure aside from a slight furrow in his brow to indicate confusion.

Your third day with the android you’d saved from the street, and you were beginning to get used to having him around. Once you got past the initial display of emotion that had thrown you so, you noticed a lot more robotic tendencies that he had. He was still a machine, an android, but with each flash of emotion across his face you began to play with the idea that perhaps, realistically, he wasn’t too far from human after all. With so much going on in your head, so many thoughts struggling to make themselves known, you hadn’t really gotten to sit down and spend some time with your new housemate. It saddened you a bit; you wanted to know a bit more about him, wanted to talk to him. Ever since he’d woken your interest had been piqued and you wanted to learn everything there was to know about your android.

It was cool afternoon when you finally succumbed to the urge that had been calling beneath your skin the past few days. After a moment of deliberation, you halted your current activity, dropping the tools from your hands and listening as they made soft clinking noises upon impact with your workbench. JK, who had been standing behind you ramrod straight as he gazed over your shop and the shelves upon shelves of trinkets and devices, jumped at the sudden noise. His head whipped around just in time to see you turning, removing the plastic gloves you sometimes wore to protect your hands from oil. A trace of surprise registered across his features, the ring around his iris running green as he processed your current actions.

“You are finished?” he queried, peering over your shoulder before his brows furrowed, eyes returning to your own. “But the phone is not fixed… it is odd for you to take a break so early into the project. Is something the matter?”

You tried not to show how flustered you were that he knew your habits so well after only three days with him. “It’s not, but I’ll come back to it later. Nothing is wrong.”

You offered a smile, “I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

The android seemed taken aback, mouth falling open. “With me?” he echoed, brows drawn together. “But why?”

“Because I find you interesting,” you answered easily, reclining in your work chair while trying not to let it spin. “And I want to know more about you. You’re not like many androids I’ve seen, JK.”

The android shuffled, and you wondered if he was possibly feeling discomfort of some sort. You’d seen him display some emotions— were they limited? Could he only feel a set amount?

“JK,” he echoed once more, gaze averting before it returned to your face, somewhat bashful. “I remember you calling me that while you worked on me. Why?”

You were surprised at his words, your eyes widening a little. “I didn’t know if you had a name, and I didn’t want to just call you android. It felt rude. I took it from your model number, see?”

You reached for his wrist, turning it so he registered the numbers there. He made a soft sound of understanding. You spoke again, though, curious about something he’d said, “Did you say you could hear me while I worked on you, while you were unconscious?”

The android hummed, nodding. “Yes. It wasn’t a constant stream, but I remember hearing some things…” he paused suddenly, stammering a little. You could have sworn his cheeks tinted pink. “In particular… I really liked your singing.”

Heat washed over your face at once, embarrassment making you want to shrivel and die. Oh, you’d forgotten you’d done that while you worked.

“...Thank you,” you managed to squeeze out amongst your urge to throw yourself from the nearest building. The android smiled, and your head tilted as you voiced your previous thoughts, “Why did you ask about being called JK? Do you not like it? If not, I can stop.”

“No!” the android burst, barely a moment after the words left your mouth. He looked alarmed, eyes wide and LED flaring yellow. “I- I like it... I’ve not… had a name before. Please, do not feel as though you have to stop.”

You couldn’t help the sad smile that tugged your lips, “That’s sweet of you,” you said, watching his LED shift from yellow to sunset pink at the barest hint of praise you offered. “But it’s still a bit awkward for your first ever name… how about we compromise.”

JK tilted his head, curious as to what you were going to propose. You reached for your tablet, turning in your chair slightly; you could have sworn you felt his gaze burning along your waist, but dismissed it as paranoia. Returning to a normal sitting position, you beckoned the android closer and he was eager to comply with your wishes.

Your fingers tapped quickly across the thin, crystal clear display, and soon the page you desired was up before your eyes. You watched as the male’s gaze swept across the screen before darting to you, surprise filtering across his features.

“... Names?” he appeared as though he was trying to fight the smile tugging his lips, but it was a losing battle. His bunny teeth sank into the soft, plush skin of his bottom lip. “You are giving me a real name?”

You nodded, unable to help your own smile as he beamed in response. “Yep, but you can choose your own— choose whichever you like! I think since we started with JK, names starting with J will suit you.”

JK’s cheeks appeared to colour, his eyes eagerly finding their way back to the screen, rings soft lime. It took him only a moment to scan through the list you’d pulled up, hand lifting as he pointed to a section. “I like these.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, looking over the ones he’d chosen. The fact he’d pointed out more than one meant he probably wanted you to have at least some say in his name, and the thought warmed your heart thoroughly. “Oh, I think those would really suit you. I think… Jungkook? Oh, wait, actually I think the other version would suit you better…”

The android was looking at you with wide eyes as you turned to him, analysing his appearance for a moment before smiling. “Yeah, I think Jeongguk suits you better. What do you think?”

“I love it,” he beamed, and it was as though you could feel the warmth, the elation, just from looking at it. “Thank you, mistress.”

You squeaked, cheeks flushing hotly as you bopped his arm gently. “J— I told you to call me y/n!”

The android laughed, stepping back and resuming his previous position peering over your shoulder. The barest hint of mischief gleamed in eyes that flickered between lilac and pink, and it was with flushed cheeks and a flustered disposition that you returned to your current project. He was awfully cheeky for a machine.

Your mother would have loved him.

x x x x x x x x x

Jeongguk was more helpful and eager to please than you knew how to handle.

As he’d done ever since he’d awoken from his place laid across your workbench, he continued helping out however he could. Your laundry, your dishes— hell, sometimes he even manned the shop while you were gone. He was good with his hands, and you might have called him a natural tinkerer were he not an android and engineered to be perfect at human activities. You didn’t want him to feel obligated to do these things— it made you uncomfortable to think he was doing it because it was learnt, or because he thought you’d expected it. He’d assured you many times, though, that he did it because he wanted to; he enjoyed doing things for you.

You felt silly, but with each little favour he did for you and each small smile he shot your way, you grew a little fonder of him. More than once you’d come downstairs to find he’d already gone ahead and made you breakfast and a coffee— more than once you’d sworn to yourself you could have planted a big, fat kiss on his cheek out of sheer gratitude alone. You didn’t know how to articulate let alone process the feeling you got from having someone around like this, having someone look after you. You had friends, but no family you were still in contact with, and the friends you did have had lives of their own. It had been almost a month since you’d even seen Seokjin, despite your more frequent correspondence via instant messaging. Ever since your mother had passed, and you’d been left to your own devices with a shop to run and a small home to occupy, there had been a silently harrowing sense of loneliness that threatened to creep into your heart each time you lay your head onto your pillow and closed your eyes. In the silence and emptiness of your home, it was very easy to lose yourself to that feeling when it came knocking.

But with Jeongguk here with you, things were… surprisingly different. It was the good kind of surprise, the pleasant kind of surprise, and you thought that it was probably part of why you liked him so much. As days passed and time went on, you realised that you really did like him; you’d grown fond of him, attached, and not to the idea of him as a project, but as a person.

“You’re so helpful, Jeongguk,” you smiled, cheek resting on your palm; you made sure to address him by his new name whenever you could, because the resulting ecstatic smile that broke across his face was a sight you never wanted to miss. You were in the kitchen, watching as the android carried your drink to the table as he’d insisted vehemently he do. “Are you sure you weren’t a butler before I found you?”

A bright grin had split his face and your heart had stuttered in your chest— you could have sworn he had blushed. Were it not for the glowing pink ring around his iris, you might have forgotten he was an artificial being altogether. Jeongguk had laughed softly, and simply reminded you to message one of your customers about their order like you’d told him to.

You hurriedly dove into your phone, thumb flicking screens away until you reached the right one— the archive of all your messages. Your fingers were a little too fast for your brain and overstepped, leading you to land in your chat with Seokjin instead of the customer, and in your scramble to escape you ended up jumping to a point in the chat from months back.

‘—I can’t wait for you to see my project! He’s the only one of his kind that will ever exist, and I really think I’ve cracked it this time y/n—’

You blinked, thumb having automatically clicked you out of the chat before you could continue reading. You’d completely forgotten about the conversations you used to have about Seokjin’s big project— you wondered whatever came of it. Seokjin just suddenly stopped talking about it. It was around the same time as a particularly stressful period for your shop, and you regretted that you weren’t there more for him to ask what had happened.

Bringing your thoughts back to the present, you opened the right chatroom this time and messaged the customer as you meant to. You were glad Jeongguk had remembered, because you’d certainly forgotten.

Sadly, Jeongguk’s memory centres still hadn’t recovered and he was only able to remember things from after when you found him, and he woke up. His other systems were performing closer to normal, but his memories… had been the most affected by the damage. He still had no recollection of what he’d been doing before he ended up in the alley, who his owner was or even what he was designed to do. Hearing the same negative response each time you asked him made your heart hurt, but at the same time you were kind of relieved; whatever had happened before you found him clearly hadn’t been good, and you didn’t doubt it wouldn’t be something fun to remember. Perhaps, for now, he was better off in the dark.

Having said that, you did notice some… quirks, in his behaviour, that had begun to make themselves known more as time went on.

The first had become apparent not long after Jeongguk had received his name. In the time after that incident, you’d witnessed the android become even clingier, if possible. He was always by your side before, but now as he walked with you to complete errands and even in your home, his hands would reach to brush against your arm, your waist. He stood very close, always with a contented look like he couldn’t be happier if he tried, your presence alone enough to soothe him.

Even if Jeongguk hadn’t already appeared and acted as human as he did, you would have ended up treating him as a human out of habit nonetheless. Which was why you found yourself nestled into the corner of the couch, Jeongguk occupying the other, preparing to settle down for a long, long movie marathon with the Marvel superhero series. They were old, and you recalled that they were onto their — was it their 47th instalment, these days? The first of the movies had been made decades ago, and many didn’t watch them— they preferred the spiffy, more technologically advanced remakes— but you’d always enjoyed the classic films from a time before yours.

You’d sat down with the intention of introducing Jeongguk to the series, figuring that if he was an android that could feel emotions then he’d likely end up enjoying movies more than the average robot. You started with the chronological order of release date, and went from there; Jeongguk started on the other end of the couch, and then throughout movie after movie he had gradually shuffled close enough that he was curled comfortably into your side. Android’s couldn’t feel the cold the way humans could, but they could shiver, and the hue of their skin could alter. It was something included in their design for a more realistic effect, and despite the fact you knew this, you’d still draped the blanket over the both of you and allowed him to snuggle closer.

Analysis of Jeongguk’s systems, make and model told you that he had advanced, detailed sensors across the expanse of his body— so when you lifted your hand to begin carding your fingers through his silken hair and scratching lightly against his scalp, you knew the soft, pleased sigh he let out was genuine. You could feel yourself melting against him, heart fluttering out of nothing but sheer, light happiness as each time Iron Man came onto the screen, Jeongguk let out a soft noise to cheer. He had a favourite, clearly.

Sometime throughout the next few movies, which you’d had brief breaks between, Jeongguk’s head had migrated from your shoulder to your lap, and you’d continued running your hands through his hair. It felt nice against your skin, so it was a win-win you supposed. The movie you were on, one of the ones where the characters from their individual franchises began to overlap, drew to a close and as the credits began to roll you were unable to hold back a yawn.

Jeongguk’s gaze was on you immediately, LED rings running soft lavender as he gazed at you with dark eyes through his lashes; the look paralysed you for a moment, hand freezing in his hair.

“Are you ready for bed, y/n?” he queried, and your heart nearly stopped in your chest. His voice was low, a much lower register than you were used to, and had just enough huskiness that a flush washed over the back of your neck. You didn’t doubt that he was picking it up as your heart rate accelerated, thoughts racing through the gutter as his deeper voice altered how you’d received his innocent question.

“I— yes,” you gulped, knowing you couldn’t hide the way your body betrayed you from a being that had sensors built into his form. You smiled at him, still fighting tiredness. “Are you going to keep watching, or do you want me to go set up the charging dock, Kookie?”

The android jolted at the nickname you’d tacked on without a second thought, eyes blowing wide and every trace of the sultry expression he’d worn before blasted from his features. Colour flushed to his cheeks, an emulation of a bodily function that resulted from embarrassment, or fluster— which was he feeling, you wondered?

“K-Kookie?” he stuttered, curling unconsciously into your lap as his large doe eyes bore into your own.

“Yeah, Kookie,” you repeated, enjoying the way he seemed to vibrate with excitement in your lap as the word left your mouth. “A nickname… I was tired and too lazy to say your full name, sorry.”

“Nickname?” he echoed, murmuring softly. “Kookie… I like it. Thank you, y/n.”

You’d beamed at him. “No problem, Kookie. Now, are you gonna watch or…?”

The android definitely seemed flustered as he pulled himself from your lap and nestled back into the couch and blanket, shooting you a sheepish smile. “I would like to keep watching, if that is okay, y/n.”

Your smile was soft as it tugged your lips and you stood, ruffling his hair. “Of course it’s okay. Have fun, Kookie.”

The sight of his cheeks coloured pink at your words was almost enough to counter the memory of his voice and the look he’d sent you earlier.

Almost.

After that day, you’d noticed more occasions where the android would turn and as his eyes fell upon you, he would pin you with that very same look and low tone. Whether he knew he was doing it or not, you didn’t know, but it was absolutely lethal. At this point, you feared for your health.

The other thing that had become most apparent, was the way his eyes were drawn to your form. He was an android, you knew there wasn’t really anything to the way his eyes lingered or the LED around his irises flared bright rose upon seeing you, but sometimes… Sometimes you could swear you could feel the heat his gaze left on your skin, you could swear the weight of it had you trembling with an emotion you dared not investigate.

The occasion that this was most prominent, had occurred not entirely too long after the previous. There was a fine boundary that was maintained between the two of you, a line you didn’t often end up toeing. You were the only one in the house that needed to do things like change, and bathe, which meant the likely incidence of awkward encounters that often came as a result of living with someone in such close quarters was much less. Not long after that day on the couch, however, the first of such incidents occurred.

It was morning, and you’d already woken up to a grinning Jeongguk and a particularly delicious smelling breakfast of bacon and French toast. With a full day of manning the shop and tinkering at the counter ahead of you, you were quick to scarf the meal down and dash for the shower.

This… was where the problem lay.

Your house wasn’t entirely critter-proof, and while you weren’t the kind of person to scream about a little bug or a spider, or even a snake, you did still have your limits.

And the large, inky spider that honest to god looked like it spanned half the length of your fogged-up bathroom mirror as you stepped out of the shower, naked and oblivious, was crossing them.

It was only as you reached for your towel, hand grasping the fuzzy material, that you saw it. You didn’t even realise you’d opened your mouth to let out a loud, incredibly alarmed noise that sounded a cross between a scream and an undignified yelp until it reached your own ears and you were stumbling back. You attempted to put as much distance between the two of you as possible, scrabbling to wrap the towel so it guarded your bits from the gargantuan arachnid spawned straight from the ickiest pits of hell. You considered hopping into the bathtub before realising that was stupid and would only end up with you cornering yourself— you couldn’t afford to give the demon such power.

“Oh hell, oH HELL, OH— NO, DON’T, GO AWAY!” your alarmed babbling escalated to a frantic yelp as the spider shifted slightly and you nearly slipped in the water that had spilt from your exit of the shower.

In your consuming fright you’d completely forgotten about your current housemate until there was thudding footsteps down the hall the door to the bathroom burst open. Jeongguk’s gaze was frantic as he searched for you, LED a bright red that flickered to cool green the moment his eyes fell upon your trembling form. It was the second you felt his gaze grace you that he froze suddenly, body halting as he stared with wide eyes. You, caught in the building intensity of his stare, the heat that began to flush over your arms and down your back, didn’t remember until moments later that you were currently standing, dripping wet and clad in nothing but a dodgily wrapped towel before him. You squeaked.

“Spider,” you barely managed to articulate the word, let alone point, but it was enough to tear Jeongguk from whatever trance the sight of you had thrown him into. His gaze followed the direction of your finger and he almost did a double-take at the sight of the massive arachnid.

“Woah,” his expression was one of wonderment despite the lingering blush in his cheeks. His gaze flew back to you for a moment, your current state of undress cast from his mind. “y/n, look how big that spider is!”

“Yes, I’m looking,” you said, pressing yourself back further against the wall— the fine-furred fiend looked like it was eyeing you off and preparing to jump at any second. “I’m looking and I do not like what I’m seeing.”

Jeongguk seemed slightly amused if somewhat perplexed at your words, but it didn’t take him long to connect your fear to the intruder in the room. “Ah… I can remove it, if you’d like?”

You were nodding frantically before he’d even finished talking. “Yes! Please do, please.”

Jeongguk’s lips tugged into the barest hint of a smile, before he was quickly and carefully doing as requested. In a matter of moments he’d securely grasped the spider, its frantically wriggling legs making you squeak in alarm, and he was quickly exiting the room, presumably to deposit the hellish creature outside your house.

“Make sure you don’t leave it near the house!” you called as an afterthought, wondering how exactly it had gotten inside in the first place. You heard a light laugh before his footsteps faded and you were left standing alone, suddenly aware once more of the water dripping down your form and the short towel around your middle. With cheeks that scorched at the memory of his heated gaze, you hurried from the bathroom and into your room to get dressed. Even once you were fully clothed and brushing through your hair, you couldn’t chase away the phantom touch of his gaze across your form. Had you ever felt such a way from a look alone before?

You honestly didn’t think so, and that scared you a little. He’d been in your life only a few months, for most of which he was comatose, and already he’d rendered you to this? Jeongguk, perhaps the sweetest android you’d ever known, was truly dangerous.

And if the way his gaze continued to linger occasionally, and his touch against your form grew more frequent after that day meant anything, you weren’t sure if he knew he was either.

x x x x x x x x

This was perhaps the first time you’d left the house without Jeongguk in tow, and the outing had ended with you here— at the bar, three of your four close friends already gone with arguably the closest and incidentally most plastered left to your care.

Seokjin liked to drink, and he wasn’t all that messy of a drunk, but he was prone to his… off days, if you would. These were the days where instead of making him extra boisterous and extroverted as it usually did, the alcohol happened to exacerbate whatever doom and gloom was running through the back of his mind at the time. This happened to be one of those days.

You were a little tipsy yourself, but nowhere near as far gone as Seokjin currently was. It was with a sense of struggle that you hauled the two of you from the bar, arm around his waist so he didn’t fall and seriously harm himself.

“Come on, Seokjinnie,” you urged softly, amused at the loud, protesting groan the scientist let out in response. “We gotta get you a cab.”

“Don’t wanna,” he babbled, still grasping you tightly and following you haphazardly nonetheless. He allowed his head to roll and rest on your own. “Did I fin-ugh- finish my drink? Ugh, y/n I think I left my drink on the table—”

“You definitely left something on the table, but it wasn’t your drink,” you muttered. “I think it was your dignity.”

Seokjin let out a loud whine that was broken with a soft hiccup— his whole body jolted and his foot caught on a break in the pavement, the resulting trip nearly taking you both down. “I can’t believe you’re being so mean when I’m absolutely plastered like this. I’m vulnerable, a-and you— you’re uh… you’re doing something.”

You turned to see his brows were furrowed, before his face shifted and he burst triumphantly, having found the words he was looking for, “You’re b-bullying me, you b-b-buh-ass. You ass,” He paused. “You know, I have a nice ass.”

You snorted as you pulled your phone out and went about ordering an uber, trying not to burst into laughter at his drunken antics because you knew it would just set him off into a louder, more vehement set of complaints. “You do. Have you thought about modelling? I think it could get you some cash.”

“My face could get me some cash,” Seokjin muttered, seeming like he was seriously considering it for a moment before he shook his head violently; the blond strands of his hair nearly took out your eye in the process. “No! I’m a committed, I’m scientist to my work—”

“Wait,” He halted abruptly before you could even tease him for his slip, his ability to self-regulate kicking back in. “I’m a scientist, I’m committed to my work. Yes, that’s what I was aim— trying— that’s what I was going for.”

Even through the mist settled comfortably over your mind, his words triggered a sense of familiarity in you. Your thoughts went back to the old text message you’d stumbled upon the other day, and in your tipsy state you were unable to engage your filter in time— you blurted the question before you could give it a second thought, “Seokjin, what happened to that big project of yours? You know, the one you were really excited about?”

The blonde had been smiling at his little victory from before, but as your question registered in his mind the expression dropped from his face. In a violent swing of moods, his body seemed to deflate against you, bottom lip quivering. “Ah, my big project…”

He was silent a moment, gazing off into nothing, and you worried; perhaps you’d struck a nerve? Maybe you really shouldn’t have asked—

Seokjin’s body gave a heavy, shuddering breath, tongue darting to wet his lips before he spoke, tone soft and carrying a thread of sadness you didn’t think you’d ever heard from him, “They took it… My big project. I- god, y/n… they took him.”

Your head tilted, confusion blurring your thoughts too much for you to have a response ready. Perhaps thankfully, it was at that moment the uber pulled up— a hovercraft, it would seem to be today— and you busied yourself momentarily with getting your drunken friend in the back of the vehicle. Soon the two of you were safely inside, and the driver left you in peace as he began on the route to Seokjin’s home— well, the car began. He was just there to monitor.

You turned your gaze to the male in question, noticing his eyes had glazed slightly, a distant expression gracing his fine features once more. You were burning with curiosity inside, something nagging you to ask, to find out more. You knew Seokjin worked in the AI and android facilities, but for some reason you’d never heard the end of this tale. Now that you’d remembered, you couldn’t shake it from your thoughts. The sound of your voice seemed to break him from his daze.

“What do you mean, they took him?” you queried softly, hand finding his knee when he swayed in his seat slightly.

To your utter surprise, Seokjin’s eyes began to glisten with unshed tears, large chocolate orbs meeting your own and holding your gaze.

“He was the best thing I’ll ever make, y/n,” he said, hiccupping softly. He let out a faint groan, allowing his eyelids to flutter closed. Your heart twinged as you watched his features twist, a single tear tracing down his cheek while his voice grew thick and caught in his throat. “He... I really… I really did it this time, y/n. He… he was beyond a-anything I’d ever even thought I would be able to create. He was the first project I ever got full reign of.”

There was a pause as he swallowed, dark brows furrowing as he allowed his head to drop back against the headrest; the flickering glow of city buildings and signs as they blurred past cast a myriad of blue, fuchsia and violet over the tired planes of his face. His voice came out fainter this time, but there was a heat behind his words, an anger so intimately intertwined with sadness that you didn’t know how to go about untangling it.

“I worked so hard, and he… he exceeded all of my expectations. He had such potential,” Seokjin’s breath shuddered. “And they took him. He— he deserved so much better, deserves better than a life of servitude, degradation and humiliation… but they still took him from me.”

Any words you could have hoped to muster had long since died in your throat, your own eyes glistening at the pain in his tone. Something niggled at the back of your mind, something threatened to click in your subconscious, and even though you didn’t understand it, you found yourself asking, “What was his name? His model number?”

Seokjin sighed softly, drawing a hand up to scrub over his face; he was reaching the stage of the night where he shifted from silly/saddened drunk to exhaustion. It wouldn’t be long now before sleep welcomed him with open arms.

“I never got to give him a name,” he said, and it was as though the words saddened him even more as they left his mouth. “But his model number…”

The uber began to slow suddenly, and belatedly you realised you’d arrived at Seokjin’s apartment. You thanked the driver, climbing out of the vehicle and pulling a drowsy Seokjin out after you. Your ride was quick to pull from the curb, disappearing into the city lights from whence it came, and you stumbled towards the blonde’s apartment building with him in tow, arm draped over your shoulder.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Seokjin was mumbling to himself as you gradually made your way to his floor, nearly sweating from the effort of keeping him upright alone. “His model number… do I know?”

It was with great effort you managed to unlock his door and drag him into the apartment, depositing him on his couch while you went to retrieve a glass of water; you had to weave around metal parts that poked haphazardly from tables and benches as you went. When you returned with glass in hand, Seokjin had taken to discarding his shoes and socks and had loosened the collar of the button-up around his neck.

“I don’t remember…” Seokjin looked ready to cry again, and you hurried to pass him the water— he accepted with a soft ‘thanks’.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember,” you soothed him softly, hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“No, it’s not,” Seokjin nearly dropped the glass on its descent from his mouth and you took this as your cue to remove the breakable item from his vicinity. “It’s not okay, he- he deserves better. He deserves name, he deserves to be remembered.”

“I’m sure he does,” you murmured as you urged him to his feet and guided him down the hall to his bedroom. Seokjin was silent, blinking drowsily as he slipped into his bed at your gentle urging, nestling subconsciously into the covers.

He could hardly keep his eyes open, but when they finally closed another tear slipped from beneath his lashes to roll down his cheek. His voice was soft. “If… If I had known… where he would go, what kind of life he would be destined for… I would never… never have made him this way… He deserves better…”

You waited a few moments more to see if he would continue, but upon the sound of a soft snore already escaping him, you surmised he was well and truly gone for the night. Shaking your head lightly, you made sure he was tucked in and comfortable before grasping the extra blanket from the end of his bed and making your way to the loungeroom; you were quite tired yourself, and the couch was seeming more and more appealing the longer you were awake.

Even with the muddling effects of the alcohol, your mind was still racing, albeit tiredly, as you settled on the couch and wrapped yourself in the blanket. Seokjin’s words, his tears and the distinct undertone of guilt in his tone as he’d spoken those last words all ran through your head one last time before your heavy eyelids were dropping closed, and you succumbed to sleep. When you woke in the morning, would you remember all that you’d learnt tonight?

→ masterlist | part ii

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keldae · 6 years

Text

Drastic Measures (Chapter Twenty-Two)

The sound of an incoming freighter made Sorand squint up into Tatooine’s clear blue skies, shading his eyes against the fierce burn of the twin suns. At present distance, with the freighter backlit against the horizon, he couldn’t make out any identifying features. It was only as it approached that he could make out faded green paint, accented in dark red. He frowned — that ship was familiar, as were the markings. He’d spent enough time among Shara’s clan to recognize the Mandalorian symbols adorning the hull.

With a low grunt, the young Sith turned and re-entered the caves. He blinked several times as his vision readjusted to the dim interior. Over his comms, he could already hear the crackle of the cell’s agents communicating with the pilot of the incoming freighter. Brushing his hands over his lightsaber hilt and his blaster pistol as if to make sure he still had them, Sorand decided it was time to greet the newcomer.

He arrived at the designated landing zone just as the freighter touched down softly, sign of a deft hand at the controls. While waiting for the ramp to lower, he looked over at his brother, who leaned back against the wall. The sandy-haired smuggler twirled a spare hydrospanner in his hand. “You call him?” Sorand asked.

“Nah. Maybe Lana did.” Korin frowned in thought. “I don’t think I’ve pissed him off recently… I hope…”

“Considering the last I heard of him, he was in Imperial Space,” Sorand muttered as the ramp finally lowered and a figure clad in red beskar’gam descended to the cave floor, “I don’t think he’s here for a chat with you.”

“… Great.” Korin sighed and straightened up as the Mandalorian approached. “I hope you’re right, otherwise I got some explaining to do about a pazaak match and a not-insubstantial amount of credits.”

“Why do I claim to be related to you again?” the Sith groused before turning back to the Mandalorian. “Su’cuy gar! Been a while, hasn’t it?”

“A few months, yeah.” The Mandalorian -- known to the Taerichs as Corey Black -- removed his helmet, revealing a face peppered by scars, each of varying length, depth, and age. His solemn, angular features broke into a grin behind a thick, auburn beard. “Too busy planning a rebellion to socialize, Sor’ika? I’m wounded.”

“Sorry.” Sorand shrugged. “Revolts don’t plan themselves, and the other option was leaving that twit in charge.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating a very indignant Korin.

At this, Black smirked. “The entire thing would implode on itself in a week. Or turn into a professional crime ring, hard to say.”

“I hate you both,” Korin muttered.

Sorand grinned at his brother, then looked back at Corey. “So, what brings you out this way?”

“Oh, not much. Just Acina wants me to haul your sorry shebs back to Dromund Kaas. Seems she wants a new throw rug to decorate her apartments.” Corey lazily shrugged. “Something about embezzlement, something something sheltering a Jedi and a Republic spy, something…”

“A throw rug?” The Sith frowned. “I’m a little insulted. I would have thought I at least deserve to be a tapestry.”

An impish grin played across Corey’s features. “I would have suggested a flag,” he teased. “Then they can use your hair to secure you to the pole.” He swatted at the nerftail with an armoured hand.

Sorand actually growled at that, a hand flying up to protectively guard his long hair. “She can touch my hair over my cold, dead body.”

“I think that’s her plan, actually.”

“Ah.”

There was a long moment as Sith and bounty hunter regarded each other before Corey finally clapped Sorand’s shoulder. “Room in your rebellion for one more?”

“If we didn’t, we’d make room for you.” Sorand grinned and stepped back. “C’mon; if Lana finds out you arrived and I didn’t tell her immediately, Acina won’t get the chance to turn me into a throw rug.”

“Lana’s here?” Something in Corey’s posture seemed to relax. “That’s good. Was worried about her when she went off the radar and Acina put a hit out for her.” He fell into step behind Sorand as both men approached the entrance into the rest of the base. As they passed Korin, he took advantage of the opportunity to slug the spacer in the face.

“Ow!” Korin dropped like a sack of bricks, holding the left side of his face and glaring up at the Mandalorian. “What the kriff did I do this time?!”

“I dunno. I just assume you’ve either done something I don’t know about, or I’m getting a hit in early before you pull some other stupid osik. Again.” Corey grinned as he kept walking; behind him, Sorand rolled his eyes and went to haul his brother back to his feet.

“I have to ask, vod’ika,” the Mandalorian said as the trio continued into the base, “the rumour about your Jedi sister -- was it true? What in haran happened?”

The Sith scrubbed a hand over his face with a sigh. “I swear, I should just write the entire damn story and put it up on the HoloNet so people get caught up. Remember that Jedi I was working with during the Ziost crisis…?”

The Red Light sector of Nar Shaddaa had a rough reputation, even by the standards of the city-moon. Such a reputation seemed to keep most Zakuulans at a safe distance from the deeper, darker areas of the sector. Despite this, rumours circulated wildly that the Eternal Throne was planning a purge of it, Quesh, and the several other more crime-ridden areas of the galaxy, such as the Black Sun and Justicar Sectors on Coruscant. Good luck to them, Reanden thought with a derisive snort. The Hutts would fight with the proverbial tooth and nail to protect their own interests.

Still, he cast a glance toward the sky as he and Kothe made their way down a narrow alleyway, both spies trying to not breathe too deeply. “Mind your step,” Kothe warned as he picked his way through the rubble. “They haven’t fully cleaned up down here from the sewage backup a few weeks ago.”

“Delightful,” Reanden sarcastically muttered. “The Hutts gave up on this sector entirely?”

“Not quite. That backup was deliberate.” Kothe glanced back at Reanden as he kept walking. “Did its job in keeping the Zaks from poking their noses in too deep.”

The former Imperial spy grimaced. “Which dumbass came up with that idea?”

“Korin.” The former Jedi looked back again, a grin pulling at his face. “The kid’s insane, Legate. Definitely yours.”

Reanden sighed as he followed Kothe down the alley. “Great. I’m so proud of him,” he deadpanned.

The two spies made their way down to a rusty door, flanked by flickering holo signs advertising stims of questionable repute. Kothe tapped a sharp code against the door, waited a few seconds, then tapped a second code. Moments later, the door cracked open. “Did you bring drinks? I’m surprisingly not picky after this week.”

“Sorry, Gault. Didn’t exactly have time to stop by the cantina after picking up this moron.” Ignoring Reanden’s glare, Kothe waved his hand, using the Force to open the door enough for entry. “Kaliyo and Vette are probably going to be late.”

“So, who’d you piss off, old timer?” The Devaronian currently going by the name of Gault Rennow grinned as he stepped back, allowing the two spies into the hideout.

“A bunch of envious Zakuulans who know a good ship when they see one.” Reanden shot Gault a warning look. “You’re still not allowed to touch my baby, Tyresius.”

“The name is Gault. And you’re no fun,” Gault complained as he closed the door. “Hylo’s been waitin’ for you two. Seems she’s had an update from the storm system about that Jedi and Spy-Boy Junior.”

“You’ve saved your remaining horn from being busted off,” Reanden muttered as he hurried down the corridor, Kothe a step behind him. In truth, while Gault could get under his skin masterfully, the possibility of an update on his daughter made him anxious for the news. He’d been in contact with the Nar Shaddaa resistance cell enough to know his way through the hideout. Still, he frowned as he walked through the condemned apartment. “I thought Zenith was still here.”

“He was -- until he decided to leave off with Korin for Tatooine. After what happened to the Balmorra cell, Zenith’s understandably paranoid — keeps moving almost as much as the Shan kid does. Or your daughter.” Kothe paused to raise an eyebrow at Reanden. “You sure Xaja Taerich’s your kid? Times I’ve encountered her, she’s been too nice and friendly to be related to you.”

Reanden just made a rude gesture at Kothe as the two spies entered the centre of the hideout and earned a grin for his trouble. Their footsteps drew the attention of the middle-aged Mirialan woman bending over a computer terminal. She straightened with an audible sigh of relief. “I was beginning to wonder if you two old bastards would ever show up. You get lost, Kothe?”

“That happened once,” Kothe growled as Reanden smirked. “What do you have for us?”

“Just got off a call with the cell contacts and Thunder,” Hylo answered as she flopped down. The worn chair creaked under what was a minimal strain. “You might wanna take a seat, this could take a while.”

“Then give us the short version,” Reanden said as he mirrored her action. “What the Hells is going on? I’ve been out of contact for the last day and a half, and Kothe doesn’t have all the information I want.”

“Even the short version’s gonna take a while, Agent.” Hylo ran a hand through her hair as she leaned back, balancing precariously on the back two legs of the chair. “Zaks are gettin’ more snoopy than usual, as you just found out. Imperius —”

The rumble of a furious Wookiee made Reanden twist in his chair, eyebrows rising to his hairline. “Oh yeah,” Hylo said as heavy footsteps approached the room, “we got a new pair in. They said they know you and Master Taerich; figured you’d wanna verify ‘em anyway.”

“That would be—” Reanden blinked as the Wookiee lumbered into the meeting room. The first impression of the shadowy silhouette gave the illusion that he had two extra, remarkably hairless arms. When the Wookiee stepped into clearer vision, however, Reanden could recognize the half-assembled droid attached to the furry chest. “Dee-Four,” the old agent said, surprise colouring his voice. “You’re looking remarkably more intact.”

“This barbarian has been making me earn my limbs back!” the droid furiously exclaimed. “And then taking them away again! I was almost complete a couple of months ago!”

“You karked up translating on purpose!” the Wookiee retorted. “And got us shot at!”

“I I had my legs, I would assuredly kick you,” C2-D4 complained. “Queen Lina of Onderon would never have taunted me like this!”

“Of course not,” Reanden smoothly interjected, inwardly wondering if the illustrious Queen Lina wouldn’t have disassembled the droid on her own. She had a reputation for being direct and impatient, herself. “Jakarro, I didn’t know you two were involved with the resistance.”

“Where else would we be? We haven’t had a good adventure since the Revanites!” Jakarro took a seat on a table that creaked precariously under his and Dee-Four’s combined weights. “Besides, the Zakuulans interfere too much with our shipping enterprises.”

“And the Skytroopers,” Dee-Four added. “Ugh. So unnatural, and with less personality than a loader droid. The galaxy will be better off without them. Is it true they killed Master Xaja?”

“No, but they came damn close,” Reanden muttered. He turned and nodded at Hylo. “Yes, I know them.”

“Is there anyone in the galaxy you don’t know?” Kothe asked with a raised eyebrow.

Reanden had to think about that. “There’s probably some little street urchin or two in this system I haven’t met yet…”

“Spies are social flutterplumes. Got it.” Hylo looked down at her datapad. “Hookay. Imperius is on Tatooine, joined forces with Cap’n Korin after he took down the Star Fortress bunker tower there.”

Kothe’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s no small feat.” He glanced over at Reanden. “I have to admit, your boys are impressive.”

“Damn straight they are,” Reanden beamed a bit before looking at Hylo. He leaned against the table. “Any word on Master Taerich or Agent Shan?”

“Reports indicate they’re safe and sound for now, having landed on Dantooine with Master Shan,” Hylo answered. A knot of tension in Reanden’s chest loosened as the smuggler continued talking. “That cell’s on high alert, though, and from the sounds of it they aren’t going to be staying around long. Right now they’re—”

“With the Jedi?” Kaliyo strolled into the room, Vette and Gault right behind her. “I’d almost rather still be on the run.” She nodded at Reanden. “Your baby’s fine. SCORPIO has her sealed up like a vault. I’d be careful though — the Zaks are still crawling around the spaceport looking for you.”

“I’ve never sympathized more with paparazzi-hounded celebrities in my life,” the former Imperial muttered. “Good seeing you two alive and intact after all that.”

“You too, old timer.” Vette hopped up on another table and gave Jakarro an affectionate nudge with her shoulder. “What are we missing?”

Hylo scowled up at the ceiling. “Okay, one more time, from the top without anyone else interrupting: Master Taerich and Agent Shan are on Dantooine. Darth Imperius is on the run from the Empire, and last update puts him on Tatooine. Captain Korin attacked and took down the Star Fortress tower there, but the Zaks haven’t retaliated yet. Doc Kimble’s safe on Alderaan, and so’s Supreme Commander Malcom after he quit his job —”

Kothe’s jaw dropped. “Malcom did what?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what Thunder said. Apparently he’s Agent Shan’s biological dad, or so he’s claiming.” Hylo shrugged. “Seems the sly old fox found a stray Zak Knight who made friends with Master Shan. She’s cooperating with the cell there, while Lord Beniko arrived on Tatooine with another Zak defector and his buddies. Uhhhh, think that’s about it?”

“That’s it, she says,” Reanden muttered as he shook his head. He would have to try reaching out to SIS headquarters through back channels and see what Marcus Trant knew about these developments. “Trivial, really.”

“So the other cells are actively doing things,” Jakarro growled. “Why are we sitting around?”

“Because you pissed off half the Zakuulan garrison in the Star Fortress,” Hylo snapped at the Wookiee, “and the old man over here pissed off the other half! Thunder’s orders are recon only for the Star Fortress bunker here, and that’s provided we can find the stupid thing.”

“A bunker like that has to have its own independent power supply off the Nar Shaddaa grid,” Reanden mused. “Do we have a ballpark area of where it might be?”

“As far as my agents can determine, it’s somewhere in this sector,” Kothe spoke up. “Let’s see if we can figure out a way to knock it out of commission without the Zaks getting up our asses or killing people. If Zakuul is distracted by Tatooine, we might have a shot at this.”

It was some time later when Xaja and Kira returned to the main parts of the Enclave. A pretty human Jedi with a long braid of auburn hair directed them to a chamber where Master Satele was waiting, along with Theron and a handful of other people milling about. Xaja spared a glance and a smile to the Nautolan male who bowed in her direction, frustrated that she could not remember his name. He was Master Orgus’ Padawan before me, she thought. Why the Hells can’t I remember his name? Next to him was a tall Zabrak in armour that was once bronze, the surface marred with deep scrapes and gauges. She acknowledged him with a nod before her eyes settled on the tall, muscular human male beside Theron, capped with dreadlocks. He wore a long duster that stopped just below the top of his boots, a blaster rifle strapped to his back. A grin settled over her features with recognition. “Good to see you, Corso.”

“Nice seein’ you too, Master T.” Corso Riggs, first mate and friend to the scandalous Captain Korin Taerich, still managed to blush when Xaja talked to him. “It’s good havin’ you back around. Ain’t that right, Guss?”

“You betcha!” The Mon Calamari a couple of paces off waved. “Galaxy’s been a darker an’ colder place without you around, Master Xaja.”

Can’t have been darker and colder than carbonite, Xaja thought to herself, and shuddered at the memory of being thrown into the chamber before slipping her hand into Theron’s. She took comfort in his warmth, and the way he gently nuzzled her hair and squeezed her fingers. Leaning into his shoulder and looking around, she blinked at a familiar pair of montrals visible over everyone else’s heads. “Ashara?” she softly asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Kira nodded. “Apparently after the siege over Dromund Kaas lifted, a few Imps decided the ‘impurity’ of the Empire was to blame for their loss, so they started going after everyone who wasn’t human or Sith. Your brother sent Ashara here after folks tried to kill her twice — and I’m not sure how his other apprentice didn’t get murdered.”

“Because Xalek is straight-up terrifying,” Theron muttered, and Xaja smirked as she nodded in agreement.

Kira grinned. “Yeah, point. Ashara’s a good kid though, even with that Sith influence. Your brother pretty much let her keep her Jedi traditions intact.” Her expression grew slightly more sombre and she inclined her head as Master Satele approached the trio. “Master.”

Satele nodded at Kira and offered a small smile before her attention shifted back to Theron and Xaja. ��Come. We need to discuss your options moving forward.”

“You think we’re not safe here?” Xaja asked, frowning worriedly.

“I fear you’re not safe anywhere,” Satele murmured as she lead them to an alcove in the cave wall. Kira accompanied them, never more than a couple of feet from Xaja’s side; Corso and Ashara made their way over moments later.

Once everyone was settled down, Satele spoke again, bypassing formalities and pleasantries entirely. “What are the latest updates from the Storm network?”

“Got a report that the cell on Tatooine landed a good hit against the Zaks by attackin’ the Star Fortress tower there,” Corso spoke up. “Cap’n Korin reported in — all systems are good, although he’s a little spooked that the Zaks haven’t tried retaliatin’ yet.”

“Probably because the Zakuulans are too focused on us to look anywhere else,” Theron muttered. He slipped an arm around Xaja’s thin shoulders. “On one hand, it sucks being the galaxy’s most wanted. On the other, I guess it’s good for the resistance to get stuff done.”

Corso nodded. “Word on the street is that Imperius made contact with the Tatooine cell an’ is hiding from the Empire, along with Shara Verhayc. Acina wants his head for stealin’ a ton a’ credits from the Empire an’ pullin’ a runner. Cipher Nine’s reported to have made it to another cell too, but no data on where he is, just that he obviously ain’t here with you.”

“Does the resistance know where we are?” Xaja asked.

“Yep. And Thunder’s the happiest we’ve ever seen ‘em about it, Master T.” The former farmboy gave a knowing smile. “We also picked up a couple of stray Zaks who apparently ain’t too fond of their Emperor, either.”

“Defector Zakuulans?” Ashara blinked. “Aren’t the Zaks supposed to be fervently loyal to the Eternal Throne?”

Corso shrugged. “Dunno. Apparently there’s an entire crew of Zak soldiers who jumped ship, an’ their captain’s runnin’ around with Lana —”

“Wait.” Theron straightened up. “Lana Beniko?”

“Unless there’s another scary-lookin’ blonde Sith lady who’d admit to bein’ friends with a Jedi, yep.” Corso looked back to Master Satele. “An’ that’s all that’s come in on the network.”

Satele nodded as she absorbed in the information. “Thank you, Corso.” She sat back, looking around the small council. “While Agent Theron and Master Xaja have friends scattered across the galaxy, both as independent agents and formally with the resistance, there’s more people seeking them for their own reasons. I assume everyone knows of the bounty on their heads?”

“Half a million credits each, just for information.” Kira shook her head. “Arcann really wants you two back, apparently.”

“Arcann needs to get used to rejection,” Xaja muttered, and was rewarded with a couple of smirks.

“There have already been some serious -- and close -- attempts to collect on those bounties,” Satele continued. “Half of Raider’s Cove on Rishi, and possibly someone on Dromund Kaas.”

“Got confirmation about the traitor in Kaas City,” Corso interjected. “Verhayc commed in privately to say one of her crew figured out Doc Kimble was there, then put two an’ two together, calling in the Zaks for the credits. Good news is that Skadge didn’t live long enough to regret that.”

“Did she kill him?” Ashara asked. The Force flickered around her with something cold and dark that hinted at an old, deeply-ingrained hatred for the named person.

“Imperius took care of it on his way out.” Corso suddenly frowned. “Which reminds me: Old Man Nine put out a warnin’ on another channel couple of days back that the Wrath might be in on the hunt too, for unnamed personal reasons. We’ll all have to keep an eye out for that nutjob.”

“Calling the Wrath a nutjob is an insult to nutjobs everywhere,” Ashara muttered, shuddering. “And sells his brand of crazy far too short.”

“Enough,” Satele interjected. “When I spoke to him, Cipher Nine seemed to think that the Wrath would be looking for him or Imperius more than he would for Theron and Xaja, which only leaves us with the problem of Arcann and every bounty hunter in the galaxy.”

“Trifling problems,” Kira dryly said.

“Trifling problems with the entire Eternal Fleet involved.” Satele steepled her fingers in front of her, frowning. “I don’t think that we were followed from Voss — Cipher Nine was attempting to keep the Zakuulan ships away from me, and their attention focused on him as we were escaping. But I’m hardly an expert in tracking ships, and the Zakuulans seem to be much more advanced in that regard.” She looked over at Theron and Xaja, a note of clear pity in her eyes. “For your safety, it’s best if you keep moving -- stay one step ahead of the Zakuulans, if you can.”

Xaja had already suspected that would be the answer, but it didn’t mean she wanted to hear it. She sighed, feeling Theron's arm around her shoulder tighten. “We know,” she quietly acknowledged. “Any good options for us to go next?”

“I wouldn’t recommend Corellia,” Kira said. “Not only is it too close to Coruscant, but Saresh has agents all through Coronet, and the Corellian rebels keep the Zaks stirred into a constant swarm. The Green Jedi might protect you if you can get to the Enclave, but they’ve already got their hands full.”

Corso nodded in agreement. “Alderaan might work for ya though. It’s still Republic, but with the Supreme Commander going way back with the Organas, the ol’ green witch hasn’t been able to manage too tight a hold there.”

Theron went alert at that. “Wait, if Malcom’s there, doesn’t that mean Saresh has people there?”

“Oh, ya didn’t hear?” Corso grinned. “Guess ya have been outta touch for a while,” he said. “Seems Malcom told Saresh to kriff a Hutt and quit. He’s been hangin’ around Organa Castle, and a bunch of his folks followed. Now there’s a whole lot of ‘em there, all loyal to him instead of Saresh. She’d probably be goin’ after him, but the Organas won’t let her people onto their territory.” His grin widened. “Been fun to watch.”

“Malcom told Saresh off and quit?” A streak of pure, almost-childish glee tore through Theron’s Force-signature before he could temper it. “That is the best news I’ve heard all day.” To his right, Satele appeared a little bit surprised by Corso’s news, although she kept her reaction limited to a widening of her eyes.

“Him an’ all of Havoc Squad, among others.” Corso grinned. “Dunno if he’s joined the resistance yet, himself, but he’s been encouragin’ his troops to join up, from what I’m hearin’.”

“Alderaan might be a good option then,” Xaja mused as she looked up at Theron. The feeling of delighted glee had toned itself down, although she could still sense some sort of emotional turbulence within him. It was clearly connected to Commander Malcom. Malcom? she silently asked through the bond.

Theron hesitated before responding, pursing his lips, a crease between his brows. He gave a heavy sigh. Father.

Xaja blinked. Father? she echoed. The Supreme Commander was too… too rough, too burly, too grizzled of a war veteran and soldier; the idea of him as a father --

Her mind screeched to a halt. Wait, that means… Her gaze darted over to Satele, then back at Theron, working through what she knew of the biological connections. The Supreme Commander and the Grand Master …? No wonder Theron had never identified his birth father — he developed enough insecurities as the son of one legendary parent, forget two. Even if you don’t need to be a legend for me, she silently thought as she slipped her arm around Theron’s waist and lightly squeezed. A soft burst of relief swept through her, and Theron lightly leaned against her.

The conversation had gone on while Xaja had processed the information of Theron’s connection to Malcom. “I can get in contact with the cell leader on Alderaan,” Corso was saying. “He’s Imperial, but a good person; got no issues with Jedi or Republic folks. Think he used to be a diplomat, back in the day.”

“Do that,” Satele said with a nod. “If he doesn’t answer, I’ll simply take Theron and Xaja to Alderaan with me in the morning. Otherwise, we’ll coordinate with him and —”

A deafening crash overhead brought the revered Jedi to an abrupt stop. Ominous booms eched through the caverns,a phenomenon with which the Jedi were already too familiar. Anticipation mingled with fear around her as Xaja jumped to her feet, looking up in the direction of the surface. Cries began to reverberate against the solid walls and she frowned as she spoke: “I don’t think we have until morning, Master.”

#drastic measures #theron/xaja #cliffhanger #DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUN #showing off Corey's true colours #he's totally known Clan Taerich for YEARS at this point #and totally set him up with Shara #Reanden and Kothe wound up being friends of a sort #and they bond over picking on each other #entering Jakarro and DeeFour!#you know they should have been in KOTFE #and the truth about Theron's parentage comes out #Xaja just realized who her future FIL is #noooooo pressure #shit's getting REAL #mwahahahahaha #also you know Theron is GLEEFUL that his dad told off Saresh and quit

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whentommymetalfie · 6 years

Text

Shattered and hollow

A:N/ Sometimes, you’ve got to go where the muses take you. So... ANGST. This is set before Alfie and Tommy meet, and then in the first month or so after Kiss with a fist. (check my masterlist if I’m confusing!) Also, touch-starved!Tommy is literally a subject I could write like... a master thesis on. (don’t call me out on that) Point is, I’m obsessed. tumblr has decided to put in a giant blank space in the text, there’s actually nothing missing, it’s just... there. So bear with me, I’ll fix it as soon as I’m by a computer again! I think it’s gone... this website will be the death of me

Summary: Tommy suffers a particularly bad period of insomnia, and ends up in a downward spiral of opium, whiskey and too many hours alone with his thoughts. His thoughts aren’t very kind at night.

Then he meets Alfie, who further complicates matters.

Pairing: Alfie/Tommy

Warnings: Insomnia, drug-use, anxiety, ptsd, implied past child abuse, a fair bit of self loathing,

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13962621

Sometimes, during the darkest hours of the night, Tommy wishes that he could be anywhere but in his own body. And his own head.

When he lies awake, staring at the wall and listening to the shovels. And his chest feels both completely empty and somehow tight at the same time- then he wishes that he could just crawl out of his own skin and be someone else. Or take a knife and carve out the parts of his brain that aren’t working, until he’s left with the rational, logical ones.

The ones that are of any use.

It’s another one of those nights when sleep eludes him completely. One of those nights when the opium just makes his thoughts spin faster in his head, and not even the whiskey can take the edge off. So, he pulls on his coat and goes for a walk, body feeling oddly light. Distant. As if his mind is just soaring somewhere above his shoulders, separate from them.

It feels like that a lot of the time, these days. As if his body is just some vessel that carries his mind around. His mind has always been his greatest asset when it comes to business, so that’s what he relies on. That’s why he forgets to eat. Maybe.

The night isn’t particularly cold. But his hands feel absolutely freezing.

Tommy’s hands are cold a lot of the time. Something about the circulation is off, that’s the whole thing. But it feels like a sign, like his body is telling him that he’s not supposed to touch other people. Cold hands do for pulling the trigger of a gun, and go well with bloodied knuckles, but not much else.

He tells himself he doesn’t need it. Anything else.

Since when does he spend time on useless thoughts like this?

The opium makes his thoughts fractured, hard to control. He shouldn’t be walking around, not when he’s like this. High. Drunk. Mind cracked from too many nights without sleep. But he does it, still.

How many has it been? Three? Four?

He goes to check on the horse. Been quite some time since he was in the stables.

The eyes on the white stallion meet his, unwavering, warm. It hits him that hardly anyone looks at him that way anymore. Without averting their eyes.

See, you’ve got cold eyes, boy. Soulless. Bet you not even the devil could look into the for too long. His dad used to talk about his eyes when the whiskey had gone to his head. Stop fucking staring at me that way. Makes want to cut them out.

You should never teach a person too much about themselves.

If he’s got cold eyes, fine, he can use that to his advantage.

But it’s hard to look at someone any other way, these days.

It’s the opium that does it, stirs up all these strange thoughts. Self-pity is not something he indulges in. It’s just a side effect.

He opens the stall and the horse comes up to greet him. His hand instinctually reaches out to stroke its neck, and when he feels the warmth under his palm, it’s like a wave rushes through his entire body.

When was the last time he touched another person like this?

He searches his memory, but nothing resurfaces.

His head is not working properly.

Without thinking, he wraps an arm around the horse’s neck and buries his face against the mane. And it’s warm and alive and doesn’t tense up in expectation of a violent outburst- Tommy breathes in the familiar scent and presses the hand against the soft coat.

It only lasts for a moment, before his mind catches up to him and he backs away, looking around and expecting someone to be there and witness the display of weakness.

No one is there, of course.

Just him.

But it’s bad enough, isn’t it?

He catches some sleep the next night, and it should be enough to get his head in working order again. It is, really. He runs the business with the normal sense of logic and determination, and when John asks how he’s doing, he responds without looking up from the paperwork. Something dismissive, that he can’t recall exactly. John puts a hand on his shoulder, and he shrugs it off.

It's there, even during the day, when his head is clear and the opium smoke is far away. This numbness. It feels more and more like he’s just living completely inside his own head, and his body is this separate entity that he just drags around.

And he’s radiating this… cold. Not really someone you want to reach out for. So people eventually stop.

Even Finn becomes hesitant with his normally so frequent hugs.

And he doesn’t know what to do about it.

“Talk to me, Tommy,” Polly says when she catches him late one night in the kitchen, on his way out. “There’s something wrong, I can tell.”

“Everything is fine,” Tommy says flatly and brushes past her. One of her hands wraps itself around his arm. He fights the urge to recoil at the touch.

“If it’s something with the business, I deserve to know.”

Right. The business.

“It’s nothing, Pol. Nothing you don’t already know about.” He pins her with his eyes. “Full disclosure. Didn’t we agree on that?”

She doesn’t let go.

“Well, then it’s you,” she says, voice uncharacteristically soft, and rubs her palm along his arm. “Has something happened?” Tommy shifts away from the hand.

“It’s getting worse,” Polly states then with her uncanny frankness, dropping the arm to her side.

“What?”

“Whatever is going on with your head,” she says. “I can hear you get out of bed in the middle of the night. Not come back until dawn. And you’re distant. Like you’re never actually here. More every day.”

“Just some trouble sleeping, that’s all,” Tommy keeps his tone void of emotion. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Not sleeping is something to worry about. It does things to the mind. Things you have no control over. Makes you reckless.” Pol looks him in the eye. She is one of the few people he can’t stare down. There is genuine concern there –Pol has warm eyes. “You’ll end up hurting someone. Yourself, if I know you right.”

For just a moment, he wants to tell her.

This impulse makes him walk past her and out the door.

One time, on one of those nightly walks, he feels so disconnected from his own body that he thinks his nerves must’ve stopped functioning properly. That the little threads running through him has broken, and that’s why he can’t feel.

It's like he is floating.

He draws in warm smoke into his lungs, and it helps a bit.

He smokes until he runs out of cigarettes, and the surreal sensation of being completely numb grows. Until he’s drowning in it- he ends up at the end of some dark alley, without even remembering how he got there, hands resting on the rough bricks as he tries to just breathe. Tries to get some air past the rope that is wrapped so tightly around his chest.

He’s teetering on the edge of some abyss of complete and utter insanity, that’s what it feels like right at that moment.

Maybe if he could carve out all the parts of himself that he-

He bites his knuckles –a nervous habit he hasn’t fallen into in years. But the pain at least makes his hands feel real again.

Somehow, he finds his way back home and collapses in bed, falling into an unconscious darkness.

When a bleak sun shines light through his window only a few hours later, he sees the wounds and is overwhelmed by disgust. He has to stop using –he can’t afford to lose control like this.

Approaching the Jewish gang in London is quite possibly one of those reckless things Polly talked about. And it very nearly does get him killed, due to his little encounter with Sabini’s men. It’s only luck that Arthur and John show up at the right moment.

But then again, it also leads him to Alfie Solomons. Who crashes into his life and turns everything on its head. In more ways than one.

And for a moment, it pulls him away from the edge.

Tommy wouldn’t have pinned Alfie as particularly gentle, or affectionate. Though it really shouldn’t shock him that Alfie proves him wrong, because if there’s one thing he is –its full of surprises. Turns out, he can be both.

Tommy especially thinks of it the first time they share a bed. Which takes much longer than he thought it would, for reasons he doesn’t care to look into. There are a lot of heated kisses, in Alfie’s office, in dark alleys, or the snug at the Garrison after closing hours. But it doesn’t go further than that; as if they’ve suddenly turned into nervous boys… Tommy doesn’t think too hard about it. Tries to, at least.

For the most part, he’s just so lost in the feeling of finally being touched by someone. Who wants to touch him, who doesn’t feel obliged to. But the high only lasts for those short, fleeting moments. And soon, he’s back in his own bed, staring into the ceiling and overwhelmed by that feeling of existing just outside of his own body.

Eventually, they do end up in bed together. Alfie’s own bed, in London. And it’s… Tommy won’t lie, it’s something else, as cliché as it sounds. It’s good. It’s really, really good.

There’s a bit of fumbling, granted. Because it all feels so new, somehow. And despite Alfie taking the time to open him up with his fingers, Tommy is wound far too tightly at first, and it’s painful when Alfie pushes into him. Not all the way, but it's enough. He squeezes his eyes shut and braces himself, knowing it’ll feel good in a while –just have to get through this first bit. But Alfie just pulls out and kisses his cheek.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart. Got a bit eager-“ he smiles down at Tommy and winks. “Bit more work to do, eh? Don’t worry, I’ll make it good for you.” And instead of telling Alfie that it’s fine, and he should just get on with it, Tommy lets out a laugh. He’s happy right then. To be there with Alfie.

When Alfie finally fills him up him completely, it doesn’t hurt at all. And he tells him all kinds of things –that Tommy is beautiful, how good it feels to fuck him… And he wants to know how it feels for him: good? Should he go harder? Slower?

He looks at Tommy as if he’s this precious thing.

Tommy is just there, in the moment.

Afterwards, Alfie wraps his arms around him and pulls him close, until his head is resting on his chest.

Tommy feels that familiar urge to run beginning to claw at him. They’ve fucked, it’s over and done with. Surely Alfie Solomons isn’t the type who cuddles.

And he feels pathetic, for wanting this.

Alfie is just doing what is expected of him, following a sort of unwritten rule.

It’s their first time, so there must be a lot of preconceived ideas about the whole thing.

Tommy doesn’t need his sufferance, and is tempted to dislodge himself and reach for a cigarette. But even though his mind is racing, his body feels heavy in Alfie’s arms. Like it wants to stay there. Like it’s longed just to be close to someone.

So he stays. For a little while. The bedroom comes with a different set of rules, always has. So maybe he can play along.

God, since when did he become so fucking pitiful?

He’s stopped using the opium. This is just something lingering. That’s all this is.

After kissing the top of his head and squeezing him a bit tighter, Alfie falls asleep.

Tommy doesn’t.

It feels like he’s got a weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He thinks it must be caused by how he’s pressed against Alfie’s body.

Careful not to wake him, he pulls out from the embrace and lies down at the edge of the mattress.

It doesn’t help.

Eventually, Tommy gives up on the idea of sleeping and goes down to sit on Alfie’s couch instead.

After that first time, this becomes his new drug. He finds himself going to London far more often than what is reasonable, and they find a shoddy hotel in Birmingham where -for the right price- no-one asks questions.

Tommy throws himself into the whole thing with reckless abandon, and Alfie seems both enthralled and a bit surprised.

Alfie always dutifully wraps him up in that sure embrace afterwards.

Tommy spends the majority of the night curled up on the opposite side of the mattress. Or down in Alfie’s living room. Fucking is one thing. The rest is something else, and he doesn’t need that.

It’s the fifth, or maybe sixth time they share a bed. Not like he’s keeping count or anything.

Tommy is on his back, and Alfie holds onto the headboard of the bed for leverage as he fucks him.

It’s better than the opium.

Alfie rolls off him with a satisfied sigh, stretching his limbs and looking very pleased with both himself and the overall situation. Tommy expects him to pull him close, the way he usually does. He’s even decided that perhaps he could… stay like that for a bit longer tonight. Maybe it’s because the weather has been getting colder, and he along with it, and he just desperately wants for something to warm him up, if only for a moment…

Only Alfie doesn’t. Instead he puts his hands behind his head and stares thoughtfully up at the ceiling.

Tommy reaches for his jacket on the floor and fishes out the cigarette case, ignoring that it suddenly feels like his insides have tied themselves into a knot.

“Yeah, figures you weren’t the cuddly type,” Alfie says, tone light and with a hint of a smile visible through the beard.

Unable to respond to this, Tommy just lights a cigarette.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Alfie goes on. “That you always end up on the opposite side of the bed. Looks like you’re about to fall off, the way you curl up at the edge. So I recon you’re not really into the whole ‘laying in my arms and gazing longingly at my face-thing.”

“But you are?” Tommy draws the smoke far into his lungs and wants to store the warmth there.

“’Course I am!” Alfie looks almost offended. “Best fucking part of the whole thing. Well, maybe that’s taking it a bit far. Because you really are just… something else in bed, darling.” He chuckles and shakes his head slowly. “I mean, fucking you is like a… religious bloody experience, right. So it’s not really comparable to anything.” His fingers trail lightly over Tommy’s collarbone. “But… you know, it’s at least as fucking good. Just in a different way.” He pauses. “Though, not if you don’t like it. Then it’s pointless, innit? Should be a mutual thing.”

“Who knew you were so considerate,” Tommy quirks an eyebrow.

“Don’t say shit like that,” Alfie furrows his brow. “Don’t like having insinuations made about me. Not when it comes to this. I'm a bad man, alright. But not in that way.”

Tommy shrugs.

“So, I take it you need your space, then?”

“Sure,” Tommy answers. Because what the fuck is he supposed to say? He’s fucking pathetic alright, but Alfie doesn’t need know that. He’s burnt this bridge now.

“Fine. Maybe you’ll change your mind. Bit further down the line.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath.” Tommy puts the cigarette out and rolls onto his side, back turned against him. Alfie just chuckles quietly and turns the light off.

A while later, his soft snores fill the room. Tommy lies awake.

Maybe he should put an end to this whole thing. Before Alfie discovers what he’s gotten himself into and ends it for him.

Why should he put up with it?

Tommy wouldn’t put up with himself if he wasn’t forced to.

They meet up again the following week. Same shoddy hotel, same creaking bed. Alfie tells Tommy to ride him, lifts him up onto his lap and holds him close.

Tommy wants it to last, because like this, nothing is complicated. He can cling to Alfie, bury his face against his neck, let himself be held without thinking of the consequences. Alfie’s warmth thaws him from the inside out, and all those broken nerve endings seem to mend themselves.

Of course it does end, eventually, and once he’s back in his own head again, Tommy untangles himself from Alfie’s grip and reaches for his cigarettes.

Alfie talks about the different uses of nettles. There are a lot, apparently, and either he knows them all, or he’s making it up as he goes along. Tommy smokes and listens, feeling a smile twitch at his mouth. As long as Alfie is talking, he doesn’t really think about anything else.

Eventually, Alfie cuts off the long monologue with a yawn. He glances at Tommy and offers an arm in an inviting gesture.

“Still not feeling the least bit cuddly, sweetheart?”

It’s too late to change anything now, isn’t it? Would feel like admitting weakness. He can’t afford himself to be weak. He thinks of those first times, how it felt… And he wants-

“Not really,” he says and rolls over to his side.

Alfie just lets out that low chuckle.

“All sharp edges, ain’t ya´, Tommy?”

He doesn’t answer.

Alfie falls asleep within a few minutes.

Tommy's chest feels tight.

This will be one of those bad nights, he feels it more by each passing second. And there’s nothing here to take the edge off.

The unwelcomed thoughts start clawing at his brain, and he tries to focus on the sound of Alfie’s breathing.

He gives up.

Fuck this, there’s no point in lying here and feel the walls close in.

Tommy swings his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing a bit as he takes the first unsteady step over the rough floorboards. The urge to get out of the room is suddenly overwhelming, so his movements are a bit frantic as he pulls on his clothing, only bothering with the necessities, before grabbing his coat.

It’s cold outside.

He ends up at the stables in spite of himself, warming his hands against the mane of the horse. It’s happy to see him.

He stays longer than he should.

The door creaks as someone opens it, and in a rehearsed movement, Tommy pulls his gun and turns to face the newcomer, hands steady.

“Bloody hell, you point that towards everyone you sleep with?” Alfie’s voice comes from the shadows and he steps out in the dim light flooding the stable. “Then again, you don’t really sleep, do you, Tommy? Must be why you’re so fucking on edge all the time. Go on, put that away now. Going to spook that horse if you shoot me here. I mean look at it, it’s all twitchy.”

Tommy has already lowered the gun and put it back in its holster.

“What are you doing here, Alfie?” he asks and turns back to calm the frightened horse. It only takes a moment –he’s always been better with horses than people. At least when it comes to touching them.

“Really could ask you the same, mate.” Alfie is coming towards him. “I just followed you, didn’t I? Or, I followed my instinct is more like it. Figured you might be hiding out here.”

“Thought you were asleep.”

“Well you thought wrong, didn’t you?”

Alfie is standing right behind him now. “Was for a while, sure. Woke up and discovered you were gone. Thought that maybe you’d taken the whole thing a bit further, your whole… intense self-loathing thing. Just decided to sleep on the floor. Seemed like a thing you could do, right. Fuckin’ hell, if I could only take a look inside that brain of yours-”

Tommy is bracing himself for more questions that he can’t answer, when a warm hand comes to rest on the back of his neck. The touch makes him flinch involuntarily.

“Fuck, you’re absolutely freezing,” Alfie mutters. “Will catch your death, hanging out in damp old stables at night. Come here-“

A pair of strong hands grabs his shoulders and turns him around. And a moment later, he is enveloped in a tight embrace. Alfie opens his coat and brings it up around him, forming this warm cocoon, as he holds him close to his chest. Tommy is absolutely rigid in his arms.

“What are you doing?” he asks dumbly, hands twitching at his sides as he considers pushing him away. Alfie huffs.

“I know that head of yours ain’t always working right, but even you must know what a fucking hug is. Now relax, will you? You ain’t a rabbit caught in a bloody snare.”

His head is telling him that he needs to distance himself from this; this is too close. Alfie pities him. But it’s physically impossible not to give in. Every little bit of resistance melts away, and he completely falls into the strength of Alfie’s arms, burying his nose in the crook of his neck and wrapping his own arms tightly around his waist. It must be cold, but Alfie doesn’t even flinch. And the warmth seeps into his fractured nerves and softens his tense body.

“There we go,” Alfie whispers and rubs his back. “Figured you needed one of these. Just to warm you up, eh?”

Tommy wonders for a moment if Alfie can actually see straight through his head.

Alfie takes him back to the hotel, undresses him and wraps him in a just as tight embrace in bed. And Tommy knows its desperate and pathetic and- fuck he wishes he didn’t need this so badly. But he does. And he’s so fucking tired. So he huddles as close as he’s able to and hides his face against Alfie’s chest. Alfie begins to stroke his hair.

The tightness in his chest disappears, and he can finally draw breath all the way down his lungs.

“Should’ve seen this is what you need,” Alfie mutters into his hair.

Tommy pretends to be asleep. Alfie keeps holding him just as tight, and he lies there and waits for the grip to loosen, for him to drift off. It doesn’t happen. The arms remain firm around him, anchoring him in warmth. And he listens to Alfie’s heartbeat.

Until he actually does fall asleep.

Alfie’s hands are rarely far away after that. Tommy sometimes wishes he wasn’t so good at reading him, because it makes him feel oddly vulnerable. That whenever he gets too caught up in something, and he’s beginning to sink into the disconnected fog, Alfie is there to draw him out of it. Putting an arm around his shoulders, or a hand on the back of his neck. Just to ground him.

Granted there is quite a bit of groping as well –Tommy doesn’t mind in the least. Alfie wants to touch him, that's what matters.

Tommy is bad at doing the same, at first. It takes a while to remember what it’s like to touch someone without ulterior motives. And then it’s his hands… he doesn’t want Alfie to flinch because he’s got those icy fingers on some days. It’s late autumn, now, so that doesn’t exactly help the situation.

They’re in the snug at the Garrison, presumably conducting business. At the moment, that is actually what they’re doing. Tommy is helping Alfie with the bookkeeping, because the sooner they get that over with, the sooner they can do something more useful with their time.

Eyes still on the documents before him, Tommy reaches across the table for a paper and accidentally touches Alfie’s bare arm. He instinctually withdraws the hand, as if he’s burned himself.

“Fucking hell, mate, those are some cold fucking hands,” Alfie mutters, glancing up over the edge of his glasses. Without hesitation he takes Tommy’s hand into both of his and starts to gently rub the back of it with his thumbs.

Tommy is frozen in his seat. But Alfie seems unfazed. As if this is something completely natural.

“See, you’ve got to get the blood running, right?” He nods to himself. “That’s the whole thing. Bet you faint easily, too… ‘Cause the blood doesn’t reach your head quick enough.” Alfie goes back to reading something very intently, but keeps massaging his hand, moving up the wrist. Squeezes the fingers in his warm palms.

“I don’t faint easily,” Tommy says firmly, but is terrified of doing something that will make Alfie stop.

“So you’re telling me you never get dizzy if you stand up to quick?” Alfie chuckles to himself and turns his hand over, taking care of the palm next. Little by little, he feels how the heat creeps down his wrist and into his hand.

“No.” Yes, but only if he hasn’t slept in a few days.

“Well, I’ll keep an eye on you. Bound to happen, what with the not eating thing. But we’ll work on that. Till then, guess I’ll just stick around, yeah?” Alfie glances up at him and winks “Make sure to catch you if you swoon a little.”

“You fucking wish,” Tommy offers a raised eyebrow in a display of scepticism. “We need to talk about your obsession with carrying me.”

“You never let me,” Alfie retorts. “You and your silly ideas. Now give me that other hand.”

Tommy does.

He’s sitting in the kitchen one night, instead of wandering the streets aimlessly. And it’s got nothing to do with Alfie, and how he always asks about it the next time they meet. “Don’t like it that you’re out when you’re that way. All jittery and fucked in the head.” So he tries staying indoors.

Arthur comes home from the Garrison, halting his step as he passes in the hallway.

“Tommy!” He exclaims and shoots him a lopsided grin as he stumbles into the kitchen and slumps down next to him on the sofa. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yes. Must be such a surprise. In our own house,” Tommy says and empties his glass.

“Well, you’re always rushing about these days,” Arthur reaches for the whiskey, as if he’s not drunk enough already. “Was bloody worried ‘bout you for awhile, you know. Seemed to be spinning completely out of control- your eyes were all hollowed out-“

Arthur noticed.

“But it’s better now. I can tell,” Arthur smiles that way he does when he gets sentimental. “Don’t know what it is, but you’re a bit softer ‘round the edges.”

Tommy wishes Arthur wouldn’t remind him of that.

Then Arthur wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him against his side.

“Yeah, whatever it is that’s doin’ it… just stick to it aight?” He reaches up and tousles his hair roughly. And Tommy doesn’t bat his hand away. “See, I’m gonna look out for you better now, Tom,” Arthur’s voice is thick with emotion. He probably won’t remember the whole thing tomorrow. “Better than when we were kids-“ his fingers brush lightly against the small scar on Tommy’s left cheek. This, Tommy shifts away from. But Arthur is too far gone to take any notice. His eyes linger on the mark. “Better than with our-”

“I’m not a child, you don’t have to fucking-“ Tommy starts to protest, but then bites his tongue and softens his tone a bit. “You’ve always done your best, Arthur. That’s enough.” No point in making him upset about this.

Arthur rests his elbows on his knees and nods slowly to himself, staring at some undetermined spot on the floor with glazed eyes.

The floorboards creek as Polly comes into the kitchen with that knowing look on her face, and a faint smile curling her lip.

“Oh sorry, are we waking Finn up?” Arthur wonders, quite a bit too loud in relation to the subject of the question.

“It’s fine, he’s used to this racket by now,” Polly says and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Well I’m off to bed,” Arthur states and gives Tommy’s hair another affectionate tug. “Don’t stay up too long, Tommy-boy. Not good for that head of yours.”

He leaves the room on unsteady feet, and Tommy just hopes he won’t fall walking up the stairs.

A sense of calm settles in the kitchen, and Tommy finds himself staying right where he is.

“I actually came down here to make tea,” Polly says and goes about it. “This house is bloody freezing.”

He should leave, before she starts asking things.

But Polly just sets the teapot and two cups down on the table, before seating herself and opening her book.

She doesn’t ask any questions. Just sits there with him.

Tommy doesn’t tell her anything. But he doesn’t leave, either

#alfie/tommy #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #wtma au #season01au #hurt/comfort #touch-starved #tw: anxiety #tw: ptsd #tw: insomnia #tw: drug use #tw: disordered eating #tw: child abuse

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