#and with a week-long unending headache before that!

[aspentreewrites]

and when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot

Chapter 1

Pairings: Codywan

Tags/Warnings: slow burn(ish), fake dating, only one bed, general angst and pining, AO3 rating is E for future chapters

Link to read on AO3 here!

Description:

The truth of the matter burrows deep into Cody’s skin, settling into the home it’s long-since made for itself there, nestled tightly amongst the other secrets he harbours that are too shameful to ever speak aloud.

He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

(or: an account of the relationship between one Marshal Commander and his General from in the midst of a war.)

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A/N: In my unending quest to name all of my fics after The Amazing Devil songs, this one is taken from Elsa's Song. If you're reading this on Tumblr, you're getting a unique version of this author's note - hello there! I usually just link to my fics on Tumblr, but this time I've decided to post each chapter in full here!

Any and all comments are massively appreciated, and if I can format anything better for posting here please let me know. I'm aiming to have the next chapter up in 2-3 weeks :)

Huge thanks to my wonderful friend @whenyourfavouritedies (link to their AO3 here!) for beta reading.

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He’d had a good run, Cody thinks to himself as he faces down the adversary in front of him. Perhaps he could avoid the mortal embarrassment of defeat by defenestrating himself from the nearest window - at least then his death could be ruled as a bizarre, impulsive moment of pure lunacy rather than the alternative of being done in entirely by the man in front of him.

… The man in front of him who evidently seems to be expecting a response to his words. 

Cody, the Marshal Commander of the 212th who has spoken in front of the Council multiple times, who’s renowned throughout the GAR for his prowess at quick-thinking and strategy, desperately tries to muster something. Gingerly, he collects the shattered pieces of his brain from the floor, and attempts to produce something coherent with them.

“... Oh,” he manages, trying to not let his words come out as strangled as it feels like they could in this moment. “Right.”

As it turns out, those two words alone are insufficient, at least judging by Obi-Wan’s look of pure bewilderment. The Jedi tilts his head a little, studying the clone before him.

“Is everything alright, Cody?” he asks tentatively, before glancing back to the mission briefing on his datapad. Cody’s eyes remain glued to one word in particular, practically glaring at him from the harshly backlit screen of the tablet. 

He can feel a headache coming on. 

“If it’s too much, Anakin has offered to spare Rex, but to be perfectly honest–” 

Absolutely not. The only thing Cody can think of that would be worse than going on this mission at all would be someone else going in his place.

“-- I’d rather avoid a repeat of what happened on Corellia, if at all possible,” Obi-Wan murmurs, stroking a hand over his beard. He frowns slightly at the memory, and Cody files the subject away to ask about later, though for the moment he has far more pressing matters to address.

“Right,” Cody repeats, before finally remembering that he does, in fact, know how to string words into a sentence. His eyes snap up from the datapad, meeting his General’s gaze. Discomfort claws its way through his body, constricting his throat a little when he tries to gather himself. “Yes, sir. I’m just wondering, about the aliases-”

Obi-Wan huffs, clearly having his own strong opinion on whatever he thinks Cody is about to say. “Yes, well, I appreciate that the backstories aren’t as detailed as they could be. I did mention it, but the Council did what they could on such short notice.”

“Of course. I’m just wondering if we have to be–”

“Really, it’s a miracle that they even had anything planned, knowing them.”

“-- Married?”

Obi-Wan blinks, and a long silence stretches between the two men. He studies Cody’s face again for a moment, before he looks back down at the datapad, his brow furrowed slightly as if he’s only just considering the implications of the mission for the first time. 

Cody stands, steady as ever, though behind his back his fingers twitch anxiously. From the Jedi's telling, it’s going to be a fairly quick undercover stint - a handful of days at most. They’ll be staying at a hotel-slash-resort out in a neutral system, where they’ve been tipped off that a handful of Separatists are meeting for a business deal that could debilitate the Republic if it goes off smoothly.

A tad dramatic, perhaps, but when intel like that is received, the Jedi have to ensure that the call to action is answered. And who better to answer it with than one of their best? 

Unfortunately for Cody, the Jedi’s best has a penchant for dragging him along, too.

This type of mission might be incredibly rote for the General, but for Cody, it’s… An intimidating prospect. He’s a soldier, a strategist - a damned good one at that, there’s a reason he’s been given the position of Commander - if there’s one thing he is decidedly not, however, it's an actor.

It’s likely that the more experienced man hadn’t even given Cody’s involvement a second thought - they’re by each other’s side on most battlefields, after all… This arena, though, is an untrodden one. After some consideration, Obi-Wan quirks a brow and looks back up at his Commander.

“You’re aware that we wouldn’t actually be signing any legal documents for the sake of the mission?” he queries, as if that were at all the issue Cody is having here. Stars, but does this man like to play dense sometimes.

“... That’s not the point, sir.”

“Then what is? Do you not think I would make a fine husband? My dear Commander, you wound me.”

Cody has the quiet suspicion that if anyone had the fortune to wed his General (not that the Jedi were even allowed such things), they would find themselves spending a considerable portion of the rest of their lives having to put up with his unfortunate sense of humour. 

As it happens, Cody is the one who’s taking the burden for that responsibility at current. It’s been slowly driving him up the wall for the better part of the war effort.

“I’m sure you would make a good–” no, that’s not appropriate, “a fine–” he stops short, glowering at the amused smirk that has plastered itself on his General’s face. Obi-Wan seems to be garnering a little too much delight in causing him to stammer like a schoolchild, the victorious glint in his eye evident. Cody shakes his head, persisting despite the flush that he’s sure has appeared on his cheeks. “... You know what I mean.”

Much to Cody’s relief, Obi-Wan takes mercy on him and drops the subject. He glances back down to the datapad with a thoughtful hum, his expression returning to something a little more dignified.

“It was ultimately a logistical choice. We would be sharing a room in the hotel, regardless, and the cover makes it considerably less likely that people would raise questions.” A pause, and then the Jedi’s voice turns a little more gentle. “If it would truly make you uncomfortable, Cody, then we can come up with an alternative.”  

Cody finds himself shaking his head before he even has time to think it through properly. It’s… Fine. He’s fine. The thought of pretending to be Obi-Wan’s… husband, makes something strange curl in his gut, a sense of tightness and discomfort that he can’t quite identify. 

He pushes the feeling away, telling himself that all it is is feeling unsure about going undercover in general - it will be, after all, his first time doing so for more than a few minutes at a time. He’s bluffed to get past guards and to stall enemies, they all have, but he’s practically a shiny in this territory. It makes sense that he’d have some nerves.

“No, I… I’ll take the mission, General. I was just…” he hesitates. He was just what exactly? Cody isn’t entirely certain. “I’ll just need some time to look over the aliases, to prepare. Being undercover is… Not my usual wheelhouse.”

That’s putting it lightly.

“If you’re certain?”

Cody holds the Jedi’s earnest gaze for as long as he can muster with this odd sensation sloshing around in his stomach. He manages a nod, moving to take the datapad from the other man as they prepare to move onto other matters for the morning.

“Yes, sir.”

______________________________

The night before the mission rolls around, Cody finds himself still awake far too late into the night. He’s at his desk, poring over multiple tabs of research, and Stars, there’s still so much to cover before they’re set to leave.

He’s… what is it that an actor would call it? ‘Studying’ the fictional man that is Vidarr Emerin, a wealthy investor who’s gained a frankly ridiculous amount of credits from backing a series of Spice mining projects on Kessel. Vidarr isn’t actually involved in the day to day operations of the creation of the drug directly (and thank the Force for that, because Cody couldn’t realistically describe the process if there was a blaster to his head), though he has his fingers in many metaphorical pies of Kessel’s ‘industry’, if one can call it that. 

Vidarr is ruthlessly efficient, cutthroat, and has more money invested in the black market than Cody has ever seen in his entire life.

His favourite colour, the document notes, is brown.

They’re hoping that, due to the planet they’re travelling to not having seen hide nor hair of the war as of yet, Cody can blend in as a regular human without issue. If he were to be clocked as a clone however, he and Obi-Wan have come up with a story that fits. A benefit of their cover is that if any clone were to defect from the GAR, Kessel would likely be a decent option for them to run to, due to its relative distance from the war and the objective difficulty in getting to the planet. It would be easier if he didn’t have to out himself, but it never hurts to be prepared.

The Commander is about three cafs into his nighttime research, and is showing no sign of slowing, currently skimming through a holonet article about Kessel’s southern equator. He’s trying to take notes on as many details as possible about the habitable section of the planet: the names of local wildlife, parks, various points of interest… It’s unlikely that anyone would want to talk to him about the geography of the local rivers, admittedly, but what if he’s caught out unexpectedly? 

No, Cody reasons to himself, taking another gulp of caf. Not worth the risk. He’ll just have to memorise the relative locations of every tributary and estuary in the local area that Vidarr is from. It’s the only way he can walk into this prepared.

It’s even later when his chrono beeps at him for attention. His eyes have been struggling to focus on the various screens for too long to ignore, and Cody’s attention turns to the empty notepad page to his right. The one that’s been staring him down all evening.

He narrows his eyes at it, sizing the offending object up. One moment passes, then another. The man groans, running a tired hand over his face and silencing his alarm. He may as well get this over with.

He returns his datapad to the page about their aliases, scrolling until he hits the ‘marriage and relationship’ section. Cody pulls the notepad over, reluctantly beginning to scribble down some bullet points. 

Renne Emerin, née Cardall, met Vidarr at a soiree attended by a handful of various small-time investors for the Pyke Syndicate, and the two began courting not long after. Three years into their relationship, they got engaged. A further year, and the two were married. This little trip together is a celebration for their second wedding anniversary.

They have a bonded pair of tookas. They’re considering adopting a child. They’re a regular, normal couple in love.

Cody turns off the datapad, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. 

For the life of him, he doesn’t know why he feels such a mental block in regards to… all of this. Obi-Wan had been incredibly accommodating - between them, they’d laid out expectations, negotiated how they were going to approach this, and the Jedi had promised to not push too hard in the name of making a good cover (though Cody had insisted he not hold back on his account - he’d be damned if his own incompetence compromised a mission).

And yet… The anxious feeling persists. It’s subtler now at least, having spent the last week preparing and researching, but it remains under his skin, simmering away. 

It worsens when he thinks of the marriage they’ll have to upkeep.

His chrono beeps a second time, a harsh, needy trill that tells him he really ought to be getting to bed now. Cody grumbles to himself, turning the blasted alarm off again, before finally flopping down in his bed and flicking off the light to his room.

It’ll be fine, he thinks wearily, forcing himself to take a deep breath and settle his mind. 

If there’s one thing he trusts implicitly in this Galaxy, it’s that Obi-Wan will have his back. Discomfort be damned, they’ll get through this in one piece. Soon enough, this’ll just be a funny story to tell when sufficiently drunk.

Clinging onto that thought like it holds the last vestiges of his sanity, Cody drifts into a fitful but desperately needed sleep. 

______________________________

The Commander wakes early, exactly as he was trained. A fast shower, an efficient shave, and his bed made neatly behind him as he dresses.

At 0600 hours exactly, he leaves his quarters, fully clad in his newly issued armour - shiny, pristine, bright white plastoid that catches in the harsh, fluorescent lighting lining the hallways of the Venator. He is precisely as he should be: the perfect example of what the Kaminoans created.

When he reaches the briefing room, he raps his gloved knuckles against the door once, twice. Cody feels confident as he waits - every single choice he makes matters today, and a good first impression is vital. Yes, he thinks, mulling it over in his mind: a single knock would have been insufficient, and three would be bordering on informal. Two was the right answer, Commander. Good work.

It takes precisely six seconds for the door to slide open, revealing the Jedi he had met briefly before in holocalls, though never face to face. The Jedi he’s going to dedicate his life to. 

Auburn hair catches the light, and clean, cream coloured robes settle tidily about his form. Curious eyes settle on him, inspecting the clone likely as much as the clone is analysing the Jedi. Cody is quietly grateful for his helmet giving him the tactical upper hand in this endeavour.

The blue of the Jedi’s eyes reminds him of the Kaminoan ocean, though he’s unsure whether or not that association is a good or a bad one. The man in front of him looks methodically put together, neat and organised, as a member of the famed Jetii should be… Perhaps a little tired, though, as the faint bags under his eyes might indicate.

Cody decides it doesn’t matter. It’s surely just a sign of his new General’s commitment to his work ethic that he would stay up late to prepare for today. Something they’ll have in common, then.

The Commander’s back is, naturally, ramrod-straight as he salutes sharply, his voice strong and even as he speaks.

“CC-2224, sir. Ready for our briefing.” He knows the Jedi should have remembered his designation number from their fleeting introductions over holocall, but it never hurts to be cautious. The man has a lot to familiarise himself with over the coming days, after all. It wouldn’t be a slight if it took him a while to remember something so small.

General Kenobi pauses at that, before offering a small, if hesitant smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Of course.” He steps aside, allowing the clone entry into the meeting room. It’s a tidy, organised space, yet something about it is almost eerie in its quietude. Cody’s eyes sweep over neat stacks of datapads and consoles with no fingerprints yet on their keyboards, no dust yet accumulated on the cables filling the room. A tactical space, ready to handle and catalogue so much violence and death - years of it, more. 

And yet it is, at present, still and empty. Lying in eager wait for the blood to start spilling, to see the use it has been designed for. Today, the Commander supposes, is the day. 

The General sweeps through the room, posture so exact that it almost makes him look as if he’s gliding rather than walking. He sets up the holotable at the centre of the room, watching as the agenda for the day flickers into being, a list nearly a mile long. General Kenobi scans over the file with a quiet sigh, before he glances over to meet the other man’s gaze.

“Would you care for a cup of caf? I quite find I struggle to focus so early on in the day.”

The Jedi’s voice is gentle, softened at the edges with tiredness - not at all the tone the soldier is used to from authority. Cody frowns to himself. And he’s… Offering him caf. Not an order or command. An unexpected start to their working relationship.

Part of him can’t help but think it could be a trap. A test of how much he’d be willing to take from him, perhaps. A measure of his discipline?

Kenobi looks progressively more awkward as time presses on. He speaks up again, evidently trying to search for any hint of emotion in the clone’s expressionless helmet and drawing a blank.

“Or… Tea?” he tries, tilting his head a little. “I can make tea instead, if that’s more to your liking.”

The Commander hesitates, trying to figure out the right answer to this puzzle in front of him. Would it offend the General if he said no? Could he say no, if he wanted to? How much of a choice does he get here?

Regardless, he can tell his prolonged silence is unnerving his new General, and the last thing he wants is to make a bad impression.

“Caf… Caf is fine, sir. Thank you.” 

That, at least, seems to placate the Jedi. He smiles, a little more sincerely this time, before disappearing off to the corner of the room and busying himself with making some drinks.

Cody takes the opportunity to get a headstart on the agenda for their first day, looking over the list at the holotable with a critical eye. There’s much to do, and he’s anxious to get to it and prove himself.

“Right,” Kenobi begins as he returns, passing a steaming mug to Cody before sipping at his own. “Let us get started, hm?”

The briefing is quick, and efficient. They move through all the matters of the day - introductory training with the men, preparations to oversee supply requisitioning, and early drafts of strategy for the 212th’s first upcoming mission in the field together.

The caf is nicer than he expected.

“Before we go, Commander,” Kenobi says as the two turn to leave for the first training, his tone thoughtful. He looks to the clone in front of him, folding his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “I was wondering if I could have your name.”

… What? 

“My… Designation number, sir?” He asks, with a little uncertainty. The Jedi’s mouth twitches - not quite a frown, but something close to it. He attempts to disguise it by passing a hand over his beard. Cody tenses instinctively.

“No, you greeted me with that when you first came in,” he reminds him, voice gentle. “I meant your name. Your actual one.”

CC-2224 glitches. 

He’s not sure how long he just stares at the General, but it’s long enough to prompt Kenobi to speak again.

“... If that would be alright?”

No, no it would be decidedly not alright. This is against everything the Commander was expecting, everything he’s spent his whole life preparing for. He’s almost indignant at the impropriety. As he continues to hesitate, a flash of something like worry flashes across Obi-Wan’s face, followed by a sheepishness unbefitting of someone of his station.

He raises his hand, cutting off Cody as he finally opens his mouth to answer.

“No, no, I apologise, Commander,” he says quickly, sounding a little ashamed. “Names are… important to your brothers, aren’t they?”

At Cody’s stupefied nod, he continues on.

“I should not have asked something so personal of you,” the Jedi murmurs, bowing his head briefly in apology. “Forgive me.”

The Commander doesn’t quite know what to do with that. A brief mumble of ‘it’s alright, sir’, and an evening spent puzzling out who, exactly, his new General is, will have to do.

That night, Cody finds himself staring up at the ceiling as he tries to find sleep.

Perhaps the Kaminoans were wrong about the Jetii. About what would be expected of them. But then, if that’s true, then what else were they wrong about? 

It’s an unnerving thought, and it’s one that plagues him for the coming weeks.

______________________________

In the half-light of the ship’s artificial morning, Cody stares down his reflection in the mirror, wrinkling his nose slightly as he tugs a battle-worn comb through his hair, gently teasing the curls apart. He glances back down to the holonet vid he found, the projector balancing precariously on the edge of the sink. Making a swiping gesture in the air with his free hand, he winds back the video yet another time. The helpful, yet slightly too-fast-speaking Kiffar woman in the vid enthusiastically explains how to loosen one’s curl pattern, and Cody repeats the actions she demonstrates, his brow knitting together unconsciously as he focuses. 

The 212th doesn’t exactly have access to the myriad of supplies the vid-blogger eagerly shows the camera, but Cody’s scoured the supply shipments to source some decent enough conditioner - combined with the comb with a handful of missing teeth that he’d uncovered earlier in his room, they’ll have to do. The steam from the shower he’d taken minutes earlier permeates the room, and Cody has to pause in his delicate work every few minutes to wipe down the mirror.

He continues working methodically from the ends of the strands up to his scalp, becoming progressively less clumsy with the action as he goes. It’s strangely meditative, though it helps that his attention on this is effectively holding off the nervousness that the mission ahead of him today brings. 

By the time he finishes up, the Commander just… stares at himself for a long moment, noting the unfamiliar sensation of his still-damp hair falling a short way across his face. It’ll need to be slicked back, certainly, but it looks… Fine. Not like him, though. Not at all. 

It’s a funny thing, that sensation that other sentients would refer to as not recognising yourself in the mirror. When your face is the same as millions of others, it’s more like seeing another one of the vode. One with that same scar across the temple and with considerably less sternness about adhering to the GAR’s hair-length regs, clearly.

Cody sighs, gesturing to power down the holoprojector, finishing towelling himself off and finally heading out of the ‘fresher to get ready for the day. Regardless of his feelings on the subject, it’ll help him blend in better as a deserter, so longer hair it is.

Longer hair and an almost merc-like uniform, according to the tailored cloak and boots that wait for him in his room. Cody grimaces.

He just hopes that if Waxer or Boil see him, they’ll keep their mouths shut.

By some mercy of the fates, he’s able to steal through the Venator and make it up to the docking bays without catching the eye of any of his men (mostly, at least; he’d brushed past Helix outside the medbay but the medic hadn’t even looked up from his work). 

He jogs up the ramp to the ship to join his Jedi - already waiting for him and re-reading today’s mission details with a mug in hand, of course.

Cody spots the second mug of caf that Obi-Wan had prepared sitting over on one of the consoles and beelines for it, already knowing he’ll be needing all the stimulants he can get his hands on to feel at all ready for today.

“Ah, Commander, I was wondering when you were going to–” Obi-Wan starts, but the comment dies on his tongue. Cody glances over to see his normally so eloquent General taking a moment before finishing his sentence, his friend’s gaze flicking briefly over his appearance. The Commander raises a questioning brow, and Obi-Wan clears his throat quietly, before offering Cody a slightly short nod.

“... When you were going to arrive.” His eyes linger for a moment, uncharacteristically unsure of himself, before he turns away, busying himself by inputting the coordinates into the console. “The hair suits you, by the way.”

Cody feels strangely warm at the compliment, self-consciously reaching up to push back some of the strands.

“I’ve written up some of the boys for shorter,” he comments dryly, stepping up alongside the Jedi and taking a sip of his caf. Obi-Wan snorts in quiet amusement, giving him a sidelong glance.

“I’m sure.”

A calm silence briefly blankets them as the ship’s autopilot gets them away from the Venator and into the familiar black ocean of space, and Cody feels some of his tension ease. Of course it feels normal. He was a fool to think that this would feel any different to their usual missions. 

His eyes idly track the various indicators that display the wellbeing of the ship as he exhales slowly, lips curling up into something more reminiscent of a grimace than a smile - but nonetheless, he tries.

“You feeling ready for this?” he asks, feeling selfishly a little comforted by the thoughtful hum he gets in response. That’s a ‘not quite’ from the Jedi, and it at least means they’ll be walking into this together with some uncertainty. Cody hates feeling like he’s on the back foot.

“You can never be too ready for an undercover mission,” Obi-Wan says evenly, staring out ahead of them as the ship prepares to enter hyperspace. His fingers tap idly against his mug. “It always comes down to improvisation. A slip of the tongue here, an unexpected question there,” he murmurs. Catching Cody’s eye, the ghost of a smirk flits across his features. “... Not to worry you, of course.”

“Mm, right. You’d never do anything to cause me worry,” Cody quips, settling down into the pilot chair and buckling himself in. Obi-Wan follows suit, nodding serenely.

“It definitely hasn’t happened before, no.”

The trip through hyperspace is largely uneventful, the two falling into a companionable silence. As his thoughts stray to the mission ahead a little way into the flight, Cody realises his mind must feel a little frayed through the Force, because Obi-Wan turns to give him the look.

‘The Look’ is something scrutinising that happens whenever the Commander hasn’t quite managed to maintain his mental shields enough to conceal his emotions in a time of stress - the Jedi Order had, en masse, taught the vode how to do it in the early days of their partnership, in the interest of maintaining privacy for the troops, and as a gesture of goodwill. Cody does it well, for the most part, though it’s harder for him with Obi-Wan than with others, he finds. The man always seems to be able to see right through him.

“You’re still anxious.” It’s more of a statement than a question, and Cody wishes, not for the first time, that the General wouldn’t draw attention to his vulnerability like this. He levels Obi-Wan with a frustrated look of his own, brows knitting into a frown.

“It’s fine,” he insists. Obi-Wan looks at him flatly. Cody relents immediately, knowing that it’s useless trying to lie to any Jedi, but especially this one in particular.

He course corrects.

“It’ll be fine once we’re actually in the thick of it. It’s…” he grimaces, shaking his head slightly. “It’s the unknown of it all. At least if it’s a firefight, you can face down the enemy with a rifle.”

Obi-Wan reaches out to gently squeeze his Commander’s shoulder. The action soothes, the familiar warmth of his hand providing an anchor point of calm. “You’ll be wonderful. If I didn’t have full faith in you, I wouldn’t have asked you to join me,” he says, sincerely.

“Besides,” Obi-Wan adds, a playful glint in his eye, “if it all goes sideways, then you can happily be in your comfort zone while we blast our way out.”

A huff of amusement escapes Cody as he rolls his eyes, reaching up to cover the hand that remains on his shoulder.

“My comfort zone of keeping you from getting yourself impaled or shot? Yes, I’m unfortunately very familiar,” he mutters, exasperated yet fond.

Obi-Wan tips his head back and laughs.

______________________________

The first time he hears Obi-Wan laugh - properly laugh, not that wry chuckle he occasionally hears during briefings - it’s also the first time they’ve stayed up late together to finish up on  paperwork in his quarters. Cody has been regaling him with a tale from his youth on Kamino, relating to a particularly memorable incident involving Wooley, Boil, and a few mouse droids, and Obi-Wan laughs, eyes creasing at the corners and shoulders shaking with mirth.

At this time, it’s been about six weeks since the battalion’s first deployment in the war. The group is beginning to feel less like a random selection of soldiers and more like many parts of a functioning whole. Most notably, a handful of the men have recently started on their armour decoration. After much debate back and forth about the colour they should choose to accurately represent the battalion, Crys organised a (debatably) official vote in the mess hall with swatches of the strongest contenders.

The General had politely abstained over lunch, telling the vode that it wasn’t his place to influence their choices on such matters. Waxer indignantly declared such a position as ‘fence-sitting’, and Cody had sharply warned the young trooper that if he were to accuse High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi of centrist tendencies again, it would be KP duty for a month.

The vote had come out strongly in favour of a colour they’d henceforth started referring to as ‘212th gold’ - a handsome shade that glowed like the sun when caught by natural light. As his duty dictates him to show the way for his men, the Commander was among the first to adopt it, beginning with the sunburst on his chestplate. It felt right, even with those first brushstrokes, to be able to claim something as truly theirs. Cody hopes that one day, 212th gold will represent a spark of hope across the Galaxy. A mark made entirely in their name.

A little romantic of a thought, perhaps, but it brings him a spark of pride whenever he sees the newest shinies brought in, eager to earn the paint stripes they see displayed by those in command.  

In these last six weeks, a considerable amount has changed for the men, and it’s been a lot of adjustment. Both Obi-Wan and the vode serving under him have had to figure out how to adapt, to work alongside each other effectively. The General is kinder, more human than the Kaminoans had warned he’d be - he watches out for them on battlefields, mourns alongside them when their brothers are lost… in turn, the vode are beginning to slowly open up, too, starting to share parts of their culture with the Jedi.

He’s even been learning to speak Mando’a, though Cody is privately grateful that he’s been able to warn the boys ahead of time to watch their tongues when the General is floating around. They mean well, but he knows what they can be like if they think no one can understand them… The last thing he wants is to have to deal with writing up half of his troops for discussing too liberally what happened during their most recent trip to 79’s.

Once Obi-Wan gathers himself again, he looks over at Cody with a thoughtful glance, his expression softened with a grin. 

“It doesn’t sound altogether too dissimilar to the way we were raised in the temple, you know,” he says, “... mischief and all.” 

Cody watches him from his position sat on the edge of his bed. He thinks the relaxed, genuine smile suits the other man greatly. He privately hopes he’ll get to see it again after tonight. 

The Jedi hums to himself, before adopting a fond, faraway look. “All younglings can be particularly trying in large numbers, regardless of origin,” he continues, “I do not envy the crechèmasters for the duty they have to perform.”

Cody’s interest is piqued at that. The datapad in his hand is ignored for a moment, attention turned fully to the man sitting at his desk.

“You were raised communally?”

Obi-Wan nods, pausing briefly to make an amendment to the report in front of him, slender fingers moving quickly across the screen. Stars, Cody thinks to himself with a little annoyance, the man can even make paperwork look elegant.

“Yes. Well, from a certain age at least. I was brought to the Temple around age 4,” he explains. His eyes are still a little distant, lost in the memory of a happier time. “I still have a deep fondness for my crèchemates, despite… Differing opinions with a handful of them.”

Cody nods slowly, studying the Jedi for a beat.

“I get that, General,” he says, returning his attention to his datapad. “I’m the same with my batchmates. I just… Might have had more of them than you.” 

“An understatement I’m sure, Commander,” Obi-Wan chuckles, before his tone turns softer, more sincere. He glances over at Cody, choosing his next words carefully. 

“It seems like… A wonderful thing, the family you and the rest of the vode share.” He gives Cody a small smile, though there’s something else to it, a heaviness that settles behind his expression. “... It’s a shame that such a thing was created for the unworthy purpose of war. I can only hope that once the fighting is done, you’ll be able to thrive as all other sentients do.”

The two lapse into silence for a little while, the only sound filling the room the soft tapping of keys. Obi-Wan has spoken a little about his feelings on the war over the last handful of weeks, and to be truthful, it’s not a subject that Cody trusts himself to speak about. Neither the 212th, nor Cody himself for that matter, have been deployed for very long, and the clone doesn’t quite understand all of the weight behind his General’s words. Perhaps he will come to, in time… for better or worse.

Cody has reckoned with his own adjustments in the past few weeks. He’s found himself relaxing considerably around Obi-Wan, no longer feeling the burning need to watch himself as if his General is considering decommissioning him if he puts a foot wrong. He didn’t particularly know her, but from what the other vode say, Shaak Ti was similar back on Kamino.

It took a week and one mission in the field before Cody decided that the Jetii were not the dictators they’d expected. A further week and he was convinced they had no choice in this whole matter either, and were evidently suffering for it. Like a good Commander, he'd kept those observations to himself.

As soon as he’d allowed himself to be… Well, human, around the Jedi, he and Obi-Wan had started to become closer. Cody isn’t particularly adept at it yet, but if he finds himself arriving early to their morning briefings, he’s started making the General his tea in the way he likes it. It’s something small, but judging by the way Obi-Wan’s eyes had widened the first time he’d done it, a pleased smile crossing his face, it’s something that seemed to mean a lot to him.

They’ve become… Friends, or something approaching that, at least. It’s a thought that has him steeling himself to speak now, clearing his throat in the quiet space.

“... Cody,” he says, forcing the word to come out casually. Obi-Wan glances up again with a raised brow, a questioning look in his eyes. Cody finds it in himself to meet his General’s gaze, offering an affirmative nod. “You, uh… asked me for my chosen name, when we first met,” he explains quietly, ignoring the way his stomach wants to twist as he holds out this olive branch of trust, “it’s Cody.”

Obi-Wan’s expression goes from confusion, to surprise, to something incredibly warm.

“Cody,” he repeats softly, as if testing out the sound of it on his tongue, before giving an approving nod. A smile remains on his face even as he returns to his work. “Thank you, Cody,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes carefully trained on the datapad at his desk. The Commander is grateful for it - he feels as if the vulnerability of further eye contact might make him combust right now.  “It’s a fine name. I’m honoured to know it.”

If Cody feels his heart react to the softness of his Jedi’s tone in that moment, he doesn’t mention it.

______________________________

“Mister and Mister Emerin?”

Obi-Wan and Cody share a glance at the call across the docking bays. They’ve barely been parked for a minute, and they’re already out of time. 

“I suppose that’s us,” Cody says with a heavy sigh, rolling his shoulders slightly. He looks at Obi-Wan, tilting his head with a silent question of ‘ready?’ and the Jedi nods, bringing the last of the bags with him down the gangway of the ship.

A tall, pale Nautolan woman with a checklist in hand approaches, teeth flashing a perfect, artificially white smile as Obi-Wan steps forwards to shake her hand. 

“Charmed,” he drawls in a smooth, Outer Rim accent, his voice low with lazily drawn out syllables - a stark contrast to the sharp, crisp Coruscanti voice that Cody’s used to hearing. Beside the Jedi, he forces on a smile.

“You’re here to check us in?” he says, hoping that his voice comes across not nearly as unsure and out of place as he feels. The Nautolan nods, making a scribble on the flimsi paper she’s carrying, pocketing it and taking the bags from the two of them without asking.

“Here, I’ll get these for you and show you to the main building. Is this your first time staying with us?”

The woman chatters away to them as they make the walk from the docking bays to the resort itself. Obi-Wan is as content to make conversation as Cody is to let him. The clone hangs back a little, taking in the planet around him. Brilliant light beams down on the building ahead, even as it nears the start of sundown, making him squint a little. It’s…

Excessive is the primary word that comes to mind.

The docking bays themselves are massive, on an elevated platform above a calm looking ocean of tropical blue. The bridge they’re now on connects to a few perfectly sculpted beaches that are teeming with people even at this hour, and more pressingly, a building the size of the damn Senate. Cody’s far from an expert on architecture, but it’s clearly a recent build - large windows and extravagant relief work carved into the stone of the imposing structure, of various people or mythological beings that Cody imagines he probably should recognise but doesn’t.

It all seems to be purpose-built with the intention of making the space feel welcoming to those in a certain tax bracket. 

Cody is undeniably not part of that tax bracket.

This area of the planet itself has almost definitely gone through some extensive terraforming by the looks of things, and he feels a little dizzy as he imagines the cost - coming from a corporation, no less. Part of the background provided for this mission detailed that Miphena, the planet they’re standing on, is essentially owned by the resort managers with no government to speak of. To call it ‘bleak’ would be underselling it.

They’re ushered inside by the woman with the increasingly grating customer service voice, brought through a pristine foyer tiled with marble underfoot. Cody is sure to make a mental note of that - that’s very slippery when covered in blood, so if they’re having to fight their way out, they should find another point of exit than this one.

He continues to sweep the rest of the room with an analytical eye. The main desk could be used as cover in a pinch, though it’s not in a particularly tactical location - the presence of stairs, an elevator, and double-doors through to the main events hall makes this an undesirable position to have to defend with too many points of ambush.

… Granted, it’s exceedingly unlikely they’ll be forced to stage a firefight here, but it can’t hurt to be prepared.

The receptionist leads them up to the seventh floor (with a lot of small-talk in the elevator that feels entirely unnecessary), hands them their keys for the room, drops their bags off and thanks the two profusely for their custom before leaving them alone once more. Obi-Wan and Cody share a glance, and the former smirks. 

“After you, darling husband,” Obi-Wan says easily with a flourishing bow, still holding onto the accent despite the fact it’s just the two of them. The amused gleam in the Jedi’s eye only gets stronger as Cody rolls his eyes, pushing past him to enter into the room. 

Much like the exterior of the hotel, it’s certainly extravagant. A large bed takes up most of the space, crisp white sheets with elaborate gold embroidery detailing the edges, and a plush red carpet beneath it. Every surface has some form of decoration, a vase of fake flowers here, a small metal sculpture there. A fairly incomprehensible piece of abstract art hangs above the bed, though what it’s intended to represent is entirely lost on Cody.

The two share another glance, silently communicating with one another, and get to work searching the room for any listening devices. 

Cody heads directly for the mirror, carefully unhooking it from the wall to see if the garish item is the result of the need to obscure a bug of some kind, or if it’s just the result of terrible taste.

Hm. Terrible taste it is.

Once they both signal the all-clear, Obi-Wan relaxes a little, setting both of their bags down on the bed.

“Well,” he says mildly, glancing around with a disapproving gaze. “It’s certainly expensive.”

Cody snorts, following his eyeline. “Just how much did the Republic spend to send us here?”

Obi-Wan peers closely at the strange painting, letting out a soft hum. “I shudder to think.” He pauses as Cody wanders over to check out the balcony. “This surely can’t be an original work,” he mutters to himself, passing a hand over his beard and frowning in thought. 

Cody can’t help but glance back with a raised brow. 

“... Sir,” he says, and the Jedi interrupts him with a wave of his hand, still narrowing his eyes at the artwork.

“It’s Obi-Wan when we’re alone, Cody, you know that.”

“Obi-Wan,” he starts again, amused. “Please tell me you’re not critiquing the art–”

“If it’s there, it should be there with purpose. This is soulless. It’s nothing-”

“In a resort, Obi-Wan.”

The Jedi lets out a rather contemptuous scoff, before drawing back to meet Cody’s gaze. He folds his arms, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “If you’re not the type to appreciate a critique of art, my dear, then whyever did I marry you in the first place?”

Cody lets out a long suffering sigh, not missing a beat. “I ask myself the same thing every day, darling, believe me.”

That draws a laugh from his Jedi. Cody steps out to the balcony proper as Obi-Wan begins to unpack his bag. 

The sun is drawing lower on the horizon now, painting the sky in picturesque golds and oranges as people slowly move in from the beach - a steady stream of holiday-goers and families making their way back to the hotel for the evening. Cody idly watches them, leaning out over the railing as he takes in the myriad of species, genders, and ages of the people who’ve come here for an escape. One thing seems to bind them all together despite the differences - that distinct aura of wealth that seems to permeate the very air here.

He can’t really put his finger on what it is. The way they carry themselves, maybe? The sea of perfect skin and hair, the precision in which they choose to dress… It’s all fairly alien to the Commander. None of it really feels real in the way that people tend to be. Give him the flawed mess of the Lower Levels any day.

“I’m going to go for a little wander,” Obi-Wan calls through from the bedroom. “Get the lay of the land, so to speak.” 

Cody turns, stepping back into the lavish room and stretching slightly. He sighs as he feels a pleasant ache in his muscles.

“I’ll probably stay in,” he yawns, “get an early night. Didn’t sleep well last rotation, and I’d prefer to feel rested for tomorrow.”

Even though he technically hasn’t been awake for all that long, Cody figures it’d be best to get started on adjusting to local time as quickly as possible. They’ll need to be up at dawn, regardless of if they’re ready for it. The Jedi hums in response, slipping on his cloak and heading to the door.

“That sounds wise. I’ll try not to return too late - if you’re already asleep, I shall endeavour to join you as quietly as possible.” His gaze falls to where Cody stands, offering a small smile. “Feel free to claim either side of the bed. Comms are on, I’ll see you in a little while.”

With that, he’s disappeared off into the night, leaving Cody with the question of whether or not he should take the floor tonight dying on his tongue. 

He blinks, a little stupidly, after the now closed door. It’s as if there wasn’t even a question of whether they would be sharing the bed in the Jedi’s mind. Which… Cody supposes there shouldn’t be, really. 

He and Obi-Wan have shared tents before in the field countless times, slept closely on the ground when there hasn’t been space in various quarters they’ve been given. Hells, during a mission on Mygeeto two months ago, he’d had no qualms with combining their bedrolls together for warmth.

A real bed just… feels different. Cody isn’t quite sure why.

He gives a wary sidelong glance to the offending furniture, as if expecting it to bite him. The bed, for its part, stares back at him unblinkingly, its exorbitant number of pillows providing more fuel for Cody’s growing resentment of the damn thing.

The Commander shakes his head. He’s being ridiculous. With a sigh and a mental slap upside the head, he unpacks his own bag, glancing out every now and again to the progressing sunset as he changes into his sleepclothes.

He’s almost loath to admit it, but the view is gorgeous. The twin moons slowly rise into the sky, basking the ocean in an ethereal glow. If it weren’t for the fact that he can still hear tourists partying outside, he could be tricked into actually enjoying this.

Cody sets aside the outfits he’ll need for tomorrow - something casual for the day, and something more formal for a party that’ll be occurring in the evening - before putting his suitcase down on top of Obi-Wan’s, near the door.

Sinking down into bed, he’s further frustrated to find out how comfortable it feels, reluctantly admitting to himself that perhaps the richest of the rich in the galaxy do get some things right every now and again. Rarely.

He lets out a deep exhale, pleased to find that his mind feels considerably more settled now that they’re actually here at the mission location, a little more peaceful.

It’s a relief, to be certain - Cody doesn’t really know who he is if not for the calm, collected strategist that always has an answer. His lack of certainty as of late has been… Disquieting, to say the least.

He grasps the feeling of quietude with both hands, allowing it to pull him into the alluring drift of near-sleep.

He stirs a little when he hears Obi-Wan return, the door clicking closed ever so gently. The Jedi seems to be true to his word in keeping his movements as soundless as possible- 

Well, that is at least until he takes a step further into the dark room and walks directly into the suitcases in front of him, letting out a hiss of pain. 

Cody can’t quite conceal his ensuing huff of amusement. Obi-Wan seems decidedly less pleased, grumbling something under his breath. 

The other man pads over to the other side of the bed, and Cody hears the distinctive rustle of clothes being removed. He lets out a slow breath, ensuring to stay stock still, facing the other way. Not that he could really see what was going on even if he did roll over, but…

“Sorry. I tried.” Obi-Wan’s whisper cuts through the darkness, genuine regret in his tone. 

“You’re fine. Is your foot alright?”

The Jedi huffs. “Mortally wounded, I’m afraid. Amputation likely.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

The bed dips gently behind him as Obi-Wan gets in. Cody is suddenly very grateful that everything in this hotel is oversized - it at least means they can do this without threat of the two being close enough to touch. For one long moment, he’s hyper-aware of every shift, every slight movement from his Jedi, before he forces his eyes to close.

It all falls quiet after that, apart from the gentle sound of even breaths behind him. Cody unconsciously finds himself matching them, slow inhales and exhales that serve to soothe his suddenly racing heart. He tries not to think too hard about why his heart might be racing.

Cody swallows. Thank the stars he knows how to shield, because he has no idea what Obi-Wan would say if he could sense this… Whatever it is that’s gotten into him.

With a long exhale, he uses what his General had once taught him of meditation technique to forcibly quieten his mind. He’s not allowing himself to do this. Not again.

To his immense gratitude, with a little effort (and time spent visualising the movement of the ocean outside), the calm of earlier finds its way to him once again, soothing his mind and slowing his breaths to match that of the lapping water.

As he finds himself on the precipice of sleep once more, he hears a quiet murmur from the other side of the bed.

“Goodnight, Cody.”

Cody pulls the covers up a little tighter to himself, yawning as he does so. It takes him a moment to find his voice, and when he does, it’s uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Sleep well, Obi-Wan.”

(chapter 2)

[the-rogue-mockingjay]

Day 6 of this godforsaken migraine and I don't have a single medication to treat it. Just an ice pack and a prayer.

Just how bad do things have to get before the doctors will give me something, literally anything, to help????

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Sins of The Father - Chapter 35

Summary: Adi makes a decision that will impact the rest of his life

A/N: Hello Lovelies!

I’m back, oh man I’m so happy not to be having any sort of migraines, still getting slight headaches here and there but nothing compared to what I was having in October. Nothing preventing me from writing at least so woohoo.

I’m already working on the next chapter for Gym Membership, hoping to get that out to you guys in two weeks. Thank you for sticking around and being patient. 

Not to mention 300! I’m at 305 or 307 followers, I can’t believe it, that’s so amazing. I love you all. 

I am going to come up with a 300 celebration, not sure yet about the exact celebration, but I shall let you know soon. 

Italics - flashback

Warnings: Grief, kissing, slight make out, mentions of slavers, death, I think that’s it. If I miss any warnings please let me know. 

AO3 Link |   Words: 5,204 |   Previous -> Next

Main Master List   |   Sins of the Father Master List

CHAPTER 35: THE INHERITANCE

Adi’s hands trailed over his father’s armour, he could still remember vividly the last time he had seen Ca’tra, he was almost three years younger, a lot shorter, but he could still remember the feeling Ca’tra always exuded: impenetrable, invincible, and everlasting. 

He remembered thinking it was all some elaborate joke, when his mom came out of the Sintas telling him, his father wasn’t coming back. He was convinced it was only a matter of time before Ca’tra would miraculously appear behind his Ama, or simply jump out and yell surprise at the most random of times, or end up showing up in another ship. Even when he saw Ca’tra’s armour in the sack she was using to carry it home, he was unwavering in his belief it had been someone else’s armour.

It was about two days later, when his comms continually went unanswered, his mother’s unending tears, and the silence that had fallen in the house, along with the constant visits from Babeh, Gregor, Pelli and surrounding friends, was he fully persuaded in his heart his father was never coming back. 

The family he had dreamed of for so long was gone, the father he looked up to, the man who trained him, who held him when he cried, who had treated him like a son from the moment he appeared in their lives had disappeared from his life permanently. 

The ship was in hyperspace, only two parsecs away from Kashyyyk, he took a moment to really think about the decision he was going to make, was this what he wanted? To follow in the steps of his grandfather, mother and father? To follow the Mand’alor? Did he see himself as a Mandalorian? As a warrior? Was it right for him to put on the armour that would define who he was, where he stood in the galaxy, and how he connected to the creed?

He hadn’t tried it on, not even when his mother opened the cache and showed him the armour on Papsr. He was tempted. His eyes kept focusing on the helmet that had appeared so menacing and so comforting at the same time. He sat down on his bunk, holding the helmet in his hand, he took in a deep breath and put it on, almost instantly the HUD activated, everything looked different. It would take time to get use to wearing a helmet all the time, but not uncomfortable or impossible to adjust too.

There was a small yellow icon on the top right corner of the HUD flickering, his eyes focused on the icon. The screen went black for a second before what looked like their common room in their house appeared, the torso of a man appeared, as hands adjusted the helmet back and forth, until Adi saw Ca’tra sit down on the chair in front of the helmet. 

He looked young, fresh, fit, a cheery smile on his face, his hand running through his hair, as he fixed himself. 

‘Hi Adi’ he offered a small wave, as his face only brightened. ‘Not sure when you’ll be seeing this, but if you are seeing this, that means I’m not around.’

Adi felt his throat begin to tighten, as the voice he hadn’t heard in almost three years filled his ears. 

‘It’s late, your Ama and you have just gone to bed. In case your wondering it’s the night of when I proposed to your mom.’ The dimple that only appeared when Ca’tra ever looked at Amara or when he spoke about her graced his smile. 

‘You might not remember but we stayed up late partying and planning our future as a family; I made you some promises tonight, and I’m sorry I failed in those promises Adi. Ner ad’ika, I wanted to fulfill those promises with all my heart and might, but as your mother constantly reminds me, life’s a pazaak game, unless you can cheat your way through it, you never know the hand you’ll be dealt.’

His eyes started to water at seeing the man he missed from his life, there were no words to say how much he wanted to be by that man’s side right now. How much he wanted to feel his hand tussle his hair, like he use to do. To smell his scent of gunpowder, grease, dust, musk, and the metallic scent that always seemed to linger around him. 

‘I just wanted to um …’ Ca’tra rubbed the back of his neck, ‘Ha! You know I’m not good with words, not really good with anything except your mom and you. You both have given me so much more than I ever thought I would get in this life.’ 

Adi could feel a tear slide down his cheek, he went to wipe it, only to feel the coldness of the beskar helmet. 

‘Adi’ka, ner ad, I know you think I call you these things simply because of your mom, but that’s not the case. Ever since I met you, and you tried to punch me for hitting on your mom …’ Ca’tra smiled and let out a chuckle, ‘I knew I wanted you to be my child. You are my child. My little one. I love you Adi … maybe I should use your real name, Khoan Vel.’

Ca’tra took in a deep breath, ‘You are an amazing son, Khoan. There’s something I wanted to do, and I’ll do it at the wedding and make it official. Not sure if it’ll count if I do it this way, but in the event I don’t make it then, I want you to know how much you mean to me.

Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Khoan Vel (I know your name as my child - adoption rites). 

From this moment on, you are my son Khoan Vel Gaan. 

Ner ad’ika, my son, you are a joy and a light in my life I never expected. I know there will be times when we butt heads, and we may even end up getting angry with one another and never talking. However, I want you to know no matter what, I love you my son. I will always be here for you, and I will always love your mother and you.’

Adi watched as Ca’tra wiped away a tear, he wanted to run into his father’s arms, he wanted to tell him he would always be his son, he’d never let him down. 

‘Adi, there may be a time when your mom will meet another man, someone who will make her happy, someone who will make her laugh, who will fill her life with love and joy. It may be hard for you at times to see someone else step in to my shoes, but if it’s for her, promise me you will take the time to get to know him, to see what she sees in him. However, if you think that he’s not worthy of being by her side, then make his life a living hell. You have my permission.’

Ca’tra chuckled at little, it made Adi chuckle along with him, he wondered how he would feel knowing Din was the one who had captured his Ama’s heart.

‘I’m kidding, well to a degree. Just … just don’t let him in too easy, throw him some curveballs here and there, although knowing your mother, she’d be doing that already. Son, there are so many things I want to tell you, so many things I feel I should impart.’

Ca’tra cleared his throat, his thumb and forefinger passing over his lips, pursing them together, “Okay, first things first, this armour, this is for you. Whether you decide to take the six tenets or not, this is your inheritance as my son. Some may say that you are not deserving of it, or that only those that are truly Mandalorian are allowed to wear the armour. Well tell them … you know what, tell them where they can stick their unsolicited comments, and make sure they shove it so deep it gives them …’ Ca’tra cleared his throat again, ‘Sorry, got a little carried away, what I’m trying to say, don’t listen to what anyone else tells you. This armour … is yours and yours alone.’

Adi wanted so much to have his father there, to have the man who took him in without a second thought, who taught him how to defend himself, how to be there for his mom in a way he never thought of. He wished above all else that he was there telling him these things in person, rather than in a holovid. 

’Adi there will come a time in your life when you’ll meet someone who - ohh how do I say this … it’s different for everyone, it could start off as hate, it could be as simple as a hello, they could end up being your best friend. Somehow, in some way, there’s a moment when you look at that person and you realize in that moment your life will never be the same. Imagining your life without them beside you, without their smile, their jokes, their kindness, whatever it is that draws you to them, all of a sudden you will realize they complete you, they make you whole. When that happens ad, you have to promise me.  Promise me you won’t push them away, you won’t make them feel less then they deserve. At the same time make sure they don’t make you feel less than who you are, or unworthy to be by their side. You are a brilliant kid, smart, stubborn like your mom, kind, quick witted, and you have a big heart Adi. 

Love is a tricky thing, sometimes you think you love someone, fight to be by their side, only to realize you never stood a chance. And that’s okay. It’s okay to try and lose, because it means you were brave enough, courageous enough, and willing to do something most don’t have the courage to do. 

Then there could be a moment, when your heart is breaking and you don’t think you’ll ever find the right one, and you stumble upon a garage with a pair of legs sticking out from underneath a speeder and you realize the love you thought you had for someone else, could never measure up to the love you really feel for the right one. 

Just remember to always treat them with respect, treat them with kindness and compassion, treat them with the honour and dignity they deserve whether the relationship works out or it doesn’t. They opened their heart to you, that’s a privilege they grant you.’

It surprised Adi to see him wipe a tear, he let out a soft chuckle as he wiped a tear away ‘I know a grown man crying… these tears are because I am happy and blessed to have found you and your mother. Don’t be afraid to cry Adi. Don’t be afraid to show emotion. There’s nothing wrong with being able to show emotions and cry, there are some who would say it’s ‘unmanly’ to cry, ignore them. Tell them to stick their advice the same place as those who tell you, you can’t wear the armour.’

Ca’tra glanced at something on the wall behind the helmet, and then back at the visor, ‘Adi, I have so much more I need to tell you, however, I also have to get up in a few hours. I’ll be making recordings throughout of things that I feel I should tell you, they’ll all be stored in this helmet. Don’t worry you’ll be able to find them easily enough. 

I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to tell you these things in person, son. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it back to you. I will try with all my might to make my way back to you, but if I can’t know that I didn’t give up easily, know that I gave it my all to make it back to you and your mom. 

Even though I might not be by your side physically, at least you’ll have these holovids, and my own amazing wisdom.’ Ca’tra chuckled rubbing his hair, ‘Your mom will probably tell me that my wisdom is something that no one should listen to’ he let out another chuckle.

‘I love your mom, Adi, and I love you. You are both my family, and the day we will get to be united as one clan, will be the day that my world feels complete. You may not want a family of your own Adi, and that’s fine, you don’t have to try to live the life I lived, or to follow your mom’s footsteps either. You just follow your own path, whatever your decide or choose, we will be proud hakayrus (parents) because you are our son and we love you very much..’

Ca’tra stood from his seat and pressed a button on his vambrace, the recording finished, and the hud simply showed him his room. He took off the helmet wiping his eyes of the tears he had been shedding for the past while. 

He looked at the helmet once his vision was back and no longer obstructed by the tears that were simply free flowing at hearing his father’s voice again. His fingers tightened around the helmet, as he pressed his forehead against it, “I miss you dad, I miss you so much. Thank you.” 

He placed the helmet beside him, as he stood. The tears wiped clean. He opened his compartment, and pulled out a new flight suit, he laid it on his bunk beside the armour. He wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do, but he felt he had to do this.

He took a knee in front of his father’s helmet, placing his hand on top of it, gently, reverently. He took in a deep breath, and closed his eyes bowing his head towards his father’s helmet..

“Teh ibic kusa'yr Ni malyasa'yr surya arsaor ti kar'ta be a Mando. Ni danija at oyacyir ner jibr miasa'iaru yaa mateh gotal'ur jid giarioa, buir. Ni vor entye par e'lyreu'anr ka bal par daorida at hbina ka. Ni malyasa'yr draar digur gar” (From this moment I will wear you armour with the heart of a Mandalorian. I vow to live my life in that manner that would make you proud, father. I thank you for teaching me and for continuing to guide me. I will never forget you.)

Maybe the rites didn’t count since it was via a holovid and not in person, however knowing that Ca’tra Gaan made the effort to do this for him, was willing to take him on in front of everyone as his son, meant more to him than he ever realized. 

He stood changing out of the clothes he had and slowly putting on his new attire, he took his time adjusting the flight suit before putting on every single piece of armour, double checking all the weaponry on it like his hakayrus taught him, every time they donned their armour. He didn’t have any gloves, that would be something he could purchase later on. He attached his cuirass, took in a deep breath as he lifted the helmet and placed it on his head. 

He took his time to open his eyes, viewing his world through the hud. It was a disorienting experience at first, there was a lot of information. He walked around his room, getting use to the new visuals. He was walking backwards, when a red light flashed on the left hand corner, showing him what was behind him, he moved his hand behind his head, seeing his fingers wiggling. 

Seeing all the features the buy’ce (helmet) had to offer, made him realize how amazing Ca’tra, his Ama, Babeh and Din were, they were able to see all that information and still be the badasses they were. They absorbed, assimilated and acted on the information provided to them, within an instant. Although he had played around and been taught how a buy’ce works, it was very different to see it in action. 

He felt like a new born fathier, trying to find his footing, it was very different walking around and dealing with all the added information, little icons popped up when he looked at certain items. He remembered his father telling him, ‘focus on what you need to see and what’s important at the moment.’

He practiced for a bit longer before he decided to venture out of his room. 

- - - - - - - - - - 

Amara was focused on the readout in front of her, she had noticed the hyperdrive was running a bit sluggish, it was still pushing an optimal output however, she never liked it when her ship dipped below her own acceptable levels. She smirked hearing Din’s voice in her head ‘Mesh’la you know, it will still run.’

She chuckled remembering their bickering. 

’Sweetie, I know you loved your Razor, but if I ever saw your ship and how you attempted to repair it, you and I would’ve never happened.’

Din laughed, his jovial booming voice bouncing off the walls, ‘I promise you, I took a lot better care of the Razor than you think I did.’

‘From the way you describe it, it certainly doesn’t sound like it.’

‘The Crest was my home, my lady, of course I took care of her.’ He leaned over pressing his forehead against hers, ‘The same way I take care of you.’

‘Are you saying, you’re just finding the easiest and fastest fix for me?’

‘Never’ Din placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, as he shifted closer to her on the couch, Adi wasn’t home yet, he was sparring with Fennec, and Grogu was napping in the room he was sharing with Din. Din’s hand cradled her jaw gently as he slowly turned her head to look at him, ‘I’d use only the very best materials and the most exceptional mechanics to fix you’

‘Oh, so you’re saying I do need fixing?’

Din’s eyes widened as a confused look appeared on his face, ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I think you’re perfect the way you are.’

‘Oh, then I’m a mess you don’t want to bother with?’

‘No! That’s not … what I mean is …’ Din looked flustered not sure what was the right thing to say, he was ready to apologize to grovel, when he saw a smirk appear on her lips, as her eyes sparkled.

‘You’re so easy’ Amara laughed out, he let out a frustrated sigh, chuckling along with her as he pulled her towards his lips, kissing her with a passion he had forgotten existed within him.  She shifted till she was sitting on his lap, running her fingers through his hair. When they both pulled back in order to catch a breath, ‘We should probably stop.’

Din nodded against her forehead, as his hands found their spot on her waist, ‘Yeah, we should otherwise I won’t be able to stop’

‘Not to mention, this is not something I would want my son or your son to walk in on’

‘True’ Din pecked her lips, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek followed by a kiss on her neck, ‘Yeah’ his warm moist breath flushed over her neck, ’I don’t think Adi would appreciate seeing this …’ he pulled back to look at her, his hand caressing her face, ‘You are so beautiful.’

‘You don’t have to do that’

‘I’m serious, cyar’ika. You have no idea how beautiful you are, every time you smile, you look at me, every time I see you take care of those you love, those who are in need, I am amazed by your beauty inside and out, you are amazing and I am honoured to be by your side.’

She pressed her lips against Din’s, deepening the kiss by tilting his head back, ‘You know …’ she mumbled against his lips, ‘We won’t …’ she tried to get out, as he chased her lips, ‘Be able to…’  his hand shifted to the back of her head pressing her lips back against his, chasing her taste as though it was the very air he needed to breathe, ‘For a while.’

‘Why do you think I keep trying to hold on to this moment?’ He quirked his eyebrow as he smirked at her.

Amara cleared her throat, this wasn’t the time to be lost in thought. Adi hadn’t said much since they arrived at Papsr and as soon as they boarded the Sintas he locked himself in his room with the armour. She tried to offer what she could as an explanation, but either he didn’t hear her or he wasn’t ready to listen was all she could determine from his silence. 

She wandered to his door at least ten times since they took off from Papsr, however, she just couldn’t bring herself to knock on her son’s door. There were times when he just needed a moment to himself and there were times when he needed her, for right now, he needed space to deal with his grief.

The sound of the door sliding open behind her, gave Amara a sense of relief knowing that Adi was ready to talk, “How are you feeling?” She focused on the diagnostic report, giving Adi time to get his words ready. She didn’t want to force him or put him on the spot by staring at him. 

“Ama” hearing his modulated voice, made the statement he was about to make all the more real. He watched as she slowly lifted her head and turned to look at him. She didn’t say anything, simply stood and walked over to him. She was visibly holding back the tears, as she stood in front of him. 

“You put it on” Amara offered a smile through her trembling lips, he looked so much like Ca’tra in that moment, the way he was standing, the aura he exuded through the armour.

“I did” he cleared his throat, afraid his voice would start shaking.

“How does …” now it was her turn to clear her throat, if Ca’tra was there he would’ve been so proud of him, “How does it feel?”

“Good. Surreal. A little weird if I’m being honest.”

She nodded in agreement, “Yeah, I get that” her hand fidgeted with the wrist band she’d always worn on her wrist, it had belonged to Ca’tra. He gave it to her the morning of that fateful day, he wanted to give her something to help her realize he was always by her side. 

“Is it okay if …” Adi motioned to the armour he was wearing.

Amara placed her hands on his helmeted cheeks, “Of course it is, that’s what he would’ve wanted. It suits you.”

“He … He left a holovid for me, he …” Adi cleared his throat, “He performed the Gai bal manda (adoption ceremony - literally ‘name and guardian’) on the holovid.”

There was a look of shock on Amara’s face, he never told her, he was planning to perform one via a holovid. The plan was to do it in front of all their family and friends at the onvior warasu’ir (wedding ceremony). 

A smile spread across her face, “I’m happy for you. He loved you sooo much, not being able to do it in person really ate at him that day. I’m glad he was able to do it, even if it was via a holovid.”

“Does it still count?”

“Of course it does. Without a doubt. It counts.”

“The hud is hard to get use to”

“I know. It takes time. The trick is to keep your buy’ce on for as long as you can stand it, then take a break and try again, increasing the amount of time you wear it.”

“Is that how you learned?”

“More or less, except I played with Babeh’s helmet when he let me. Plus, I got really use to wearing the magnifiers I use while working on the engines. It’s a similar concept.”

“Oh true, no wonder it felt a little disorienting at first.”

“Are you going to paint it?”

“What?”

“The armour?”

“I don’t know. The white, black and blue just feel right.”

“I understand. Just know the option to change, is there. Do you remember what the colours mean?”

Adi nodded as he glanced down at his armour, “Blue means reliability, black signifies justice, and the white means a new start.”

Amara tugged him over to sit in the co-pilot seat, as she took her seat, her legs shifting on the chair until she was comfortable, she leaned her head back, chuckling to herself, “Do you know why he painted those colours?” She glanced over to Adi.

He simply shook his head no.

She smirked as she thought back to that moment, “He said he painted it blue, because even though he may be late, battered, and bruised, you could always count on him to show up. Eventually.”

“Yup, that sounds like him” he chuckled along with his mom, remembering the amount of times, he would arrive, bruised or just in the nick of time, “Why did he add the black?”

“Ahhh … that …” Amara took her time with that answer, she shifted a little in her seat, feeling the weight of the answer that was to come forth from her mouth, “When Ca’tra was a little boy, before he joined the fighting corp, he was living on Taris. It … let’s just say it wasn’t a nice place to grow up. After learning about what it meant to be Mandalorian, to see the way most valued honour and dignity, he understood what he wanted to bring to his life. Justice. Granted it was his own kind of justice, but it made him realize that was something seriously lacking in the universe.”

Adi was silent, nodding slowly, “No wonder”

“No wonder?”

Adi shifted in his seat, readjusting his flight suit, “Um … well Ca’tra made me promise not to tell you.”

“Not to tell me, about what?” Amara quirked her eyebrow as she looked at Adi, if Ca’tra was there she would have had it out with him, “Actually, how many times did Ca’tra make you promise not to tell me things.”

“It was just that one time…” he held up a finger, “Ok, maybe two times …” he slowly raised his second finger, before he shifted his head side to side raising his third finger, “Three. Definitely three times, but they were really good reasons”

“Mmhmm” she crossed her arms as she sat back, “What was it that he told you not to tell me?”

“This was about three months after we met him, you weren’t able to pick me up from school, so he volunteered.”

“Right, I think I remember this - - you guys ended up being half an hour late, and I was about ready to kill him.”

“Well the reason we were late, was because he … he was busy saving someone from a group of slavers.”

“What? He never told me this”

“He wasn’t sure how you’d react about him having to make a deal with slavers while your son sat beside him.”

Amara chuckled, “Well he had a point there, if I had learned about it then I would’ve probably killed him.” She settled in her seat, looking at her son, his coming-of-age ceremony was just a few weeks away, seeing him sit there in his father’s armour - -  it all sunk in how much he had grown from that scrawny kid she saved all those years ago. “Well, what happened?”

“Ama you should’ve seen him, the way he reasoned with them, the way he tried to convince them to let the person go. He sat there only speaking when he needed to, and even though he had to eventually resort to threatening them, he was able to make sure the person was safe. He told me afterwards, all it takes to make sure justice is served is for one person to care. One person to offer help makes all the difference in the world.”

Amara couldn’t help smirking thinking about all the ways Ca’tra made an impact on their lives, from that first meeting, till the last moment he drew breath. “You know he added the white to his armour after he left the covert. He said it was his new start. A new start that led him to the best possible outcome. He always said the best choice he ever made was leaving the covert and finding his own way as a mercenary slash bounty hunter. He was glad his path led to us.”

“I am too” Adi smiled as he looked at his mom, even though she couldn’t see it he had no doubt she knew it was there. “I’m glad I’m his son; I’m grateful I have this as an inheritance” he motioned towards the armour, “It makes me feel in some way he’s still here with me … with us.”

She reached over holding her son’s bare hands, “Me too. I’m glad you have it.” She smirked at the fact he didn’t have gloves, he looked as though something was missing from his armour. “Tell me, does this mean you are going to take the Resol’nare or are you just honouring your father? Either way, I’ll support you.”

He gave her hand a squeeze before she shifted from her seat. He didn’t pay attention to what she was doing, as the console began beeping with an alert, “I’ve vowed to live my life in a way that will honour my father, and I believe taking the Resol’nare will honour him in the greatest way possible.” He reviewed the alert, “We’re coming up on Kashyyyk, we’ll be dropping out of hyperspace in about ten minutes.”

“Good” Amara took her spot again, passing Adi a small container, “I’ve been waiting for the right time to give you this.”

Adi glanced from the console to the container his Ama had in her hand, he took it carefully, opening it to find a pair of new gloves similar in design to hers and Babeh’s, it was made of the finest dewback leather. He put them on, flexing his fingers, listening to the creaking of the tension from the brand new leather. There was also a three-sided knife lying at the bottom of the container, as he held it up gently he recognized it as the one belonging to Ca’tra, “How…”

“I made sure that day, there was nothing of his left behind. I knew he would’ve wanted you to have it. After all, he inscribed your name on it.”

He turned it gently, to see the names of Ca’tra’s family, those of his biological family, and that of his adopted family. The last two names were the freshest engraved, Amara Vel (O’yare Fett), Khoan Vel Gaan. He couldn’t help smiling at their names, “I guess this makes it official, I’m his son.”

“His love for you made it official, that …” Amara motioned to the knife in his hands, as she prepared the ship to exit hyperspace, “Is proof of the love he had for you, the love he always felt for you. I’m glad you got to know him, Adi.”

“Me too.”

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[kit-fisto-obsessive]

Captain Rex Is In Trouble

Chapter 14: A Fresh Perspective

AO3

[previous] [fic masterpost] [next]

Summary

"I'm sorry, my friend," he sighed. "I'm just tired."

"Try exhausted," Monnk said. "You look like shit. What has the 501st been doing to you?" 

Notes

So I'm sorry-not-sorry for last week's chapter. I did tag it slow burn, didn't I? I have loved all the screeching in the comments!!!

I'm very excited to see what you think of this week's chapter, for reasons that I think will become apparent very quickly.

As ever -- unending thanks to my beta @cyarbika.

Enjoy!

Rating: T

Warnings

N/A

" – of course, after I ascended to the level of a god and the local population of sentient rocks declared me their supreme overlord and sexiest sentient of the year – "

Kit frowned as he registered what Monnk was saying.

"What?"

Monnk glanced up from his datapad, smirking. 

"Well, hey there, General Fisto. Welcome back to this plane of existence," he said. 

Kit blinked. 

"What?"

Monnk put his work down and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at Kit.

"I got bored of calling your name and started making shit up," he said. "That was about ten minutes ago."

Kit sighed. He placed the datapad he'd been staring blankly at for the last hour – or however long it had been – down on his desk so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. 

"Forgive me," he mumbled, trying to massage away the headache that had been lodged behind his right brow ridge since he woke this morning aboard the Resolute. 

"I don't know if I can," Monnk sighed. "It was one of my best. Twists, turns… romance, betrayal. A highly erotic subplot. You missed out."

Kit snorted, opening his eyes and lowering his hand.

"Truly, I am devastated to have missed it. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me and that you will recount to me your epic adventures, and any erotic subplots, at some point in the future."

Monnk threw his head back and laughed. Kit smiled despite the exhaustion and the headache – and everything else that had transpired in the last twenty-four hour standard period. He had genuinely missed his second in command.

"Seriously though – are you alright? You're a bit out of it."

Kit blew out another breath, his eyes slipping closed as he considered how to answer the question.

"I'm sorry, my friend," he sighed. "I'm just tired."

"Try exhausted," Monnk said. "You look like shit. What has the 501st been doing to you?" 

Kit swallowed, looking down at his lap for a moment.

"The 501st were very welcoming," he said, his fingers toying with a fraying seam on his trousers. "It was merely a… tiring campaign." 

"I heard. It sounded… bad." 

"Is it ever good?"

Monnk snorted softly.

They lapsed into silence and again, Kit's thoughts drifted. 

He'd known that eventually he and Rex would have to have a talk, just as he'd known what he'd have to do when that time came. It's exactly why he'd been putting it off, enjoying the vague undefined nature of their relationship – a mere taste of what he could never have. 

He'd known it couldn't last. As the tension between them inevitably built, Kit had known it would come to a head. Even though the tension had been so delicious, thrilling and exciting in a way Kit hadn't experienced in a long long time, it had just been the tolling bell of their impending end. The longer he'd left it, the harder he'd known he was making it for himself. 

Still, he couldn't quite figure out where it had all gone quite so disastrously wrong.

The image of Rex's face before he'd stormed out  – stricken with fury and pain – would be burned into Kit's memory for the rest of his days. 

That he'd hurt someone he cared for so deeply… it was unforgivable.

Monnk’s voice broke through the swirling storm of his thoughts.

“Listen, let me take the rest of these pads and get this datawork done so you can get some rest. You clearly need it.”

“Really?” Kit blinked. “But you hate datawork.”

“I said I’d get it done,” Monnk said while smirking and gathering the pads scattered across Kit’s desk into his arms, “not that I’d personally do it.”

Kit snorted, running a hand through his ahwey. 

“Well thank you all the same,” he said. “A rest would be… much appreciated.”

“I didn't want to say earlier, but you look like shit. I mean, I know I said it anyway, but still. I felt minorly bad about it."

Kit laughed, squeezing the tresses at the back of his head.

"Thank you for your kind words, Monnk. I've missed you."

"I missed you too, Kit," Monnk said. His arms full of datapads, he used his elbow to hit the doorlock. He grinned at Kit as he backed through the door. "We all did. Glad to have you back – see you in the morning!"

Kit watched him go, then closed his eyes with a sigh. He needed a rest. Actually, he needed a meditative retreat – but that was a distant fantasy. He likely wouldn't find it that relaxing anyway, being out of the loop only served to make him more anxious and stressed. 

Whether it would cause more or less anxiety than what was caused by being an integral part of the command structure of a largely enslaved army, currently involved in a pan-galactic war, Kit didn’t know.

He rubbed his forehead and then, with a flick of his fingers, locked the door to his office-slash-bedroom. Another finger flick and the lights dimmed – the relief on his aching head almost instantaneous. Kit kept massaging his forehead as he rose from his desk and walked towards his bunk, pausing only to rifle through his still unpacked bag and grab his personal datapad. 

He settled down on his bunk, not bothering to get under the covers just yet. He shoved the thin pillow behind his back to cushion his ahwey from the cool durasteel bulkhead and got comfortable, then opened the comms app. Kit quickly piggybacked onto the GAR’s long range communications system, then scrolled through his contact list. Luckily, the particular comm code he was looking for was saved in his favourites, so it only took him a fraction of a second to find it. 

He double checked the standard chronometer, but it was still early morning on Coruscant. She might be busy, but if he was lucky, she wouldn't be. Although, reflecting on the past few days, luck wasn't on his side.

The tides of the Force seemed to be changing however, and the call was picked up almost immediately. 

“What’s up, fish breath?” 

“Hello Dara, it’s lovely to see you too.”

The hologram form of his oldest friend grinned back at him, settling back against her desk chair. Not the oldest as in the eldest, merely the friend he has known the longest. Plo was his eldest friend, a fact Kit liked to remind him of as often as possible.

It was always a little disconcerting to speak to Dara over comms. A fellow Nautolan, Kit knew her skin to be a rich deep blue – the ends of her limbs tinged with purple – but over comms she was a horribly washed out. To Kit's eyes it always made her look ill at first glance. 

At second glance she appeared quite well, though it wasn't always easy to tell with her. She seemed relaxed, happy. She was wearing what looked like her casual robes, softer than the usual ones provided by the Temple quartermaster, sitting in her office.

Dara grinned at him, her fangs catching the light.

“What do you want, kelp head?”

“It’s been a while,” Kit said, scratching his chin. “I thought I should call and check that you haven’t burned down the Temple.”

“Not for lack of trying,” she said, sweeping her ahwey over her shoulder. “I hear Ryloth is still standing.”

“Barely,” Kit said, swallowing. Best to change the subject. “So, how are you?”

Dara pursed her lips as she looked at him, but let it go.

“I’m alright,” she said. “Busy, and tired of course, but I’m doing alright. You know how it is – not too good and not too bad. I’m surviving.”

She reached out, and a mug appeared in her holo hand. She took a sip as Kit replied.

“Assessment season is coming up. How is that going?”

She nodded with her mouth still full, wiping a dribble from her lips before she spoke.

“Well… I made a bit of a rod for my own back there.”

“Oh?”

“Mm,” – another sip of kaf – “I didn’t like the exam structure. It was almost all essay questions, and not much freedom of choice? So I added more maths and some data analysis, and then made the final section a choice between two essays, a big maths problem or some data analysis which is a bit of a mix of both. It's been – a lot of work.”

“Sounds like a good idea though,” Kit hummed.

“It is and it isn't. Better for them, worse for me. It's a lot of work and… have you heard about the assessments for the younglings and the initiates?”

“No?” he said with a frown. “That seems… unnecessary.”

“Tell me about it. To be fair, it’s because there's concern about the quality of education dropping, but fuck – we’re trying our best. Anyway, the Council of Education decided they want us to do formative tests for every fucking level, so they can track progress. I’m going to drown under marking but… well. It’s still up to me what the actual exam entails.”

“What have you decided to do then?” Kit prodded.

“I’ve prepared a few different worksheets. They have to choose a rock. Draw the rock. Label the rock. There's a few questions based on what we’ve done in class but they’re all multiple choice because I’m lazy. Maybe a sentence answer for the older kids. I’m trying to make it fun but… well. We’ll see. Might not even let them know it’s a test.”

Dara sipped her kaf with a soft frown, lost in thought. As ever, it was hard to tell in the washed out blue of the holo – but he thought that the skin under her eyes looked a little darker and more puffy than usual. She was clutching her kaf a little tighter than usual, but that could mean anything. Kit bit his lip in concern. 

“What about Molly? Do you get to see her often? I’m sure she’s busy.” 

“She is, but we try to have dinner together at least once a week,” she said, smiling widely as she always did when the topic of her old padawan was brought up. “More often, usually. And she comes to my office for kaf and a chat every few days. Bant too, if she can get away. She comes to our dinners if she isn’t on shift – I don't know if she’s mentioned.”

“She has indeed,” Kit confirmed. Dara threw back the last of her kaf and placed her mug back out of the field of view.

“It’s nice. Nadhar joins too, though not as often. He has his own thing with some of the other younger medics. How is he, by the way? Or did you not get to see him before he left?”

“No, we crossed over shortly,” Kit said, resting an arm behind his head. “He seems… alright? Exhausted, but well in spirit.” He frowned. “Though as I said, I only saw him briefly.”

“I’ll make sure to check in with him when he gets back to the Temple,” Dara said. “It should be easy enough to guilt him into joining us for dinner.”

“Your willingness to emotionally manipulate our padawans never ceases to astound me,” Kit said with a grin.

Dara shrugged.

“You call it emotional manipulation, I call it parenting,” she said. “I’ll make him his favourite to sweeten the deal.”

“Creamy fish pie with breadcrumb and crispy bacon topping?” 

“You know it.”

“Truly, the depths of your evil knows no bounds,” Kit said, and Dara laughed.

She reached for her kaf cup and brought it back to her mouth, frowning when she found it empty. Kit hid a smirk.

“What about Cherise?” he asked.

“Oh, she’s well,” Dara said, placing her mug back on the desk. “Busy as usual, a victim of her own success. 79s is going from strength to strength, not only with clones but with the locals too. I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like anymore. Even when I sleep in the apartment, which I do most nights truthfully, she doesn't get in until after I've fallen asleep. Some days we have breakfast together and then she goes back to sleep, but more and more she’s just too tired.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is,” Dara sighed. “I’m no better. I stay up when I can, to see her when she gets in, but I'm too tired as well. We’re both just… tired.”

She shook off her misery with a literal shake of her head, her ahwey swinging wildly.

“Enough about me though. How are you?” she asked, resettling in her chair.

“I’m well.”

“Really?” Dara studied him with a frown. “I heard the Ryloth conflict was… rough.”

Kit sighed and rubbed his brow, frowning.

“It was,” he said. “Wat Tambor and Dooku… The less said about it, the better.” He bowed his head, rubbing his palms together. “In truth, we’ve all seen worse in this war.”

Dara gazed at him, lips pursed and brows furrowed with concern.

“I haven’t, Kit,” she said softly. “Many of us in the Temple haven't. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“You know how it is, Dara,” Kit replied. “Not too good and not too bad. I’m surviving.”

She exhaled softly and they gazed at one another. 

Kit couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t know Dara. As children in the Temple, not even toddlers, they had spent hours playing together in the pools of the creche. There was no one, not even his padawans, who Kit knew as well as he knew Dara. In return, there was no one who knew Kit as well as Dara did. Even over comms, where pheromone communication was impossible, they had no need for words.

There was a world of comfort in her eyes as she studied him, pity and warmth and love. He loves her just as much. Neither of them need to say it, though they do often. 

Eventually though, Dara cocked her head and squinted at him.

"Go on then, I'll bite."

"What?" 

Dara looked at him with one of her brow ridges arched.

"Whatever you actually called to talk about," she clarified. "Not that this chat hasn't been lovely, but something is clearly bothering you.”

Kit shifted uncomfortably. There were downsides to her knowing him so well. For instance: the fact that he had never been able to keep a secret from her in his life. 

“What makes you say that?” he asked. He knew what her answer would be. Sure enough – 

“Well you look like shit, and you’ve barely let me ask you a question, which is what you always do when you don’t want to talk about yourself. Like you said – Ryloth isn’t the worst combat you’ve seen. What else is up?” 

Her eyes narrowed, and Kit braced himself.

“Does it have something to do with that Captain you've talked constantly about for the past few months, and yet haven't mentioned once so far today?”

Kit stared at her for a moment, then sighed. Damn her. He rubbed his hand across his jaw, wondering where to start. 

He ended up telling her the whole story. Once she got him started, he found he couldn’t stop.

The first time they met, and all the times after. How they'd only grown closer after he'd been assigned as the temporary General of the 501st. How he'd fallen for Rex's heart, his smile, his strength of spirit.

The way he'd tried to pull away, even when he found himself only falling harder. 

The party. The way he'd wanted so desperately to kiss Rex, the feeling of their bodies pressed together and the way Rex had looked at him. 

The way Kit knew they could never be together. How he knew Rex deserved so, so much more than what Kit could give him. 

The night before when Rex had come to his quarters and tried to kiss him. Kit's attempt to gently rebuff him. 

How it had failed, so utterly and spectacularly.

When he'd finished, he looked down at his lap. He breathed out to work through the tightness in his chest. Once it loosened fractionally he looked back up at the image of Dara – these days the tightness rarely went away, so a little looser was all he could manage. 

Rex had made the tightness go away.

"Well?" he asked, studying Dara's face.

"Well what?"

"What do you think?"

She stared at him, frowning. After a moment, she shrugged. 

"It seems like a perfectly well reasoned and logical decision," she said.

Kit blinked at him. 

"Is that all you're going to say?" he asked her. 

Usually she had endless rants about Kit's love life, prepared in advance. Now though, Dara ran a hand through her ahwey and sighed, brows creased. 

"Well what else would I say, Kit?" she said, obviously aggravated. "That as your friend I'm tired of watching you forgo any chance at happiness because you don't feel worthy of it? That I'm tired of you using logic to push people away?" She fixed him with a look. "It's nothing you haven't heard before. Over, and over, and over again. Why bother repeating myself?"

Kit stared at her. For whatever reason, there was only one part of what she said that really stuck out in his mind. 

"I'm happy," he said.

Dara fixed him with that look again.

"Don't lie to me. You aren't good at it." 

He swallowed, looking down into his lap. 

"It was the right thing to do," he said. 

"Was it though?" Dara asked. "The logical decision isn't always the right one."

"But – "

"Life isn't logical Kit. Love isn't logical. It's… it's like the shuttle problem."

He looked back up at her, raising a brow ridge. 

"The shuttle problem?" he asked. 

"Yeah, you know. That famous ethics problem," she said. "There's a shuttle heading down a track and three people tied to the track. You can't free the people tied to the track but if you push a lever you can send it down a different track, where it will only hit one person."

His brow ridge remained firmly arched. 

"I don't see how this is relevant," he said. 

But that was often the way with Dara, drawing parallels he couldn't see at first. Her mind may move in away altogether different to his own, but once she drew him a map she was usually right. 

She explained. 

"Well, the logical decision is to push the lever, sacrificing only one person instead of several. But that doesn’t make it the right decision." She smiled at him, pityingly. He tried not to resent it. "Life isn't maths Kit, you can't live it being guided by sums and logic."

"But you love maths," Kit pointed out. 

"I know."

"You've said 'maths is life' on several occasions."

"And I stand by that statement," Dara said, folding her arms. "In any case, your sums are wrong. You never give yourself the right value, in any of your equations."

"If life can't be guided by maths and logic, what does it matter that my sums are wrong?"

Dara glared at him. 

"Stop being stupid. You aren't at all, and it's irritating," she said. "You're the one who wanted to talk, so let's talk."

Kit sighed. 

"I mean, you said you explained to him why you couldn't be together, but did you give him any chance to respond?" Dara continued. "You keep telling me how damn smart he is, don't you think he would have considered all that himself?"

Kit ducked his head, his cheeks heating. 

"No," he admitted. He’d been too caught up in his own head to consider what was going on in Rex’s. Yet another way he'd been an inconsiderate fool apparently.

"And… you know Kit,” Dar said beseechingly, leaning towards the camera. “You know this wasn't the right decision. For you, or for him." 

He raised his head when she paused. She was looking at him with naked concern and pity.

"I mean, isn't that why you called me?"

Kit swallowed. 

She was right. 

She was always right. 

It was why he called her. To have her pick apart his thoughts and lay them out for him. To have her hold up a mirror and force him to really look at himself. A different perspective to make everything instantly clear to him, where before it was muddled and confused.

As she says often, she doesn't have time to deal with his bullshit. 

"I felt awful as soon as I said it," he admitted. 

"See?" Dara said. "You don't need me to tell you this shit, Kit."

He swallowed. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. 

"He was so much more upset than I thought he'd be," he whispered. 

Dara cocked her head, frowning a little. 

"As in… you didn't expect him to be upset or…?"

Kit shook his head, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as discreetly as he could manage. 

"No, no," he took a deep breath. "It's just… he was so angry with me. I've never seen him so angry."

Dara breathed out through her nose, studying him. 

"I mean, I only know him from what you've told me, but that doesn't sound like him."

"It wasn't like him at all… Or not who I thought he was."

The last bit Kit murmured, mostly to himself. Dara sighed, leaning on her hand and gazing at him. 

"Well… What exactly did you say?" she asked.

She grabbed her kaf from off screen and took a sip, frowning when her mug was empty again. She rolled her eyes and put it back on her desk, scowling. Kit smothered a smile behind his hand. It quickly faded as he started to talk, recalling one of the most painful moments of his life.

“Well… I started by saying it would be inappropriate for a General to see a Captain. He’s my subordinate and I owe him a duty of care, the power imbalance… that sort of thing.”

Dara frowned at him. 

“Well, I can see the problem he had with that right away.”

Kit scowled.

“You can’t be okay with Kenobi and Vos and Secura dating clones and then use that justification to turn your Captain away. And don’t say it's because you’re on the Council or it’s because he’s a captain. It would be embarrassing.”

“You can’t deny the power imbalance would be an issue,” Kit said with a scowl, his shoulder hunching defensively. 

“Yes and no,” Dara hummed. “There’s no reason for it to be inherently unhealthy – it’s all about how you act within that power imbalance, and whether you’re conscious of it. I know you’re conscious of it, so… are you planning on exploiting him? Using him?”

“No! Of course not!” Kit said, horrified by the mere idea. 

“So what’s the issue? Really?”

“What do you mean?” Kit asked. He knew exactly what she meant, and she knew that he knew, but she humoured him anyway.

“What is your actual problem with starting a relationship with a man who you are clearly crazy about? Because it sure as shit isn’t his rank.”

She was set on making him actually say it, wasn't she?

“It’s because he’s a slave, Dara,” Kit exploded. “It’s not about me being a General and him a Captain, it’s about me being a General and him a slave.”

Dara remained calm in the face of his anger, studying him with quiet eyes. He took a breath and tried to calm himself too. She knew that, of course she knew that. She just wanted to make him admit it.

As much as he hated it, he needed to talk about it.

“That doesn’t change the fact that it seems to be one rule for you and one for the others. And I know you’re genuinely happy for all of them. It’s just about you holding yourself to stupid standards again,” Dara said softly.

Kit grunted.

“If anything… You explaining that you can’t possibly have a relationship with him because he’s a slave when he’s the one who initiated everything and is no doubt intimately aware of that fact is downright insulting, moron. You’re taking away what little agency he has. Hell, I’m kinda pissed at you – we both know you’re smarter than that.”

Kit hummed, turning that over in his head. She was right. She was always fucking right. He exhaled, rubbing his aching forehead.

“Perhaps,” he allowed, “but it was after that that he got really angry.”

“Well, okay. What happened next?”

"He pointed out many of the same things that you did, and then I explained that he deserves someone better than me," he said, "someone who could be there for him in a way that I couldn't. That I was too old for him. I didn’t get a chance to say anything more."

Dara pursed her lips, frowning. After a moment, her brow ridges raised, as if something had just occurred to him.

"Kit," she said slowly. "Did you say you were too old, or did you say he was too young? Because the distinction is quite important."

Her meaning hit him like a runaway speeder, piloted by a particularly hefty rancor. He wracked his brains desperately, trying to remember the exact wording of what he'd said.

"You are so young, and –"

"I’m too young?"

"I… may have said he was too young," he admitted. "I certainly said he was young… and he certainly heard that he was too young." 

"Kit…"

Kit buried his face in his hands with a groan. 

"You fucking moron."

"I know," he moaned. Force, what an idiot. 

"Oh I wonder why a man who's ageing process was artificially accelerated might be offended by you calling him too young?" Dara said, with blistering sarcasm. 

"Dara, please –" 

"I wonder why that upset him?" she continued, really getting into it. "You absolute fucking kelp head. You shit-for-brains sea slug. You waterlogged fucking sea sponge. Is your massive head actually filled with bubbles? For fucks sake!" 

He dragged his face up. His best and oldest friend was looking at him with a mixture of exasperation and fondness, anger and amusement – her scowl periodically broken when she could no longer hold back her smile.

"Well, how do I fix it?" he asked her. The barest fraction of a whine crept in, but if Dara was just going to insult him then he saw no problem with it. 

Dara just looked even more amused. 

"What do you mean, how do you fix it?" Her tone and gaze was blisteringly sardonic. "Apologise to him, you moron. On your hands and knees. Grovel, and pray that he forgives you."

He sighed.

"I don't even know when I'll see him again…" he said. "It's hardly the kind of thing to discuss over coms."

He buried his face back in his hands. 

"Shit."

Dara let him wallow in his misery and self pity for a while. They sat in silence on opposite sides of the Galaxy, the same as they would when they were simply on opposite ends of a sofa in one of their quarters. They could sit in silence together for hours, but it wasn't that long before Dara's voice cut through his thoughts again.

She always knew when to let him be, and when he needed dragging out of his own mind.

"I can't say that I'm all that surprised," she said. "It was only a matter of time before your constant self-sabotaging hurt someone other than yourself." Her tone wasn't kind, but it wasn't as harsh as it could have been either. Not as harsh as Kit quite probably deserved.

Once again he lifted his face from his palms to look at her. This time her face was much softer, her lips gently pursed as she gazed at him. The exasperation had receded, leaving only fondness and a trace of pity. 

"I miss you," Kit told her.

She smiled at him – warm, bright and crooked. She was about to reply when her com gave a warning bleep. 

"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. "I need to go, I have to teach a class in 20 minutes."

"I love you," Kit said, smiling at her. 

"I love you too, dickhead," Dara said. "I'll message you later. We aren't done talking about this." She leaned forwards, jabbing a finger at him before she disconnected the call.

Kit gazed at the empty space where her face had been before sighing and tossing his com in the direction of his desk. He missed, and after staring apathetically at where it rested on the floor for a long moment, he waved a hand and lifted onto the desk.

After brushing his teeth and changing into his sleep pants, Kit climbed into bed. Usually he slept in the nude, but the cold depths of space were just that – cold. He pulled the covers up under his chin, noting that he could probably do with a second as he flicked off the light.

He gazed at the darkness above him and thought of Rex, of how badly he'd fucked everything up.

Kit closed his eyes with a sigh, and tried to go to sleep. 

Notes

Kit and Dara are each others emotional braincells. They both have to do a lot of heavy lifting.

Some of you may recognise Cherise from the wonderful @cyarbika's Walk Me Home, and of course No Strings Attached. Of course in the Terrible Jedi universe Wolffe is aroace, so Dara got to swoop in there instead >:)

Thank you all for reading. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated and endlessly treasured.

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[cubedmango]

39 with Klapollo? 👉👈

39. “Please come home, I miss you”

Klavier loves his job—evident by all the songs he's written about it, clearly—but sometimes when the world of law hands him long, winding, unending cases with spotless murder weapons and suspiciously tight-lipped witnesses, he regrets his career choices. Just a little.

It's the second day of what's turned into a full-on three-day trial, and he's exhausted to the bone. After a mostly fruitless time both in the courtroom and at the crime scene, all Klavier wants to do is go back home and pass the hell out. Immediately.

It wasn't like this before, he remembers. There was a time when he could easily stay up for late-night investigations and even sleep on his office couch, if needed. His work ethic was the one thing he could always pride himself on, but these days, it's been replaced by the more urgent necessity to not be a sleep-deprived zombie in court. Or just in general.

Maybe Klavier's already getting old—and Herr Ruffles is getting scarily relatable—or maybe the worrywart waiting for him back home has turned him into a new man, one with a new appreciation for proper rest. And a whole lot of cuddles.

Either way, he's glad to be already on his way to his apartment, when the call comes in from a certain someone. He breaks into a grin.

“Hey,” says his dear Herr Forehead, and just that one greeting seems to heal his headache already. “When are you getting back?”

“In a few minutes,” Klavier tells him, though it's not entirely the truth. He's already at their apartment building, taking the elevator up, but he doesn't have to reveal that. “Why? Did you miss me?”

“You wish,” comes the deadpan response, with the clattering of cutlery. “Just asking so I can heat up your dinner.”

“Aw.” Klavier pouts, without any real disappointment. Dating Apollo Justice comes with the occasional difficulties in expressing affection. He's used to it. “Then maybe I'll spend the night at the office, and come back tomorrow instead.”

His boyfriend gasps. “Klavier Gavin, don't you dare—”

The declaration gets cut off by a sudden muffled sound, and the yelps of Apollo going ouch and fuck and watch it, and then there's a very loud meow, right in his ear.

“Mikeko climbed up my shoulder,” Apollo explains, then says to the cat, “Asshole.”

“Maybe he heard me,” Klavier suggests, “Maybe he has something to say.”

As if on cue, Mikeko meows yet again.

“Translation, please, Herr Forehead,” he requests.

“Please come home. I miss you,” Apollo's saying, and Klavier's heart lodges itself in his throat. Dating Apollo Justice also comes with the occasional attempts at expressing affection. That, he's not as used to. “Who else is gonna get me the luxury food and toys I demand, huh? Not this defense attorney without any cases, for sure.”

Klavier looks at himself in the elevator mirror. The lovesick look on his face could probably keep the media and his fans fuelled for weeks. He doesn't even attempt to school it down.

“I see,” Klavier remarks, carefully even. “At least one of you misses me, then.”

“Yep, just him.” Apollo coughs. “Definitely not anyone else.”

“Then I'll come back home for just him,” Klavier says, “Definitely not anyone else.”

“You do that,” Apollo replies, and when the doorbell rings, pauses for a beat. “Hey, is that you?”

Klavier hangs up.

In a few seconds, Apollo will open the door and probably groan about him being back too early, and the food not being ready yet. After that, he'll probably get shoved into the shower with the firm order to take the most relaxing bath he can, and wear the comfiest clothes he owns. Then he'll probably get treated to a delicious dinner—one Apollo will deny learning the recipe of just for him—and after that will come the long-awaited proper rest. And a whole lot of cuddles.

Yes, Klavier's case probably could've used more of his time and attention today, and staying longer working on it might've helped him crack the little details that continue to be eluding, but there's time for that tomorrow, and he'd rather end his day in boyfriend's warm arms than anywhere else.

Klavier loves his job, sure, but he loves his Apollo just a tad bit more—even if the latter has to endearingly admit to missing him via cat.

[sirowsky]

The Lost Island

Chapter 16 - Parted Ways

Summary: You're back on the island, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, whilst suddenly standing face to face with people you've lost and grieved. Meanwhile, Marcus lands in a heap of problems of his own.

Author’s Note: My head genuinely does hurt after having spent all day wrestling with this one. I do know how to complicate things for myself, but I love this story all the same, so I hope you'll follow me through the magical mystery tour :)

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Cursing, angst, time-travel-headaches. Word Count: 4761 Masterlist (this story) Author’s Masterlist

   Marcus stepped out of the gateway straight into his own kitchen, and immediately called out for Missy.

   “Whoa, dad. What are you shouting for? I’m still right here.”

   She came from the living room, holding her index finger in between the pages of a book she was reading, and when she spotted him, her face turned puzzled.

   “Hey, how’d you get changed so fast?”

   He registered her questions while he stepped closer and pulled her into a hug, but he didn’t really clock the significance of them.

   “What? I was wearing this when I left.”

   “Uh… right. Are you feeling okay, dad?”

   “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just glad you’re alright. How long was I gone this time?”

   She pulled back to look at him, and he turned his head down to meet her eyes but kept his arms around her.

   “What are you talking about? You haven’t been anywhere for like three weeks. Not since that thing with the beetles in Australia.”

   He huffed a laugh, certain that she was joking. But her eyes told a different story.    At that point, he noticed that her clothes were wrong too, and that Anita should’ve been there.    He let go of her and staggered backwards, further into the kitchen, feeling panic gradually build internally as he struggled to absorb the implications of that, if it was true.    Because the unnatural beetle-infestation had happened over two months before the plane crash, which would mean that the crash wouldn’t happen until another six or seven weeks.

   “No… no, no, no… that can’t be.”

   He rambled to himself while he tried to find today’s paper, only to discover that it was indeed full of headlines that he already knew, and that the date was almost five months in the past.    Desperate to believe that it was some trick or mistake, he turned on the tv in the kitchen, which was usually set to a news-channel, but it was the same thing. He even recognized the phrases and the way they were delivered by the news-anchor in the studio.

   “No… I was thinking of the same moment! It should’ve brought me back to the same moment…”

   “Dad, you’re kinda freaking me out.”

   He abandoned the tv and went to kneel in front of her.

   “Sweetheart, I know this is gonna sound crazy, but was I in a plane-crash recently?”

   “No! I think I’d remember that. What’s going on?”

   Unable to keep his frustration in, he got up and started pacing, trying to think it through while mumbling to himself.

   “Shit… This is bad. It brought me back to before it all happened… but why? What am I supposed to do here? Nothing important happe-…”

   He stopped pacing abruptly, when something even more frightening hit him.

   “Oh, god, where the hell did it drop Pita?”

   “Wait, you’re working with Ace? On what? And why? You hate working with her.”

   He turned and just stared at Missy for a few beats. Because she was right. In this point in time, the two of you were still bitter enemies, and if he went to HQ, he’d likely find you there, doing your normal job.    Unless the portal had sent you back here too.

   “Miss, I’m sorry, I gotta go to work, and you’re coming with me.”

   “Fine by me. Someone needs to make sure they scan your brain while you’re there.”

   Once at the Headquarters, he went straight for your office, to Missy’s unending disbelief, but you weren’t there.    He took a quick peek at your itinerary and saw that you were scheduled at a meeting with Ricky, so he headed straight for R&D and Ricky’s office, stomping in without even knocking.    And sure enough, there you were, but it took less than a second for him to see that it wasn’t his version of you.    The harshness in your frame, the tight set of your jaw, the glacier of ice that met his gaze when he sought your eyes, all of it so familiar, and yet it now seemed to be hollowing him out, emptying him of everything that was warm and safe.    Both you and Ricky froze when he invaded your meeting, but it only took you a moment to regain your focus.

   “You’re interrupting a security briefing, Moreno. So, unless it concerns a serious threat; get out.”

   He couldn’t move.    Seeing you like this, so cold and hateful towards him once again, after everything you’d shared, tore his heart to pieces, stinging and flooding his eyes with tears.    He knew that it might just be temporary, that the portal might’ve just dumped him here for a while so that he could accomplish something, and that his Pita was still out there somewhere.    But his love for you had become as integral to his being as Missy was, which made the pain that he felt in that moment, as real as anything had ever been. Because right then, in that time, you didn’t love him back, and nothing he said would make you believe that you ever could.    So, what if it wasn’t temporary? What if the crash and the island would never happen now?    What if that timeline, that specific chain of events, was the only way that you could ever learn to love him…

   “I know you’re not deaf, so unless you step outside right now, I’m gonna make you.”

   “S-sorry… I’m… I’m so sorry.”

   He should’ve backed away, but he just couldn’t.    Unfortunately, though, this version of you had never seen him heartbroken, and assumed that he was playing some angle, because of course, he couldn’t actually be this emotional from just seeing you.

   “Whatever game you’re playing, I’m not in the mood.”

   You got up and came towards him, clearly intending to shove him out of the office, but as you got closer, he suddenly didn’t care that you weren’t his Pita.    He needed to hold you, just one more time in case this was his last chance, as it was beginning to dawn on him that he had no idea what the portal was doing, or what it might have planned for him.    He’d always known that he was utterly powerless against it. But it had seemed to be on your side all this time, so he’d trusted it. But now that trust was breaking, and with it, so was his hope.    Desperate to cling to whatever piece of you still existed, in any timeline, he met you as you came at him and ensnared you in an almost bone-breaking hug.

   “Oof… Marcus, what the hell?! Let go of me!”

   “I should’ve stayed. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have run through like that, we should’ve crossed together…”

   It wasn’t you; he still knew that. He knew that this Pita would have no idea what he was talking about, but he needed to say it, in case your souls were linked somehow. In case some part of you could hear him, across space and time.

   “Crossed what? What’s wrong with you?!”

   “Dad, you’re being really creepy… just let her go.”

   Missy’s words made him feel terrible as he realized how invasive and unwanted his closeness was. He let go of you, instantly backing away, out of the office and as far as the corridor would let him without losing sight of you, breathing heavily against the sensation of his chest crashing in on itself.

   “I wish I could explain… I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

   “Dad, wait, maybe Ricky can help you.”

   Hearing her, the man got up from his desk and came out to the corridor, making Marcus realize that he’d completely forgotten about him.

   “What’s going on, Moreno?”

   He laughed, but a little hysterically, as he stared at the expert scientist, and he felt like he was being defeated somehow.

   “I’m being thrown around space and time by a sentient black rock… I think it wants my help to prevent the complete annihilation of Earth, but I have no fucking idea how or why it brought me here… only that you guys are living five months in the past, from my perspective.”

   All three of them just stared at him at first, but Ricky was quick to recover.

   “Why don’t you come with me to my lab, I’d like to take a look at you.”

   Marcus laughed again, this time with absolute hopelessness.

   “There’s no point. I already know what your scan is gonna say, which is that there’s a spatial anomaly around me that you can’t explain.    I wish I could stay and indulge you, but I need to try and figure out what the portal wants me to do before it’s too late… so that I can get back to my time.”

   He glanced at you, before adding:

   “My people.”

   None of them said anything more, although Ricky looked like he was thinking hard, while you still looked about ready to punch him, so he turned to Missy.

   “Sweetheart, I need you to stay with Ace, okay?”

   “But, dad…”

   “I’m not the version of your dad that you know. I need to get back to my time. As soon as I do, your Marcus will come back. I think.”

   “I don’t understand.”

   “I’m not sure that I do either… but it’s gonna be okay.”

   He tried to make himself believe it, so that she would too, before he picked her up and hugged her for a long moment, and when he set her back down, he looked at you.

   “I hope you won’t remember any of this, once it’s over. But if you do… just know that I’m not your enemy.”

   “In your time… we’re friends?”

   You sounded just as incredulous as he’d expect you to.

   “In my time… we’re a lot more than that.”

   He didn’t wait to see if your face would contort with disgust, he just turned away and left without another glance back.

<><><><><> 

   The wind was so loud that you couldn’t hear anything else, as you plummeted towards the ocean, having no clue how you’d survived this the last time and therefor no chance to replicate it.    But there was some comfort to the knowledge that you had survived this before, and should be able to again, even though it was hard to feel anything but panic as you watched the deceptively soft-looking surface close in on you.    You noticed the pod of orcas just before you made contact with the sea, suddenly terrified that you might hit one or more of them, which would surely kill both them and you.    But just before you hit the water, something seemed to flow over your skin, almost like the softest silk, barely even noticeable when it just brushed against you.    Whatever it was, it was beyond your control, but it had to be what ultimately saved you, because as you were pummelled against the surface over and over again, before you eventually dropped under it, no bones broke. No limbs were torn or thrown out of their sockets.    You knew that you’d been knocked out for a few seconds at least, the last time, but this time you managed to stay awake, which also meant that you felt the multiple impacts, and it wasn’t pleasant.    Thankfully, you hadn’t hit any of the whales, and just like last time, Whelma soon came to your aid, which was good because every muscle was screaming in pain.    Had it really hurt this much last time?

   “Hey, girl. I missed you… but I wish I hadn’t been forced to come back. No offense.”

   She came right up to you, nudging your hand as you reached out to her, as though you were old friends, making you wonder if she could somehow remember your last visit.    Perhaps cetacean brains had some natural resistance to space-time trickery.

   “I need to get to the creepy-ass island this time too. Can you help me?”

   She turned to position her side next to you, so you could clumsily get your sore body up on her back, and then signalled the other four orcas to join her. You assumed it was the same four that had been with her the last time, and it all felt like déjà vu.    You hoped that since you hadn’t wasted time on first travelling for hours in the wrong direction this time, you’d get to the island much faster, and tried to think back to what you knew had happened that day.    It was the day that Marcus had nearly destroyed the village, before his failure prompted the Ozsha to send the tsunami, and he’d stopped them by discovering his new abilities, killing ten of them in the process.    God, this was infuriating! You’d already done all this, already made so much progress since this day, and now it was all undone and you had to start over.    What the fuck was the portal trying to accomplish with this?    You hoped with everything you had that the damned thing had at least sent Marcus to the correct time, and not back here where everything was just terrible.    You’d already forgotten how hard it was to ride a swimming whale, through currents and waves, but at least this time you managed to stay on for the whole ride.    Getting to the island did take much less time now, so the sun was still halfway up from the horizon when you disembarked and prepared to swim the final few yards to the beach.

   “You’re a gem, Whelma. I hope you won’t have to fight this time.”

   You pushed away from her and headed for the warm sand, stepping up on dry land to find the beach intact, meaning that the wave hadn’t happened yet.    So, you took off running towards the village, to warn them.    But you’d forgotten how traumatic this day had already been for them. The roots and the acid having destroyed many of the houses, leaving most of them wandering around, assessing damage or dressing wounds and checking each other over.    You ran into the area to find a horrid-looking Marcus talking to Akela, and your heart jumped.    Partly because you were relieved that this was old Moreno, meaning yours was likely back safe with Missy, but also because you hadn’t thought about the fact that you’d see the Chief alive again.    It hit you like a gut-punch to suddenly see his bright and insightful eyes turn to meet yours, after noticing how all colour drained from Marcus’ face as he caught sight of you first.

   “Mana… Praise Kãne and Kanaloa, they brought you back to us.”

   Oh, how you’d missed that voice. How you wished that you could’ve just talked to him for a bit.    Tears filled your eyes as you stared at him, struggling to believe that this was real for the first time since the portal had dropped you back here.    You closed your eyes against the tears and shook your head for a second, trying to keep yourself sharp and alert.

   “Chief, listen to me, you have to run. The Kaiaka are sending a giant wave that’s gonna level everything in its path and I don’t know how long we have.”

   You had no idea how to convince the one super available that he had the power to stop it, since he wouldn’t have discovered his new abilities yet, but as it turned out, that was far from your biggest challenge.    Because in that moment, the only thing that Marcus was capable of focusing on, was the fact that you were alive. That he hadn’t killed you.    You remembered all too clearly how this regret and shame had weighed on him.

   “Pita… I-… I’m s-so sorry…”

   In your timeline, you hadn’t seen him until after he’d had a chance to begin healing himself from the Ozsha’s manipulation, so to meet him now, to see him still so raw and hurting so much more than he’d ever allowed you to see, was breaking your heart.    He might not yet know how important he was to you, or you to him, but you had to try and take that pain away from him, it was too devastating to witness.    You closed the small distance between you and trapped his chest against your own, ignoring the persistent ache from your bruised body, holding him as tightly as your arms would allow without constricting his breathing.    He seemed understandably confused at first, and reluctant to touch you, whether because of the state you were in, or his surprise at you apparently wanting him to. But he soon surrendered to the sincerity of your warmth, wrapping his arms around your back and holding you as gently as a delicate butterfly.    Grief rippled through him, tearing unwanted sobs up through his throat, and he buried his face against your neck, trying to muffle them, all while his hands kept moving, from your waist to the backs of your shoulders and down again.    As if he needed to make sure that you were real and not some apparition.    You wanted to explain that it wasn’t his fault and that you knew why all of this had happened and what it would lead to, but how could he ever believe it without experiencing it for himself?    And if he didn’t experience those things, would the future you knew even come to pass?    This was so fucking complicated! Why did it have to be time-travel?!

   “Mana, where have you been? Where did you find these new clothes?”

   Oh… crap. How to explain that little nugget.    You pulled away from Marcus, who surprised you by not letting go of you, instead trailing his hand along your arm, down to your hand and holding on to it as you turned back towards Akela to try and answer his questions.

   “That’s hard to explain right now, Chief, and time is not on our side.”

   He slowly came closer, keeping his eyes firmly locked with yours, and you sensed that he was seeing more than anyone else ever could.

   “I think you mean that time is not on your side. Am I correct?”

   How he was able to somehow see that just by looking at you, was incredible, but you still had no idea exactly how much he understood, so you tried to tread carefully.

   “Yes, but I don’t know why.”

   You flinched when your peripheral vision alerted you to a movement next to you, and turned your head to find his mother, Koa, suddenly standing there.    You’d forgotten how utterly unnerving she could be. But you’d also forgotten how powerful she was, in her own way.

   “You are Mana. That is why you are here.”

   Just like the only other time you’d heard her voice, it stunned you with how clear it was, but also with the uncanny sense that something was being passed into you, through her words.    It hit you like a car doing a hundred miles an hour. How had you not figured it out earlier?    Mana. Spiritual power.    This… all of this, being brought back here, at that precise moment before you hit the water, it was to help you understand how powerful your own soul really was.    It wasn’t some unknown power or ability that had saved you from being torn apart, it was your uniquely strong soul, reaching out and borrowing a little extra strength from Whelma and her family. Managing to boost itself just enough to cocoon your body in a tougher shell than your usual aura.    Just enough to save you from breaking any bones or cracking your skull open.    And that momentary connection probably explained why the orca seemed to understand what you wanted as well.    But what the heck did your soul have to do with stopping the spores?    Right on cue, now that you’d apparently done what it wanted, the portal appeared before you, and everyone else literally jumped away from it, except for you and Koa.    You sighed heavily and let your head fall into your free hand for a moment, before looking up at the fucking thing again.

   “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

   As usual, it just stood there, always in motion but also somehow so permanent. So inescapable.

   “Why do I need to know more about myself in order to stop what’s coming? How will that help anything? I don’t understand what you’re trying to do…”

   Marcus hadn’t let go of your hand even though he’d jumped back as the portal appeared, and now that he saw how familiar you were of it, he came closer again, tightening his grip on your hand as if he was afraid that you’d vanish.    A sharp pinch bothered your chest at the thought that his fear was about to come true.

   “Pita, what is that? What’s going on?”

   There was no use in telling him. Either this timeline would revert to normal after you disappeared, which would mean he’d soon learn all about it, or this timeline was forever corrupted, in which case you couldn’t know anything that might happen.

   “I’m not where I’m supposed to be. I have to go.”

   “No, you can’t. I-…”

   He tugged on your hand as he spoke, urging you around to look at him, but then cut himself off when he realized that he didn’t actually know what he was trying to say.    It was almost as though your connection to your Marcus was bleeding into this one the longer you were around him, because the Marcus you knew would never have been this affectionate towards you at this point in time.    That was possibly why he struggled to put words to his feelings. Because to some extent, they weren’t really his.

   “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. This is all just a weird dream. I’m gonna step into that black thing, and you’re gonna wake up and not even remember any of this.”

   You wished that what you were saying was the truth, but you also feared everything about what was happening right now. Regardless of timelines.    You feared that you’d become lost to time, no longer belonging anywhere, and that your Marcus might not even exist anymore, or perhaps that you’d just never find him again.

   “But I want to remember… because even if this is a dream, you like me here.”

   No, no, no, this was not what you needed to hear right now. Leaving him was hard enough, no matter how or why it happened.    Your eyes stung when they met his. At the very least, you had to leave him with some hope.

   “I like you everywhere, Mo. …I love you.”

   Taking advantage of his shock, you slipped your hand out of his and quickly backed away, towards the portal, only turning to face it once you were about to step through.    But you paused, staring into it through the tears that would no longer be held back, for the first time feeling unwilling to trust it.

   “Take me to him. Please.”

   The liquid just kept softly billowing, perhaps moved by the winds and currents of the universe itself.    You closed your eyes, hoping with all the might of your soul that this was the last lesson it had needed to teach you, and then you stepped through.

<><><><><> 

   Marcus stood under a tree in his own garden, staring at his house, seeing his mother and daughter through the living room window, sitting in the sofa and talking, probably about him.    Their version of him. The person he’d need to become for the foreseeable future.    He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, but it had gone dark.    He was trying to think back, to remember everything that had been going on five months ago, but he kept losing track of his own thoughts, finding them drifting back to what the portal had showed him earlier that day, after he’d left HQ.    He’d been wandering around for a while, trying to figure out what to do next, what had been significant enough about this point in time for the portal to need him to come back here, when one of the smaller pieces of it had suddenly appeared.    On its own, the little black creature couldn’t take him anywhere, but as it turned out, it could still show him things.    It had climbed up onto his head, and somehow projected images into his mind. Images that would surely rob him of all sleep for a long time to come. Or possibly even drive him mad.    There wasn’t really any point in putting it off any longer, it wouldn’t get any easier to explain no matter how long he stood out there.    Stepping into the house, he was met by Missy’s voice calling for her dad, before she came running to meet him, a hopeful smile on her face that faded when she realized that it wasn’t the right Marcus that had walked in.    Anita followed behind her, but upon seeing her reaction, told her to go to her room.

   “No, you both need to hear this. Please.”

   His voice was weak and hoarse from all the crying, but he had to explain, as best he could, because there was nowhere else he could go, and no other version of him would be coming back any time soon. Meaning he was the only father that this Missy had for now.    They exchanged a look, and after Anita nodded to her grandchild, they all went into the kitchen and sat down around the table. The two of them close together, and him on the opposite side.

   “Sweetheart, did you tell Abuela what happened at HQ?”

   “Yeah. As best I could.”

   He nodded slowly a few times, once more attempting to gather his thoughts.

   “I had hoped that I was brought here in order to learn or understand something that would have importance in the future, but as it turns out, that’s not what this is about for me.”

   He paused to take a breath, trying to keep his emotions in check for as long as he could, while they both patiently waited, looking more apprehensive than confused, thus far.

   “In my timeline… something horrible is about to happen. And Pita and I are the only ones who know about it.    This portal thing, it’s trying to help us stop it, and I thought that it brought me here to find a clue, something that would…”

   Pain overtook him, stealing his voice for a moment, because as he said it out loud, he suddenly felt like the portal had betrayed him.    He cleared his throat and tried again.

   “This is all about Pita. I’m here because the portal knows everything. Every possible version of the future, and in order to prevent what’s coming, I have to stay alive.    I have to be safe, because Pita is the only one that can stop the annihilation of all life on this planet, and if anything happens to me… she won’t be able to do that.”

   Anita tilted her head to the side, but her eyes kept studying him closely.

   “So, you’re hiding.”

   “Not by choice… but yes, I suppose that’s true.    I’d give anything to go back there, to help her.”

   He was able to keep the tears from falling, but the pain refused to lessen.    Knowing that you’d be forced to face this enormous threat all alone was enough to make him wanna beat his hands bloody against the fucking goo.    He wanted to trust that it was doing what needed to be done, but how could he when the odds of your success seemed so insurmountable?    Missy could see his pain as clearly as he could feel it, and it didn’t seem to matter to her that he wasn’t technically her dad, because she came to sit next to him and hugged him.

   “I know how she feels, if she loves you so much that she’ll break without you. But I don’t understand how she can fight something that dangerous alone?”

   “Neither do I, really. I just know that it has something to do with her soul. It’s very special, and it needs to be whole when she faces her enemy, or she’ll fail.”

   “Is your Ace a super?”

   “No. Her power is something else.”

   She paused, and then pulled back so she could properly look at him.

   “Do you believe she’s strong enough to win?”

   He met her worried eyes, knowing that she’d see the truth whether he voiced it or not.

   “I want to. But I’ve seen what’s coming… and… I just can’t.”

—————

Link to Chapter 17

I'm so sorry for being so crap at updating this lately, but sadly, I haven't been feeling well. Thank you for reading, and I’d love to know what you thought :) Have a wonderful day/night!

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Quiet Sort of Love | Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader

✧ Summary: Manager to the Fukurōdani volleyball club, there was no doubt that Itachiyama’s Sakusa Kiyoomi was a strong ace. He brought your team to their knees on multiple occasions, but what you were not expecting was getting to know the nationally acclaimed spiker beyond just the titles and labels.

✧ Warnings: Implicating language and slight spoilers toward the end (you will be warned beforehand :)) 

✧ Notes: Buckle up boys cause this is a LONG one LMAO -> lots of fluff, angst, slight BokuAka, character development, mutual pining at one point, and just me being sentimental over one of my favorite teams  -> #SummerWrites for these! I tended to write fluffier stories

✧  Masterlist 

If someone asked you for the full story, there was no way you could explain it. One moment, you were in junior high, relatively enjoying your time on the track team. The next, you were attending Fukurōdani Academy without a clue to which club you wanted to commit to. 

While you could have rejoined the track team, you were not especially good at sprints and had only done so for your friends at the time. Now, there was a much more daunting pressure about what you were going to be committing your time to. Akaashi has suggested you take-up the open managerial role for the volleyball club, since you were unsure you wanted to truly dedicate yourself to any sport. And, somehow within a couple days of that conversation, with the eccentric introductions of second-years Yukie and Kaori, the current managers, you were attending their volleyball practice on a trial session.

Fast-forward a few weeks and it was already the best decision you had made in your first-year of being a Fukurōdani Academy student.

They were dedicated to their sport, their passion easily radiating off of them and to onlookers watching a simple set. It was what entranced you to begin with - their strong zeal that easily drew others into their bubble. Yes, you were a powerhouse school with a long history of being winners. But it was the people that encompassed the team that drew it closer to your heart.

From the confident yet silly second-year Bokuto, to the mother hen Akaashi, you made fast friends with the team and the other managers.

There were times that you had to remind yourself that Bokuto, the same Vice Captain and nationally rising spiker to gain acclaim, was the same Bokuto who had accidentally locked himself out of his dorm room only to find his lanyard in his back pocket.

And, while reminding yourself of Bokuto, you remembered the text you received from the team group-chat early that morning. You had gone home for the weekend to pick-up some stuff from your family home, the place of residence sitting outside Shibuya and a good thirty-minutes by train away from the inner city. 

But, it was a short-lived trip since the next morning you had to return back to the dorms for a practice match set with your school’s supposed long-term rivals: Itachiyama. GC: Hoot Hoot ⊹⋛⋋(◐⊝◑)⋌⋚⊹

6:15 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)         oh no

6:15 Kaori _へ__(‾◡◝ )>         (L/N)-chan pls tell me your awake

6:15 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)         (F/N)-chan you are our only hope

6:20 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)         @Y/N !!!!

6:23 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)         I’m awake!!

6:23 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)         Please tell me you can pick-up some Dorayaki on your way to the school

6:23 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)         ah yes, the patented bokuto revival snacc?

6:24 haaaruki !         thnk u mom

6:24 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)          >.>

6:24 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)         Thank you, (L/N)-san. 💓

And true to your word, or text rather, you stopped for the snack on your way back to the school. However, with the surprisingly crowded trains on this unfortunate weekend, you were near sprinting down the street once you got some open space. You wanted to still be on time, reasoning regardless, and with the pace of the crowd you were going to be way later than you expected. You rushed between trains, hopping onto the right transfer and letting your foot tap away in impatience as the train pushed onward.

Nearing the school, you were in a dead-sprint toward the entrance and only inwardly sighed at seeing the large school bus, from what you assumed was the rival school, covering the main gateway. You approached from the back of the bus, students filing out from the opposite end of where you were running. You did not want to glance down at your watch, afraid of the time you would see, and instead tried to inwardly navigate a way inside and around your obstacles. 

Athletic bags and groups of the students littered the area as they unloaded, forcing you to jump over their stuff if you did not want to break your speed. You were so dead-set in your sprint, you failed to notice the number of eyes on the bus following you in your run.

Just as you turned around the pillar, your speed and momentum came to a stop as you crashed into an unsuspecting student. His hands were in his pockets, a mask covering most of his face, but even you saw the surprised look as his hands shot out to steady the both of you.

Immediately, the dark-haired athlete was chastising you, “Watch where you are going.” The young man immediately pushed you off of him, not in an unkindly way but moreso he wanted his safe distance instantly.

You bowed and muttered out an, “I’m sorry!”

The glare of annoyance was obvious, but it only dropped down when he turned to look at his upturned palms, no longer hidden in his pockets but instead being stared at in a mortified way.

I mean, it’s not like you were dirty? You complained inwardly at his expression, but sucked it up anyway. You were the one who crashed into him and owed the apology anyway and so you could do your duty and then bid the supposed germaphobe goodbye.

Team Mom instincts already kicking in, you reached into your side-bag and took out a small pack of wet-wipes. You opened the container, and not one to incense him further, held it out for him to grab himself.

“An extension of my apology.” You stated at seeing his apprehension, before he took two and wiped his hands clean of your grime. 

It was hard to fight down the inward grimace at seeing this utter stranger be so offended at having even touched and breathed the same air as you.

“Komori, nice to meet you.” Another student came up to the two of you, having emerged from the pack of Itachiyama students. “Sorry for my friend here.”

“It was my mistake.” You stated.

“No worries. Nice to meet you, you on the track team?”

You shook your head before glancing down at your watch, losing more precious minutes that you could not afford to waste on a conversation like this. “Sorry, I’m running late. See you around!”

Bidding farewell to the group, who you were sure to see in just a few minutes, you bounded through the school and toward the back gymnasium. The net was already set-up, Akaashi standing toward the center as he warmed-up the spikers, matching up with their heights before the other team made their appearance.

You waved at him as you entered, holding up a bag containing half a dozen of Bokuto’s snacks, before placing it in the careful hands of Kaori. Akaashi thanked you genuinely, only to be surprised when you handed him an iced-latte in a cold glass from the store as well. He smiled, before putting it in the cooler for his undoubted headache later. Yukie looked at you with a curious smile, to which you threw two capri-suns at her - the drink secretly one of her favorites.

They thanked you before rushing back to positions and responsibilities, either continuing to warm-up or simply prep the gym for the other’s arrival. You did as you were told, then lined up to attention when the doors opened to greet your rival school.

While it was only a practice match, the team had already filled you in on the reason behind the unending tension between the two schools. Bokuto spun a tale of wild rivalry spanning generations while Akaashi stated plainly that they had not yet won against Itachiyama in recent years.

Seeing the germaphobe from earlier in the line-up, you stood quiet while the volleyball members silently introduced themselves. Your third-year captain, in his ever so passive-aggressive ire, tightly gripped the hand of the other Itachiyama captain. You fought the urge to roll your eyes and instead let your vision scan the line-up.

The tension was only more palpable during the game. Fukurōdani had practice matches before, but none so eerily… quiet.

Yes, there was intra-team communication and words of encouragement between teammates…  but nothing else.

During the practice match with Shinzen, your third-year teammates acted like old friends with some of those students. They even offered some pointers regarding serves between the two schools. And that school was categorized as a rival to your own as well. Shinzen was in the Fukurōdani group after all - they were your close rivals if anything.

But it seemed that the rivalry between Itachiyama and Fukurōdani ran even deeper than that.

Bokuto’s excitement, while usually cute and endearing, definitely contributed to the current atmosphere as well. Bokuto was naturally loud and with every point he scored, there was a chorus right after from yours truly. But, without an audience to drown out his cheers and the Fukurōdani third-years looking seriously quiet, the tiny Bokuto celebration grated on the nerves of the other team.

You watched the young man from earlier, mask gone from his face now and instead replaced with his own brand of quiet determination, as he ran up and smoothly spiked the ball. The action seemed so natural, it was only when the resounding slap signified again how loud and powerful he truly was, the ball smashing into the ground and landing somewhere behind the upper-risers.

That was incredible strength, you thought inwardly, feeling a similar awe you felt the first time you saw the true power behind Bokuto’s spike.

The awed expression on your face quickly squashed down to grimace, remembering this was the guy you had awkwardly crashed into earlier.

“What’s with that face?” Yukie asked, spying you from the corner of her eye. She stood parallel to you, both of you manning the standing scoreboard. Kaori was sitting with the coach, pen in hand as she took notes on the game.

You put back on your neutral visage as you flipped the score number, “That guy who just spiked, he was the one that I bumped into on the way here.”

“Sakusa-san?”

“Yeah...” You affirmed, trying to subtly point in his direction with your gaze alone.

She looked at you with an amused expression, patting you on the back in pity.

Fukurōdani lost the practice match.

And while a part of you was inwardly hissing, there was no doubt that both schools gave their all and the better ended up on top. The third-years commended the team, they were still in the process of finding their rhythm. After all, the points were not that far apart to being with. Having lost 2:1, you noted that the points were relatively close in all three sets.

Bokuto’s displeasure was obvious, complaining loudly that he should have worked on his jump-serve more, but still shaking everyone’s hands at the call of the game.

With both teams working to clean the gymnasium, you walked over to the net to help loosen it and fold the poles. Some of the team members of either side were lightly mingling, commending each other on certain skills while introducing themselves.

You spotted Sakusa in the corner, having helped put away the mats already and retreating to the spot furthest from the crowd. Fighting the urge to bemusedly chuckle at the action, your attention snapped to Komori approaching you, a water-bottle in hand.

“From your running earlier - thought you were a member of the track team.”

You smiled in a friendly manner, “Nope, just a manager of the volleyball club.”

He shot a smile back, “I see. I missed your name earlier...?”

Sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck, embarrassed over forgetting your introduction to your senior, “(L/N) (F/N), nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you, too!” He repeated back your words before adding, “How cute.”

You angled your head in question, surprised at his boldness and flabbergasted from replying.

He continued, “So, are you -”

“Yes, this is all good and well.” An arm swung across your shoulders as the owner cut him off, “But we better help our team out.”

Yukie shot a wink over her shoulder, whisking you to the other end of the room as someone else took over helping breakdown the net. You shot her a curious look, before your attention was grabbed back to the corner Sakusa was inhabiting.

It seemed Bokuto had found him, issuing a direct challenge to the other wing-spiker for their next match. Seeing your teammate, boisterous and loud, next to the quiet and narrow-eyed Sakusa was such a direct contrast; you had to remind yourself that they played the same role on their teams.

Bokuto grumbled the rest of the night, which only continued into the weekdays at school. You formed a study group for a particularly painful math class. And currently, said group had some vbc members crowded around a round table in the library. Most occupants preferred to spill the tea - Yukie and Konoha always had something regarding their second-year class. 

Which ironically left the younger two to herd the group. You tended to go with the flow. Which left Akaashi, the ever so smarty-pants honors student, to often lead the charge. (He also grumbled that you teased him about this fact, but you were also in the same honors classes yourself.)

You got in five pages worth of outlining before the conversation shifted. Focus on the class was easily torn as Haruki brought out a monthly volleyball magazine.

“Check it out, an entire profile on Sakusa Kiyoomi.” The libero stated, opening up the magazine as Konoha leaned over to look.

“Wow, lots of eyes are already on him.” Kaori stated.

“Anyone who saw him play during junior high would know he’s one to watch during Interhigh.” Haruki voiced.

“Well, I’m in the top four.” Bokuto muttered, arms crossed as he read along the magazine.

Akaashi sighed, putting down his pencil as his curiosity grabbed his attention, eyes straying to the article as well. Besides, Sakusa was a first-year just like the two of you, if he was this much of a threat it would be good to soak up any useful information on him

“The photograph looks a little far, don’t you think?” Yukie said with an unsure smile, pointing to the stiff Sakusa standing at least ten feet away from the photographer. “They couldn’t have zoomed in at all?”

“Maybe this is zoomed?” Konoha asked with a brow raised. 

You took a look and fought the urge to grimace aloud, you could barely tell it was him either. The action shot on one page was good, but for their interview photo he was covered completely with a mask and hat, just his eyes visible and still relatively far away from the photographer.

“Well, I don’t expect anything less from a germaphobe like him.” You commented, before turning back to your notebook. 

You saw multiple occupants’ expressions reel back in surprise before curiously looking toward you.

Kaori voiced their curiosity with a raised brow, “And how do you know that?”

“I - I bumped into him before the game!” You cursed your weak resolve, hands coming up in defense. 

“WHA?!” Bokuto asked, making you realize you only told Yukie about the prior encounter. The librarian shushed your group with a disapproving stare, before walking away. “You knew his weakness this whole time?”

Konoha laughed, “What are you going to do with that information? Sneeze on him during the next match?”

You shot eye contact with Yukie, the brunette simply shooting you teasing smirk as she leaned back in her chair. She was your older-senpai, but damn was the eccentric manager so ruthlessly teasing! Her love of food was the only clear read you could get off of her. Otherwise, it seemed like Yukie just loved to sow mischief.

“Wait. Weren’t you talking to their libero after the game? Was it Komori?” Haruki recalled, asking more out of curiosity then of seriousness.

“Um. Yes, well he introduced himself after I almost knocked over Sakusa-san.” You explained, nearly sweating buckets at some of the second-years’ gazes.

“Wait, knocked him over?” Konoha asked, glancing back down at his textbook to place a pen in it, then close it entirely.

“Well, I was running and didn’t see him when I turned the corner!” You continued to explain.

“Sure, sure.” Yukie waved off, sitting up and then sipping from her water bottle.

“I was rushing to bring the snacks - come on guys, you know this!” You defended, a sheepish smile on your face now as the other occupants varied from teasing to surprised.

“(L/N)-san, didn’t the teacher ask us to get something for her?” Akaashi cut in, already in the process of putting some of his study materials away.

You breathed a silent sigh in relief, agreeing and mimicking his actions as you readied to leave the sudden hot library. Yukie’s teasing was enough, but once Konoha and the rest started rolling it was all over from there.

“Yes, let’s get going.” You accepted immediately as you organized your school things, “See you all after class.”

Somehow, Akaashi was already up from the table and waiting for you at the door. You followed behind him quickly, going in the direction of your next class. Entering it, there were a few lingering students - some on their phone, others listening to music - but otherwise the two of you were alone.

You felt a small vibration from the pocket of your skirt, checking the messages from the infamous instigators of your group.

GC: Hoot Hoot ⊹⋛⋋(◐⊝◑)⋌⋚⊹

12:15 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)           Nice receive, Akaashi

12:15 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)           ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

12:15 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           cmon ahkaaashi; don’t you want to spend time with me? :C

12:15 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)            Enjoy your alone time ;)

12:15 haaaruki !           yah “studying” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Akaashi had a dead-panned expression back on his face, undoubtedly reading the same messages you had just skimmed through. The young man was so smart and quiet, and yet so silently sassy, you really cherished having him as your friend. Akaashi was the mother-hen of the group, undoubtedly, but you wondered how blessed your team was so to have such a patient and thoughtful setter in your ranks.

The two of you relished the silence of the room, sitting next to each other for this class, and resuming the earlier studying that you were interrupted from before. 

Life after this moved very quickly - thoughts of Itachiyama and the target named Sakusa was pushed in the back of your mind. Suddenly, your powerhouse of a volleyball club was having non-stop practice matches with others within the Fukurōdani Academy Group. Shinzen, known for their style of combination attacks, and Ubugawa, known for their serves, were two schools in Tokyo you often saw.

But, with them, came the introduction of Nekoma High School.

You almost felt bad for Akaashi after the first training camp with all three schools. Yes, you were familiar and friendly with the other schools, but with the introduction of middle-blocker Kuroo Tetsuro and his friend Kenma, it brought all sorts of adventures for your little group. He was certainly a sly cat, wielding the art of provocation like it was his second-skin. Fukurōdani had many practice matches with Nekoma throughout the spring semester, it was almost mentally jarring how quickly the Interhigh prelims crawled up on you.

Being friends with the other schools made the preliminary matches all the more intense - near screaming in support from the stands. You were friends with people in these other schools - managers whom you shared watermelon with in the scorching sun; and, forgetting volleyball, just teenagers whom you had seen at high school house parties throughout the semester - it was entirely personal during the prelims.

And while your school fell second to Itachiyama - you were excited to see your first ever nationals tournament.

To keep the teams organized in one spot, you were all staying in a swanky hotel not far from the sports center. It seemed to be a popular spot for other teams, since you had spotted familiar red and black athletic gear in the lobby when you entered. Nekoma was standing to the side by the chairs, Itachiyama littering the opposite area of the lobby.

Bokuto immediately bounded over to Kuroo and Kenma, Akaashi following behind begrudgingly, citing he did not want the spiker to wander off and get lost. Your eyes followed them, waving a hand at the Nekoma duo as you mentally weighed joining their conversation. Scanning the rest of the room, your eyes landed on Sakusa in the nearby corner with Komori hovering nearby.

Just as you made eye-contact with the libero, he waved you over with a friendly smile.

“Hey - good to see you, (L/N)-san.” Komori greeted, you waved back and made the small walk over.

“Hey to you too.” You replied, looking at both boys.

“Hi, (L/N)-san.” Sakusa stated back, as curt as ever. He was leaned against the wall, hands hidden in his pockets again. His eyes skipped over you quickly before looking away and scanning the room - you fought the urge to inwardly laugh at how easy he was to read at the moment.

For someone so collected and intimidating on the court, there was something so amusing at seeing him so on edge at the moment.

You were about to say something when someone called your name from behind. Waving a quick goodbye, you skipped back over to your team, seeing it was Akaashi who was herding you back to the group. 

It was only when you got in the elevator that you realized something - Sakusa remembered your last name.

Biting your lip in confusion, you thought to the last time you talked to either boy. You only gave your name to Komori during that first initial practice match - maybe Sakusa overhead and just had a good memory? Whatever the case may be, it was not the time to be looking into things. You shook your head, focusing on the present as you turned back to whatever Bokuto was talking about.

The coaches gave you time to organize yourselves before warming up in the nearby gym. With three managers for your team, it was agreed beforehand that you would fight on equal ground for the beds. Whoever won would get the bed to themselves while the other two would share. And yesterday, Kaori claimed herself the victor and you were sharing with Yukie.

Plopping your stuff down, you all got down to business as you organized the room quickly, heading out for auxiliary practice, and then herding the group at dinner.

After dinner, you were still bursting with energy. Excitement, anticipation - all of that was coursing through your veins for the events tomorrow. It seemed that the other managers were facing something similar, since neither had taken a bath yet and gotten ready for bed. Instead, Yukie was still in her outdoor clothes while Kaori was on her phone, scrolling through her social media feed.

Yukie turned to you with a mischievous smile, her brown eyes reflecting nothing but trouble when she finally asked, “So, seen any cute boys yet?”

You sputtered at the randomness of the question, “What?”

Kaori laughed, but then admitted. “Well, we are in the area with some of the best volleyball players in high school. Can’t deny some of them are handsome.”

You could not help the giggle in response, as Yukie added. “Hmm, you right. Some of them are looking so gooood.”

“Oh my god.” There were no words you had prepared for this moment.

Yukie looked at you before incling her head, “Come on, even Bokuto is looking mighty fine when he’s in the zone.”

“I -- “ You stuttered, was she looking for a response? 

“Don’t you think Bokuto has such a fine ass?” Yukie asked, “Like damn boy you looking thicc!”

Uhhhhh.

“Lay off.” Kaori came to your defense, or so you thought. “She’s more into the Akaashi-type, right?”

“Strong, but silent?” Yukie asked, “Quiet, but could easily snap your neck with his thighs?”

You blanched at the idea of your reserved friend doing any of the sort.

“No way! He’s just a friend.” You countered immediately.

“Hmmm, sure.” Yukie responded, “When Kuroo shuts his mouth, it makes me want to put it somewhere else.”

“Bruh.” You voiced as you laughed, slapping your reddening cheeks. 

Was this something they usually talked about during nationals? The conversation seemed so natural to the both of them - neither blushing or phased at talking about the other attractive men within your prefecture. Just thinking about any of them in a romantic light had you blushing, how on earth could they talk about this so naturally?

“True, but have you seen Sakusa?” Kaori countered, the conversation carrying on.

“Sakusa would be hotter if he allowed anyone within ten feet of him.” Yukie waved off before turning to you with a wink. “Well, I saw you talking to him today.”

You thought back to the interaction with a grimace, “More like a hello before he shut-down the conversation.”

“Think he’s cute?” Kaori asked, this time.

You thought back to him during the practice match, strong and confident when on the court and mask hidden away. But then again, you thought back to all your actual interactions, and grimaced.

You answered candidly, “I mean, I’m not blind. He’s attractive, but I barely know him.”

Yukie giggled, “I’m not saying you have to marry him!”

Kaori giggled and you felt your cheeks flame-up. You felt your embarrassment creep up your throat and blurted out, “Okay, he’s hella attractive and when he spikes it sets me on fire! Like ok - can he smack my ass like a drum??”

Yukie slapped you on the shoulder in jest as Kaori’s laughter got louder. Yukie replied, “Damn girl - I didn’t know you were into that sort of stuff.”

You were redder than Nekoma’s colors at this point, embarrassment at an all time high at having admitted something that even you were not aware of. Kaori and Yukie were so easy to talk to, so funny to be around, they really took away your one brain-cell sometimes.

“But I totally agree - when he snaps his wrist against the ball… well.” She ended the sentence with raised brows, both of you catching onto her mischievous face.

Kaori giggled and you could not help but laugh aloud at this point - you loved the other managers so much, they made wild conversations like this so easy. 

You started braiding your hair, conversation shifting to the boys in class at Fukurōdani. And while you admitted it was rather small-minded of you to say, you honestly could not remember a lot of the other student body outside of the volleyball club. You spent almost every free minute of your time on the club - many of the faces outside your class blurring to the side as your priorities lay elsewhere.

Just as you finished your hair, a small sound broke out in the room, Yukie picking up her phone as it vibrated against the bed. The brunette took one look at the caller ID, got up and winked at the two of you, before leaving the hotel room entirely. You turned to Kaori with a curious look, who simply shrugged and said it was probably some cute boy she was talking to.

You accepted it casually, before getting up yourself and putting on your outdoor shoes. You still had all this pent-up, enthused energy - maybe a run would do you good to calm your mind. Voicing this to the other manager, she agreed before laying back down on her bed.

The lobby areas were still littered with other volleyball club members in their casual clothes, some from other schools and some from your own. Some of the third-years were mingling, undoubtedly high-energy for this being one of the last few tournaments they would be participating in.

Putting headphones in, you started your run toward areas you personally knew and were relatively populated at this time of night. Certain areas of Tokyo were always bustling, and so you stuck to roads nearby the main one. Your mind, which was reeling only a few minutes before, was surprising blank during your run. Your focus was on the path ahead of you and the music surrounding you - it felt that simple somehow.

No team entered tournaments to lose - that was obvious. Everyone on this level of the competition had a hug leg over the average team - geniuses, prodigies, top spikers in the entire nation - they were all gathering here for the next few days.

Your team were the protagonists of the world - that was what you repeated in your head like a mantra for the past few days.

Fukurōdani were going to do more than just compete in nationals - they were going to win, you were confident.

“Pour all your soul into each ball.” You repeated, remembering the official banner for your powerhouse of a school.

The confidence in your team was overflowing, any lingering nerves flowing away as you continued on your focused run. And so when a crack of thunder was louder than your music - you reeled back in surprise and turned your attention upward at the sky.

Groaning, you ran over to the side of a building to huddle under a pagoda awning, other people doing the same as you and crowding the area. The weather quickly upturned from a calm night to a sudden downpour. There was nothing about rain in the forecast and this afternoon the sky was a pretty blue - had you just not noticed before?

Cursing your lack of foresight, you took out your headphones and stored them in the fanny pack across your chest. Recognizing the shops around this area, you were only ten minutes from the hotel by run. But, dodging the rain and ducking under pagoda’s would probably make it about a half hour. You considered briefly waiting out the rain, but also did not want to get stuck out late in the case that it did not let-up soon. 

Already decided, you were planning out your trek back to the hotel when you scanned everyone else around you. Turning to the other people taking refuge, you could not help the surprise on your face at seeming a familiar person huddled all the way in the back corner.

Sakusa, in all his might, was emanating serious waves of discomfort only a few feet away from you.

What were the odds of this happening? Was this some sort of karmic energy from the universe, due to the conversation you had earlier?

You walked over the spiker, waving a hello and receiving a nod in greeting.

“Looks like we had the same idea, Sakusa-san.” You started, receiving nothing from the conversation but a blank stare.

Boy was he hard to talk to.

Not to be deterred, you continued. “I know the area pretty well. Feel free to come with me, so you’re not waiting out the rain too late?”

Sakusa nodded again silently, and when you turned your head in confusion on instinct, he voiced himself this time. “Thanks.”

You felt a smile crawl up your face as you turned, dodging between some of the street shops’ canopies and awnings in your quick pace. He followed you closely, not wanting to get any of the accursed rain on his bodice, you guessed. Still, it was hard to keep track of someone right behind you. 

This situation was altogether so strange - who would have thought that this would be the way you would be ending your day??

Not used to the silence - after all, your usual company was always bouncing with energy - you joked as you turned to him, “I guess this is where I should insert some proclamation of rivalry here?”

The only thing that signified he heard you was by the quirk of a smirk at the corner of his lip - was that amusement?? you wondered.

Stopping at the corner of the street, you had to run the crosswalk and make your way to the cafe’s awning across the way. You voiced this as you both waited for the stoplight to switch over.

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” You questioned, filling in the dead air.

“No.”

“Ah, what was I thinking - a nationally ranked spiker like you…” You drew out sheepishly.

“No, as in my team does not play until the day after.” Sakusa explained, making you groan. You forgot - Itachiyama was seeded after all. 

“Oh, my bad.” You stated, losing all your earlier confidence to try to speak to him. 

Whatever expression was on your face must have made him feel bad, you assumed, since Sakusa turned to you and continued. “But I am looking forward to fighting Wakatoshi-kun.”

The inward book in your mind flipped open, recognizing the name and attempting to find the correct team it was associated with. “Ah, that nationally ranked spiker from Shiratorizawa Academy.”

“Yes, he is… a good benchmark to play against.” Sakusa explained, making you nod in agreement. “But our priority will be watching Fukurōdani’s match tomorrow morning.”

“Oh?”

“You took a set from us during the Representative Playoffs. We won’t let it happen again.”

You smiled at his words - just Itachiyama and Sakusa himself as a whole felt like a goal. The team was the only one ranked above yours in the prefecture. It was your goal to beat his team and him especially. Maybe it was the fact that Bokuto and him were competing on ranking that made it that much more intimate, but it was easy to look at Sakusa as a target more than just who he was: a human.

And so hearing his small admission that Fukurōdani was a strong rival, after dominating your school for so long, you could not help but smile at his candor.

“We’re there to win nationals.”

He raised a brow at your words, and while you wondered if you had overstepped your boundaries for a second, a smirk grew on Sakusa's face as he simply responded. “Ah.”

You watched the countdown timer to the other side of the street, signifying it was soon time for the both of you to break out in a spring to the other side. Both of you readied yourselves just as a car squealed past the corner, trying to beat the clock and make it before it turned red. 

It all happened so quickly, eyes darting around the area to see if there was anything you could duck behind. Chairs and tables, the usually bustling Tokyo was already wrapped up in plastic and stowed away. There was no getting away from the large splash of water on the both of you - drenching you and Sakusa instantly.

The groan from the spiker was loud above the city bustle, and if not for your mutual distress, it would have made you laugh in amusement. Sakusa was inspecting his clothes, obvious disdain and surprise on his visage. Figuring it was whatever at this point, you grabbed his upturned palm and led him to a cafe area nearby. It was closed at this point, but there was a wide awning area that would be empty by now.

You led him to one of the empty garden chairs and sat him down, uncaring if he was annoyed at you pushing him around. It was your team mom instincts kicking in at this point.

Reaching into your fanny pack, you took out some of the emergency wipes and offered the pack to him. He took it readily, taking out a few and going at his hands immediately. With your on-hand handkerchief, you patted him down at the shoulders, not noticing how close the two of you were at this point.

Sakusa said nothing to your actions, not even when you moved from his shoulders to the exposed skin of his neck, wiping off the dirty street water. The initial mother adrenaline was quickly wearing off as you stood over him, surprised that he was letting you do this after all. The rosy tinge on your cheeks was growing with every second of that lingering thought.

“Nervous?” Sakusa called you out, making you stiffen up your posture. Thankfully, he did not push the subject and instead said, “I don’t understand you. Your team hates me. Shouldn’t you just be letting me get sick?

“I wouldn’t do that, especially not even to you.” You waved off the thought, smiling as you did so. “We’re going to beat you with our own skill.”

He looked up at you from his spot, initially saying nothing to your words as you moved to take out another wet-wipe from the pack. Sakusa stopped your action, putting a hand over yours and starting, “You should be using some for yourself.”

You lightly pushed it aside, not unkindly. “It’s fine; I don’t care much. Besides, this matters more to you.”

He said nothing, letting go of your wrist, but not moving away out of your range. You took that as Sakusa’s silent acceptance, moving the wipe back to his neck area and even patting him down on the cheek. His eyes never left yours, making you wonder what could possibly be going on in that head of his.

The moment was so strangely intimate, you were silently proud of your usually easy-to-tease demeanor staying calm. Once you were done, you debated taking the seat next to him when he finally looked away. Taking a look at the world around you, the sudden downpour had actually let-up to a slight drizzle. 

You voiced your observation, recommending that you make your way back to the hotel before it possibly got worse. He nodded silently in agreement, breaking out into a light sprint toward your destination side-by-side.

By the time you arrived it was already late night, most of the lobby thankfully empty. You were not sure what you would say if Bokuto saw you walk in with his rival completely drenched. The squelch of your sneakers was obvious against the granite floor, making you wince at how others probably saw the two of you right now.

Sakusa bid you farewell with a small word and wave, heading toward an elevator at the other end of the hall. You did the same, before feeling the niggling feeling that someone had their eyes on you. Heading to the elevators, you turned to your peripheral and saw Yukie, sitting at one of the lobby tables with some random guy across from her.

Her face was alight with obvious mischief, her smirk alone was enough sign that she was going to be questioning you about this situation immediately. You winced at her expression, turning toward the elevator doors and waiting for the ding! to signify you were free from her eyes.

A thorough bath later, you were surprised the next day to see that Yukie had not questioned you at all. Instead, all energy was focused on nationals and the upcoming teams you were going to have to play against. 

Fukurōdani Academy was a powerhouse in itself and hearing the loud cheers surrounding your side of the court was enough to lift the entire team's spirits. Your audience section was fit to the nine’s - including a marching band, a specific fan cheering area, and even cheerleaders.  The team played through their games proudly, passion radiating from the team as you made it to the quarter-final on the third day.

You never got to play Itachiyama.

The third-years were retiring.

The silence on the bus was mentally jarring - no one expected your nationals journey to end this soon. Even Yukie, who was always quick on her feet when it came to comforting the other members, was eerily silent the way back to the hotel.

The only person who was still remarkably confident, was signified by the strong words Bokuto uttered when they first left the court.

“Nothing here was a mistake.” Bokuto started, mind in his thoughts as his back faced the team. You were in the middle of handing a spare hand-towel toward Haruki when you turned to the ace. “Your tosses were incredible under the pressure.”

The entirety of the team turned to the usual mood maker, one who was so easily swayed on the court over simple things, now voicing his introspective words.

Bokuto turned to the rest of you, “We will come back here next year and carve the rest of the way.”

Akaashi nodded from beside you, other second-years agreeing with their newly determined ace. The third-year captain, now sporting an anguished smile, walked over to Bokuto to place a hand on his shoulder. The other older members followed suit, proud of their young owl growing up right before their eyes.

After the game, you split up at the hotel to return to your rooms and shower. Getting ready for the night ahead of you, the third-years stated that they were going to take the team out for dinner after the strong season.

Yukie hopped in the shower first as Kaori and you packed up some of your room. The team was still going to stay at the hotel until the end of the tournament, but your long notebooks and team journals were of no use now. Combination attacks and details on the third-years were now a thing of the past. 

You had to fight the sob in your throat when you closed the folder on your captain one last time.

The silent hotel room, which was filled with giggles and teasing only hours before, was palpable against you and Kaori’s attempts to stay calm. She was affected moreso than you, having spent the last two years with the current team.

You were so occupied in your thoughts, you almost missed the silent vibration in your pocket, a notification dinging from your social media platform on Instabook.

Hey. Are you back in the hotel?

What was Sakusa doing, messaging you now of all times? 

Waving the thought away, you typed: Yeah. What’s up?

I have something for you - where are you?

The tendril of suspicion shot through you, but Sakusa was definitely not the type to kick you while you were down. You messaged him back your room details, earning back a simple ok omw and nothing else to signify just why he was coming here.

Yukie was still in the shower when you stepped out. Sakusa really was before you, in all his silent glory. Sporting his usual face mask, he took something out of his pocket and thrust it toward you.

“It’s only fair, (L/N)-san.” Sakusa stated, a familiar pack of wet-wipes in his hand outstretched toward you. 

You felt your smile grow, your earlier saddened disposition breaking at the strange sight. “That’s really not necessary.”

“Just take it.” Sakusa said as he grabbed your sleeve and placed it in your empty hand. 

“Well, okay.” You said with a slight chuckle in your voice.

“I meant to give it to you at the complex, but..”

“Yeah.” You finished for him, the conversation coming to a silence. “Thank you, Sakusa-san.”

He looked at you with an unwavering gaze, “Sakusa is just fine.”

“Then just (L/N) is fine too.” You added, finally feeling that you were coming to terms to some sort of odd friendship with the spiker. Holding up your phone, you motioned to it without voicing your question. “So we don’t have to rely on random appearances?”

“Ah.” He agreed, taking out his phone as you exchanged chat-ID’s.

That was the end of the conversation, him waving goodbye once it was over and walking down the hall to the stairwell. A part of you watched him go, almost smiling when you realized that of course the athlete would opt for the stairs when you were on the tenth floor.

You tried to silently enter back into the room, Kaori in the shower this time as Yukie was packing up her things. Leaning your back against the door, you tried to placate your undoubtedly rosy blush - you did not need a mirror to know that you were adorned with one now.

“Look at you - you think you’re slick?” The smirk on her face was enough warning that you were in danger, “I saw you two from the peephole.”

“He was just dropping off a gift.” You state, as if that would sate her curiosity at all. Instead, she stood up at attention.

She had one eye narrowed at you, “Right, of course. What else was I thinking - other than the totally normal gift-giving for two platonic members of rival volleyball teams.”

“Yup.” You nodded with a reserved smile, before making your way further into the room.

Yukie pushed the conversation as she got on the bed, “Are you secretly dating Sakusa?”

You flushed immediately, “It’s not like that!”

“And what is it like?”

“We’re just… friends?” You bit out, the lack of confidence even obvious to your own ears. Was that a question or a statement?

The relationship you had with the young man was strange. Were you friends? It was more like mutual acquaintances who happened to have a totally-but-also-not intimate moment. You could never really tell what he was thinking - being of very few words. 

“And suddenly you’ve convinced me.” Yukie teased, before going silent as Kaori entered the room. You took this as your escape, readying your stuff quickly and entering the shower area before she could continue.

Thankfully, Yukie dropped the subject while you were around others. Your previous, almost giddy expression, came back to a silently gloomy one as you went for your last dinner with the Fukurōdani third-years.

Any previously unshed tears slammed to the forefront when seated around your peers. Even while sad and crying, your team was loud and scorching down food in the small ramen bar. The third-years thanked you all for your efforts, for the growth you had since the start of the school year, and sent you off for the new year.

April swung around quicker than you would like. You were a newly minted second-year, priorities quickly changing almost as quickly. The questions from guidance counselors and coaches were unending: asking you about your future, what you wanted to do, what electives classes were you going to take. It was all preparation before your final year - it was almost mentally jarring against the happy and almost innocent vibe from your initial year of a high school.

Sakusa’s phone number untouched since the day outside your hotel room. 

Bokuto rising to the role of captain in his third-year was no question. But seeing Akaashi, now a second-year Vice-captain, it set all your “uwu’s on fire,” as Yukie dubbed it. He earned the role, without a doubt, but seeing the two together was so strangely heart-warming.

Bokuto and Akaashi were a strange pair, but they got along together so well, it was hard to imagine anyone else on your team with these roles. Akaashi mother hen’ed you all, but there were times that it seemed the young setter could almost read Bokuto’s mind. 

They were a perfect match, you often teased. 

Akaashi would often stare at you blankly when you reiterated this, but Bokuto would only fuel the fire. The duo were almost always in immediate distance to one another, oftentimes your captain would swing his arm across Akaashi’s shoulders or just initiate some time of close distance. After all, they were roommates now in the dorms, that was not just because they were captain and vice, you had a feeling.

It made you wonder what else was there beyond the surface.

But, you still had your own job to do as manager. By the end of the year, Fukurōdani would be losing two of its precious managers. And so, here you were, on the hunt for a first-year to take on the role and get used to the responsibilities of being manager to a powerhouse school.

Your team was focused on finding their rhythm, endless individual practices to get the first-years up to speed with the Fukurōdani standard. The regular line-up was still mostly comprised of third and second years, but first-year Wataru Onaga showed lots of promise. Standing at 191 centimetres, he earned his way to starting middle blocker on the team.

On occasion, you would be found in the library with other members of the volleyball team, studying for classes and researching upcoming teams in the preliminary matches.

You noticed how Sakusa earned himself a formal ranking among the top three aces of the country - Itachiyama now a heavy favorite to win in nationals. He was growing in regard very quickly, attention on him was a far cry from the initial rumors surrounding his first-year. Now he was on the cover of Volleyball monthly, pages dedicated to an expose of his career.

Would he even remember you?

Thoughts of the spiker were pushed away again with the onslaught of practice matches with other schools within the Fukurōdani Academy Group. Captain Kuroo was no better than regular Kuroo when it came to being the instigator. If anything, it seemed like the cat hung around your group of friends even more now.

He was often seen at group hangouts, whether just going to the mall or the local arcade. It was interesting, to say the least, the combination of your loud owl and the conniving cat, their two silent wards in tow.

You had a practice match with Itachiyama around the corner. And while you told yourself that you were not disappointed in your waning friendship(?) with Sakusa, you could not help the lightened feeling in your heart when he took the time to greet you before the match. Komori waved at you as well, before stretching and getting ready.

You watched the sets with careful eyes, Yukie taking notes alongside you. Almost everything was documented - how many times Bokuto was blocked, how many successful jump serves, service aces - and this was for both sides of the court. You could not help the way your eyes were drawn to Sakusa, his flexible wrist combined with his power making a combination the bane of your middle blockers.

Yukie caught you a few times, saying nothing but wagging her eyebrows at you in a wavy motion.

Losing three to two sets, you sighed and moved to help clean-up the gymnasium. Wheeling the scoreboard to the storage room with Yukie, all volleyball members were moving about the gym to make sure it was properly organized. You stepped out to check the hammock cart holding the volleyballs, counting them to ensure that none of them belonged to the rival school. 

Should you say something more to Sakusa?

You paused, looking up from the volleyballs and frowning at yourself.

Wait… Why did it even matter? Why did you even want to talk to him? Yes, you were on friendly terms with the ace. But why did you seek him out so much? You were friends with Kuroo, so did not feel the same draw to the middle blocker as you did now? 

Why was your mind so intent on just something with the ace?

Mind reeling with these questions, it was to your surprise when he approached you.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You replied in a much smaller voice, attempting to put a smile back on your face, as if you needed to hide your earlier train of thought.

“Are you available this weekend?”

“Uh, wait what?” You could not help the incredulous words coming out of your mouth. 

Seriously what??? How do you go from weeks of not talking to this??

Yukie was a few paces away from you, opting to walk away from your conversation to give some privacy, after all the two of you were standing in a gymnasium filled with two bustling volleyball teams. But she undoubtedly heard that last question since her head whipped around back in your direction.

Seeing that Sakusa was actually waiting for a response, you thought back to your plans with Bokuto, Akaashi, and Kenma group to play the usual Mario Kart at the latter’s house.

“No, I’m free.” You responded.

Yukie laughed, before walking away entirely, as to not give away her eavesdropping.

“Ok. I’ll text you the details for this weekend.”

Not able to hide your surprise, you let out a sound of uncertainty as you raised your palms. “Wait, for what?”

“Hang-out.” Sakusa stated, as if it was such a natural event. “Komori suggested inviting you so I did.”

You dropped your hands, letting them fall to the sides and letting out a small, “Huh.”

He waved you off, saying he was going to text you the details tomorrow, before joining back with his team. Yukie’s face was indescribable and Haruki sported a similar expression only a few paces away.

Their questioning gazes were only pocketed for later, passed the time the coaches had given pointers and tips to members of the team. Eventually, when the other school had all packed up and left, the third-years were quick to bombard you with questions.

“HAAAA! (L/N), how could you hide this from us?!” 

“You two have been close, this whole time?”

“Not dating, my ass.” Yukie teased as she crossed her arms.

Akaashi placed a hand on your shoulder, his calm voice cutting above the rest. “What was that?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” You answered candidly.

Bokuto and Haruki turned their heads in confusion while Yukie looked at you with a face asking you, really?

“Yeah, we haven’t actually spoken to each other since nationals.”

“Wait, really? That long ago?” Yukie asked this time, genuinely surprised.

“Yeah. That invite really feels… out of nowhere.” You explained, your own confusion evident on your visage and reflecting back on the other volleyball team members.

“Eh, it’s probably nothing.” Bokuto shrugged as he walked away, “We hangout with other schools all the time.”

Yukie held a flat-expression toward the ace’s retreating back, Haruki following behind him with a shrugging expression. Akaashi and the brunette manager turned back to you, the female grabbing your hand as she did.

“Okay, really?” 

Akaashi sighed, grabbing your attention. “Text me if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Wow, look at you Mr. Chivalrous.” Yukie commented, making Akaashi roll his eyes before turning to you seriously. You nodded in affirmation, to which he accepted and walked away.

You waved goodbye to the other members as they closed up the gymnasium, walking with the other managers back to the female dorms. 

Yukie was not letting it go at all, repeating her question from earlier. “Okay, really?”

You smiled this time, voice mocking as you responded. “Yeah, really.”

“What happened?” Kaori asked.

“Sakusa-san asked her out on a date.” Yukie spun the tale.

“It’s not a date.” You cut in.

“Oh yeah, then why are you smiling so giddy?” Yukie asked with wide, accusatory eyes.

“Because it’s… Shut up.” You stated between nervous laughter, “He asked me to hangout with a group - it includes their libero Komori-san.”

“Maybe he likes you.” Kaori commented, to which Yukie agreed vigorously.

“Do not put these assumptions in my head.” You stated with a loud sigh, head angled toward the sky at their words.

Yukie sighed back, “Don’t deny the possibility.”

You shrugged it off, knowing that there was no ending to their teasing at this point. You repeated the truth in your head like a mantra: he was nothing more than a friend. It was not worth looking into every single interaction you had with the young man - after all, he was rather strange when it came to social interactions to begin with. 

Ironically, you had to think that the others did not know him like you did. He was straight-up with his words, not fully understanding the meaning of it or how it affected others. If Sakusa wanted to do something or felt something, he would lay it out straight - that’s just the type of person he was.

And you would not be looking into the words between the lines.

But it was increasingly hard to do this when both Yukie and Kaori invaded your room Saturday morning, stating that your usual plain clothes would just not do for a day like this. Two hours later, your hair was in beachy waves and your planned “plain” outfit was replaced with a casual, knee-length springy dress over a white shirt.

What if this really was nothing but a casual encounter for him? Would your outfit be more forward then you intended?

Any of your self-conscious questions were too late, since before you knew it you were already on a train to the destination by Kichijoji. You had a few more stops to your destination, the packed train-car as busy as ever. Distracting yourself from those previous thoughts, you whipped out your phone to check the messages that had been pouring in since early morning.

GC: Hoot Hoot ⊹⋛⋋(◐⊝◑)⋌⋚⊹

11:11 Kaori _へ__(‾◡◝ )>           Look at how cute (F/N)-chan looks           Attached: cutie.jpg

11:11 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)          She should dress like this every day!! (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑

11:11 haaaruki !           WOAH :O 11:11 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           Hey hey hey 

11:11 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           look at you ;)

11:12 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)           That would seem difficult considering (F/N)-san’s sleep schedule and the amount of time it takes for her to get ready. 11:13 Konoha(gakure) (•́ᴗ•́๑)           damn girl u look so pretty!!

11:13 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           I still can’t believe she abandoned us for saks >:(

11:13 Kaori _へ__(‾◡◝ )>           you can’t stop her from dating dad

11:13 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)           well you know what they say bro’s before hoes

11:13 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           eye-

11:13 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)           But otherwise, (F/N) looks beautiful today.

11:13 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           >>:C

You skipped to the end, scrolling through at least a few dozen more messages that ranged the topic from the picture of you getting ready to the supposed Mario Kart tournament that you were now missing out on. Typing in your response:

12:35 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)           Sorry boys, had to look cute for today only ;)

12:35 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)           IT’S A DATE!!! I KNEW IT!

12:35 Konoha(gakure) (•́ᴗ•́๑)           BO YOU OWE US YAKISOBA BREAD

12:35 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           ITS A DATE??

12:35 haaaruki !!           be safe mom!!

12:36 mother-hen^2 (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)           it’s NOT a date  (・-・)

12:36 BROkuto ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ           HA

12:36 Konoha(gakure) (•́ᴗ•́๑)           bruh 

12:36 yukie-yukie (｡♥‿♥｡)           JUST YOU WAIT

12:36 ahKASHi (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)           Text me the moment you need an out.

You rolled your eyes as you pocketed your phone into your side-bag, leaning into the halting train as it crawled to a stop on the Keiou Inokashira Line. Walking out and looking for any telltale signs of your friend, you scanned the train station with wandering eyes as you walked out.

But, it was not necessary, since Komori’s light brown hair was an easy pick in the crowd. However, next to him was a volleyball player that you could easily pick from the bustling station. While Japanese men were generally around 170 centimetres, seeing Sakusa’s curly mop of hair high above the crowd was enough for you to follow.

It seemed they saw you immediately as well, Komori waving at you to come over while Sakusa merely kept his eyes trained on you. With them were a handful of other members of the Itachiyama volleyball club, from the players to their female manager, you recognized them from practice matches.

They invited you into the group of teenagers quickly, as if nothing was strange at all, waving at you with smiles before shooting looks at both Komori and Sakusa. 

What the hell was happening?

You had a feeling in the back of your mind that something was happening around you, that they all knew something that you did not know.

You walked along with the group into the popular neighborhood of Kichijoji - the group traveling from food stand to souvenir stand. Their female manager was so friendly, unlike how seriously quiet she was when visiting. She even asked to touch your hair at one point, saying it looked so bouncy and pretty today.

“The tracksuits don’t do any of us justice.” She complained, “But you look so nice today, (L/N)-san!”

You smiled at her words, “Thanks. We had an off-day today too. So I figured why not.”

“Well, it looks great. Don’t you think so too, Kiyoomi?”

The sudden question had you reeling back in surprise, turning to the black-haired teen. Why was he suddenly being brought into this? What were they trying to do?

But the thousands of questions in your brain came to a halt when Sakusa turned to you and simply said. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.” You replied, more out of reflex than truly getting his words. So in your head, you failed to notice the teasing smile she shot her ace, before turning away back to the rest of the group.

They gathered around the menu of a popular crepe stand, you left standing there in surprise as the group continued on without you. Sakusa stayed beside you, before taking a step and inclined his head toward the rest.

Shaking your head away from the niggling feeling in the back of your mind, you lightly jogged to catch up with the rest, finding a pace between Sakusa and Komori. 

The brunette turned to during your walk, “You’re probably really surprised to be here.”

“Yeah…”

Komori chuckled, a hand on his neck as he lightly muttered beneath his breath. “Honestly, I’m surprised he did it.”

“Did what?” You asked with a raised brow.

“Nothing important.” He waved off, “I’m just glad you were able to join our group today.”

Deciding not to push it, you instead said. “Well, thanks for the invite.”

The group’s conversation ranged from the food stalls, to your long awaited destination at the billiards club. The building had, true to its name, billiards tables and other vintage arcade machines. 

You were unsure where to place yourself within this group, obvious inside jokes that you would not understand between some of the other members. Thankfully, Komori and their female manager were very quick to try to get you to weigh in on the conversation.

“Well, I think Shrek is funnier in Japanese.” She stated it clear as day, as if a fact. You had to stop yourself from chuckling, one hand on the pool cue since it was your turn to go.

“But it’s not funnier than Cars.” Another countered.

“Have you heard Mater in the original movie?” You replied after hitting the ball, watching it not follow the path you had intended to hit it in at all. “That’s the one English dub I’ll accept.”

She smiled before arguing, “As if a cowboy accent is funnier than Shrek with a Jojo’s voice?”

You attempted to dead-pan your face, Sakusa stepping up to the billiards table after you. “We’re Japanese. We all have Jojo’s voice.”

“Alright Pikachu, calm down.”

You held a mock-offended hand to your chest, not able to hide the laughter at her jest. Despite being a beginner at billiards, and getting absolutely wrecked by everyone else playing, you were having fun with the random group.

This was not just the Itachiyama volleyball club - a fan favorite to win nationals.

These were high school teenagers, enjoying their free day off.

It was like a wide-awakening of your perspective. After all, you went to a powerhouse school yourself. When people saw Bokuto, saw Fukurōdani as a whole - how many times were people intimidated at Prelims just because of your team’s reputation? Taking Itachiyama off its pedestal was the same and it was hard to remind yourself of this fact.

But finally putting names to faces, personalities to people, you let it sink in that they were not that unlike you and your team.

After billiards, you continued with the group to a hot-pot restaurant a few blocks away. Komori hung especially around you, you noted inwardly. Was it to keep you from feeling left out of the group? But why were you even with this group to begin with?

Wait.

Didn’t Komori call you cute during your first encounter?

You felt something inside you inwardly swell and then sag. Were you here because Komori wanted you to be here? Even though your direct invitation came from Sakusa, the ace reasoned that it was at Komori’s suggestion. Were you invited here to get closer to the libero?

Despite being surrounded by the loud vbc members, their eagerness to eat bustling in both action and conversation, you felt yourself sag at the realization.

They were trying to get you closer to Komori?

You inwardly slapped yourself on the head for being so closed-minded. Not that he was a bad guy - he was the best libero in the entire country after all. Volleyball skills aside, Komori was trying his best to make you comfortable in the group. He was naturally outgoing, friendly, and had been the reason behind your invite in the first place.

But another part of your mind, the part that you had been trying to close off for so long, could not help but glance over to Sakusa and hoped that he had been the reason.

The silent ace caught your gaze, making you turn away immediately and flush at being caught.

It was… disappointing.

But you failed to notice how Sakusa kept his gaze on you, the female manager watching this interaction entirely with amused eyes.

You were still trapped in your thoughts. You had gotten your hopes up after all, despite saying to all the other members that it truly was not that way between the two of you.

And now it was fully true.

Entering the restaurant, the female manager, having the foresight to call ahead to reserve for your large group, you deliberated where you wanted to sit at the table. You went to take a seat next to the manager, to which she motioned to Komori in a none-too-subtle way, to instead take the seat before you could finish your question.

That left a single seat left on this side - the corner one that was only next to Komori.

Of course they were trying to set you up with him, why else did you think otherwise?? You almost slapped yourself on the head for how tunnel-minded you were before this.

You took the seat, shooting a smile toward Komori that did not quite reach your eyes. But, to your surprise, the brunette muttered a small excuse of having to go to the bathroom or something, you could not catch it exactly since it was so quick. And instead, the ace that had been plaguing your thoughts for the last few minutes, had plopped down into the spot.

You snapped your head forward, grabbing at the menu and stating that it all looked good. The female manager smiled at you, more like smirked, before joining in the conversation of what she wanted to order.

As per your team mom instinct™, you took out your hand sanitizer and offered it to the other table members. 

“Thank you, (L/N)-chan!” She replied, taking the small container and using some. You offered it to the rest and let it pass around. “You even beat Sakusa offering it to us.”

Komori took the seat across from you when he returned, adding to the conversation quickly. “That’s (L/N)-chan’s?”

“Yeah. Otherwise, it would’ve been paired with a lecture from our dear ace here.” The female added. “It’s almost like you complete each other.”

Wait, what?

You smiled awkwardly, eyes landing on the silent Sakusa who had yet to say anything.

“Ah. I have the same brand.” He said when the bottle made its way back.

Okay, not what you were expecting at all. You took it from his hands, a small grin still on your face, using it before storing it away.

A few minutes in and it was clear that members of the table were breaking out into their smaller conversations. To your left was a wall and so that left the silent Sakusa or Komori across from you, who was trying hard to converse with only the person next to him.

“I saw the article about you in volleyball monthly.” You started. “Congrats on officially being one of the top spikers in the country.”

Sakusa turned to you when you first spoke, replying. “Thanks, but it’s brought a lot of annoying attention.”

He was actually talking to you? Stop. He’s human too.

“I could imagine - scouts, fangirls - it’s never ending.” You responded. “A lot of girls like to hang around and watch practice matches for Bokuto, I’d assume it’s the same.”

“It’s annoying.” He stated curtly, “They’re dirtying up the gym with their outdoor shoes every time.”

Of all things… you thought inwardly with an amused grin.

“Being so popular now, there’s probably tons of people who approach you based solely on reputation. I hope you don’t think that of me.” You stated.

“I don’t.” He said back just as quickly.

You smiled, before continuing the conversation. “Even if their energy is misplaced, I can’t help but agree that you’ve accumulated a lot of earned attention.”

“Oh?”

“Well, yeah.” Your smile widened unconsciously, “I mean, you’re more than just the title. You were a good spiker before any labels told anyone that.”

Sakusa looked at you, in what looked like a flat expression. 

What you did not know was how thoroughly he was scanning your face, just to gauge how genuine your words were. You went to rival schools? Other schools in the prefecture were so quick to antagonize him and his team. After all, Bokuto made his feelings obvious during the last practice match. And yet you were willing to just hangout, of all things, with people you hardly knew? So willing to compliment the ace with the largest target on his back??

Your actions confused a realist like him.

Why even bother to be nice to him way back then? Why try to keep in touch? Why be here today?

And even more so, why did he want to know the answer to these questions so badly?

“(L/N)-chan, what would you usually be doing on your off days?” The manager broke you out of your thoughts.

“Well, today was supposed to be a Mario Kart tournament with some of the Nekoma kids.” You thought back to your earlier plans. “As crazy as it is, we tend to just lounge around and play video games with Kuroo and Kenma.”

“Ah, that’s right. Nekoma is in the Fukurōdani Academy Group as well.” She stated, her voice lowering toward the end.

“Yeah, but we’re pretty close to Kuroo and rest beyond volleyball. I don’t know how, but our captains all get along like frat bro’s.” You reminisced to the last interaction, “But at least with all the managers together, we have five mother hen’s, six including Akaashi, to guide the group.”

She laughed, before biting her lip.

You noticed the action and questioned, “Something wrong?”

“No.” She tried to wave off, “Well. I don’t know. I’m kind of jealous.”

You let out an incredulous snort before leaning forward. “Why?”

“You get along really well with the other schools in the prefecture. Enough so that I see you guys,” she motioned to you in a circular motion, you took this to signify the Fukurōdani team as a whole, “Like everywhere on social media.”

“Oh?”

“Parties, weekends, you name it. Even Masaki-san, who is infamous for being so angry looking, posted you and the rest out swimming last summer break.” You thought back to the event, the name of the now captain of the Ubugawa High volleyball team jumping out at you.

House parties… Wasn’t that a regular high school thing to do? And while you were all responsible teenagers with a lot to lose, the team did indulge in various friendly gatherings that did include teens across multiple schools in the prefecture.

You hadn’t said anything yet, so she continued. “Meanwhile, our coach has us play against college teams since he insists it’s better practice. We don’t really play with anyone else in the prefecture other than you guys - and you hate us.”

“That’s not true.” You cut in immediately, to which she raised a brow. “Believe me. The only outspoken one would be Bokuto and none of that is beyond surface level - he’s a really nice guy and would never actually hate anyone.”

You continued, “It may just seem that way since we’re immediate rivals. But I honestly had no idea that it made you guys feel so isolated.”

“Yeah…” She admitted, her voice trailing off at the end.

“It doesn't have to stay this way. After all, you were nice enough to invite me out now.” You replied, a bright smile back on your face. “Why don’t we exchange numbers?”

She radiated a smile reflecting your own, taking out her phone and quickly inputting your digits in. “Wow, you’re so friendly.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You replied.

She held her smile for a few more seconds, before her eyes slid over to the silent ace between you two. 

“I’m so glad Sakusa wanted to invite you with us today.”

You looked toward him as well, Sakusa meeting your eyes before turning away.  “Uh, I was glad I was able to join.” 

“Yeah, well. It’s no wonder he…”

Her voice came to a halt when the ace looked straight at her, the waves of warning enough for even you to feel, without having to see his expression.

Sakusa wanted you to be here?

“He…?” You questioned, to which she smiled and shrugged, not completing her previous thought.

The rest of the dinner went without any special events - even holding light conversation with Itachiyama’s ace next to you. Conversation with Sakusa was curt, but he meant no harm. If you had to describe it, he was dense in the way of conversation, similar to Bokuto and yet for the opposite reasons. 

Bokuto was so extroverted that he got along with people so easily. But, it often led to him mistakenly leading on girls for how friendly he was. Meanwhile, on the other side of the spectrum, introverted Sakusa kept to himself because that was where he was comfortable, not because he thought others beneath him.

You felt your heart swell at having learned a little bit more about the ace.

After dinner, the nightsky reflected back at you as you went to part ways with the group. Dorms in opposite directions, you were surprised when Sakusa offered to walk with you to the train station. 

And while your heart swelled at the implications, Sakusa reasoned it was only fair since he was the one that invited you out. Now that it was late, it may not be safe for you to be out late and it would be on his head if something happened.

His manager laughed, while Komori just sighed, muttering that he was hopeless.

She bid you farewell with a tight hug, saying you should text her when you get home. The rest waved at you amicably before walking off in the opposite direction. 

Whatever the reasoning may be, there was no logical reason as to why a germaphobe like him would sit directly next to you on the train back home. Your shoulders were even touching, but neither of you voiced this fact. 

“Today was actually really fun.” You started, turning to him on your right. There were only a few other people taking this line and they were mostly crowded around the opposite end of your train-car. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“You don’t have to say thanks so many times.”

“Did I?” You asked with a sheepish smile, “I honestly didn’t notice, but I do mean it.”

“Good.” His eyes bore into your own so seriously, “Because I’m glad you did.”

Unsure what to even say, you just kept on smiling. “Thank-

“What did I say?” Despite his normally cold visage, the tilt in his voice was enough to signify to you that he was teasing you.

You inclined your head toward him, “Fine. I’m… really happy, that we’re friends.”

He looked at you fully, not saying anything and making you question if you overstepped, before Sakusa stated, “Kiyoomi.”

“What?”

“Call me Kiyoomi.”

“Oh.” You smiled, “(F/N) is fine too.”

The rest of the train ride had such a lighthearted atmosphere. The only other person you could sit in comfortable silence with was Akaashi, but even then he was so silently sassy that it was nothing like Sakusa’s energy. And yet, at that moment, you felt so comfortable in his presence.

Sakusa did as he said he would, walking you all the way to the school-gates before finally bidding you farewell.

“See you around, (F/N).”

You reiterated it back to him, only walking off when he disappeared from sight. The smile on your face stayed etched there all the way back to your dorm room - where Yukie and Kaori were eagerly waiting on your lower bunk-bed, your roommate nowhere to be seen.

“Details, (F/N)-chan!” Yukie yelled out immediately, an enthused Kaori not too far behind her. 

And you did just so for the entirety of the hangout - from the billiards club, the manager’s desire to be closer to other teams, to your conversation with Sakusa on the train. They nodded along as you explained, having brought snacks with them as well, it was clear they were waiting for a while. How they got in your dorm room - that was a question for another time.

They chuckled at you for thinking Komori was the reason and nodded in understanding about the female manager. It was only at the end when they really questioned you and Sakusa.

“So… not dating, huh?” Yukie asked with a raised brow.

“Not yet.” Kaori answered.

“Damn, that means I owe Bokuto Yakisoba bread.”

You chuckled at the girls’ words, but felt that you could no longer honestly deny their teasing. The two of you were nothing more than friends, but there was no denying that you wouldn’t mind the possibility of being more than that…

Fuck it, you liked him.

No longer doing mental somersaults in your brain, it was surprisingly easy to accept the fact that you had a crush on the Itachiyama ace.

And your relationship only seemed to grow as the school year went on. During the next practice match, you formally introduced Yukie and Kaori to the other manager. The four of you were quick buds and she was invited to your dorm room on occasion. Other members of the team greeted you warmly, Sakusa even calling you by your first name, confirming that your last conversation was not just a fever dream you had one day.

Your heart only squeezed in on itself more when you felt your lingering looks become mutual. Sakusa had always garnered your attention during practice matches. But between plays and matches, you would just be looking at him when suddenly, he would be looking at you too. 

No matter how many times it happened, Yukie always made sure to tease you when she caught you.

You would text him memes and would receive a dry lol in return. There were times that he would spin the conversation and ask if you had eaten yet. 

Was he really trying to mother hen the Fukurōdani manager? You thought with a smile.

Your small texts and conversations were tantamount to much more when it came to Sakusa. His actions meant much more than it did to the average person. He did not waste movements, nor did he waste his own time. These were more than just dry texts - Sakusa could easily not reply at all. 

You learned that he disliked oranges due to its messiness. He actually liked the colors of his school tracksuit, even though they were bright against the soft hues of the Tokyo landscape. He was not a fan of the interviews, but knew it was a small sacrifice if he wanted to go pro. He loved his team and wanted to go far with them.

These little details made you like him even more - there was so much more to him than just volleyball.

When you finally voiced your feelings to Yukie, she gave you a soft smile and a pat on the shoulder. “I have eyes, you know. We all do, actually. But I’m glad you finally caught up.”

You laughed at her words then - maybe you really were a late bloomer when it came to your feelings?

Your frequent texts became frequent calls. Those became frequent late night video chat’s and soon enough, even your coach was teasing you over your close relationship. 

“The next practice match with your boyfriend’s team is scheduled for next Friday.” They stated with a straight face to the entire volleyball team, making the third-years chuckle and Bokuto even nudge you with his elbow.

“Not saying you’re just friends anymore?” Yukie asked with a smirk one time.

You shrugged, to which Akaashi sighed before ruffling your hair.

And so, when the managers were hanging out in their hotel room at the next Interhigh National Tournament in the fall, neither Yukie nor Kaori nor the Itachiyama manager, who was chilling with you guys, batted an eyelash when Sakusa texted you to hang-out that night.

You texted back, trying to convey a teasing tone over the words. “Wouldn’t it be weird if I was having dinner with the rival team of mine at Nationals?”

His response was immediate:

Not team; just me.

You blush only increased and Yukie teased you further, “Woah, what could he possibly be sending you for you to get that red?”

“I’m willing to bet Yakisoba bread that they’ll be official before the next nationals.” The other manager stated, outstretching a hand toward Kaori and Yukie.

“Whaaaat?” The former drew out, “I’m thinking by tonight.”

“Shut up.” You stated as you blushed, putting on your outdoor shoes and a jacket.

Going down to the lobby, you scanned the room to see Akaashi and Bokuto at one of the tables. The two had such a… trusting relationship, you learned. Yes, Akaashi played the suffering card almost every day. But the setter loved to watch Bokuto play so passionately, you could see it in his eyes every time they were on the court.

Whatever was going on there, you supported it.

Turning away, you made your way over to the door where Sakusa was waiting. He looked so out of place, as per usual, hands in pockets and looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but there.

As you approached, Sakusa nodded to you in greeting and - to your eternal surprise - took your hand in his own before guiding you out the door. He had on winter gloves, so none of your germs would be touching his skin, but the action itself was so surprising. Yes, you talked and smiled and pined after him - but premarital holding hands?? Were you both ready for this??

He led the way over to a small cafe, walking in mutual silence and only releasing your hand when the host seated you across from each other. You eagerly soaked up the menu, eyes scanning the sweets while he deliberated over something.

Sakusa had yet to say anything to you, not grabbing at the menu either, which worried you in a way. What was it that was on his mind?

“Something wrong, Yoomi?” The nickname slipped off the tongue easily, having used it in your last night talks on the phone with one another.

“I want you to know my intentions in our relationship.”

You swallowed at his words, sure that he heard your nervous tick as well.

“I want to get to know you.”

The teasing smile was quick on your face, “Me too. I mean, that’s what we’ve been doing all along?”

“No.” He cut in instantly, tugging the face mask he had on down and off. “As in get to know you with the intention of being more than friends.”

“Oh?”

“You confuse me endlessly.” He admitted, “Your initial kindness made no logical sense - why extend it to your rival that you barely know? Why humanize me, get to know my team after all this time?”

“Because I wanted to be kind, even way back then.” You thought aloud your reasoning.

“I know you now. And what I see… That’s what I like about you.”

“Wait. You like me?”

Your humility was cute and such a rare trait in your shared interest; the small question made Sakusa smile inwardly. 

“Yes. And you like me too.” He responded with a smirk, to which you could not even deny.

“Well, yeah!” You laughed as you affirmed his statement.

He tilted his head at your outburst - god help him you were so cute. His smirk morphed into one of an endearing expression, before he took a breath and calmed himself.

“I do have to be honest with you.” He started, “I want to get closer to you, more than before. But my priorities right now are volleyball.”

Your bright smile fell to a neutral grin, not really from his words, since you truly did understand his situation. He was in his third-year, college scouts and grades were on the line at every turn for him. Even tomorrow, at the Fall National tournament, his performance could very well carve out the future he was working so hard for this whole time.

Your silence must have been a telling sign for Sakusa, since he started to pour out questions in a way that usually occurred when he fixated on something.

“Stop, you don’t need to explain it to me. I understand fully. There’s too much on the line right now to get distracted.” Your smile was back on your face as you reached over to grab at his hand this time, “But I want to get to know you too.”

“Good.”

The hand under your’s squeezed back lightly, before upturning the positions so yours rested in his larger one. It was a silent moment, sharing eye contact that felt so intimate, and yet similar to the one you shared at the last tournament. His smile, rarer than the times Bokuto fell silent, was small and for you alone at this moment. 

What he was asking for was not an outright relationship - nothing about this was normal, but you wouldn’t have preferred it to be.

--------

(continue; BUT SPOILER WARNING TO CHAPTER 392!! :O)

You sat in the stands on the Black Jackals side, cheering on the team of your boyfriend of three years. Adorned on your shoulders was Sakusa’s sports jacket, his last name shown proudly on your back. Next to you, Akaashi and Yukie were loudly cheering for the team’s victory.

Seeing both Bokuto and Sakusa on the same team was no longer a strange sight. And, instead,  always elicited a pang of pride surging through you every time you watched their games.

The two of you never confirmed your relationship throughout the rest of high school. And while this made many of your then teammates groan at your ambiguous relationship, especially since many kept betting Yakisoba bread to no avail, you would not have it any other way.

After a few months from your conversation in the cafe, Sakusa would kiss your cheek in goodbye, no matter who was around you. When walking around Shibuya, with either yours or his or even with Nekoma’s team around, he would hover shoulder-to-shoulder with you.

And when Itachiyama, the favored team to win Nationals as a whole, lost to Inubushi East High - you held him in your embrace the entire night in the comfort of his hotel room. He did not cry then, but his disposition was enough for you to know that he was not okay.

And when Fukurōdani made it all the way to the finals of the National Spring Interhigh, only to get eliminated, Sakusa held you close despite your loud crying the next day.

You knew how much Sakusa cherished you, that was all that mattered. And so when he kissed you for the first time, even without a label to your relationship, none of that mattered. Your feelings to each other only grew with time and what happened in the private recess of your relationship was for you two alone.

Watching the pro team win the game 3:2, with your boyfriend getting the first service ace of the game, you almost cried in joy at how far he progressed in achieving his dream. This was a far cry from his first pro-game, but seeing him on the court, surrounded by your Fukurōdani friends, brought so much nostalgic feelings to your heart.

Even as the rest of the audience cleared the stadium, you and the two others lingered. Bokuto made sure to wave at Akaashi, his significant other since the day you lost at the Spring Nationals.

You waited together until you received a text from Sakusa, then headed down toward the entrance of the changing rooms as a group. Some of the members of the Black Jackals were already waiting for you three by the time you made it through the crowd and down.

Hinata greeted you excitedly while Bokuto ran, with not a hint of hesitation, toward Akaashi. Lifting the previous setter off the ground, he placed a light butterfly kiss on his nose, careful not to hit his glasses.

“Kōtarō, please.” Akaashi attempted to chastise the volleyball player for ignoring the rest of the group and stop him from getting any deeper in his public display of affection, but the smile on his face took off the weight of his words.

“I love you.” Bokuto said, forehead to forehead with your close friend to this day, before receiving the words in kind from the previous setter.

You smiled warmly at the two - to think that they were dancing around their feelings also in high school. Having teased them a lot before, it only warmed your heart to know that they found their eternal happiness in each other.

Yukie was also smiling behind you, before Bokuto took the both of you in his arms for a long awaited hug. Your high school best-friend offered him a Yakisoba bread after, it was not a silent tradition after all the lost bets she participated in. Bokuto took it with a smile, putting the bread in his pack before encasing Akaashi’s hand in his own.

Atsumu was next to leave the changing room, shamelessly flirting with both you and Yukie the moment he laid eyes on you.

You laughed at the setter’s attempts, “Come on blondie, give it up.”

“You know, I think you’d make a great manager for our team.” He ended it with a wink.

“(F/N)-chan used to be my manager before!” Bokuto cut in, sticking his tongue out in jest at the end.

You felt strong arms wrap around your midsection from behind, Sakusa having quietly exited the changing room, before feeling his lips against the side of your head. “Sorry for making you wait. I had to wait for them to sanitize the showers again after Atsumu used it before me.”

The setter sputtered in reaction, after being implied as dirty, but was honestly used to it by now. 

Only when Bokuto inclined his head toward the exits did Sakusa let go of you. But only for a second, grabbing your hand in his own as you headed out. The group had agreed earlier about going somewhere for the victory dinner - probably the usually ramen place you haunted in Shibuya.

Facing you fully now -  Sakusa held your cheeks in his hands, the coarse skin affected by the endless hours of enduring volleyball. You leaned into the motion as he lowered his height closer to you. Familiar with each other’s nuances by now, you angled your head to side as your hands comfortably wrapped around his neck. Nudging your nose slightly with his own, he rested his forehead against yours before the velvet skin of his lips matched your own.

You felt one of his hands move to curve around your waist, bringing you closer to him as he deepened your act of affection. Greedy to just feel more of him, you leaned into Sakusa again, lips meeting twice, three times, before you pulled away.

His loud groan was palpable to the now silent hallway.

Sakusa was only ever so affectionate when you were in private. And so for him to be this forward while the possibility of getting caught still hung in the balance was a rare thing - not that you were complaining.

“Come on, we should go catch-up with the rest of your team.” You said almost breathlessly, still sharing the same breath in your close embrace.

You felt one of his hands travel behind your head slowly, grazing the back of your neck softly as he went. You leaned into him at the feeling, sensitive to the touch. The smirk on his face was obvious, the jackass - teasing you in public of all places. 

“Do we have to?”

Was he trying to tempt you to just go straight home to your shared apartment?

Not one to be easily swayed, you gave him a small peck on the lips before backing out of his embrace entirely. 

His hands dropped down to yours as you went, “Yes, we have to.”

Pulling you back to him, and chastely kissing your forehead this time, Sakusa replied. “Okay, but only for you.”

Your smile only widened then, at his affection words meant only for you. 

Your relationship was never easy, busy with your respective college degrees, and the attention that came with being a professional athlete gaining world-renown. Like every other couple, you fought, and cried, and loved each other so much in your own little ways.

The two of you had a quiet sort of romance. You were not the sort who would flaunt your relationship in public, nor would you so eagerily utter the words I love you as other couples, but you knew that what you had was real.

What started as a chance encounter became the best partner you could ever ask for.

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

Author’s notes:

The only reason I’m thinking Fukurōdani has dorms is just an educated guess:

All the schools that have “Academy” in the name seem to be the ‘higher’ or more prestigious schools. Karasuno High, Nekoma High, Shinzen High - none of these places have dorms. But Shiratorizawa Academy; Fukurōdani Academy; Itachiyama Academy -> since Shiratorizawa is confirmed to have dorms i figured ayyy let's roll with it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ A loooot of my assumptions are going to be based off Shiratorizawa - like the fact that they feel they’re the best and practice with colleges instead of other hs cause they’re not good enough lmao

IT ALMOST KILLS ME that we know only TWO people on the Itachiyama team and then timeskip hits and its like ?? LOL ok ?? hype them up for so long and JUST NOW we see Sakusa play ok ok ok 

✧  Masterlist

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTW: Jared, Julius, Oilers; dynamic duo

For the prompt: More interactions between Julius and his Emotional Support Albertan

Quiet Stringbean lineys bromance ended too soon. (Still a bromance! Now long-distance.)

“What are the giggle twins giggling about?” Vic asks.

Darryl looks over at Benny and Fitzy, but they’re both shovelling food into their mouths like they’ve never eaten in their entire lives.

“OJ and J Math,” Vic says.

“Those are the least giggly twins I have ever met,” Darryl says.

“Look,” Vic says.

OJ and Math are bent over a phone, poking one another over whatever they’re watching, and — Darryl wouldn’t call it giggling. Snickering, maybe. Laughing at something, not with something. Still, it’s nice to see them act their age for once, instead of acting like grumpy middle aged men before they’re even legal in the States. Still more kids than adults, for all they both seem to want everyone to forget that.

“Let ‘em be,” Darryl says.

“I’m just shocked they actually know how to laugh,” Vic says, and laughs when Darryl elbows him.

*

Jade hates charity night.

That sounds awful. Charity is great. Jade is very pro-charity. Jade is not as pro handling a roster of grumpy men in tuxedos. She’s also not pro the unending headache of the weeks of set-up, the fans who think buying a ticket — for charity! — means they’re owed a player’s undivided attention, or, right now, Julius Halla’s impressive ability to turn sideways and disappear right when she needs him to go on stage.

It doesn’t help the search that the entire roster’s in tuxes, along with a number of the other attendees. Black tie everywhere. In another crowd she’d be able to pin Halla by height, but in this one he’s middle of the pack. No bright blond heads in her view, and she’s got — fuck, six minutes to get him to the stage, mic him up, make sure he remembers what he’s doing, plus his lines. She’s not optimistic about any of it, particularly the lines.

She keeps her eyes peeled with the guys north of six feet. No blond head, a blond head but it’s Morris’ strawberry blond — she stops and fixes his bowtie, which is the most crooked she’s seen, and Morris earnestly thanks her — light brown head, dark brown head, Darryl’s head!

“Have you seen Halla?” Jade asks. Darryl’s not only the one who’s most likely to actually have the answer, he’s also the one who’s most likely to stop and help her look if he doesn’t have the answer. You’re not supposed to have favourites. Jade would probably cry if he got traded.

“Look for Matheson,” Darryl says. “Guarantee you’ll find Halla.”

Jared revises her search. She finds Matheson quickly, leaning up against a wall close to the door like he’s considering escaping, and lo and behold, when she gets there Halla’s leaning beside him, successfully masked from view until you’re close up. She suspects it was on purpose, especially after he blanches when he sees her.

“You,” she says. “Come with me.”

“Jared?” Halla asks.

“Fine,” Matheson sighs, and when Jade marches to the stage they’re both tagging after her. Which she’s fine with, particularly when Matheson translates her directions from English to — still English but apparently more comprehensible to Halla English — they sound pretty much the same to her, but she gets confused looks and Matheson gets nods — and Halla’s only three minutes late to the stage.

“You want to go up too?” Jade asks as Halla steps on.

“No thank you,” Matheson says, in a voice that sounds more like ‘fuck no’, and Jade doesn’t press.

*

“How come we aren’t telepathic?” Fitzy whines.

Ben blinks. “Like X-men?” he asks.

“Like OJ and J Math,” Fitzy says.

“Uh,” Ben says.

“Look at them!” Fitzy says.

Ben looks. They’re just sitting on the bench, not doing anything. 

“Uh,” Ben repeats.

“They’re communicating,” Fitzy whispers. “Look!”

J Math elbows OJ, and OJ snickers. They are communicating.

“They got voted best bromance,” Fitzy pouts. “We’re the best bromance Benny.”

“Thanks?” Ben says.

“So we gotta practice,” Fitzy says. “What am I thinking about right now?”

“Mike?” Ben guesses.

Fitzy fist pumps. “On our way, Benny, on our way.”

[blitzturtles]

Title: Where Soul Meets Body, 1/3 (Ao3)

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JuJutsu Kaisen / JJK

Pairing(s): SatoSugu, Sashisu

Summary: His head is being split open. Somewhere along the sutures of his skull, someone is slowly hammering away at his sanity and breaking him apart, piece by piece.

Notes: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Notes: Super late to the party, but I really wanted to do something for Sashisu week. Hopefully it's not too disjointed; I wrote it completely out of order.

Each chapter takes place a couple of months apart, and it starts with SatoSugu and ends with Sashisu. All parts take place before the events with Riko.

-

His head is being split open. Somewhere along the sutures of his skull, someone is slowly hammering away at his sanity and breaking him apart, piece by piece. It’s all he can do to remain upright, sitting rather than standing, because the latter would be impossible in his current state.

It’s his own fault. He overused the Six Eyes. Beyond his limits, beyond his body’s ability to contain his fragile brain into something human, and now he pays the price with the sort of pain that is simultaneously all consuming and unending. Where it bears down on him to the point that breathing is damn near impossible, and all he can do is grasp at his knees with his hands. His nails bite into the skin even through his clothes, and he tries to focus on that instead.

His breathing is too rapid, and even that hurts his head, but he can’t get it under control. Try as he might, he loses his grip on it the moment he thinks he’s managed to regain some semblance of composure, and he’s once again gasping and panting in his failed attempts to keep from making a sound. To avoid alerting anyone to his condition.

“Satoru,” the voice is familiar, and there’s a tinge of something to it that stands out even in Satoru’s addled brain, but he can’t place a name anymore than he can an emotion. It’s all nonsense blurred together into something incomprehensible. Whatever’s said next is lost on him, but then he’s moving. And not of his own free will, and it hurts. His head screams as he’s jostled. He digs his nails into someone else’s skin.

There’s another voice. Higher in pitch and equally as familiar, but no more identifiable. Hushed whispers follow, but he processes nothing of the actual words spoken. He’s sure that if he tries, he’ll fry whatever’s left of his brain, and that will be it. He’ll have managed to do what no one else has so far.

“Satoru,” someone says again, and he can’t even discern the difference in the two voices now, despite how different they are from one another on any other day. It’s all noise. An unending static that blends together until there’s nothing left for him to decipher. Still, he tilts his head in its direction, and tries.

There’s a pressure against his skull. A gentle thing. A familiar press of two hands, and then there is relief. It floods through him in an instant, leaves him feeling like he’s floating for a solid few seconds before he comes back down to the familiar pain of a much more manageable headache, and he’s smiling, wide and dopey, from the type of elation that only comes with such an abrupt shift.

“Back with us?” Shoko asks with worry that seeps into her usually monotonous tone. He imagines her eyes searching, watching for signs that whatever healing she’s done isn’t enough, but his eyes are covered, and he cannot actually see her to confirm his suspicions. It doesn’t stop him from sticking his foot in his mouth when he speaks,

“What, worried about me?”

She hits him in the arm out of sheer exasperation. It rolls off her in waves, and he does not need to see to imagine the scowl on her face. Despite that, the actual punch is gentle. More a soft push that knocks his arm back into whatever’s underneath him.

He’s momentarily disoriented when that whatever decides to move. It only lasts for a moment, but it’s long enough to make Satoru aware of the fact that his head is resting in Suguru’s lap, which means he’s lying down now. He’s not sure when that happened, but he isn’t about to protest.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Suguru says in that irritated tone of his, but Satoru catches the undercurrent of anxiety that runs through him. It reads in the tension in his legs, and the way Suguru shifts again.

“I just overdid it a little,” Satoru says as if it’s nothing. As if he hadn’t, a moment ago, been thinking of his own demise.

“I told you that you would fry that brain of yours,” Shoko says, unimpressed with him still, but that’s her natural state anytime they’re within proximity to one another.

“I’ll just have to figure something out, no big deal,” Satoru shrugs, bumping his shoulder against one of Suguru’s shins in the process. He could sit up now, but he’s comfortable. Besides, the worst of his headache might be gone, but there’s a residual pain that remains. A dull reminder of how much worse things could be.

“What, the Strongest isn’t actually invincible?” There’s a taunting to Suguru’s voice that holds no water to the worry that edges his words. It’s an ever-shifting thing that’s settled under his skin the way his curses are nestled in the core of his being. Satoru sees both just as clearly as he sees the cursed energy that flows through Suguru.

“I would have been fine. You two are fussy.”

“Fussy?”

Satoru laughs at the way Suguru’s voice lilts up at the end. An affronted sort of sound that makes him forget about the pain that’s left in his head. If only for a moment. Right up until his laughter sets off something in the back of his skull, and he’s reminded of the agony of earlier. His hand flies up before he can stop himself, and he presses it against the bandages wrapped around his head. He can’t actually remember when those got there, but he’s grateful all the same.

“Satoru?” This time he can’t discern the difference in voices because of the way they overlap. There are hands on him in an instant, pressing against his hair and gently nudging his hand to the side. He doesn’t fight them, even though the pain dissipates fairly quickly.

“I’m fine,” he tries to tell them, but he can tell that neither is convinced. Shoko only removes her hands when she finds there’s nothing more she can do. Whatever lingers is for him and him alone to work through, and it’s more a matter of time than anything else.

Sleep. He probably needs sleep. And maybe some food and a bit of hydration, which is technically within Shoko’s purview, but he doesn’t think he’s at the point of needing an IV for fluids. A couple of glasses of water should do the trick, and maybe something sweet.

It’s then that he realizes that he has no idea where he is. Sure, he knows he’s got his head resting on Suguru’s lap, but he doesn’t actually know where they are. He remembers being moved. Remembers the bursts of new pain with every shift. His hands pat underneath him to try to sort out where he is, and he comes to the conclusion that they’re on a bed of some variety. The blanket he grasps between his fingers is familiar, though not his own.

“Satoru!”

“Hm?”

There’s a heaved sigh of what might be annoyance and might be relief. Satoru’s not paying as much attention as he could be. He’s still trying to figure out how much time had to pass for Suguru to carry him all the way to his room. It’s time lost to him, and it speaks of the pain he had been in. The fact that he’s only now putting it together speaks of the pain he’s still in.

“He’s not listening,” Suguru says after what feels like only seconds have passed.

“What?” Had he missed something?

“See?”

“I’m listening!”

“Now.”

“It’s to be expected,” Shoko says as her gaze shifts from Satoru to Suguru, and she speaks about Satoru as if he isn’t lying right there, listening to everything that’s being said.

“I guess,” Suguru says, words drawn out in a way that indicates that he doesn’t like what he’s being told, but isn’t about to argue with the one that knows better than him.

“I think I’m missing something here.”

“You’re missing ninety percent of your brain cells,” Suguru’s tone is so grave that, for a moment, Satoru doesn’t realize he’s being an asshole.

“Hey!”

“You certainly fried a few,” Shoko adds with a huff. Satoru can hear the ‘I told you so’ that clings to every word she speaks.

“What is this, ‘pick on Satoru’ hour?”

“Only because you’re the idiot that nearly fried your brain,” Suguru answers.

Satoru groans and decides he’s had enough of this conversation, “You two can go now.”

“This is my room.”

“So?”

Suguru reaches to smack him in the chest. It earns him a quiet, but dramatic ‘ow!’ in response. Suguru rolls his eyes so hard that Satoru swears he can see it through his bandages, clear as day.

“I—” Shoko starts, drawing both of their attention upward and toward her. “Don’t think I feel comfortable with him being alone.”

“I’m right here,” Satoru says in protest to being spoken of rather than to.

“Yeah, good point,” Suguru answers, blatantly ignoring him.

“Still here.”

“And you’re stuck with us now,” Suguru says with finality in his words.

Satoru thinks about arguing for the sake of arguing, but there are long, calloused fingers carding gently through his wild hair, and, suddenly, he can’t remember what he meant to say. Instead, he leans into the touch and closes his eyes, forgetting for a moment that there’s any lingering pain in his head.

The peaceful moment is ruined once he picks up on Shoko heading for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To get my books. I have a paper I’m supposed to write.”

“Not-uh. C’mere,” Satoru pats the bed beside himself and stares her down, as much as he can with his eyes covered. She stares back for a long moment before inevitably giving in and making her way back to the bed.

“Is that actually comfortable?” She asks, indicating the way his legs are partially hanging off the mattress so as to make room for Suguru.

“Comfortable enough. Quit stalling.”

“Fine, whatever,” Shoko mutters more to herself than to Satoru. She climbs onto the bed, taking up the space beside the two boys without actually touching either of them. It’s not as uncomfortable as she would have expected, but it’s a little odd. Fortunately for her, Satoru doesn’t last long in the conscious world. He’s asleep within seconds of her getting settled, and she has to marvel at it, really. She’s never seen Satoru pass out so quickly when there wasn’t blood involved.

“I kind of expected that he would talk in his sleep,” she whispers.

“Oh, he does,” Suguru says with a laugh, “Just wait.”

[renjunbae]

resurface; kim jungwoo.

synopsis : all you had wanted was a quiet summer by the beach to relax, escape the oppressiveness of the city, and get your mind off of your last disastrous relationship, but apparently peace was hard to come by, especially when a figure from your past reappears unexpectedly in your life.

pairing : kim jungwoo x fem!reader

genre : beach resort au, university au, romance, fluff

warnings : (very) mild profanities

length : 7.1k

soundtrack : let me drown - deanz ft. andy delos santos; u n eye - boy in space; sun goes down - aiyo

author's note : this is part of the ot23 "resonance beach" collab hosted by @amorajae. thank you so much for letting me participate & go check out the collab masterlist for more addicting summer reads!

Socializing had never been so suffocatingly painful and pretentious.

Clinking champagne glasses, aimless mingling and a forever unending charade of polite smiles that never quite reached one’s eye, they surrounded you like a shroud that made it hard to breathe, a shirt that was too tight and biting uncomfortably at the neck. Much like the very dress you were wearing at the moment; form-fitting, over-the-top fancy, and narrow in all the spots you hated.

Oh, how you wished to change out of it all. Rip off the structured binds around your entire being, take off and away from the repetitive scene that had become more frequent over the past weeks and the main cause of your headaches. But there was nothing you could do about it except stare uselessly at the clock as its hands ticked by at an excruciatingly slow pace, and you hated that fact more than anything else.

“Well then, it has been lovely to meet you, Miss (Y/N). I can see that your parents have done an excellent job raising such an elegant and well-mannered young lady.” The concluding words, along with an outstretched hand, snapped you out of your misery and forced your attention back to the middle-aged man before you. Already, you were struggling to recall his name from the brief—or was it excruciatingly long?—introduction he’d done when he sought to strike a conversation with you twenty minutes earlier. Was he a superior of your father’s? Or maybe a recent acquaintance of your mother’s? You didn’t know, nor cared, really. After two hours of entertaining your parent’s countless associates with answers to their onslaught of questions about which college you attended and other various aspects of your personal life, you no longer had much energy left to spare for further pretense.

For the entirety of the exchange, you’d somehow gotten by with absentminded nods and murmured agreements. Thankfully, your latest companion was too immersed in his tales to notice your drifting focus and lack of interest, at which you almost heaved a sigh of relief. If your parents had received word of your misbehavior, you’d be a goner for sure, and you certainly were not looking forward to another round of their droning lecture about mannerism, etiquette, and public image.

“It was nice meeting you too,” you managed to return with a smile that was just about passable for being semi-enthusiastic, though inside, you were cringing hard at your poor attempts of keeping up the graciously civilized front your mother had always insisted for you to display in public. Forget the crowded dinner parties, forget the fancy evening galas, with every passing minute you were closer to less than a hair’s breadth away from plopping down on the nearest sofa and calling it quits. But you retained your composure and made sure to wave politely as the man stepped away, only letting out a long-held breath after his figure had completely disappeared amidst the crowd.

The room was getting uncomfortably stuffy, and your desire to leave was ever growing as you struggled to get through the throng of chattering bodies for some space alone. Sure, you’d been at a number of clubs and parties with your friends, but they were always on the more laid back and easygoing side of the atmosphere spectrum. You didn’t have to put up a perfect front for others to examine, nor be pressured to uphold your entire family’s reputation. And you certainly wouldn’t be obliged to answer your mother’s calls from ten feet away, beckoning you over to no doubt meet another friend of hers.

It was all the same, over and over. Introductions, small talk, and then going into the personal life of the (L/N)s’ “all grown up” daughter.

“Neo Tech University? The top school in the area? How nice!”

Your father beamed proudly. “Of course, she’s my daughter, after all.”

The adults laughed. You didn’t join them, instead picking at the fabric of your gown until the conversation required your participation again.

“She’s matured so much, I bet she has all the boys at her heels already,” The lady commented, to which your mom immediately responded with a pleased smile and, “Of course, she’s got a boyfriend too. They’re soo cute together. Hey, honey, how come he hasn’t come around in a while?”

God, why? Why, of all things, did they have to bring this up? You felt your insides squeezing together painfully at the mention of the topic, your fists clenched so hard you could feel your fingernails digging into your skin. You’d thought this night couldn’t get any worse than it already was, but you were wrong, it just did. Their gazes were all set on you expectantly, and you hated the attention. Hated being the focus of the conversation and picked apart to the seams.

“We broke up,” you said eventually, avoiding your parents’ eyes.

Your mother's smile fell away to an expression of shock and disbelief. “Why? I thought you two were doing so well with each other.”

Yeah, we were, before he cheated on me, you were tempted to say. To firmly erase any of your mother’s misconceptions that she had even a single idea of what was going on in her daughter’s life. But you just shrugged nonchalantly, as if the breakup was only a trivial matter. If you’d told them the truth, your mother would’ve no doubt considered it a huge blow to her reputation.

“It’s alright, you’ll find someone else who’s worthy of you,” the lady patted your shoulder sympathetically, and you felt your face heat up in a mixture of humiliation and frustration. The last thing you needed was someone telling you that in public.

You figured this was a good time to leave, maybe dig a hole and bury yourself in it. Tonight had been a suitable enough reason. Murmuring a quick apology to the adults, you excused yourself and made your way toward the exit before your mother could intercept. People stared as you passed, but at this point, their hypercritical looks were the least of your concerns. If grown-up life was beyond the point of “childishness” and “selfish acts”, then you’d grown beyond the point of caring.

By the time you’d arrived home, it was already ten o’clock. You and your parents had left for the gala around six-thirty, which meant you’d spent at least a good three hours and a half at the venue, engaging in hollow, repetitive conversations with near strangers. It was exhausting, to say the least, and you found yourself craving a warm bath the moment you stepped through the door. But you had your priorities set straight, and after changing into some casual clothing, you made a beeline for the kitchen to make yourself a pot of ramen. You were practically starving after almost an entire night of strolling around and snacking only on lady-like portions of foreign delicacies at the event.

While the water boiled, you dialed your best friend’s number. She’d told you of her plans—or the lack thereof—this evening, consisting of nothing but binge watching anime and consuming an inhumane amount of triple chocolate fudge ice cream. That was basically an open invitation for you to call her whenever you felt like ranting about old men and how it just wasn’t fair no one else was obligated to chat for hours on end with them about stock market prices, and you accepted it gladly.

Yera picked up on the second ring. True to her word, you could hear the incoherent Japanese shouting of the characters in whatever anime she was binging at the moment.

“How did it go? The gala?”

Just the sound of her voice was enough to ease some of the tension in your shoulders. Your best friend always knew what to say and how to lift your spirits in times like this, no matter how blunt and straightforward she may be, and you were looking forward to her advice.

“Terrible,” you groaned. “Whoever came up with the idea of stuffing over two hundred boring, judgmental business people in a room far too bright and oxygen-lacking must’ve been out of their mind.”

You heard Yera snort from the other side of the line. “Yeah, no shit, sherlock. You know, I’d reassure you it’s not that bad, but I know it’s exactly that bad.”

You shifted your position so that you faced the kitchen window, where a view of the city’s nightscape unfolded before your eyes. The sky was dark, but thousands of glimmering lights made up for it—neon billboards, cars flying by on the busy streets below, office lightings, roadside lamps, and glowing patches of yellow from residential buildings like your own. You stared out at the sea of twinkling sparks, and for a moment, felt so very small amidst the immensely vast world.

“They mentioned him.”

There was only a beat of silence. Yera didn’t need long to catch onto who you were referring to.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, they were talking about boys and then my mom brought up the fact that I have a boyfriend—had, actually,” you sighed, an action you found occurring more often than not lately. “Guess I forgot to tell them he’s an ex now, but then again, they didn’t ask before.”

“Gosh, that must’ve been so awkward.”

“It was,” you shut your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose with your forefingers. “You tell me. I had to leave, right away. I’m just glad it’s over now.”

“Wait wait wait, hold on. How many of these event thingies have you gone to in the past week?”

“Three, not counting the time my mom had some friends over for lunch. They stayed until dinner, actually, and we had to go out and eat.”

“What the heck?? And you let them drag you along?”

“It’s my duty to accompany them, I guess. They’d be mad if I don’t go and let them show me off for a bit. But then again, there usually aren’t this many events. My dad just signed a contract with some important clients, and my mom’s been invited to a bunch of social gatherings, plus the fact that normally, I’d have school as an excuse. There’s just been more of them recently, and it’s not like I have any good enough reason to opt out.”

Yera gasped. “It’s summer. Summer!! That’s all they should need. It’s summer break right now and it’s your time off. They shouldn’t need any more reason than that. And whether it’s the norm or not, you have to know that you are in charge of yourself and that you get to decide what you do with your own life, not them.”

“You have a point, Yera, you always do, but...” you shook your head. “I honestly don’t know at this point. Things are easier said than done. I hate it all, but in a way, it’s part of my responsibility.”

“Okay, oookay. That’s it. No more dinner parties or rich people galas for you, (Y/N). It’s your time off and I’m going to make sure you take some time off. Aren’t you tired of them ordering you around? You’re the one who’s in control of your own life, (Y/N). Go have a nice vacation and stay away from adult business for at least a few weeks, or I’m not letting you anywhere near my mom’s homemade honeycomb brownies again, got it?”

If Yera was bringing her mother’s brownies into the deal, then you knew she was serious. Somehow, despite the situation, you almost felt like laughing. Felt like you were invincible, as if her words brought a surge of confidence along with it. Smiling up at the night sky, you said, “Well, I guess I have to do it for those brownies.”

“Good, now go on and take on the world!”

The world—or, namely, your parents—was clearly not amused when you dragged your suitcase into the living room at eight in the morning the next day, dressed in a flowery blouse, your favorite jean shorts, and a pair of heeled sandals. They’d been eating breakfast at the dining table just ten paces across as you entered, engrossed in a conversation about the latest commercial trends and news of the business world. They looked up at the sound of wheels against the marbled floor, an initial expression of shock crossing their faces as they took in your outfit and the luggage in your hands.

Your father looked almost bewildered as he glanced between you and your mother, who’s brows had deepened into a frown. She shook her head as if to clear away thoughts of disbelief, though you could detect the note of disapproval that was weaved into the action.

“What’s with this?” she asked, her tone stern and commanding, almost as if to compel you into saying exactly what she wanted: “Nothing, mom. I’m not going anywhere.”

It had always been that way. You’d intend to do something, and she’d shut you down before you could even try. But not this time.

“Carrying out my plans for summer break,” you replied and paused before continuing. “Why?”

The lines on your mother’s forehead deepened. “Plans?”

She was waiting for you to either straight up admit what you were up to or give up. You knew that, and you didn’t want to beat around the bush either, so you looked her right in the eyes and said, “Summer vacation plans, mom. I’m leaving today.”

“(Y/N), I thought we already talked about this. You can’t just—”

“Go around and quit my duties? Yeah, I know.”

“Then what are you doing right now?”

“I’m not quitting,” you said through gritted teeth, “I’m taking the break that I deserve.”

“You’re running away,” your mother accused, her voice trembling with incredulity and, despite her apparent effort to keep it controlled, a slight hint of anger. “You’re going back on your promise and you’re not going to do what you should just because you don’t want to. Stop being so selfish and naive, (Y/N). You’re not a child anymore.”

It was something just suddenly snapped inside you, and all your pent up frustration boiled over. “Selfish? Mom, do you ever think about how I feel? I’ve put up with all the things you wanted me to do and I can’t even have a single moment when I try to focus on my own happiness for once?”

“You promised—”

“I’m not a replacement for him!”

Your parents stared, momentarily speechless from your outburst. In the silence, you felt the frustration and anger wear away and bubble down to something that resembled a fevered hurt. The broken pain in your mother’s face seemed to mirror your own, but the words slipped out anyway.

“No matter what, I can’t be him. I can’t replace him. I know that’s what you want me to be, and that if I was, maybe you could think that he’s never gone, but I can’t. I just…”

You could see that your comments had hit their mark.“(Y/N)—” your mother started.

But at this point, you were too tired of arguing to continue. You didn’t wait to hear what she had to say, only picked up your bags and headed for the entranceway. You exhaled as the door clicked shut behind you. Gosh, I’m really going to do this, am I?

Resonance Beach Resort was a nice change from the usual fast-paced schedule of your daily life that was full of unwanted obligations and tasking duties. You'd visited often in your early childhood and teenage years, and had loved the place for its elegant, luxurious accomodations and the spectacular view of a pristine beach that spanned along the resort's outer edge. But since some time ago, all the pressure and weight of your increasing responsibilities had suddenly just came crashing down on you, and you found yourself taking cram school more often than not due to your parents' constant urging. There just simply wasn't any time for you to take the long vacation you desperately craved. Now that things have finally lessened up to nothing but socializing with your parents' acquaintances, this was the first place you'd thought of for the perfect getaway. Just hide away from the rest of the world for a little bit before reality kicks in and you'd sink back into your busying routine. Here, you could finally have some peace and quiet, be able to breathe easier for once. No more business events or get-togethers, no more forced polite conversations over tall glasses of champagne. If you were going to party, then you should at least do it properly. You figured that aside from relaxation and watersports, Resonance Beach Resort had exactly that.

You'd switched over to your spare phone for the duration of your stay. If your parents decided they've had enough of your “childishly selfish acts”, they'd be greeted by a long period of ringing without answer, followed by an irksome beep and the message that, "sorry, the number you've dialed is not available".

The fight still simmered fresh at the front of your mind, and you shook your head in an attempt to brush it away. A small part of you felt almost guilty about your abruptly impromptu runaway, but it was merely a fleeting thought that passed as quickly as it had come. You knew how hard it was for your parents since what had occurred years ago, and that they were afraid of the same thing happening with you. Still, it wasn’t fair for you to bear the burden of two and act in as a mere substitute only to make someone else feel a bit better. Since when did you owe your parents your entire summer break to play pretend anyways? It isn't as if it actually helped you do anything except feed your growing boredom and frustration for hours on end.

You walked into the entrance hall and made your way to the reception area that sat in the middle of the gentle hum of music and red carpets and golden chandeliers. After going through the check-in process, you received your room cards and headed toward your room to drop off your luggage first.

The west-side elevator was mainly empty aside from a few other visitors who, like you, arrived earlier than most do. They’d entered before you and stood along the side panels, each scrolling through their devices for news and texts. Why take the time and money to come and visit, you wondered, if they were going to just be on their phones all the time? But then again, you were glad none of them paid any attention to you and savored the peaceful silence. The back of the elevator was adorned with clear glass panes that overlooked the beachside, allowing riders to gaze out at the scenery below them as they rose high above ground. You stared at the swaying palms and foaming waves in the distance, and thought that—despite being here so many times before—the view had never looked so welcoming before. You couldn’t wait until you could get down there and enjoy the feel of the warm sunshine on your back, hear nothing but the calming hum of the ocean.

There was a short ding! as the elevator doors opened and a middle-aged woman exited. You turned briefly to watch her leave and the doors clang shut once more behind her. Some passengers shifted around to space themselves more evenly upon her departure, but other than that, it was the same, still, silence as before. A few more minutes passed, and the process repeated until it was just you and another man standing by the front. On the controls panel, only one floor button was lit up.

He was handsome in the most traditional sense, tall and fit with tousled dark hair, flawlessly smooth skin and wide doe eyes directed at his phone screen. Although he was only dressed in a simple graphic tee and sweatpants, they looked too expensive for the average person to afford and the look suited him so well he could no doubt pass for the modern-day version of Cinderella’s Prince Charming. You almost laughed at the thought. That had been your reaction too when you first saw your ex, and you fell for him so quickly, so easily, it didn’t take much to convince you that he loved you as much as you loved him. After all, why not? His family had been wealthy and influential like your own, and your parents—mostly your mom—had absolutely adored him. You thought you’d been living the perfect fantasy until it all broke down and your palace had turned into nothing more than rubble and ashes.

In the quiet buzz of the elevator, you could hear as the stranger dialed a number on his phone and put it to his ear. Whoever on the other side must’ve answered immediately, because the man started to talk right away.

“Hey, where are you guys?”

“Okay, just checking that you’re in the suite because I don’t have the key.”

“Yeah, I’m almost there, why?”

“Woo wants another bag of his favorite chips from the convenience store? Seriously? We’re at a fancy beach resort and he wants chips from the convenience stores? God.”

“Yeah, I brought them, don’t worry. I swear he stuffed my trunk full of them when I wasn’t looking because I barely even have space in there anymore. Geez, you’d think he would die if he went a day without those.”

“Yeah, okay. Mm-hmm. That’s fine by me. Sounds fun. See you.”

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop on the conversation, but the slight echo in the space made it easy for you to hear every word the man said. And for some reason, it brought back long-ago memories of you and your brother, having the time of your lives marveling over the elevator’s view. Arguing about whose snacks the ones in the bag were. Roaming around the resort like it was your own home. That wasn’t possible now, of course. He was farther away than ever, and happier. There wasn’t anything you could do except be happy for him, though that did nothing to help the sore ache in you.

Your entire life felt like a train wreck at the moment, but then again, that was why you were here at Resonance Beach Resort in the first place. And as the elevator dinged once more, you were determined to make your summer better. Much better.

An afternoon in the sun seemed to do its trick.

After spending several hours out by the rolling waves, reading magazines and enjoying the spontaneity of doing whatever you’d wanted to on a whim, you were ready to call it a day. The freedom was exhilarating, and though you’d done much less that you would’ve on a typical weekday, you felt much more fulfilled than before. You’d eaten a quick informal dinner down in the dining hall, too tired to spend time on a full-course meal, only stopping by the vending machine on your way back to your room for a drink.

You inserted your money into the slot, pausing for a moment to look at your choices. Ginger ale would be good, you decided absentmindedly, your thoughts already drifting elsewhere. When the drink rolled out of the machine, you stooped to pick it up before preparing to leave. You turned and, not realizing there was someone behind you, ran right into them, your arm bumping against theirs. The impact knocked the can of ginger ale out of your hands and you quickly bent down to pick it up before it could roll away.

“I’m sorry, that was my fault.”

You straightened up to see the man from the elevator. He rubbed his neck sheepishly, an apologetic smile on his face. He was close enough that you could see the curved bow of his lips and the way his eyes crinkled in good humor, the way the tips of his ears were red in embarrassment at having knocked into you.

You blushed at the close proximity between you and the stranger, before remembering your manners and shaking your head lightly, “No, I’m sorry, it was my fault as well. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

The two of you stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say or what to do, until the man’s eyes landed on the room card in your hand.

“Suite 1009? What a coincidence, my friends and I are right next door. Want me to walk you back since we’re—you know—going the same way?”

You gave a little startled laugh, finding a bit of comfort in the fact that even a man as good-looking and confident-seeming as him could stumble over his words in situations like this. You’d pegged him for the type with an air of arrogance, but his voice held a sort of genuine sincerity and modesty along with the charm you’d expected. “Of course, I’d love that.”

As you walked down the corridor together, he seemed to realize something, and started in surprise, “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Jaehyun. Jung Jaehyun.”

“I’m (Y/N),” you smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. Is this your first time here?”

“Well, yes, my friends and I were planning to go somewhere for the summer, and one of my friends recommended this resort. How did you tell?”

“I used to come here a lot, but I haven’t visited in a while. I came back to escape city life, I guess, though I must admit I missed this place tons. The things adult life takes away from you are just plain cruel.”

“I know right? Sometimes I wish I could just go back to seventeen and—”

“Relive that teenage dream?” you finished.

He laughed. “Yeah, exactly.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

“What, don’t you agree?” he looked at you in feigned shock.

You looked up at the ceiling as if searching for the answer in the lights above. “Yes,” you said truthfully, “I do agree.” Though it wasn’t exactly how you felt completely all the time, there was no denying that at least you’d loved the various aspects teenage years had to offer.

“You sound almost cynical about it.”

“Do I?” you shook your head. “Oh, well, personally, maybe, I guess?”

He gave you a weird look. “Think you could sound any more unsure about that?”

The two of you burst out laughing, the sound echoing against the walls of the hallway. As you chatted with Jaehyun, there was an undeniable tingle at the bottom of your stomach, spreading to the tips of your finger and your rosy cheeks. You didn’t know if you were willing to fall in love again, especially after your previous failures and bad encounters in romance that extended beyond your last relationship, but there was no denying that Jaehyun was fun to be around and you enjoyed his company immensely.

So when you both arrived at your destinations, you almost felt sorry to go. You lingered for a second, turning to him almost hesitantly.

Of course you’d see him again, being next-door neighbors for the next few weeks or so, as long as he’s here, but you didn’t want to leave and be all alone by yourself just yet.

Jaehyun seemed to feel the same, and he paused. “So, see you soon?”

You started to respond with a definite yes, but didn’t get a chance to answer. The door next to yours opened slightly, and some inaudible conversing trickled out from the crack. You caught a few words in the back-and-forth as you stood by your room, an amused smile at your lips. Jaehyun rolled his eyes, clearly used to this type of behavior from his friends.

“Oh, don’t mind them. They’re always like this.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “They seem fun to be around.”

“Yeah, yeah, when they’re not nagging twenty-four-seven at me to get snacks for them.” Though you could see by the teasing grin on his lips that he was only kidding.

Jaehyun’s friend pushed the door open a little more so that the conversation became more distinctable. And then, a sudden recognition made you freeze in your tracks. Your heart dropped. No. No way. The smile fell from your lips, replaced with a rush of confusion and near-disbelief.

Was that…?

You heard his voice before you saw him.

“Jaehyun! You’re back, just in time—”

Brown hair, plump lips, and bright, playful eyes. His boyish features evolved into something more mature but not unlike its younger version, still lined with the same youthful innocence as years before. He was taller too, though in that moment, at first glance, you felt as if it was the only significant change in him. The familiarity jolted awake a feeling you had not felt since long ago, flipping back the pages of yesterday until it landed on a distant memory that seemed so close yet was so far away. It was like the world stopped spinning for a moment, freezing in time that had both given and taken so much from you.

Your stomach twisted with a mixture of fluttering anticipation and dizzy uncertainty.

Why here, of all times and places, did you have to meet Kim Jungwoo again?

Kim Jungwoo, who was your first love, but also your first heartbreak.

It all started the summer before your high school sophomore year, with an ice cream date as friends and a piggy back ride. You and Jungwoo had known each other for years, having met in elementary and developing a close bond over time. Though you each had your own separate friend groups, outside of school, the two of you often hung out together and spent time at each other’s houses. It wasn’t abnormal for you to have dinner at Jungwoo’s place—because your parents often went on business trips and rarely ever cooked even when they were home—and it certainly wouldn’t be a strange sight to see him on your couch, watching TV and snagging snacks from the basket on the coffee table as he waited for you to finish up your homework so the two of you could go out to the nearby park. It was practically routine when, two weeks after break began, he asked you if you wanted to go down to the beach with him and get some ice cream along the way. You texted back a quick “yes, of course” before flopping back onto your bed and blinking up at the ceiling as if in a dazed dream. And for some reason, you thought hard about what to wear.

It was an issue you never had to concern yourself with before. Jungwoo had seen you in your pajamas, bed hair and all, random mismatching clothes you’d thrown on in a hurry, and even ridiculous costumes you wore as a kid. He’d seen you down in your lowest low, face a mess with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Heck, he probably knew all your embarrassing moments by heart and could recite them on a whim. But recently, you’d started to feel more self-conscious around him, and as days passed, you found yourself standing in front of the mirror more and more, holding up different tops and pants in an attempt to decide which would look nicer. A few years ago, you would’ve laughed at the thought. You? Fussing over clothing for Jungwoo’s sake? Ridiculous, you’d never needed to. But now, it seemed that the fact that he was a boy—and a very attractive one too—just sank in, and suddenly you became all too aware of it.

After shuffling through your wardrobe for ten full minutes, you finally ended up with a closet strewn messily with discarded options and clothing racks and an outfit you dimly recalled that Jungwoo had once expressed his liking for. You’d chosen a pair of thin, spaghetti sandals that were lined with gold, a gift from one of your mother’s shopping sprees, and made an effort to brush your hair neatly to go along with it all. Good enough, you supposed, as you turned left and right to check up on your appearance. Hopefully.

You grabbed your phone and keys, scribbled a note for your parents that you doubted they’d even read, and made your way out the door. Jungwoo was waiting for you at the front, standing casually by his car with one hand in his pockets. Your heart beat faster as you approached, the continuous drumming resonating within your chest and ears.

He’d been looking down at the pavement, scuffling a stray pebble around with his toes, but quickly lifted his head at your footsteps.

“Hey,” he greeted, smiling up at you.

“Wow, looking unexpectedly grown-upish today,” you lifted an eyebrow, trying to mask your nervousness in his presence with the usual snarky remarks. You spoke with a heavy hint of sarcasm, meaning that you were only joking about the matter, but what you said was true in a way—Jungwoo did look nice, though you weren’t about to say that aloud to him. It was as if you’d just noticed how much older he’d become, and how much more matured he looked.

“Really,” he said flatly, though his eyes were crinkled in good humor. “You’re the only one in the dark then.”

You laughed. “Because other people still call you an adorable baby?”

“Haha, so funny.”

You settled into the passenger seat beside Jungwoo and watched as he leaned over to put the vehicle in ignition. His hair had grown longer since his last haircut a few months ago, and they fell over his eyes. He shook them out of his face, reaching up a hand to brush away any remaining strands that stuck to his skin. He turned to grin at you before switching over to your favorite radio station as he started to drive. You tapped your fingers to the beat, and not a minute later, the two of you were singing along to the familiar tune. Jungwoo’s voice soared up and down as he sang in a weird mock accent, and you tried hard to keep your own from trembling with uncontrollable laughter. You both knew that Jungwoo was an amazing singer, but even more so a natural at comedy.

Jungwoo parked the car a few blocks away, deciding that trying to find an open spot in the crowded beachside lots was too much of a hassle. Summer had lured many people out with the promise of good weather, and combined with the dazzling scenery of the sea, who was to say no? The brightness of the skies was all too infectious, your mood soaring like the winds above that cast a blessing of gentle coolness upon the world. It was all so perfect that you’d even surrendered to Jungwoo in a water fight, although quite begrudgingly and continuing to splash in his way afterwards.

The sparkling waterdrops glittered midair like multifaceted diamonds so that although knee deep in water, you felt almost as if you were living in the midst of a glowing fairytale. After spending some time among the rolling waves, the two of you decided to walk around a bit and let the warm air dry your clothes before going to the ice cream store. Morning went by all too quickly, and soon noon had arrived. The sun shone brilliantly overhead, the pavement burning at the soles of your shoes. You grimaced at the heat, hopping slightly to avoid getting scalded and wishing you’d worn something that wasn’t so flimsy and thin. Jungwoo seemed to notice your discomfort, glancing your way worriedly.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” you groaned. “But thanks for your concern.”

He stopped as if to consider something, then squatted down in front of you. “Here.”

“What—” you started in surprise, caught off guard by his sudden action.

“Come on, I’ll carry you.”

You thought your face couldn’t get any redder than it already was, but you swear it just did.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to. It’s my fault anyways. I should’ve worn something more suitable,” you managed.

He grinned up at you. “Yeah, you probably should’ve, but that's what I’m here for, right? Moral and well—physical—support when you make those beginner mistakes.”

“Argh, you bastard,” you half-huffed, half-laughed, whacking his shoulder lightly with one hand.

“Hey! I’m just trying to help here.”

Caught up in the slight back-and-forth, you’d forgotten entirely about the source of it all and let out a strangled gasp when a red-hot pain shot up your feet.

“Yeah, it’s not up for debate at this point. Come on, just get on already. Grab on tight.”

With surprising strength, Jungwoo hoisted you up upon his back, his arms wrapped firmly around your legs to secure you in place. Instinctively, you reached over to cling onto his neck like your life depended on it.

“Gosh, not—this—tight,” he choked out, and although you knew he was half-joking, you mumbled a laughing apology.

You were tense at first, afraid to make a single wrong move. But after a while, you felt tired of staying so still and uptight like a board and relaxed some more. When the sun’s rays stung at your eyes, you laid your head sideways against Jungwoo’s neck, your breaths falling together in the same even rhythm. He hummed a tune you did not recognize, probably another one he’d just made up randomly, and you smiled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you replied innocently. Just thinking how ridiculously likeable you are.

You wondered if Jungwoo could feel, through the thin fabric of your shirt, the pounding of your heart at his back, the same way you could smell the scent of the salty sea air and his favorite cologne on him. Raising a fingertip, you traced a heart lightly against his skin. He flinched. You held back a laugh. You’d done it right on his most ticklish spot.

He wouldn’t be able to tell, what you’d drawn and what you felt toward him, but at that moment, it felt like a nice secret, nestled comfortably within the confines of your heart. Maybe you’d tell him one day, when the time is right. You’d like to.

The ice cream shop of Jungwoo’s designation was just up the street. Apparently, it had opened just a while ago and, according to Jungwoo, he was dying for you to try some of their flavors. You didn’t have a favorite place you preferred, so you agreed without any conflict. As the two of you neared, you held on for just a little bit longer before hopping off reluctantly and fixing your clothes. You wished it didn’t have to end, that the two of you could stay that way forever, snug in each other’s embrace.

But it all changed when you walked inside the store.

The interior was neatly organized, with pastel-colored walls and light brown tables of different sizes scattered around the semi-spacious room, most of them occupied by other visitors. A long counter spanned the back of the shop, most of it built-in glass cases that displayed a colorful array of ice cream in their silver tubs. A couple workers stood behind it in sky-colored uniforms, occupied with a variety of tasks and tending to customers.

You breathed in softly, taking in the scent of chocolate and vanilla and an assortment of fruit. The air around you was cool, and you were immensely grateful for the air conditioners that made the atmosphere so welcoming after spending a long time in the sweltering sun.

“It’s nice here.”

“I know right?” Jungwoo grinned. “Just wait until you taste their ice cream. It’s the best.”

There was quite a line at the counter, and your skin itched with the particles of sand that had stuck to it uncomfortably. Your hair was wind-blown and a tangled mess atop your head, and you felt conscious of the fact that you probably looked like a mess. “Hey, Woo, I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Alright,” he gave you a thumbs-up. “I’ll pick out something for you. I swear you’ll love it.”

“Okay, thanks,” you laughed. “I’ll look forward to it then.”

After fixing up your hair and wiping yourself clean with a paper towel, you felt semi-presentable and headed out of the restrooms to find Jungwoo. You didn’t see him at the tables nor in the line, but in the close distance, almost hidden from view the rest of the shop but clearly visible from where you were standing, caught your attention.

Jungwoo.

Except he wasn’t alone.

A pretty girl around your age stood by him, donning the uniform of the store workers. She seemed to have just gotten off her shift and was loosening her hair from the ponytail she’d previously kept it in. Jungwoo was chatting animatedly, and she laughed at something he said, then shot back with her own response. He reached over and engulfed her in his arms, swaying her from side to side almost exaggeratedly.

There was a familiarity, closeness, in the way they interacted, and as you watched on, you felt your heart slowly clench tighter and tighter until it felt impossibly suffocating. Was this what heartbreak felt like? An ache so terrible and soul-splitting that you couldn’t quench no matter how hard you tried.

At the side counter, they were still going at it. He grabbed at her to kiss her cheek, but she turned away, pushing herself out of his grasp. He made a few more futile attempts, to no avail, and the two of them burst out laughing, her high, lovely one mixing in with his lower, boyish baritone.

You looked down, and wished you could just disappear into a hole. When you returned to the table after you made sure the commotion in the front had died down, Jungwoo was already waiting with the ice cream. One for him and the other, your favorite favor. He handed yours to you, but you found that you didn’t have the appetite for it anymore. You managed to muster up a feeble “thanks” and a strained smile, staring at the cone in your hands.

“What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t see Jungwoo’s expression, but you could hear the concern lacing his voice. As if he wasn’t laughing so merrily just a second ago.

“Nothing,” you replied, staring at the table. “I should probably go now. My parents said we were going out for lunch today.”

“But you said you didn’t have any plans,” Jungwoo said, confused.

“Well,” you shrugged, “It’s really my mom’s. Anyways, see you later.”

The bell jangled behind you as you exited the shop, the sound not as cheerful as it had been just a while before. A rush of hot air greeted you, but the stinging at your feet could no longer compare to that of the pain in you.

“Oh, okay. See you.” You could still hear his disappointed voice, although you couldn’t fathom just why he wouldn’t be glad to have some time with his girlfriend without you there as an awkward third-wheeler.

You didn’t see Jungwoo again that summer.

TO BE CONTINUED.

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[spearingskies]

Sun’s Eclipse Before the First Dawn of Spring ❁

   The commotion in the castle corridors is unusual, to the point where even Hinoka pauses to listen, hand holding a new kimono for her favorite doll suspended in the air to listen to the quick footsteps of the guards and words and orders thrown around that she cannot make out. Last time there was this much movement was when Father was preparing to leave for that Peace Something or Other - she does not remember the whole term, but who cares - together with little Kamui. Did they come back? The doll and the clothes fall to the floor instantly forgotten, the young princess eagerly picking herself up to get ready to leave the room. If Father has returned, she has to go greet him!

   Pushing the door open, she steps outside - and immediately almost gets knocked over by one of the rushing soldiers. The man stops on the spot, turning towards her; their eyes meet as he stares at her, almost through her, as though he saw a ghost, and full three seconds pass before he remembers himself and offers a quick bow.

   “M-My apologies, milady…”

   With that, he is off again; Hinoka’s eyes escort him for a moment, before she makes her way in the same direction, keeping to the wall to avoid any more people crashing into her.

   Why does she feel like he was apologizing for something else?

❁

   It does not take long for Hinoka to understand what happened. Young, sheltered and innocent however she may be - still - she knows already what death is, after all.

   Messengers come and go, bringing news upon news. Ninjas in the palace’s employ exchange and deliver reports. The guards whisper anxiously between one another. That woman, Kamui’s mother, kneels in front of the throne, sobbing uncontrollably; big brother Ryoma stands next to her, his face pale, unmoving as though frozen, or made of stone.

   It feels as though no one wants to trouble Hinoka with the new harsh truth, but unbeknownst to them, Hinoka knows. Understands.

   Father has not returned. He will not return, because an evil man from Nohr sent him to where Mother is. And he took Kamui, too, but not to Father. He took Kamui to darkness, to Nohr.

❁

   To her, the sun that rises above Hoshido every day has always felt like a gentle god, a caring parent; unflinching, unfailing, always there for them to count on. Enveloping them in light, warmth and joy and bestowing upon them unending blessings. Now that their world has collapsed and shattered into pieces, its constant insistence to keep appearing every day without pause, shining, inviting to play and be joyful, acting as though nothing at all has changed —

it feels nothing short of ignorant, uncaring and almost downright cruel.

   The castle is quiet now; Kamui’s mother confining herself to her chambers to mourn, big brother spending most of his time training or handling current affairs, even soldiers passing through the hallways as carefully as they can, as though not to disturb the lingering souls.

   In the meantime, behind closed doors, Hinoka weeps. She weeps for weeks, weeps for Father and for Kamui, weeps so much that one could expect her to have run out of tears by now. Food and drinks are refused more often than they are accepted, and even when she does eventually give in to hunger, everything passes through her body roughly and not without a fight, as though she had tried to swallow a bowl of rocks. Pale face, messy hair and rings around her eyes stand as proof of sleepless nights, spent instead in an unfair struggle of a little, naive, innocent girl chasing dreams and demons. The doll and her new kimono rest abandoned, having been kicked in anger into the corner of the room, like the trash of yesterday that will never return and thus is meaningless;

❁

— but as days pass, a new chapter opens, and Hinoka slowly begins to do more than just cry.

   The castle is quiet, but not silent, and between the sobs and the throbs of a headache torturing the exhausted mind, her sharp ears can still hear. The footsteps of soldiers pass by as they and the ninjas bring new reports, having more important matters to attend to than ensuring that the little princess, whom they assume too young to have a head for such topics, remains oblivious. And so, sometimes in bits and pieces, but enough for her to put together nevertheless - it reaches her. News of Kamui’s whereabouts. Another failed rescue attempt. A skirmish near the border. A recent Nohrian provocation successfully repelled. That woman - Mikoto - Kamui’s mother - whom she never cared for and thus subconsciously expected the same in return, gathering her strength and resolve to cast a magic barrier over Hoshido to protect it from the invaders. The loving, caring big brother whom she always admired, making a name for himself already as a commander and warrior in spite of his young age, and earning the right to the sacred Raijinto blade.

   She hears, and as her tears begin to run dry, she starts to think.

❁

   The great feast to celebrate her seventh birthday that they had been planning for weeks, naturally, had to be canceled; instead the day goes by calmly, almost like any other. She is fine with that, which almost feels a little funny - she used to think that she would be snapping mad if anything stood in the way of her birthday’s celebration, but as it stands, she would refuse any party right now if it is not a party to celebrate Kamui’s return home. How quickly a turn of fate can teach you something new about yourself. But she spares no thought to that idea.

   Brother is busy commanding the army in another clash, Mikoto spends the day praying to keep up her spiritual power and continue maintaining the barrier; Takumi has classes today, Sakura is taken care of by the nurses. Hinoka is largely left to her own devices, and spends her day doing what would otherwise come as a shock to everyone - cleaning her room. Studybooks and writing supplies are arranged and organized, toys stored away on shelves, in drawers or otherwise out of her sight. Finally, she stops before the long abandoned doll - once a favorite, now a herald of tragedy - still waiting in the corner, and pouting, as though it was all its fault, she picks it up together with its new kimono and carelessly throws it into a box of unimportant trinkets that she then pushes into the same corner.

   Just then, a messenger announces the arrival of a delivery to her, and Hinoka looks up towards the door. A delivery? The package is brought into her quarters, and for the briefest of moments, the young princess remembers what excitement had felt like; amidst all the crying, mourning and silence, she has all but forgotten what it was like to look forward to a birthday gift…

   Slowly, silently, as though in ceremony, Hinoka opens the package and rubs her hands against the soft fabric of the contents: a brand new, beautiful yukatabira, meant to replace the one she has almost grown out of. Picking it up by the shoulders, she stands up to marvel at the colors and design. In whites, yellows and reds, just as she has always liked… There is a small letter attached, and she takes it next.

    To our most beloved Hinoka-hime,

    please accept this gift along with all of our wishes for a good, happy birthday.

    We cannot apologize to you enough for the cancellation of your long awaited celebration, but you are aware of the cause. We know that these times have been difficult for you, as well. In spite of everything that is currently happening, please never forget that you are our beloved, cherished princess. May the Dawn Dragon and the sun’s warm rays shine upon you always.

    Love,     Mikoto, Ryoma, Takumi and Sakura, with all of Hoshido

   Tears well up in her eyes anew with each and every word, finally forcing their way from behind the eyelids and onto her cheeks as she reaches her siblings’ names.

   Is that it? Amidst the disaster and tragedy, Father murdered, Kamui kidnapped, a conflict brewing anew and a world torn to pieces, her family and her people still want her to lead a normal life, in her stupid room, with her stupid doll, while their lives are at stake? To sit back, do nothing and what - wait for the news of her brother’s death next?!

   Her little fists slowly clench around the cloth, and the yukatabira is then thrown at her bed as Hinoka slowly gets back on her feet, swelling eyes rising to look at the door. She appreciates the gift and all, but it will have to wait its turn, as the life she had up until now.

❁

   She is nearly surprised that she remembers the way to the training grounds. This was not a place she was ever supposed to be seen. Little wonder that the lancers, busy with practice, take a brief pause to cast confused glances at her, before her hardy glare and the commander’s harsh voice both bring them back in line.

   Though even he seems astounded, for Hinoka clearly did not simply lose her way around the place, or come here merely to watch; she is dressed in a light, simple outfit, a breastplate as solid as a seven year old can wear, bracers and greaves prepared to protect her arms and legs.

  “Milady?...” She hears a man’s voice next to her as she walks over to storage to pick up a training spear. Eagerly, she grabs the first one, at least twice as long as she is tall, but its weight an size nearly cause her to fall over; gritting her teeth, she puts it away, resorting to a shorter one, but it too is too much to handle… Hand clenches into a fist as she lets out a frustrated groan.

   The man, an older general by the name of Jubei, watches her for a moment before she looks up and their eyes meet. The frown on her face causes him to take a step back in surprise. This is not the gentle, shy princess he has known up until now; though in reality her eye color has not changed, one could almost feel as though a hint of steel now lines her pupils. No words are exchanged, the order clear in her gaze; slowly nodding, Jubei goes deeper into the storage, returning soon with a lightweight spear, perfect for such a young beginner.

   Hinoka accepts it, running her fingers along its edge to get used to the feel. It is a bit small for her taste, she wanted to start with something more impressive; she needs to get strong fast, after all, to support big brother and bring Kamui home. But for now, this will do. She does a thrust, then another; it takes more effort than she had anticipated, but it feels satisfying to imagine a dirty bad Nohrian on the receiving end, and that thought seems to almost replenish whatever strength she just used up.

   Finally, for the first time since that fateful day, a small smile appears on her lips, before she points the spear towards Jubei.

   “Now. You will train me.”

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Faith, Trust and a Little Bit of Pixie Dust

Title:  Faith, Trust and a Little Bit of Pixie Dust

Summary: It’s cold in the cellar, but then if it isn’t cold it’d defeat the whole purpose of a cellar. This coldness had been fine at first, but the longer Logan and his little brother Virgil stay, the more it worsens. Logan just hopes his mother’s temper wears off soon or else the cold could get fatal. 

The last thing Logan expects is for his father, who he hasn’t seen in years, to show up through golden portal (a magic portal, which should be impossible!) to save the day as if he hadn’t abandoned them to this fate by leaving all those years ago.

Pairings: Brotherly Analogical, Parental Loceit

Word-Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Magic, Child Abuse, Physical & Emotional Abuse, Unhealthy Romantic Relationship, Hypothermia, Alcohol, Death Mention, Morally Grey Janus, Crying, Angst With a Happy Ending

This fic was at times both frustrating and fun to write. I have no plans to continue this fic, but you can ask me questions regarding the ‘verse and I’ll answer them. Janus has good intentions in this fic he’s just bad at expressing them and we’re also seeing this from Logan’s pov.

--

It was cold in the cellar. Then again, it would be rather alarming were it the opposite case. Cellars were historically used to store perishable items such as vegetables and meats in a time before refrigerators existed. Still prolonged exposure to such an absence of heat wasn’t good for any human being. Not without proper clothing or heating methods. Something both Logan and his young brother unfortunately lacked. 

At first with just a t-shirt and jeans it’d been fine. A bit chilly but fine. What Logan hadn’t accounted for was a cold front to settle in unexpectedly. Within an hour, it dropped by forty degrees. His little brother Virgil wasn’t fond of physical touch. Yet the young child clung to Logan for warmth. It wasn’t enough. His skinny frame still trembled, his lips turning blue. Logan himself felt the effects of his body trying uselessly to warm the cold environment around them. Still his bit his lips from shivering, desperate to attempt staying strong for Virgil.

“I-I-I’m s-s-scared.” Virgil cried, digging his head into Logan’s shirt.

I...I know.” Logan said, stroking his brother’s hair gently, “Things are...things will be alright.”

Logan had repeated this statement many times already to Virgil. Each time he grew less sure of it. However, he knew he had to remain strong for his brother’s sake. Ever since his brother was a baby, Logan had to grow up faster. Much faster than even before. Sometimes he resented this fact, but never for long. It was simply the way things were.

“C-c-c-can you tell me a story?” Virgil asked, and of course Logan obliged. For he knew the unspoken words in that request: I’m still scared. Can you make it less scary? 

A story, for both the listener and teller, would be a beneficial distraction. Even though Logan was not a good storyteller. Once he did a short story assignment in middle school and received a C. His heart metaphorically sank at the sight of it and he dreaded going home that day. Virgil always seemed to appreciate his stories. Although praise from a kindergartener wasn’t worth much in the literary world.

Through frozen lips, he told a meandering story to his little brother. Sometimes his brother would ask questions or offer suggestions, abruptly changing the direction of the story. Logan himself barely remembered what it was about. It was as if someone else spoke through him as his mind drifted to other ideas.

It’d been dark for a long, long while. Usually his mother would’ve unlocked the door by now. She’d insist he’d make dinner while complaining of a terrible headache.

 It was an unending cycle. His mother would do her best to stay sober and function as an adult for a few weeks. Then her mood would increasingly sour, little things piling up into an avalanche. It was hard to tell at times what would be the trigger. The one thing that made her slam open the alcohol cabinet and drown a whole bottle of vodka. 

She wasn’t a nice person when drunk; hence the whole being-locked-in-the-cellar. Eventually after a few days of heavy drinking, his mother would come to her senses. She’d lock the alcohol cabinet and claim she’d never drink again. A lie nobody believed but herself.

Perhaps the lie was done in good intentions. His mother always insisted she cared for her children, in ways their father never could. 

“He’s a snake, Logan,” She hissed once, banging her beer heavily onto a coaster, “A dirty, no-good deceiving snake.”

Logan said nothing. He had only a few memories of the man. Once, when Logan was nine years old, he showed up on their doorstep. He held a bouquet of roses for Mother and a much belated birthday present for Logan. It’d been one of the happiest he’d seen Mother. He stayed with them for a few days. He listened to Logan, complimenting him on his extensive knowledge about dinosaurs. The three of them went to a carnival together. For a fleeting moment, Logan had what the others kids at his school had; a family. 

Then it ended with tears, arguing, door slams. Mother yanking him by the arm and leaving everything behind. Nine months later, Virgil was born. His father wasn’t there. Nor did he ever show his face again. A bitter, festering part of Logan despised him for that.

Mother acted like she cared at times. She’d purchase Virgil and Logan expensive gifts. Things she couldn’t afford without a credit card. She treated them to ice cream and insisted on giving them hugs. She never understood that Virgil found tactical touch without permission distressing. She’d brush it off, making remarks he simply needed to get used to it. 

At times Logan allowed himself to pretend these niceties would last. He pretended his mother was a flawed human being who mostly did good by her children. He pretended the slapping and hair-pulling didn’t exist, that the cellar was just a cellar and not a place to fear. It was hard to pretend these things were true, when the reality became increasingly harder to ignore.

Virgil fell asleep in the midst of this. Logan hadn’t realized this at first. His tired mind plunged on, continuing the nonsensical story.

“Then Batsy the Bat escaped the Witch’s dungeon. He flew as fast he could, to warn his friends...ah. Virgil what do you think their names should be?” Logan squinted, the dim light making it hard to see if his brother’s eyes were closed or not, “Virgil?”

His brother slumped against him, his breaths long and labored. Logan frowned, shaking his shoulder, “Virgil?!”

Virgil made a grumbling noise, “What?”

“You need to stay awake. You--you can’t fall asleep right now.”

“I’m tireeeed,” Virgil complained.

“I--I know, but please. It--it isn’t good to sleep right now.”

“Why?”

Logan’s throat constricted, “Be--because well. I haven’t finished the story yet.”

It was a lie. The truth was that sleeping could be a dangerous thing for a hypothermia victim. Sleeping could lead to death. He couldn’t tell his brother that. He refused to let Virgil experience more fright than he already had in his short life.

“Okaaay.” Virgil said.

Logan continued with the story, pulling all his concentration into it. Yet it wasn’t enough to keep Virgil awake. He kept drifting off, unable to keep his eyes open. At one point his brother down crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He sobbed, repeating the words over and over.

“It’s alright, you’re okay, everything is gonna be--gonna be,” Logan stammered, struggling to force the word out, “okay.”

It was then that Logan knew they couldn’t remain in the cellar any longer. He’d have to overcome his one true fear for the sake of their safety and survival. What he feared even more than his mother, was losing Virgil. Logan was smart. He knew the odds of a kindergartener and a high school sophomore staying together in the foster system was slim.

He had been selfish to allow his mother to continue tormenting Virgil. It was wrong. Now both him and his brother were paying for it.

Logan could fix this. He just had to pull out his phone and call emergency services. He had to call and resist his foolish fears of his mother and separation from his brother. With one arm still tucked around his brother, he pulled the phone out of his pocket. A battered, beaten thing he’d purchased with his first paycheck. His mother was completely unaware of its existence. 

He pressed the power button on as he gathered up the courage to call. Except the screen remained completely blank. He pressed it again, this time harder, hoping it’d been a fluke. It wasn’t. Again and again, he kept pressing the button, irrationally hoping for a different result. 

“No,” Logan swallowed heavily, “no, no, no this cannot be happening--” “Logey?” Virgil hiccuped, his big glassy eyes staring up as his older brother with concern.

“It’s okay, Virgil,” Logan murmured, “It’s okay, It’ll be okay--”

He couldn’t say the words any longer. Not when a sob wracked his throat, his vision turning hazy with tears. He couldn’t be strong any longer. He was weak. His heart beat faster, the chasm in his stomach deepening. His little brother said something, but he couldn’t hear it. All he heard was his mind mocking his failure. Shrill and scorching like his mother.

StUpID DiD yOU ThINK ThAT wAS GOING TO WORK?

You and your little brother are going to die and it’s all yOUR FAuLt

UsEleSS

Not EVEn YoUR OwN FATHER WAntED YOU--

“Hello? Whoever is contacting me at this hour better not have a good reason.”

Logan’s thoughts jolted to a halt. What? He glanced down at his phone, but it was still battered and dead. Virgil looked just as confused and lost as he felt. He hid his face in Logan’s shirt, whimpering softly.

“Who...are you?” Logan croaked, doing a poor disguise of covering up his breakdown moments before.

“I think that is perhaps a question I should be asking you.” The strange voice replied. It was definitely emanating from the phone, but how Logan had no clue. It made no logical sense.

“I--I don’t know.”

“You don’t know your name?”

“No! I mean of course I know my name! I mean, you can’t be real--I must be hallucinating.”

“Oh?” The voice responded with a touch of some unidentifiable emotion, “this must be your first time then.”

“First time what?” Logan snapped, a headache starting to take form. He regretted raising his voice when Virgil let out a cry. He murmured a soft apology to him, attempting to ignore how cold his brother felt.

“Is there someone else with you?” 

“No,” Logan said, before hesitating, “I mean perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

“You still haven’t responded to my question from before.”

“Let me broker a deal then. I’ll answer your question, if you tell me who you and your companion are.”

“Okay,” Logan shakes his head, wanting to laugh hysterically. What in Newton’s three laws of gravity was going on? Surely, he died. He died and this was some last minutes of brain activity occurring. Scientists after all, know very little what happens in one’s last moments of life. Nothing could quite prepare him for the answer the voice gave him, however.

“Well then, to quote a popular misguided piece of media, ‘you’re a wizard, Harry!’” The voice said, the verbal jazz hands evident in the voice’s dripping, dry wit. Something about it was painfully familiar.

“What.”

“You asked, I answered,” The voice chuckled, “now it’s your turn.”

“My--my name is Logan,” He said, blinking rapidly, “and my little brother..ahhh...oh! Vi-Virgil is here with me.”

“Logan, that’s your name? You’re sure?”

Logan frowned at that. Of course he was sure. Or was he? It was getting rather harder to focus. Or to breathe even. The crisp cold air hurt his lungs. Virgil slumped heavily against him, complete dead weight in his unconsciousness. Oh. That was bad. He knew that was bad. 

“Logan?!” The voice yelled. Hmm, it sounded like they’ve been yelling at him for awhile now. He should acknowledge them. He nodded before pausing. Wait. He needed to respond verbally.

“Y-yes?” 

“Finally. You seem like you’re doing absolutely fantastic,” The voice told him. 

“Do I?” Logan asked, “I do not think I’m doing ‘fantastic’.”

“Where are you?”

Logan rattled off the address. Then he very casually added, “We’re locked in the cellar.”

“WHAT?!”

“It’s-s-s-s a punishment,” Logan shivered, his eyelids drooping against his will, “it’sssokay.”

“Yes, because all parenting books recommend disciplining your children by locking them in a cellar.” Maybe it was just Logan, but he got the impression the voice was being sarcastic. 

“I need to cut the invocation call. I’ll be there soon.”

“Wh--how-hy?” Logan said, trying to speak three words at once. The voice didn’t respond. He tried shaking his battered phone as if that would do anything. It did not do anything.

The air frizzled in front of Logan. A golden spark appeared, expanding until it was one big golden shimmery oval. Logan stared at it, blinking rapidly. This was absurd. He most definitely had to be hallucinating. The golden oval ripples as a black fedora emerged from it, followed by a face and then a whole body.

“F--father?” Logan managed.

The man before him was older and dressed in strange clothing. Slivers of silver hair poked out from his hat, nestled among the chestnut hair. An unfamiliar gruesome scar ran alongside the left side of his face. But he recognized those hazel eyes anywhere. He stared at them at the mirror every morning.

He didn’t respond to Logan. He took a few steps before collapsing beside the huddled forms of Logan and Virgil. His gloved hands reached out, but he did not touch them. His mouth opened, but no sound came out of him. Then his gloves covered his face as he inhaled deeply. He removed them from his face, his expression carefully blank.

“I’m here.” He told Logan, extending a hand towards him, “and I won’t leave you or your brother this time.”

Logan stared at the yellow gloved hand before sluggishly panning his gaze up at his father. He didn’t know if he could trust him, let alone if he could trust that this was reality. But god, he wanted it to be real. 

So cradling Virgil close to his chest with one arm, he took hold of his father’s hand. And then, with a bright flash of light, the cellar was empty.

-

Logan felt warm. A drizzling, dribbling, dripping like maple syrup down a fresh stack of buttermilk pancakes type of warmth. He should be alarmed by this for some reason, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be. Instead he made a contented noise, shifting closer to it. Someone chuckled, running a calloused hand through his hair. Logan stilled at the touch, the warmth evaporating from his veins. He waited for the fingers to grow taunt around a tuft of hair. For the harsh cacophony of his mother’s voice to rain down on him like hail. Nothing.

“Are you asleep, Little Tesla?” 

The air in his lungs evaporated. Only one person had called him that and it certainly wasn’t his mother. As much as she expected him to receive good grades, she hadn’t been one to nurture his interests in 20th century scientists.

“Father?” Logan whispered.

“I’m here, I didn’t leave, just like I said I would.”

He opened his eyes to find his father was indeed there. Sitting on a wooden chair with sunken eyes as if he’d been awake for hours. Logan laid on a bed with silky sheets and an impossibly warm comforter. He had just barely enough to cover him--most of the blankets had been stolen by another small figure. Virgil. His little baby brother was with him, asleep and curled up in a small ball.

“Wha--” Logan started to say, until everything hit him. The cellar. The strange bodiless voice. The gleaming gold portal. Father. Darkness.

“Yes, yes, I know it’s not at all a lot to take in, but you have magic. And you found me again, just like I’d hope you would.”

“Found you?” Logan asked, a hardness to his tone, “Assuming this isn’t a hallucination, you left me with h-her, you never came back and suddenly because I possess magic, I’m what? Worth something?”

“Yes, no!” His father cried out with a frustrated growl, “Listen, Logan. My relationship with your mother was extremely healthy, as I’m sure you can agree. Not unhealthy in the slightest. When it ended, your mother left a lovely parting gift.”

Here, he rubs a hand against the facial scar almost absent-mindedly, “I wanted to find you, I searched everywhere, but your mother is smart and covers her tracks well. I’m...sorry I couldn’t find you or your brother sooner. You’re important to me, magic or no magic.”

“How can I trust you?” Logan asked, “How can I trust that you’re not anything like her?”

He expected his father to be upset by the accusation, but instead he just smirked.

“You’re good to be suspicious. It’s a good trait, don’t ever lose it,” He said, adjusting his gloves, “I can tell you, that I will not harm you or your brother. I can say I will teach you magic, if you desire. I can let you know that I will let you walk out the door with your brother, and you won’t ever have to see me or your mother again. But you have no true way of trusting a man that has, from what you know, abandoned you completely until just now. 

“You have two options. Either accept you cannot completely trust what I say is true and proceed with caution, or you can leave with your brother, find a way to support the two of you. You’re smart, Logan. I trust you could figure it out.”

Logan swallowed. He was indeed smart--or knowledgeable enough to know there was little choice in the matter. He was just fifteen. He can’t support Virgil and him--not legally anyway. It’d be difficult to cover it up. Child Protection Services would be on them in a matter of weeks, if not days. 

Good case scenario, they stayed together in the foster system. Bad case scenario, they ended up separated. Worst case scenario? They ended up back at their mother’s, because they don’t believe either of Logan’s or Virgil’s claims and the cycle continues without end.

So, his father. He was the only option, and he knew it. As much bitterness as Logan held for the man, there’s also yearning in equal spades. He used to spend nights crying for him with his mother yelling at him to shut up. Sometimes she’d beat him for it, telling him his father was never coming back. Then he’d snap back that she was wrong and he’d prove Logan right by coming back. Until little by little, he stopped. 

He couldn’t trust his father, the man even admitted it. He just had to hope it’d be better, even though apparently the man believed in magic. Logan was doing his best at the moment to deny it existed. It couldn’t exist, last night had to be a fluke of some sort and even if it wasn’t, it was too much for him to focus on at the moment. 

“As long as I have your word that you won’t intentionally hurt Virgil and I, we will stay with you.” Logan says, before offering his hand towards his father.

Father took a look at the extended hand, eyes softening, before clasping it, “You have my word, Logan, that I will not harm you or Virgil as long as you remain in my care.”

They shook on it. Logan let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in and then--and then, his vision blurred. A sob and then another erupted until he clenched his teeth, holding the rest back. For the second time within twenty-four hours he had shown weakness. First to his brother and now, now to his father who above all he should show no signs to. But like that creative writing assignment in the 8th grade, he completely failed.

Somehow halfway the handshake got turned into an embrace. His father hugged him, a calloused hand softly carding through his hair once more. 

“Shh, Logan, you’ve been so strong, stronger than most. You won’t have to be strong alone any longer. Let it all out.”

Logan didn’t know what to think of his father’s words. It wasn’t like a set of logical propositions or a step-by-step formula for science. He couldn’t know for certain if they were genuine. But in this moment, he was but a little boy with his father back. So he dug his head into his father’s chest and finally cried. His father, in turn, did not berate or beat him for it. Instead, he held onto his son as he whispered reassurances all the while.

[yandere-tech]

Comfort (Jin Bubaigawara X Reader)

Being alone with your thoughts was possibly the worst thing you could be doing right now. Sitting in the darkness of your room, cheeks stained with tears and eyes red, you tried to get rid of the overbearing sensation of...guilt, sadness, loneliness. It all seemed to swirl around in your brain like an angry swarm of wasps, ready to attack with each second you weren't distracted. Having thrown on some feel good music on low, trying to read something that would bring back that smile. When was the last time you smiled? You were sure it was over something stupid like a tiktok video or short clip about a cat. A quick, small laugh and half smile that would dissolve the moment the video was done. The more you thought about it- when was the last time you were happy...?        A shudder of a cry escapes past your lips as you try to keep quiet- knowing the walls of apartment complex were thin as paper- and it was one in the morning. You didn't need to wake up anyone- you certainly didn't need to accidentally wake your boyfriend either. As much as you'd love to cry and cling to him, he had it far worse and you knew it. Constantly battling himself- much like you did. But you knew how to silence your pain, you were his 'home' and, honestly, he was yours. Despite trying to hide these feelings behind dark humor or a half assed smile, he somehow managed to make things better. His ability to somehow deal with everything and still be the most kindest and most loyal man you had ever met.         Your hand had slipped over your mouth as a hiccup and slight whimper manages to slip out. Nothing was helping this time and it felt like the world was slowly closing in on you. Your tears come back full force as the thoughts take off with you again, reminding you of how worthless you were- how lonely you were- how you weren't worth the life you were given. It bombarded you to the point you were doubled over, hand now firmly pressed to your lips to keep from crying out or sobbing, your other hand shakily gripping your hair. The feelings would be gone by morning...You'd fall asleep and you'd wake up feeling numb once again. But right now- in the late hours of the night when sleep wouldn't drag you in, when the darkness swallowed you whole- it felt never-ending.        And that's when you heard his voice, gruff from sleep and concerned. Just the way Jin said your name made the darkness reel back just enough as you quickly look toward the other side of the bed, where the blonde had shifted slightly, propping himself up on his elbows, blinking in the low light of your computer glow. Quickly closing the laptop, you wipe at your eyes and try to find a way to make your voice sound normal.        "Sorry, Jin. I didn't mean to wake you." You tell him as you slide your laptop to the side of the bedside table and slowly curl up under the blankets with him. The moment your body is under, he sinks down as well, an arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer.        "Are you alright...?" "We need our beauty sleep, babe." He says before grumbling and opening his eyes once more to look at you in the dark. A small hum escapes you as you run a hand through his hair.        "Just fine." You lie easily. However, you soon feel his hand on your cheek as he strokes his thumb in small circles.        "Then why is your cheek still wet?" "Lying to me- I'm hurt!" He shakes his head a bit, making you tense slightly.        "It's nothing, Jin, really. I just get sappy and over emotional at night." You tell him, taking his hand off your cheek.        "Mnn...You seriously suck at lying..." Jin yawns as he sits up again, pulling you up and into his lap. "Now let's try that again... Why were you crying?" The male asks, resting his chin on the top of your head, his arms wrapped around you in a comforting way.        There was a long pause as you try to think of if you should tell him or not. Unconsciously, you begin to bite and chew on your lip. You wanted to tell him, you really did. But the thought of being so vulnerable- the thought of letting him see the real you, the broken, the damaged, the pieces of you that wanted nothing more than a short drop and sudden stop. Certainly he'd understand better than anyone else! He had too! But- he had so much to deal with already- adding onto that- you didn't want to burden him- or scare him off. You were his rock after all- and if that rock started to slide- who would catch both of you?        As thoughts begin to start up again, Jin gently nuzzles his face into your neck, making you tense slightly.        "Calm down, your heart rate is astronomical." He mutters against your neck, only really making it skyrocket further. "Hah, look at that, I still have the power to distract you." His other personality chuckles, making you huff lightly and look away. "Come on, just tell me what's up... I always open up to you. I always come to you for help when I start to feel down, like I'm splitting- you're my comfort. So- let me do the same for you." Jin says, now messing with your hair. "I'll do my best to help-" "Or at least help in distracting you and making you smile!"        Giving a small sigh, you glance at the male out the corner of your eyes before looking down.        "Okay- but- please- don't hate me." You say, making the blonde pull away briefly to look down at you, confused.        "I couldn't hate you even if I wanted too." "Except when you eat my leftovers! I still haven't forgiven you for the deep fried cheesecake last week!" At this, you can't help but give a short, small laugh as you lean back into his chest.        "Well...I've struggled with really bad depression my whole life." You finally admit, closing your eyes, almost as if afraid to see his expression. "I've been able to bury it around others pretty damn good though. I can easily be around the League or Giran and you- but the moment I have to deal with myself on my own- I dig myself into a deep hole." Feeling Jin's arm move from your waist to lightly tracing your jawline with a finger, you relax a bit more. His touches really were such a nice thing. Gentle and slow. "Most days I just feel nothing. Like- like going through the day is just another task I have to complete. Other days, like tonight- I end up feeling everything at once. There's no stop to it, really." You feel tears slowly stirring up again as you continue. "People half my age have done so much more than me, I feel like, at my age, I should have done something- anything! Yet, I can't find a job, my best friend, only friend and boyfriend are all the same person, I only talk to the League- I don't have friends. And-and." You hiccup as you curl up in his lap, a hand gripping his wrist as you pull it to you in a comforting manner- much like one might a pillow to hold. "I feel like such a disappointment, a failure. Like my life isn't even worth it." Turning to have your face against his chest, you bury your face there and try to stop the flow of tears. "You have to do everything for us- I'm useless- I don't- understand why you'd want someone like me. All I am is a huge headache and mess of a person. I have nothing going for me- so why? Why keep going?" By now, you were sobbing between words and trying to stop the shaking that rocked your body like a chihuahua.        Jin was silent for a moment or two- a real concern, as he was almost never quiet. It seriously made you feel like your heart was in a vice grip- maybe you shouldn't had said anything. You start to pull away, looking up at Jin, who had tears in his own eyes as he held you tighter.        "I'm sorry- that you felt you couldn't talk to me about this." He says, pressing a few kisses to your forehead, he hugs you as if he could lose you the moment he lets go. "I know how it can be- the loneliness- the fear....I know how it feels." Jin's voice wavered, as if he was keeping himself from sobbing on you as well. "But you're my heart. I can't live without you, doll." He states, his breathing hitched slightly. "We're both pretty fucked up, huh?" A weak laugh escapes the male as he nuzzles his face into you again. "Please, if you're going to help me- let me help you too. When you feel like this, I want to be there to cry with you." "And trust me, I can cry a LOT." This earns a small laugh from you as he smiles down at you in the dark, wiping at your tears. "I'm sorry you feel like that. But I want you to know that I love you, alright?" "Like- a lot. It's unhealthy. I think I might be love sick~" He says, gently clutching his head and hissing. "Shuddup." He mutters before sighing lightly. "I'm here for you, okay? And all these thoughts you have? They're just thoughts. We can get rid of them- like fighting off heroes! They may be strong, but we can overcome them!" "Through love and friendship!" Jin gives you a bright smile. "And you'll always have me! Sorry, you already threw out the receipt , no returns." He then gives you a few little chaste kisses, earning one of those laughs you know he adored so much.        A small smile pulls onto your lips as you look up into those grey-blue eyes of his. Maybe this was a good thing for you- for both of you. Opening up to him was relieving and he seemed all too happy to hear you out. Jin had a way with words- even when he didn't mean too. It really did brighten the rather deep and unending tunnel. You knew the feelings wouldn't just vanish...But at least with Jin, there was someone to help you battle off these demons with. The way ahead would be heavily loaded with trials- but maybe just having someone there for you- at your side- would be the saving grace to keep you from diving into a permanent solution to this feeling.        "Okay, okay." You sniffle lightly before leaning up and kissing his lips lightly. "I'll try and come to you when I'm like this from now on." You assure him before he gives you a rather excited smile.        "I'm gonna be such a good supportive man." He says, pulling you back onto the bed with him, with you resting on his chest. "We're both pretty crazy, huh? Like we cancel out each other's weirdness." He teases as you get comfortable.        "Cancel out is a strong way to put it." You hum as you look up at him, his hand gently stroking your hair.        "Fine, fine- we help each other out mutually now." Jin chuckles, the rumble in his chest sending such a small signal of happiness to your brain that you finally feel a slight genuine smile. He was such a good man- How you were so lucky to have him, you didn't know.        "So- how about some depression sex~?" His other personality asks, making Jin smack a hand to his forehead. "I-Ignore that." He mutters, shaking his head. "This is seriously not the time for that." He says, lightly smacking himself a few times in the head. You grab his hand and gently pull it down, placing a kiss on his palm.        "Mnn, maybe it would help distract us though." You tease before giggling as he get's all flustered.

[imhereformr]

7 for Brella 🥰🥰🧡🧡

7. Good Morning Beautiful/Handsome

Stella ran her hand through her long, golden blonde hair as she leaned back against the chair. Her hair was greasy and knotted. She knew it needed to be washed and brushed, and she found it near impossible to believe that she had let it get to this point. It wasn’t her fault, though. Newborn twins and an eighteen-month-old meant she didn’t have much time for herself, and Brandon was off on a diplomatic meeting to Vallisto. She had been supposed to go, but she couldn’t bear to leave the twins while they were still so young. 

Sulien, who, up till then, had laid patiently in his crib waiting for his turn, began to wail. When she heard her brother’s commotion, Aster began to cry too. The newborns’ sobs echoed through the large bedchamber, bouncing off the sun-yellow and white walls and burrowing themselves in the exhausted queen’s mind. It was a miracle that Gerry – named after Brandon’s father – across the hall didn’t start crying too. He had been such a good, easy baby – like Brandon, according to his mother – while the twins were turning out to be nightmare babies.

It was too much. The lack of sleep, unwashed hair, five-day old sweatpants, sore and leaky nipples, and constant headaches from the unending wailing was driving her mad. Stella didn’t trust her babies to nannies – she'd had so many, and she’d hated it – so the only solace she found was in the knowledge that Brandon would be home the next afternoon, hopefully with good news from Vallisto.  

Her head dropped backwards onto the plush pillowy material of her nursing chair. She didn’t have the energy to stop the babies’ crying. This was the fifth night in a row they’d cried incessantly of the five nights that Brandon had been gone. He always had a knack for getting them to smile and laugh, while she could hardly get them to stop crying. She hated it. She hated them. Not really – she loved her beautiful babies, she just hated them when they cried like this. It made her feel like she couldn’t get it right; like she was a failure as a mother. 

She didn’t know when she’d started crying, but she was. Ugly, sniffly, chest shaking sobs escaped her lips and she couldn’t care less. She let herself cry. She’d held it in so far, but she deserved to let herself feel awful for how badly she was failing at this whole parenting thing. Her whimpers filled in the moments of silence between the twins’ wails, and the three of them cried together like they were playing some twisted, sad symphony.  

A gentle hand on her shoulder caused her to jump out of her skin and stop crying. She wiped her eyes with her free hand and shot a glance over her shoulder at the hand’s owner. He was mostly shadow outlined by the nightlight on the wall behind him, but Stella recognised the shaggy hair immediately. Brandon gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before taking Aster from her arms.

He placed the baby over his shoulder, bouncing her gently. Aster quieted down almost immediately, as if Stella needed reminding that the twins preferred him. Brandon turned towards his wife and bent down to her eye level. “Go to bed, Stel. You’re exhausted. I’ve got them.”

Stella stood up and made her way out of the room without another word. Behind her, she could hear Brandon shushing Sulien. Logically, she knew that he hadn’t meant anything by it other than support, but Brandon’s words upset her. Made her feel like he didn’t think she could take care of her own children. She stopped by Gerry’s room on her way to their bedroom, peaking her head in just enough to see the boy fast asleep.  

Sleep didn’t entice her, she just wanted to cry for the rest of eternity. Stella dragged herself across the king-sized bed and propped herself against the simple wood headboard (Brandon had gotten to choose the bed in exchange for letting Stella choose everything else. Apparently, he hadn’t been too into the plush lilac headboard she’d selected). Her legs curled up to her chest so Stella could rest her arms on them and drop her head onto said arms as she let the tears fall.  

She had no idea how long she’d been like that, only that the bed shifted beneath her and a hand was playing with her hair. She sniffled as she lifted her head. Brandon watched her, those chocolate brown eyes she loved so much flecked with concern. He continued to play with her hair in the way that always soothed her. “What’s going on, Stella?”  

“My children hate me” she replied plainly. It felt so fucking stupid to say. They were newborns, a whole nine weeks old; they barely even knew who she was. She knew, though. They hated her.

“No, they don’t.” Brandon pulled her head in to rest on his shoulder. He was still in his traditional Solarian dress, likely having hopped on the plane immediately after having finished his business. The material was stiff under her head, but she could feel the warmth of his body through it.  

“They do.” Stella sniffled again and wiped the tears on her cheeks away. Brandon leaned away momentarily, grabbing the box of tissues from the bedside table and placing it on his lap. Stella grabbed one and blew her nose. “They always cry with me and I can’t get them to stop.”

“They’re babies. Of course, they cry a lot.”

“Not for you” she snarked.  

“My mom and Margie have a great relationship, right?” Stella nodded, not quite understanding what that had to do with Aster and Sulien hating her. Brandon’s youngest sister – now fifteen – and his mom were the best of friends; they had mother/daughter dates every second Saturday. “When Margie was a baby, she cried every single time my mom held her without fail. And, yet, here they are, practically inseparable.”

“Yeah, okay.” Stella nodded weakly. Brandon might be right; maybe she and twins would have a great relationship in the future. She just had to get there first.

“Is there anything else on your mind?” Brandon asked, whispering into the crown of her head as he placed a kiss on it.  

Stella considered lying to him, but he would see right through her. He always did. “I feel ugly.”

“What?” The genuine shock in his voice was both touching and baffling. Had he not seen her these last few weeks?

“Come on, Brandon. I’m covered in stretch marks, my boobs are sagging and leaking, there are circles under my eyes darker than the caves of the Under Realm, my hair is a greasy, unkempt disaster and I’ve got all this goddamn baby weight that just won’t go away.” 

The worlds had spilled out of her before she’d had the chance to even figure out what she wanted to say. More tears accompanied it, and Stella hated how she felt even more. Brandon said nothing for a while, just gave her that look. It was the same one he’d had when they’d been in front of the mirror of truth: one of utter disbelief and heartache. His arms wrapped around her tightly and he continued to stroke her hair. At some point, he’d started listing all the things he loved about her: her smile, her laugh, her eyes, her carefree personality, her positivity, her brain, her love, and so much more.  

Try as she might, the tears kept coming. At least now, though, the feeling behind the tears was a bittersweet mix of self-hatred and love; an improvement over the lone hatred she’d felt before. Brandon held her until she’d cried herself to sleep. When she had finally fallen asleep, he laid her down and pulled the blanket over her before getting up to undress. He laid beside her, and gently placed his arm under her neck and wrapped his free arm around her. He wanted her to wake up in his arms, where she knew she was loved.

When Stella woke the next morning, the sun shone brightly through the large set of windows, bathing the room in golden light. Stella nuzzled herself into Brandon even more than she already was and lifted her eyes to look at him. She was surprised to find he was already awake, watching her with a loving look that sent shivers through her. He placed a kiss on her forehead and offered her a sweet smile. “Good morning, beautiful.”

[onlybloodandwhiskey]

Nightshade - Poison

TW: Hair-pulling, Poison, Restraints, Mention of past whump to a minor, dub-con touching (non-sexual), physical punishments, head injury

Word count: 1679

Taglist: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

**

Shade wasn't hiding. They weren't. What they were doing, however, was strategically concealing their position for the greater good.

Well, their greater good.

They could hear Delusion stalking around their little base, and considering how well their last clash with Dawnbringer, the city's fucking golden girl, had gone, they'd decided it would be in their best interests to stay out of sight and out of mind.

Delusion was never happy when they failed. 

Shade was never happy when Delusion wasn't.

So, that was how they'd found themself lying flat on their stomach within the ceiling, having slid the panel they'd wriggled through closed behind them, barely even daring to breathe.

They'd run out of hiding places within their side of the base weeks ago. This had seemed like the best bet.

They could hear footsteps, drawing ever closer. Their hands, drawn in close and balled into tight fists, had started to itch, their power activating without their consent, their poison starting to sting as it slowly burnt their hands

They scrubbed their hands on their jeans, and tried to ignore the footsteps.

They were getting closer by the step. 

Shade screwed their eyes closed, and focused very hard on keeping their breathing even. The footsteps paused outside their door. 

There was silence for a very long time. Shade took a moment, and very slowly opened their eyes. 

They took one steady breath, and then something grabbed their ankles, and forcibly dragged them out of the ceiling. 

They heard the impact of their head on the wooden floor of their room before they felt it, the breath knocked out of them as they landed flat on their back. 

They couldn't see when they tried to sit up, their vision a blur of colours as their head pounded. Still, they knew that the blurred shape of black and deep green in front of them was Delusion. 

They hadn't heard him open the door. They'd made sure the hinge squeaked on purpose just for moments like this, how had he got in?

"You know I don't like you hiding from me, Nightshade." He said, his tone like iron, and really, Shade knew they were fucked there and then. 

"I wasn't hiding." They defended as they blinked their vision clear, a sickening headache pounding behind their eyes. "I sleep in the ceiling now, it's comforting. And more secure should our base be compromised." They explained, trying to keep their tone even, even as their voice shook.

"You also know I don't like to be lied to." Delusion said, a deep frown on his face. "You dig yourself a bigger hole by the moment."

Shade had nothing to say to that that wouldn't get them into more trouble, and so they simply scrambled onto their knees and let their hair hand into their eyes as they waited.

"You've failed me, Nightshade. You shame us both with your actions." Delusion started. "What, exactly, is so hard about defeating one little superhero? Explain to me the reasons behind yet another instance in your grand string of failures."

Shade wasn't oblivious enough to their own feelings to not admit that that didn't sting a little.

"I don't know, could it possibly be the fact that she's got a whole team of backup, her powers are stronger than mine, and she's bigger than me?" Shade said before they could stop themself.

Delusion's frown grew deeper, and his eyes grew colder. Nightshade looked at him, and took a deep, shaky breath.

They'd just fucked up big time.

"Her powers are stronger, you say?" Delusion said, and Shade suddenly knew exactly where this was going. "You must not be training enough, Nightshade."

"Delusion, wait, no, I didn't mean it like that." They tried, but Delusion cut them off quickly.

"Nightshade, where are your gloves?" He asked, and Shade's blood ran dead cold.

"Delusion, please don't, please." 

"Where are your gloves?" He asked again, disregarding that they'd even spoken in the first place.

The cold steel in his eyes suggested that they'd regret it, should he have to ask them again.

"Bottom drawer." They muttered, quietly. 

"Thank you." Delusion said, and slowly went to fetch their gloves.

Shade hated the gloves.

 Delusion always called it training, a way for them to strengthen their poisons, to build their resistance to their own power.

Shade didn't know what they were made of, some black, flexible material that was strong enough to withstand the burning of the poison. They sealed off at their wrists, and could clip together with what Shade had always assumed a magnet of some kind. Delusion had never bothered to explain, simply pulling them out whenever he felt they needed to be stronger or, as Shade suspected, whenever they displeased him.

"Hands." Delusion ordered as he stepped back into their vision, the gloves in his hands.

"You don't need to do this, Delusion, please." They tried again, and were met with Delusion moving shot-fast, and yanking their head up by the hair. 

It happened too quickly for them to suppress the surprised yelp of pain they made, a high keen of shock as Delusion grabbed the roots of their hair and pulled, forcing them to meet his eyes.

"You will obey me, Nightshade." He told them, his grip on their hair pulling harder by the second, to their point that they felt he was going to rip their hair right out of their skull. "You will train as I bid, no matter how much it displeases you, or I will make your life very uncomfortable for you. I have been very lenient with your failures until now. I will not be so lenient again. Am I understood?"

Nightshade hesitated for a second, and the hand in their hair jerked away from their head in a sudden movement. The feeling of their hair tearing from their scalp was so unexpected that they couldn't help the gasp, nor the easy tears that blinked into their eyes.

"Am I understood, Nightshade?"

"Yes, yes, you're understood." Shade said, scrubbing their eyes with the heel of their palm.

"Good." Delusion said, dropping a clump of their hair to the ground. "Now give me your hands."

Shade looked at him for a second, flexed one of their hands, and promptly got backhanded, the sharp crack of Delusion's hand meeting their face shocking them, and the very force of it knocking them off their knees and sprawling to the side.

"Hands now, Nightshade." Delusion said. "You will follow the orders you are given, and you will not hesitate."

Shade pushed back onto their knees and held out their hands without a word. They could already see the black pinpricks of poison starting to bead at their pores, a sharp, fizzing pain eminating from each little dot. 

Delusion shelled both of their hands into the gloves with ease, the cuffs tight around their wrists, digging unforgivingly into their skin, allowing them no respite. 

By the time Delusion had finished securing the second glove, the hand within the first had already started to burn. He quickly twisted their wrists behind their back, and Shade made an embarrassing whine of pain as he wrenched their shoulders uncomfortably to press their inner wrists together, and activated whatever mechanism clipped the gloves together.

Then he sat back, to watch them. 

The first time Delusion had put them in the gloves, they'd been sixteen, and they'd cried within the first five minutes, and begged him to take them off.

They were nineteen now, and had spent the past two years being beaten up by varying superheroes. They could do better. 

Their hands burnt within the gloves, the sharp pinpoints of bubbling pain morphing into a savage burning that coated their whole hand. It was like teeth, ripping into whatever skin they could get at with fangs of fire, digging into their flesh without mercy. It grew and grew and grew, until the agony was all they could consider, until all thoughts of dignity and strength had left them, their own poison flaying them to the bone.

It was then that they broke down and cried, a choked-back sob of pain escaping their lips as tears finally slipped down their cheeks, their head ducked as they gave into the urge to cry.

"Almost an hour, Nightshade." Delusion said. "I'm almost impressed." He sounded almost uninterested, as though watching them lose themself to the agony of his punishment was somehow a chore to him.

"Please," They sobbed, their hands burning with no respite, no escape. Their shoulders throbbed from the awkward position of their wrists, but it was nothing compared to the unending agony of their poison. "Please, please, I promise I'll do better."

"How can you do better unless you get stronger?" Delusion said, no sign of mercy in his eyes.

Nightshade gave a wordless cry of pain, ducking their head into their chest, their hair stuck to their sweat-damp forehead, struggling to think around the pain. Whatever anyone would do to them after this, whatever Dawnbringer and her Renegades may hit them with, no matter how many times they fell, it could never compare to this.

"Please." They tried again, and Delusion came to kneel by them.

"The gloves stay on until I return." Delusion said, carding a hand through their hair.  "Do you understand me, Nightshade?"

"Yes, yes, I understand" They said, choking back a sob. They had to stop crying, they needed to stop, but they couldn't quite seem to put that thought into action, hot tears leaking from their eyes and down their face.. "Thank you." They said, so fucking greatful he'd mentioned an end to their punishment, a definitive point they had to last until, a timeframe for them to withstand the pain.

"Good." He said, wiping a tear from their eye with a thumb, his gloved hand cupping their cheek. They leaned into his hand, pressing their damp forehead to his wrist. "We'll make a fine villain of you yet, my little Nightshade" He told them, and with that, he left the room, and left them to their agony.

[subwalls]

WHUMPTOBER 2021 - 6/30

No. 6 - TOUCH AND GO bruises | touch starved | hunger

Also available on AO3!

The first time George crosses the void, it’s to attend his best friend’s funeral.

Mostly for the purposes of rejecting it altogether. 

“You know he’s not dead, right?” George says. He adjusts his goggles, pressing tenderly at the indents the frame leaves on his face. “Let’s just get out of here. He doesn’t die that easily.”

“I know,” Sapnap says, frustrated. “I know he��s not dead. He’s just gone .” 

George can’t argue that. Neither of them remember their friend’s name—that’s damning enough, even without the week Sapnap spent nearly scalding the inside of his skull, scouring the city with the All-Seeing Eyes of the Gods without care for how much heat they generated, only for the search to turn out without so much as a grain of evidence that their friend even existed at all.

That’s the problem, George is pretty sure. The All-Seeing Eyes peel back the bells and whistles of lies and magic, exposing nothing but the raw truth of the world around them.

And the truth is that invisible werewolves can disappear themselves so thoroughly they can make the world be as though they never existed to begin with.

The Eyes can’t see them because there is nothing to see. 

Allegedly.

George is well aware that he shouldn’t know this. If their friend truly diluted his existence so thinly that nobody could find him, then neither he nor Sapnap should even remember that he existed. But they do; they remember his pronouns, even—and, if George strains for the faintest edges of his memory, the sound of his laughter.

So there are traces. It’s not a perfect vanishing act, which means there has to be a way to reverse it.

George tells Sapnap as much, when they leave the… gathering of people forgetting that they’re mourning even as they do it. Sapnap nods in agreement.

“Phil said most of the invisible werewolves have a token of some kind,” Sapnap says. “Like, a cypher that can bring them back. They tried to do it with this person, but it didn’t work.”

“What was it?”

“I think it had something to do with the Eyes? He didn’t tell me the details. It’s private.”

A part of George wants to snipe that they must not have been good friends then, if such a key detail couldn’t be shared with them. 

Logically, he’s certain that they did know, at some point. It just faded along with the rest of their memories of him.

“Okay,” says George. “We don’t need a cypher of whatever anyway.” He brings his hands up to his goggles, but the moment his fingers brush the cool, pitch-black glass, he hesitates.

It’s funny. The memory of that event—the figure leaning out of the sky with unending wings and crossed halos and an unmarked sphere of pale light that spoke so softly, choose who will see this through to the End —it’s glitchy, like a trying to straighten out a crumpled-up photo. The lines of wear and tear are there.

George knows that people have opinions about his friends jumping into SMP City without him, about his blacked-out goggles and their unnaturally glowing blue eyes. Most of them assume they left him behind, sacrificed his flawed sight to split the rewards between them both—Sapnap has whined about it before, most recently in the context of that Blood Breed conflict that roped him into the Syndicate.

In reality, George never gave up anything.

Or, better phrased: George was the only one who didn’t give something up.

He shoves the goggles up, and the All-Seeing Eyes of the Gods spring open with the near-musical string of notes that aren’t unlike the chimes of a computer’s start-up sequence.

Immediately, a headache of information slams into him with all the force of a ten-inch steel wall, WALL WALL BRICK BACKROOM DOOR AND STAIRWAYS DOWN A HUNDRED SOULS IN A CONCRETE ARENA ENDER FLESH BREAKING NETHER BLOOD DRIPPING HUMA CROWDS WATCHING WATCH WATCH—

George shudders in a breath, the blue-tinted view of his surroundings fizzling too-bright too-much, and he can almost hear someone in the back of his head, chiding, “If you’d just practiced instead of shutting it down and pretending like you don’t have it, George, you could easily handle that neural load by now. I’m telling you, you can’t keep pretending it isn’t there!”

George says, “I hate this part.”

Sapnap laughs at him. George turns towards him on instinct and sees the star-riddled void under that cloth eyepatch, a dead eye in form but a vacuum in function, A DEBT INCURRED A DEBT REPAID SIGHT FOR SIGHT AN EYE FOR AN EYE AND THE HOLE LEFT BEHIND AS THE HIGHER HAND TAKES AND THE HIGHER HAND GIVES AND THE CONTRACT REMAINS THE CONTRACT REMAINS—

—and oh, oh, he knows how to do it, he knows what to look for. 

If you could back out of a divine contract by just dissipating, then it wouldn’t be much of a divine contract, would it? Here stands George and Sapnap, two-thirds or maybe two-fourths of a contract etched in song and history and the pupils of their eyes. The other parties must exist.

They already do; the Eyes hum, blitzing through reams upon reams of information, lighting up not just George’s face but Sapnap’s as well, and because they exist, so must be the one who paid for their existence.

( Choose who will see this through to the End. )

(“If you have to take something, take it from me!”)

(We forgive your transgression. But we do not revoke the payment we have taken.)

(“Fine by me. This is better than what it was gonna be, anyway.”)

George’s eyes burn, escalating to an awful, awful heat that feels like it’s going to boil the blood in his veins, but still he sees, still he looks for those hairline fractures in reality, A SHADOW WAS HERE AND A FOOTSTEP THERE SEE IT SEE IT IT IS TRUE SO MAKE IT TRUE—

The gears of light twist, shrieking out some incomprehensible song, crackling with power in front of his eyes, and he can taste blood in the back of his throat and on his lips and it’s dripping to the floor now but still he looks.

A pressure on his wrist, tight enough to bruise.

“Okay,” rasps a SHADOW SILHOUETTE FIGMENT OF PRESENCE DRAWN BACK TOGETHER figure that flickers, wavering. “Stop, stop it, that’s enough, I’m here, I’m here—”

George slams his other hand over that pressure at his wrist and feels at first only the rough fabric of his own jacket, but then, abruptly, the softer cotton of a warm jumper.

“Turn them off, oh my god,” says—says—says Dream, waving his free hand through the light of the Eyes like he’s trying to dismiss them, just barely shuttering back into some normal level of existence. His grip on George tightens, desperate; his good eye meets George’s gaze pleadingly, while his other, an identical match to Sapnap’s, remains a featureless expanse of stars. “You’re going to roast the one brain cell you have left, you idiot, turn them off—”

George shuts his Eyes, and the stream of information dies abruptly. The silence in his head leaves him reeling, for a second, which gives Sapnap just enough time to scream in fury and tackle Dream to the ground, dragging George down with them.

“Don’t do that!” Sapnap shrills, making an aborted movement like he wants to strangle the life out of Dream but isn’t sure he won’t just give way under his touch. “You’re the worst, you’re the actual worst—”

“ What? How? I didn’t—”

“—and you suck, and the next time you get cornered by a Blood Breed you gotta call for help before you get muffined—”

The two of them fall into bickering so easily it’s comforting, like a backdrop of rain, just a wash of noise so smooth out the ruffled edges the Eyes left behind.

George reaches up, catching Dream’s arm before he can elbow Sapnap into oblivion. “You’re so annoying,” he tells him. “You said you specifically came here so you I didn’t have to use these things.”

“Well,” Dream says, “that’s not the only reason.”

“Still! You broke your promise!”

“I didn’t promise anything,” Dream complains, warm and alive and more present than ever. “You’re just being a baby. Both of you are.”

Sapnap shifts, and George pulls his goggles back over his eyes just in time to see Dream go still as Sapnap practically cradles his head between his hands.

“Remember what we said about us being your token?” Sapnap asks.

“Mhm.”

“I’m taking it back.” And then, as Dream’s face crumples, “I mean! I know you can’t like, change it, because it’s what makes you want to go come back no matter what and that stuff. But you can’t do this again, Dream. You were gone.” His voice lowers. “We barely knew you.”

Something in Dream’s gaze cracks, and he’s pushing himself up, clipping distractedly through them. Sapnap and George scramble upright as he sits primly a clean inch away from them both and says, “I know, but it’s not like I wanted to. I got snuck up on, okay? It’s not like I like being—being less, and untouchable, and spreading myself so thin I can’t feel anything at all.” 

He shudders, then, and some of the color bleeds from his clothes.

“It doesn’t feel great for me, either, Pandas,” Dream says, and Sapnap makes a wounded noise and lurches forward to wrap him in a hug.

George watches them, for a moment, and nearly envisions a void yawning wide between them before he realizes that Sapnap is pulling him into it too, and now they’re all wrapped around each other and stifling laughter about it, and it’s warm, and oh, George has been alone—on the other side of the void, reluctant to step past the dragon’s den—for so long now.

He’s missed this. The bracing tightness of Sapnap squeezing them like he’s got something to prove, the low hum in Dream’s chest as he relaxes, George’s own skin feeling almost too tight for the nostalgia that wells up in his throat, almost too warm to lean into it, but also offended at the very thought of trying to extract himself from it.

“How’s this,” Dream says, cautiously, muffled against Sapnap’s shoulder, “we let George move in with you, you Sap, and I—”

“Stop sleeping in the Syndicate’s offices and join us?” Sapnap says, poking fun.

“It’s comfortable,” Dream grumbles. “And there’s free food. And no biased landlord.”

George squints at him. “Is this about the Huma-only thing?” he says, and Sapnap nods quickly. “Isn’t your whole thing about avoiding that kind of stuff, Dream? How does a landlord affect you at all?”

Dream opens his mouth, stops, and then shuts it. And then, “Shut up.”

“Wow,” Sapnap says. “I think you left a few brain cells behind when you came back.”

Dream shoves his head away, messing up Sapnap’s hair. “The only thing I left behind was my breakfast,” he declares. “I’m hungry. Can we go get something to eat now, instead of sitting in a… random alley in the middle of nowhere?” He looks around, only just now noticing that they are, in fact, sitting in a random alley in the middle of nowhere. “Is this—where are we?”

Sapnap perks up. “Oh, yeah,” he says, “while we were looking for you, I—George—we saw what looked like one of those underground fighting rings. The entrance is kinda close to here. D’you think it’s that Las Nevadas crew Phil and Tech have been looking for?”

“Only one way to find out,” Dream says cheerfully, and looks at George.

George sputters. “I-I can’t believe you. I set my eyeballs on fire for you,” he says, indignant, “and this is how you repay me? By asking for more?”

Sapnap laughs, knocking their heads together, and something in George’s chest settles with a burst of rightness. “Maybe later,” he says. “Dream’s right, I’m starving. And tired. Your Eyes suck, George.”

“Thanks, you bought them for me,” George says, at the same time that Dream says, “I’m always right.”