#because there is no better depiction of what I yearn for

[byexbyez]

love me more | leon kennedy x f!reader

pairing: re4r!leon kennedy x f!reader

summary:

“C’mon, it’ll be convenient.”

You hate that word. You hate that word with your whole being. Back then, it meant something entirely different when he said it. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient. Convenient is why you married him. Convenient is why you are here now.

word count: 19k

warnings: 18+ towards the end, angst, yearning, marriage of convenience but there isn't a tangible convenience, strangers to spouses dynamic, grief/mourning, depictions of depression and low self-esteem, also trauma and anxiety, family issues, kinda touch-starved leon if you squint, domestic fluff if you try hard enough, non-linear and vague timeline, mentions of canon typical violence, alcohol and cigarette consumption, p in v smut, brief alternation of POVs, ada wong mention, suicidal thoughts, minor original character, minor character death, spoilers to the hunchback of notre dame, no use of y/n

notes: meant to post this on tumblr after i was done with it but that never happened so here, have it. took me 16 months to post it here lmao. english is not my first language. you have been warned. also beware of a whole lot of mitski and hozier references. enjoy!

-> read on ao3

>> read PART II.

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And I am the idiot with the painted face In the corner, taking up space But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved

Me and my husband We're doing better

—Me and My Husband, Mitski

It’s quiet. It has always been that way from the start. Your husband is late, which is not unusual. You sit in the somber light coming from your living room TV. You don’t like the overhead lights, which explains the abundance of lamps around the living room and bedroom in your home. Your husband found it strange that you never turned on the actual lights but it didn’t take him long to realize that you were right. Any kind of overhead light was annoying to him now. He blamed you for his headaches at work.

No matter how many times you told him that he could turn on the overhead lights he insisted that he did not like them anymore. “I like it like this,” he had said. “You’re right, it’s cozier this way.” His head was on your knee, his eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful. You wanted to brush his hair away from his face and maybe scratch a bit as if he was a cat. But you didn’t, you had no idea what he would react like to such an intimate gesture. You turned your gaze away from his peaceful sleeping face to the TV you had been watching on low volume before he stepped through your home’s front door.

It was a fucking joke, really. Thinking twice, three times about touching the man that you call your husband.

You hear his keys jumble from the door. He didn’t tell you what time he would be home, so you didn’t prepare anything for dinner. It’s late anyways. You consider closing your eyes and resting your head on the back of the couch but it hasn’t been long since he told you he could tell when you were not sleeping. You thought about the number of times you pretended and he could tell. Embarrassing. Now that your secret was out, you had to greet him awkwardly.

He calls your name. “Are you asleep?” His voice very faint.

“No,” you answer while untucking your legs from under your butt. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He places the keys on the keyholder. “No lights?”

You reach to your side and turn on one lamp. “I didn’t realize the sun had set.”

“It’s past eleven.” Now that the lamp was on you could see his worried eyes. His five o’clock shadow prominent. “Did you eat anything?” he asks. You can’t tell if he hopes you did or not.

The moment you see the plastic bag in his hand, you shake your head no. Honestly, you were hungry because it had been hours since you ate a bowl of cereal as dinner.

He steps over your legs instead of pushing the coffee table away to make room for himself and plops next to you on the couch. “Brought Chinese,” he says and places the food bag on your lap instead of the coffee table. “You like their fried dumplings.”

You aren’t surprised that he remembers it. He was nice like that, maybe he thinks this is the least he can do. Soon after the wedding, he realized you did not enjoy cooking. It has never been a problem, he knew his way around the kitchen and knew of really good takeout places.  

“Thank you,” you say softly while leaning on the table to place the noodles and the dumplings. “Leon, did you drink?” you ask when you catch a whiff of him.

“Yeah, I’m a little tipsy.”

That explains his lax attitude. He has his arm around you across the back of the couch, he’s sitting close to you. It’s because he wants to eat, you say to yourself. And he’s a little tipsy.

“Did you have fun?” you ask when you separate your chopsticks.

“I wasn’t with anyone,” he says, watching you separate his chopsticks for him. “I had a drink by myself.”

“Only one?” you chuckle.

“One or two,” He cocks his head to your direction and grabs the chopsticks from your fingers. His fingertips are warm.

Unlike you, his body always runs hot. You remember the comment he made when he held your hand and cupped one cheek, kissing you after you two had said “I do”. His breath was hot on the lower part of your face. You somehow felt him everywhere and nowhere at once. “It’s really hot, why are your hands cold?” he had whispered. It was unusually hot on the day you eloped. Leon had to dab his sweat away so often.

“I’m just nervous,” you had whispered back. The hand that he was not holding was trembling, surely, he could tell.

“No need to be.” That was what he said right before your first kiss. It was more of a short peck because he was a gentleman who didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

It was easier for him to say, he didn’t have anything to be nervous about. He looked really beautiful that day and it didn’t help your nerves one bit. You felt like you were committing a crime while signing your documents that sealed the fact that you were now married to Leon Kennedy. You wonder if he felt the same, knowing this marriage was not a real one.

You didn’t lie to anyone really, so why did it feel like you did? You never told anyone you were in love. You never told anyone this was legit. You just told your sister you were married and that Leon was a good man. She had shrieked over the phone, demanded that you quit joking. The moment she was convinced that you were not, she expected pictures of him. The only picture you had of him was from the day you eloped. He had taken your cold hand and placed it on his arm. His other hand on his stomach so he didn’t look awkward. You had raised your small bouquet of baby’s breath to your torso as well. You did not look as nervous as you thought when the photo came in the mail but Leon looked more handsome than you remembered. You emailed it to your sister.

It didn’t take long for her to respond. How the hell did you bag that man??? Do you have blackmail material against him?

We met at work, you replied shortly.

I thought you worked with dudes that are old as fuck.

We don’t work together. Met through a coworker.

Maybe I should change careers. I mean how hard can it be to train as a government agent???

You looked at the multiple question marks she sent after that. I’m telling your husband.

I showed him the picture and he agrees that he’s hot lol. He also would like to have you guys over.

So you both can ask him what he sees in me?

Hey, I’m only joking. We would really like you guys to come over. I want to meet my brother-in-law.

I’ll tell him but he’s very busy.

Sooo what does he do?

Like I said, he’s an agent. Mostly confidential work.

So you can’t tell me?

I really can’t.

You know what? It’s annoying that you can’t tell me what he does but I can understand. What I can’t understand is you getting married. Out of the blue. Without telling me.

That email left a bitter taste in your mouth. She could tell that it was not real. She knew that you were not easy to love. She knew it was impossible for you to get married. That’s why you stalled her invitation for nearly two years. You hadn’t even asked Leon because you did not know how he would react. He knew you had a sister across the country and that she was older than you but never asked about her for a while. You weren’t offended at his uninterest in your life. He didn’t have any reason to be interested in you.

He did say he was an orphan, that one time.

It all made sense after that, he didn’t like to talk about families. Maybe because he wasn’t used to belong. To belong to a family. Belong to someone. Think about them because he belongs to them and they belong to him.

All things considered, you thought Leon turned out more than okay. Closed off but very kind, gentle, understanding.

He leans forward and helps you split one dumpling into two with his chopsticks. His shoulder bumps yours and stays there because he refuses to let go of the back of the couch behind you. When you pull your sleeve over your fingers, he quickly eats one whole dumpling, leaving you with the smaller one that he helped you split and covers your hand with his.

“You cold?” He looks silly when he stuffs his face full of food.

“No.”

“Your hands are cold.” He doesn’t’ say like always but it’s there in his voice.

He doesn’t mind touching you when he’s in a good mood, mostly when he’s a little intoxicated like this. Usually, he’s not a touchy person. You’re glad he’s not, it reminds you that you definitely like him more than he likes you. He needs the little nudge of alcohol to let go of his inhibitions. He didn’t touch you until you gave him the green light on your birthday. He didn’t know what to get you as a gift so he got you yellow roses and the blandest birthday card known to man.

Happy Birthday, from Leon.

“It isn’t anything special, I know.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m not good at this stuff.”

But it was special, it was from him; with his emotionally constipated, probably unintended curt message. You knew deep down he had a big heart. He cared enough to stop on his way to get you these. You didn’t think much, because there were times when you didn’t need to think about this, you just reached and hugged him around his waist. “Thank you,” you whispered. “They smell really nice. We need to get a vase for them.”

He finally put his arms around you and you felt the stiffness of his shoulders on top of yours. It was six months into your married life.

Yellow roses. He saw you as a friend. You were okay with it, as long as it meant he was not pushing you away. You were not terrible by any means. Boring and awkward, definitely. But you made it clear to him that he could talk to you about what he wanted when he wanted. He was adamant that it went both ways. However, you genuinely don’t think anything going in your life is worth talking about. Hence, he’s the one who ends up talking most of the time.

He rubs your fingers to bring them warmth. The air of the living room feels awfully similar to that one time he surprised you and laid his head on your lap. That one time you wanted to play with his hair but didn’t. It was just like this. Quiet despite the TV’s low volume, comfortable as the light coming from the lamps was soft on the eyes, smelling of alcohol as he was a little drunk. Unsure as your hands were cold and was this what being friends meant?

Sometimes he craved the quiet. He worked and worked and worked. Voices everywhere. Danger constant. His only quiet was home, you suppose.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

“I ate cereal,” you answer him.

“Has no nutritional value whatsoever,” he mutters.

“Yeah, it’s just me being lazy.”

“I don’t think we have anything in the fridge, I don’t blame you.”

You both finish your food in silence, you pretend to watch the screen in front of you the whole time. You hug your knees to your chest when you’re done and he looks like he can fall asleep any minute.

“How was your day?” you ask to keep him awake. You don’t want him to sleep here and have his back and neck all sore tomorrow.

He rests his chin on his shoulder and gives you a funny look through his long lashes. “Same as always.”

You admit to yourself that you love him like this. He seems free, happy even.

You decide to be bold and tap your shoulder for him to lay his head on.  

He doesn’t seem to be thinking twice as he takes your offer and nuzzles his head on your shoulder. He’s taller and bigger than you, you suppose the position he’s in right now is not comfortable for him. He reaches back around the couch and the other hand crosses his abdomen, gripping your ankle that he is closest to. His thumb draws circles there and your brain short circuits. “How was yours?”

“My day? Nothing exciting. All paperwork.”

He hums as he squeezes your ankle, his hair tickling your nose and lips.

“You really need a shower, Leon.” You make up the courage to smooth down his blonde hair that is sticking up in every direction.

He hums again. “Are you telling me I stink?”

“Yes, mister.”

“I’m tired,” he groans but doesn’t seem tired enough as he pushes his head and messes up your balance on the couch. You have to hold on to the arm rest as he keeps nudging you with his head.

“You’ll feel gross in the morning if you don’t have a shower.”

“You have a point,” he says but does nothing to get up. Maybe it was a bad idea to offer him your shoulder and unknowingly, your ankle. He’s never acted like a kid like this before.

You get up and turn off the TV before you offer him both of your hands. “You’re not tipsy, you’re drunk. Now get up and wash yourself please.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Yes, you are. You headbutted me.”

He takes your hands and finally gets up. “I think I ran out of shampoo.”

“You can use mine. Brush your teeth while I go get it.” You pat his back.

There’s two bedrooms in the house, one is for guests but you’ve never had guests over since you’ve both moved into this apartment. Leon uses the “guest” room downstairs. He insisted that you take the bigger room. He’s more like a roommate than a spouse.

He’s shirtless in front of the sink, brushing his teeth like you told him to when you knock on his bathroom door and hand him your shampoo. He reads the fragrance and opens its cap to smell it.

“Well, you smell nice so I can’t complain,” he says, toothbrush still in his mouth, dribbling toothpaste everywhere.

You love him in moments like these. This is the moment the wife reaches and kisses the husband. Well, maybe after he’s done dribbling everywhere but you know how this moment should go about. He won’t be like this in the morning. You know very well that he is going to be sober and back to normal Leon. He won’t say anything about his drunk self because he knows you won’t as well.

“Don’t fall in the shower!” you shout as you go upstairs to your room.

“I’m not that drunk!”

The next morning, he sees you making coffee in the kitchen. It hasn’t been long since your schedule got aligned with his. He wonders how the hell you managed to adjust your sleeping hours to the point now you could wake up before him. He used to wake up before you because you often had late shifts.

“Morning,” he says as he smells the delicious coffee that you’re pouring into two mugs. He yawns, scratching an itch on his arm. He did not use to have a coffee machine back when he was living alone. You had brought it with you to this house and saved him from Starbucks’ morning rush hour.

You slide one of the mugs in front of him and give him a warm smile. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

He blows on the coffee before he takes a sip. “Much better now.” He clears his throat, his morning voice gruff. “I was thinking… We should commute together.”

“To work?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Where else?” he snorts. “What’s surprising? Why pay more for gas when we start work at the same time?”

“Wouldn’t that be…”

“It wouldn’t interfere with anything if you think about it. It’s stupid to take both cars to the same place.”

“I might work overtime,” you say and hug yourself.

He nods into his mug and seems like he wants to say more. “Then you can take your car. You’ve just started normal hours. Why are you eager to tire yourself out so quickly?”

So that we don’t have to be awkward around each other.

“C’mon, it’ll be convenient.”

You hate that word. You hate that word with your whole being. Back then, it meant something entirely different when he said it. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient. Convenient is why you married him. Convenient is why you are here now.

It is what you repeat to yourself over and over again. It was convenient to have slept with him. It didn’t have to be a big deal. You were lonely. You reckon he had to be, too. Because why else would he want to have sex with you? He did not love you or anything. You could only think of one thing when his face was buried in your neck. You still had his yellow roses. You had preserved them between your book pages.

As he was panting above you, hands grasping your hips with vigor, your thighs caging him in and burning, you felt like a rose stuck between thousands of words never read aloud. Yellow all over, sticking out like a sore thumb between words printed in the smallest font size possible, suffocating. Once belonged with other flowers but now settled down in a place where people thought you’d look pretty.

You hate the color yellow as much as you hate the word convenient. If not, more.

He sees you wince. He cannot guess the reason behind it is his choice of words. “What do you say?”

He is offering, you think. He still likes you enough to ask.

“Okay.”

“Good, we need to get groceries on the way back.”   

People don’t whisper much now that it’s been nearly two years since you two announced to your close work circle that you were married. There were a lot of surprised faces at first, thinking maybe Leon was joking or something. People didn’t know you very well. You were only close with Cathy.

“Perhaps we should wear rings,” said Leon once over dinner. “People don’t believe we’re married.”

“Is that a problem? What others think, I mean?”

He stared at your face while chewing, you couldn’t make out what he was thinking thanks to the dim light emanating from one of the lamps. “They think it’s a joke. Is it so bad that I want to be taken seriously for once? You wanted a wedding dress, I want a ring.”

“When do you want to get them?”

That led to you choosing matching rings with Leon. Simple gold bands. You make sure to wear them to work every day because if you don’t, you worry people will start to whisper again.

First it was, Leon’s not the type to get married, he’s taking the piss out of us, is it April fools today?

Then it turned into: Oh God, he’s serious, he says he got married last weekend.

Eloped? To whom?

He said her name but I don’t remember it, said she’s in archives now.

He’s married to an archivist? How on earth did they meet?

Probably in Donovan’s funeral, saw Hunnigan introducing them.

That wasn’t long ago!

I know, right?

You know some of them thought you had a one-night stand and got pregnant from him. The rumors subsided when that didn’t turn out to be true.

However, people were curious about why Ingrid Hunnigan would introduce an archivist to an agent. It didn’t take long for your name to become known because you had recently switched departments. You had been a systems analyst like Hunnigan, working with late Cathy Donovan. You’d switched to archives after her funeral.

People greeted you when they saw you. Leon’s wife, right?

Yes, but not really.

The first time Leon ever saw you was during agent Donovan’s funeral. He’d gotten back from Spain just a week ago. He did not know agent Donovan well but her name echoed in every corner. She was good at her job. Most of the time, nobody had an idea what she was up to.

“Leon, I want you to meet Cathy’s partner,” said Hunnigan, holding the shoulder of the woman standing next to her.

You stuck your hand out for him to shake and told him your name. It sounded disconsolate coming from your mouth, your own name. Your eyes were dazed, you kept your mouth in a thin line. You didn’t even look at him properly as if this was the hundredth occurrence today, Hunnigan introducing you to someone.

“I’ve heard a lot of great things about agent Donovan.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Right, she was great,” you said, your eyes straying elsewhere. It looked like Hunnigan’s hand on your shoulder was the only thing keeping you from crumbling down. You looked so small with your shoulders hunched forward. He cringed when he saw you rip out the flesh of the side of your thumb.

Hunnigan went on about Cathy Donovan’s accomplishments to him. You continued to pick at your thumb, him watching your side profile as you kept averting your gaze from people around you. You seemed to be dissociating hard.

“These two were inseparable. I tried asking Cathy to work with me on a small mission once and she praised her so much in turn, I had to suck it up and meet this woman myself as soon as possible,” said Hunnigan heatedly. “I’m such a big fan of Cathy’s, you see, I couldn’t be upset. I love seeing her work with the best.”

“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you,” you managed to say, a beat too late. “I need to use the restroom, be right back.”

Leon knew too well that losing someone was difficult, yet he couldn’t imagine what you were going through. He furrowed his brows the moment his hand made contact with your upper arm. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that, he didn’t want to seem like he took pity on you.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

You made the effort to look him in the eye when it was obvious as day that you were having a hard time keeping your head up.

Your voice barely came out, “Thank you.”

Of course, you did not recognize him the second time he saw you. It was his late celebratory dinner for his mission in Spain. His coworkers had planned a small one, saying he deserved it. Once he was done with his food, he excused himself saying he wanted to get fresh air.

Not too far from the restaurant, you were sitting on a bench alone.

“Those things will kill you, y’know,” he said, eyes pointing to the cigarette you were smoking.

His unexpected voice caused you to jump in your seat. You quickly put the cigarette out by stomping it with your shoe. “I don’t usually… smoke.”

He dragged his feet while walking to sit down on the opposite end of the bench. “You didn’t have to put it out.” Though he thought you were very considerate by doing so.

“Congratulations, for the mission.”

“Thank you— name’s Leon, by the way.”

You stuck your chin out to the direction of the restaurant, “Or so I heard in there.”

“We actually met before. At the funeral.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t remember half the people I met there.”  

“No need to be sorry. You seemed out of it.”

“Yeah, we worked together for a long time, Cathy and I.”

“Look, I know it’s hard and anything I say probably won’t make any difference—”

“You don’t need to—” Your voice quite literally got stuck on your throat, you composed yourself by bringing the side of your fist to your mouth and coughed into it. “I’m trying to get better. I’m here today, which is a miracle in of itself. I know people think it’s probably good to talk about her but I’m just not in the mood, okay? Thank you for your understanding but I don’t need to be reminded, it happened not so long ago.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“No, I know you mean well.” You started to sway your feet on the gravel. It was completely understandable for you to lash out but you seemed uneasy as soon as it was out of you. “Sorry, this is your happy day. I shouldn’t—”

“You realize how many times we said sorry to each other in this past minute?” he laughed. “Also, I lost a partner in Spain. I’m not that happy today.”

Your voice turning faint, seemingly regretting your flash of anger a moment ago, “You probably feel like you shouldn’t be happy.”

He nodded. “He helped me a lot but didn’t make it.” He saw your mouth open and stopped you there. “Don’t say you’re sorry. It loses its meaning when you say it too much.”

“Even if I mean it with my whole heart every time?”

“That means you’re sorry for a lot of things. It’s not healthy to carry that much weight on your shoulders.”

“Right, I’ll be like Quasimodo.” You hunched your shoulders even more forward. “Like the hunchback.”

“From the Disney movie?”

You giggled at his childishness. “Yeah, I heard there’s also a book about it.”

He looked at your squinted eyes and thought you deserved to be happy more.

As you two carried on your now meaningless conversation, he did not know that you were certain on resigning from your job and never turning back to it. You’d started to work on the archives that week, partly because your boss had foreseen you contemplating quitting all together and did not want to lose a highly valuable member such as yourself and partly because you had requested it.

At that point, you were absolutely aware of the fact that they feared you’d never turn back to your former position. And because Cathy didn’t have any plans of ever becoming alive, you also didn’t have any plans on returning. But you knew the reason behind them doing anything you asked was them giving you time to grieve. After that, the pressure would build even more and hopefully make you take your old place.

“It was Hunnigan’s idea,” you said to Leon after he asked you very kindly why you were here tonight. “Basically dragged me here. She thinks I should be around people more.”

“She’s right. I’m glad you came.”

Leon was cute, alright. That didn’t do him justice, actually. It was evident under the street light where the bench was that he worked out regularly. Biceps giving a hard time to his sleeves every time he moved, veins protruding on his forearms, his thighs looking like they’d help him carry ten people on his large back. And oh, his broader-than-the-horizon shoulders. An absolute unit of a man with cheekbones and jawline honed like a Greek statue. With his dark blonde hair falling on his face in that charming way and his oh so kind blue eyes, you knew he was out of your league.

His gentle aura making him seem like a Prince Charming or a white knight or whatever the fuck those Disney movies had.

You planned on never seeing anyone from work again, you had nothing to lose. And Cathy so would say to shoot your shot.

“I’m thinkin’ of getting a few drinks in me, want to tag along?”

“What do you have in mind?” He seemed interested, a good sign.

“You got any suggestions? And don’t say beer because I plan on getting wasted beyond recognition in like an hour.”

“Yeah, be careful. And don’t drink and drive.” The way he took a U-turn on his interest irritated you. You really thought he wouldn’t say no, you were getting along well, flirting even. “Did you come here with your car?”

“Yeah.” You tried to not sound upset. “I’m not a teenager. I’ll take a cab. Drinks will be on me.”

“Ah, thanks but I’ll have to refuse. They’ll probably wonder where I went. It’s my dinner, after all.” The polite smile he gave you was so infuriating.

You got up from the bench. He had the audacity to look you up and down after that. “Then please tell Hunnigan I’m sorry I left early, will you?”

“I will.” He fidgeted and crossed his arms. Oh God, you’d made him uncomfortable. It was just minutes ago he was sort of flirting with you. “Don’t drink too much.”

God, why did he have to be so annoying?

The next time you two met was at the closest pharmacist to work, few weeks after his dinner and your failed attempt to get him in your bed.  

“One box of aspirin, please.” Your head snapped up at that voice. Unmistakably, Leon. With his broad back facing you, he hadn’t seen you yet.

“What can I get you, miss?”

Leon stepped over to the side when they called to you, still not looking at you.

“Eyedrops, please.”

“Miss, are you alright?”

To that, he did a double-take. You’d looked disheveled to the point of worry. Eyes and nose a few shades redder than the rest of your face, eyebags puffy and makeup smudged. With your now extremely frizzy baby hairs doing anything but their job of framing your face, it was apparent that you’d been crying.

“Yes, it’s just an allergy.”

“Can I get you anything for that?”

“No, thank you. I already have meds for it.”

Leon thanked when they gave him his aspirin and turned to you. “Wait here, don’t go anywhere.” He quickly left the pharmacist.

Surprisingly, you did wait for him outside. Why? You had no idea. Frankly, you were hoping to cry more in your car.

Approximately five minutes later, he came to you jogging lightly. He thrusted a water bottle in your hand. “Where’s your medication?”

“What?”

“For your allergy?”

“Oh, um—” You couldn’t find a lie fast enough, usually you were not bad at lying but the way he appeared to be worrying about your well-being was baffling to say the least. “I don’t have it, I mean—” You pressed the water bottle to your stomach and held on to it for comfort. “I don’t have an allergy.”

It was his turn to be baffled. “Are you alright?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“You don’t look like it.” He looked at you and around you as though checking to see any injury. “You should drink up.” He motioned to the bottle and watched you take a gulp.

“Thank you. Oh, you should, too,” You tried to give him the rest of the water while his stare questioned you. “For your aspirin.”

“I already took it. I’m supposed to take it with water?”

“Yes, Leon. Have you been taking them without water this whole time? Then why did you bring me water?”

“I didn’t know that! You looked dehydrated.”

“That’s not good for you. Now I’m worried about your stomach.”

His blue eyes shined like he came to a revelation. “That’s why my stomach burns when I take them?”

How are you this stupid, you suppressed saying, if you had known him well enough at that time, you definitely would. You forgot for a second that you were annoyed at him for rejecting you few weeks ago and find yourself flabbergasted at thinking that he is endearing, in a way.

You made small talk with him about his lunch break and he insisted on walking you to your car.

“Can I help you with anything?” he said sympathetically once you stood in front of your open car door. “You still look…”

Like a truck hit me, you wanted to complete his sentence.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. It just happens time to time.” You tried to make yourself presentable by adjusting your blouse and hair.

“It?”

“Sometimes I cry for no reason. It happens randomly, too, I don’t know when and where I’ll be crying most of the time. Like, I’ll be reading something, it doesn’t have to be sad, I mean— I was reading reports before I came here. Sometimes it gets too much, like now.”

“Will you be okay driving?”

“Yeah! Talking with you definitely helped.” His apprehensive gaze pierced through you. You actually felt like crying again, your chest feeling tight, eyes burning. You stood upright with the support of your car door. “I’ll be fine, Leon.”

“I’m choosing to believe you. Drive safe.” He shifted his weight on one of his legs and seemed ready to take off.

“Thank you. See you around?”

“You probably won’t for a while,” he said to the ground, soothing the itch on his calf with his other leg’s shin. He looked up and squinted his eyes against the sun. “I got assigned a mission. I don’t know for how long.”

“Oh, I’ll be at your celebratory dinner then, if I get an invitation.”

“Well, I don’t know how it will go. I’ll only invite you if you won’t talk for the whole dinner but flirt with me outside again.”

“You didn’t need to embarrass me like that,” you chuckled nervously. “I wouldn’t say I’m a push and pull kind of woman.”

“You can show me what kind of woman you are when I get back?”

“Very smooth, Leon.”

He seemed taken aback. “I’ll see you then.” Suddenly, he was distant again. This time you didn’t know what made him uneasy.

“Yeah… Be safe on your mission.”

He just nodded. You got in your car and gripped the steering wheel tightly until the sight of his leather jacket clad back disappeared. You hunched forward, shoved your forehead to the wheel and tried to take a deep breath. The crying spell didn’t go away as the tears burst down first and then the sobs jerked your entire body.

I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask you, neither should you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips We should just kiss like real people do

—Like Real People Do, Hozier

The inside of Leon’s car smells nice, he takes good care of it.

“I’m going to see my sister this weekend,” you say, averting your gaze from the way he steers the wheel with one hand. His other hand is on his knee, tapping away. The effect his toned arms have on you is humiliating.

“I think I can make it.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t have anything that day. I can go with you. It’s your mother’s death anniversary, right? I think it’s time I pay my respects.”

It’s these things he says that leave you puzzled. He’s incredibly thoughtful, no matter who he’s talking to. He very well could have his day off-work for himself, but he asks anyway.

“Do you actually want to meet my sister?”

“I do. I hope to make a good first impression.”

You think about it for a second and end up telling him. “I sent a picture of you to her back when we got married.”

“How’d you get a picture of me?” he asks, appalled. The only picture he has of himself besides the wedding one is on his badge.

“Our wedding picture, dummy. We have one, remember?”

“Oh, right, I forgot.” You can’t complain because you keep it in a dresser drawer in the envelope it came in. He was on duty again when it came and you’d showed it to him once he was home. The left corner of his lips had curled up and for a second, you thought you saw affection in his eyes. “It came out okay? I was sweating buckets, but you—" he’d said and pointed a finger to your face in the photo. “Your hands were ice cold, I nearly asked you to paste your hands to my forehead just so I could cool down.”

“We still have the picture, right?” he asks.

“Yes, it’s in my room. Why?”

“Can I have it?”

“Yeah, they sent two. Can I ask what you’re going to do with it?”

“Give it to the mafia or hire a hitman to go after you, what else?” He lets out a hollow laugh. You want to record the sound and have it forever play in your ears. “I want to frame it and put it on my desk. People usually have pictures of their spouses and children or even their dogs on their desks, no?”

Yes, you know. You have pictures with your best friend and sister on your own desk at work.

It’s his way of saying you mean something to him.

You call your sister’s name as soon as you see it. “Why do you have this picture here?”

She’s carrying the empty plates to the sink as you hold on to her fridge’s door handle.

She looks up to see you pointing at your wedding picture. It’s on her fridge. You don’t even display it in your own house.

“You printed it?”

“I did,” she says. “It’s a good picture.” Her house is littered with pictures of her and her husband on different vacations, of you and your mother and her together in some.

“You just met Leon today.”

“And I think he’s great. You’re happy with him. That’s all I could ask for.”

You were happy since he was in a good mood the entire ride coming here. It was long but you two had a smooth ride and he amused you with his corny jokes and stories. You tore small pieces of bagel and fed him when he said he was getting hungry. He was tired from driving the whole time, but of course he didn’t have it any other way and jestingly banned you from getting behind the wheel. He did make a good first impression like he promised, although he kept bobbing his cramped leg. He’s now in the backyard with your brother-in-law, chatting about football, probably.

Your sister gets your attention by giving you a side hug and rubbing your back. “You’re my only sister, of course I’m going to have a picture of your happiest day.”

You hug her back around her waist. She even had photos of your birth in the living room. Your mom in a hospital bed, one day-old baby you cradled in her arms, your father hugging your mother and looking down at you with adoration in his eyes. Did he know then, that he would never be there for you to look at you like that again?

“You remember dad, right?” you ask quietly. She was older and was able to tell stories about him to you. “How was he like? Before he left, I mean.”

“Like I told you, he loved us so much. I don’t know if it was the same case for my mom. She later told me she saw it coming, that he likely had another woman.”

“How did mom know?”

Your sister sighs and rest her head on top of yours. “She said she could just feel it. Said he felt distant. He used to come home late leading up to it, sometimes drunk. One day I woke up and he wasn’t home. Didn’t say anything, just abandoned us like that.”

There’s that sadness again, creeping up to your chest and placing a big rock there. You feel like you’re being crushed by it. Your mom had always been ambitious, had dreams for herself and her family, deserved so much more than what she got.

Leon’s laughing loudly in the backyard, your head whips to see the sight.

“Come on, go mingle with your husband. I got it from here,” says your sister and starts to place the dishes in the dishwasher.

“I’ll go get us some beer,” says your brother-in-law and gets up from his chair. The weather is amazing today, your sister had set up a nice meal outside. Leon was getting along with them well. What more could you ask for?

You find yourself alone with Leon when your brother-in-law goes inside the house. You sit next to him and he promptly puts his arm on the back of your chair.

“How’s your leg?” you ask him.

“My thighs are sore,” he groans. “Good thing we’re not driving back tonight.”

“Well, I wouldn’t let you anyways.” You put a hand on his knee and start to massage, hoping it will help his aching legs. You’re even bolder than a few days ago. He doesn’t seem to mind it.

“It hurts here,” he says and grabs your hand, placing it higher on his thigh. “You can put more pressure, I can hardly feel it.” His thigh is firm and thank God, your hands manage to stay stable. You ball your hands into fists and start to punch lightly where he wants. The meat of his thighs doesn’t even jiggle, reminding you that he’s mostly made of muscle.

You focus up on his knees. “I’ll drive us to the cemetery tomorrow.”

“I can—”

“No. You’re tired, Leon. I want to drive, don’t make me upset.”  

“Would you actually be upset if I—”

“Yes, very.” You pinch his thigh and that makes him press his lips together.

“They’re really nice, you know,” he means your sister and her husband. “I feel like an ass for not meeting them sooner.”

“You like them?” You raise an eyebrow.  

“I do.”

“So, any propositions?”

“Huh?”

“Got asked for a threesome yet?” you smirk.

“I’m sorry?” He’s horrified and you find it funny.

“After I sent the wedding picture to them, they both said you were hot. I just remembered it.”

“I’d rather not know that!”

“Relax, Kennedy. I’m just joking. They’re not gonna ask you that.”

He visibly relaxes and puts you in a headlock in a play-fight manner with the arm that was behind you. His nose and mouth pressed up against your hair, he says, “I’ll just tell them I’m a one-lady type of man if they ever do.” You consider biting his arm.

“Can the lovebirds look up here for a second?” chirps your sister. She has come with her camera outside. “It’s the golden hour.”

Leon adjusts his head to look towards the camera and relaxes his hold on you, arm dangling from your shoulder, other hand engulfs yours on his knee, rings clashing.  

“Aww,” your sister coos as she takes the photo. “I’ll send this to you.”

She doesn’t suspect a thing, probably because you’re not pretending anymore.

You splash your face with cold water after you’re done brushing your teeth in your sister’s guest room bathroom. Leon’s inside the room, splayed out on the bed, exhausted after today. It won’t be awkward, you say to yourself, hope to God your hands don’t start to tremble from anxiety.

Leon has taken off his t-shirt, bent one of his knees and put his hands behind his head. Not helping your case by looking irresistible. Even the tufts of hair under his arms are endearing to you.

“How are you holding up?” he asks once you sit on the bed next to him, back facing him. He knows you will visit Cathy too when you get back.

“I’m good, Leon.” You take off your ring and place it next to his on the bedside drawer. “Never been better, actually. I missed them.” You twist your upper body to face him. “Here,” you say as you place your newly washed cold damp hands on both sides of his face in attempts to cool him down.

He shivers, his shoulders going up slightly for a quick second. “That’s nice,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. You’re silent, in part because you’re speechless before his beauty, but you also would like to try to give him a little piece of serenity he needs.

“This used to be my mom’s room when she was living here.”

He hums softly and opens his eyes, his hands coming up to hold on to your bare arms, the skin between his eyebrows pinched.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, hands finding place on his broad shoulders.

He starts to rub your arms up and down, his hands stopping after a while to trace a strap of your tank top with his fingers. All of your worries about intimate gestures going out the window the moment you let his hands wander.

This is the tender domesticity that you’ve been longing for so badly, you want to thank him.

He scrunches his nose. “I wanted to kiss you, now I think it’ll be inappropriate.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your grip on his shoulders is now stronger, begging not to tremble. He feels lonely, he shouldn’t have come here. You have to swallow hard. “It won’t.”

His hand goes up to cup the back of your neck, he’s staring at your lips like he doesn’t wish for anything else. “C’mere.” He tugs at your hip to get the lower half of your body up on the bed. He drapes you halfway on his torso.

Once you’re situated to his liking and casting a shadow on his face, he brings you down ever so gently to his mouth, massaging your nape. He’s hot all over, his mouth, his breath on your face, his chest, the hand that’s splaying his fingers on the small of your back. With his soft lips moving lazily against yours, you’re quite literally bursting at the seams. The muffled sigh he drags across your mouth tempts you to press your entire body to his harder and sling your leg across his hips.

His kisses turn into open-mouthed ones and he tastes like minty toothpaste and sunlight on golden hour.

A small noise comes out of your throat, hands straying down to his bare chest and he has to cradle your face to stop. “We should sleep.” His Adam’s apple bobs enticingly. “I seriously don’t want to disrespect your mother’s ghost.”

A laugh escapes your lips as he hugs your head and buries it to his chest, his chin resting on top. “You’ll apologize to her tomorrow.”

It’s okay, you think when you feel the low timbre of his chuckle on his chest. We’re okay. We’re doing better.

There's no plan, there's no race to be run The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun There's no plan, there's no kingdom to come I'll be your man if you got love to get done Sit in and watch the sunlight fade Honey, enjoy, it's gettin' late There's no plan, there's no hand on the rein

—No Plan, Hozier

The fourth time you saw Leon Kennedy was at a bar. You thought his coworkers were going to be there to see him after his mission but it was just you two.

He had emailed you a day before, saying he asked for your email address from Hunnigan, inviting you for drinks the next day and apologizing for letting you know this late.

“Where’s everyone? Am I early?” you asked, despite noticing the table he was sitting at was for two people.

He looked up and you were taken aback by the sight of him. He looked tired. He had a bit of a stubble and his hair was tousled. “No, you’re right on time,” he said, getting up to pull your chair for you. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” you said, ridding yourself from your jacket. You actually put in the effort to look good that day. A nice outfit, a little bit more makeup, hair done.

As you sat down in front of him, a corner of his lips went up, “You look good.”

“The last time we spoke wasn’t my best moment.”

“How have you been?”

You placed your hands on the table and started to play with your fingers, anxious. “Since then? Better, I suppose. How about you? Your mission went well?”

“Depends on how you define well.”

“You’re still in one piece.”

“If only that was enough.” You didn’t get to see his disappointed expression for long when a server came up to your table and Leon quickly ordered a drink, asked what you wanted and waited with his hands together on the table.

Once the server was away, you slightly leaned towards him. “They should be grateful that they got their best agent back alright.” Although you couldn’t ask him any details about his mission, you knew he was a special agent that was good at this job.

“Hunnigan told me you’re in the archives.”

“Yeah, that happened months ago, before your dinner.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“I—uh…” Your throat felt dry under his piercing stare. “I wasn’t needed there anymore. So I transferred.”

“Really? I heard it’s quite the opposite.”

“Oh, they’re talking about me?”

“Yes, seems like they really want you to work with agents again.”

“I know that,” you said and dug your fingernails to the corner of the table, his eyes following the motion.

“What do you mean?” he said, scratching his jaw. “You said you weren’t needed.”

“I felt like I wasn’t being useful. I tried to quit. They tried really hard to keep me there. Now, they’re constantly asking me to come back after everything.”

“They do know how to squeeze the last bit out of everyone,” he nodded. “Are you happy with where you are right now?”

“As in life?” You rolled your eyes thinking about it. “What does it look like?”

“I was worried the last time I saw you.” He sounded sincere.

“I know, I looked miserable.” Probably looked like the physical embodiment of a cry for help, too. “Can we not dwell on it, please? I’m better now. But now you—” You reach and tap on the middle of the table. “You look like you need to sleep for days.”

“That would be great,” he sighed.

You kept looking at the door but no one from work was coming in. “Why is no one coming, Leon?”

“They won’t, to be honest with you. I only invited you.”

Your back was then one with the chair. “Oh.”

“I should’ve let you know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind the quiet,” you smiled. And then you realized, he was doing the same thing you were doing, pushing anyone and anything away.

Him reaching out to you, this was his cry for help. Why you specifically, you didn’t know.

“You told me you lost a partner in Spain, were you close?”

To that, he dropped his chin and stared at his lap. “No, I wouldn’t say that. I didn’t know him. We met under strange circumstances and ended up helping each other. I got the impression that he regretted a lot of things but wanted to believe people could change.”

“I believe people can change, for the better or worse,” you mumbled.

Your server came with your drinks. Leon didn’t waste a second and downed nearly half of his drink. “You tried to quit?” he asked.

“I did. I thought it was time for a little stability in my life. This is as far as I can get to it,” you said and took a sip of your drink which was the same one as Leon. It was strong.

“Stability. That’s unlikely in this job,” he scoffed, fingers tapping at his glass.

“Do you see it as impossible, Leon?” You desperately hoped he would say no, you needed to hear from someone that it wasn’t just a pipe dream.  

He seemed to be thinking for a slow moment. “I guess, for some people, it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“For you it would?” you inquired.

“I once thought I would marry my first girlfriend. I was like what? Twenty, twenty-one? I was really stupid and in love. If twenty-one-year-old Leon saw this, he would be devastated,” he said and raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can find someone who would understand what I do. It’s not like I can tell them. They’d be in danger because of me. I can’t ask them to trust me blindly. I wouldn’t want them to.”

“If someone was willing to accept you as you are, do you think..?”

“Who in their right mind would?” he groaned in exasperation.

“I would. But my situation is different, I have an understanding of what you do. I also can’t be in any more danger than I already am.” There was a beat of silence after you said that. The drink was definitely too much for you, you were sure. Your ears were burning hot, one hand coming up to cool one down with your nervous cold fingers, your eyes roamed the whole place. You chugged the remaining of your drink and wiped your mouth.

“Whoa, slow down there,” he bolted and looked at your abashed face as if he was in a contemporary art museum, trying to understand what the artist meant with their absurd piece.

Feeling self-conscious, you fixed your hair and babbled out, “Why did you get into this line of work in the first place?”

His back straightened, shoulders rolling back. “I was… recruited.” You didn’t quite understand how but remained from prodding any further. “I was the best candidate for what they wanted. An orphan who didn’t have anything to lose.”

It really wasn’t going well for you. You wanted to bang your head against the table and avoid looking at him completely but after what he had revealed to you, you couldn’t be any ruder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

If Cathy were to hear about this, you wouldn’t hear the end of it. Good job honey, that’s one way to woo a man. She would’ve said it in that sarcastic tone which she infamously was a master of.

“No, it’s fine,” said Leon. “You could do so much better than me, though.”

Have you seen yourself, you wanted to exclaim.

Your nostrils were wide, trying to sober you up by hogging as much oxygen as possible, you tried to remain calm, you were feral however. “Why do you keep putting yourself down, Leon? You know, you could’ve called your friends today and they would’ve come running to you. You’re a great person, they don’t give a damn about how successful your mission was. They’re happy that you’re back, that’s all. They are your friends, not the alcohol.”  

He was dead silent, staring at his glass with an expression you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I’m sorry for overstepping but I saw how they were trying to look out for you at the dinner. There wasn’t even a glass of wine there, celebration my ass. Everybody can tell you’re not fine. I don’t know you that well but even I can tell. What you’re doing to yourself isn’t healthy. It’s self-destructive.”

He wiped his forehead. “You’re the one to talk.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hunnigan’s always talking about how you’re running away every time you see her. She has to drag you everywhere. She’s being nice to you, you could try appreciating that, you know? And you’re clearly stuck up on something, are you trying to repent for your sins or what?” He quite literally disarmed you with his icy stare.

“I’m not Catholic,” you retorted.

“Well, would you look at that. We’re more similar than I thought.” The smirk he had on was sardonic, the furthest from being friendly. You felt an urge to get up and never look back.

“Wrong,” you said as you crossed your arms. “I don’t expect alcohol to solve my problems.”

“Yeah, you’d rather run away from them. And that isn’t going well for you, is it?” He finished his drink and motioned for the server for another. “Also, stop being a hypocrite.”

“Excuse you?” you said with seething anger.

“Are you not trying to ‘get wasted beyond recognition’ right now, as you put it?” he sneered and pointed out your empty glass.

“That was one time, I usually don’t drink. And I’m not planning on drinking more.”

“Oh, did I ruin your fun?”

“Stop that,” you said through your gritted teeth. “Stop being mean. I’m not your friend. You don’t have to push me away. I don’t know why you invited me here. I can just get up and go, leave you with whatever you have up your ass that’s making you act like this. I’m only asking you to stop putting yourself down so much and you’re being all defensive. You know what, I don’t deserve this.” You got up from your chair, grabbing your jacket and purse.

He stood up quickly and tried to follow you. “Sit down, Leon. Your drink is coming.” You didn’t give him any chance to reply and threw the amount of cash that covered your single glass of alcohol on the table.

The walk from the noiseless bar to the nearest bus stop was not pleasant, to say the least. The air was biting cold, hitting your warm cheeks and making you shiver.

Leon only lost sight of you because he stopped to tip the server generously. He fucked up big time, he knew that. It was going to be a pain in the ass if you already jumped in a cab but he had hope that no vacant cab was passing the area on a Friday night.

He was stupid to think this would go smoothly. The last time he saw you, he was concerned about you. The way you’d casually admitted you were not fine was echoing in his mind. He wanted to see if you’d be there by the time he was back from duty. He admitted he was scared for you, for that woman who seemed so small during the funeral, for that woman who had a meltdown in her car in the middle of the day, barely hanging on.

He wanted to tell you today that maybe you should quit. But you had already crossed that bridge.

Maybe you wanted to help people, too. At least at the beginning. Now you wanted peace and quiet, because your life has been anything but. Unlike you, he gave up on that a while ago. He wanted to regard your daring words— I would— as being drunk, he really did.

Ada would never admit she’d want something like that to him, to anyone. Ada didn’t want a stable life, she would never live at a place longer than a month, work with someone more than twice. Even after all of their encounters, Leon still didn’t know what her actual motives were. Raccoon City, Spain, his last mission.

It was pitiful, the way his breath would hitch every time he saw a dark-haired woman wearing red out of the corner of his eye. His heart would pound in his ears for a quick second before he’d realize he was mistaken. He would allow himself, for a brief moment, that maybe it was Ada, here to see him. However, she was never the one to be sentimental. Her every action had a tangible intention that Leon could never guess.

But Leon knew she cared. Enough to save him every goddamn time he needed saving. Enough to ask him to come with her. If he was twenty-one, he would’ve chosen to tail behind her, ready to follow her wherever. Except he had changed, he was not naive anymore. He’d like to think he made the right choice by separating their ways back in Spain. He didn’t know if he was going to be used again.

He also didn’t know what would become of them. Needless to say, he wasn’t going to abandon the mission and ride off into the sunset with Ada yet a part of him wondered about their alternate universe in which he chose to follow her. What would have happened if he just hopped onto that helicopter with her? Where would she have taken him? Was she planning on greeting him properly after all those years? Was he ready to forgive her after Raccoon City?

Perhaps she would have dropped him off somewhere, with a phone number or an address, leaving him confused yet again. Maybe he would’ve reached out, met her in a different circumstance where they didn’t have to constantly run away from trouble. Maybe she’d be living in a small flat and then she’d ask him to come over. Maybe he’d continue to visit her, make himself familiar with her small space.

Except that was not feasible at all, since she was a fleeting kind of woman, just like all the moments they shared. Not there to stay. And none of these would happen, it would always be a different hotel room, different city, barring him from being constant in her life.

A puppy love, he used to think. Young, naive, credulous love. No, he realized, it got older and bigger, sicker. It was time to put it down, put it out of its misery.

He sprinted to the bus station, his hunch was right, you were sitting there, arms folded on your chest, alone. You looked up the moment you heard his footsteps. He left a few steps between you two and braced himself by putting his palms on his knees.

“Why did you come here?” he asked, his eyes were focused on your red nose. Probably from the cold, he convinced himself.

“What do you mean? You asked me to,” you grimaced.

“You said we’re not friends, so why did you come here?”

Your head turned opposite of Leon, resting your chin on your shoulder and hugging yourself tighter. “I wanted some company,” you grumbled, the collar of your jacket muffling your voice. “I think Hunnigan’s right and I might need it.”

“Sorry I’m not a decent one.” He took slow steps to sit next to you on the narrow bench of the bus stop, his shoulder grazing yours. That made you perk up at him.

“I’m sorry for the things I said earlier,” you said, holding his gaze.

“You said a lot of things.”

“Well, I’m sorry for all of them, I crossed a line.”

“Don’t be, I needed the scolding.”

“I didn’t mean to scold you.”

He knocked his knee to yours. “Do you always regret the things you say immediately after? I was an asshole, you got angry, rightfully so.”

“But I was the one who started it,” you pursed your lips.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re not kids.”

“I, uh, called a taxi, should be here in a few minutes,” you said after a minute of silence.

“Okay, tell me something in the meantime.”

“What do you want to hear?”

His thumb caressed his brow, he was contemplating. “Would you consider marrying me?”

“What?”

“Would you marry me? If I asked?”

“No, I heard you the first time.” Your eyes took in every inch of his face, searching for a sign, anything that might explain this. “Leon, are you drunk?” 

“No, I’m nowhere near drunk. It takes more than one drink for me to get buzzed.” He crossed his arms, imitating you. “Think about it, we can both try to live calm and stable.”

Your face was contorted in confusion, still for a slight pause. “People don’t marry out of spite, Leon. They marry out of love.”

“Who said anything about spite?”

“You’re clearly angry at something or someone.”

“I am not.”

“This life you are living right now… isn’t quite what you planned, is it? Some things didn’t go according to plan and now you’re here, trying to steer the reins again. And you’re angry.”

“What are you, my therapist?” This time his comeback didn’t sound as if it was meant to hurt you, but to make the air between you lighter. “I guess I do resent some things, doctor.”  

You went along with his enactment. “Admitting is a huge step Leon, I appreciate the honesty.”

“Now you be honest,” he said, bouncing his leg in impatience. “Are you in a relationship? Am I being creepy by cornering you like this?”

“I’m not and I don’t feel cornered. If I did, I’d just get up and go. You just saw.”

He nodded, his lips in a thin line. “Experienced firsthand how you run away from your problems and I don’t mean it figuratively.”

You chuckled. “You are not a problem in my life.”

“Not a friend either.”

Your smile dropped. “I don’t think we know each other that well.”

He hummed, looking far away. “That’s probably your cab.” He got up, shaking off dust from his jeans. “Take my number before you get in and let me know when you make it home safe.”

You gave him your number but didn’t get to write your name in his contacts as the cab drew near. “Thanks for keeping me company, you didn’t need to run after me,” you said as you handed him his phone.

“We won’t dwell on it,” he winked as he opened the back door of the cab for you. “And think it over, okay?”

“What?”

“My proposal. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient.”

“Tell me one good thing that will be convenient.”

“Uh, okay. Here’s two for you,” he said and held up two fingers. “A better healthcare plan and tax benefits.”

You laughed and the driver seemed annoyed that you were still standing in front of the open door. “I should get going.”

“Text me when you get home,” he said when you finally got in the car.

You texted him again two weeks after his ridiculous proposal.

Hi, Leon. Do you remember what you asked me after the bar two weeks ago?

Hi. Yes I remember.

Were you being serious or should I pass it as tipsy nonsense?

There was no response from him for a few minutes and you had started biting your nails nervously.

I was being serious. I wasn’t tipsy.

You stared at his short text longer than it took him to reply. You had already made up your mind but it felt cheap telling him over a text. This was not the proper way of doing this. You also didn’t know how to convey this to him, so you resorted to a playful text.

Ask me properly and I’ll consider it.

I’ll ask you again properly over dinner next Friday? I know a good Italian place.

The next Friday, he kept his promise and said those four words in a fancy quiet Italian restaurant. You said yes.

“I have a request,” you said, swirling your wine before taking a sip. “I want a wedding dress, not like a gown or anything. Just a simple white dress.”

“Sure, I already have a suit that I can wear.”

Your heart tugged in your chest. The fact that you had to buy your wedding dress by yourself, no matter how simple you envisioned it to be, without Cathy by your side was making your ears ring, drowning out all the knife and fork clatter around you.

Here's my hand There's the itch But I'm not supposed to scratch

—Love Me More, Mitski

It’s four a.m. and you want to say you’ve actually seen it coming. Every time something good happens, its catastrophe follows eventually. Just like how Cathy’s mission was going so well until it wasn’t.

It’s four a.m. and the meal you’ve prepared for Leon has gone cold on the dining table. You thought he’d be hungry when he came back from mission, so you went out and bought ingredients, followed a recipe word for word, even made soup additionally just in case he didn’t feel like eating solid food after what his body’s been through. He said he’d be back at one a.m. and he hasn’t contacted you since. You’ve called and texted him numerous times but it was radio silence from him.

He had promised you, before you got married, that he would always let you know when he got back from a mission and he always did. He never once forgot because you were very serious about this, wanted to know as soon as possible that he was back safe.

It’s four a.m. and you feel like you’re going crazy, soaring into a heaving fit as each minute passes by.

The sound of his keys makes you clutch at your chest and before you even realize, your legs are walking you to the front door. He’s being quiet and you wait for him few steps behind the door. His steps are feather light, head bowed down to take off his shoes, he exhales a long breath as he places his backpack down.

He flinches when he sees your silhouette in the dark. “God, you scared me. I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“You didn’t text me,” your voice breaks, your hands are clutching at the sides of your pajama shirt like it’s a lifeline.

“I forgot.”

Your tears threaten to fall down and you’re grateful that it’s dark and he can’t see. You bite down your lip strong enough to make it bleed. “I was worried.”

“I’m fine, you didn’t need to stay up.”

It’s not like you chose to, you physically couldn’t lie down or eat anything when your mind went all haywire, creating the worst possible scenarios it could think of.

“I, um, made dinner.” You point to the table. “But it’s gone cold, I can heat it up. Don’t know if it will taste any good, though. Did you have any chance to eat something? I mean, if you ate dinner, it’s been hours and you’re probably hungry—”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I also made soup, so it’s easier on the stomach. You’re tired, right? Just eat some soup and then go to sleep. I’ll heat that up and there’s also tea in the pantry, supposed to help you sleep. Oh, I filled up the bathtub, I’ll go drain it, the water’s gone cold and you probably want to have a hot shower—”

He cuts you off again by blurting out your name. “Hey, hey, slow down.” His calloused hands come up to hold your shoulders and you let out a small whimper of surprise, your chin dropping to your chest. “I don’t want anything, I’ll just sleep.”

You shrug and escape from his hold, so he doesn’t ask you why you’re trembling like a leaf. “But shower…” you manage to make out and point to the direction of his room.

“Yes, I’ll drain the tub and shower, you go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” you say softly. He’s home, you repeat deliriously. He’s here, very much alive. The thought calms your nerves instantly.

He doesn’t turn on any of the lights while navigating his home in the dark. You crane your neck to watch his silhouette move to his room. He opts to turn on the bathroom light first. You listen to the water droplets as you put away the food you made for him in containers. He says something you can’t quite hear when he gets out of the shower.

“Did you say something, Leon?” you raise your voice slightly.

“Yeah, did you clean my room?”

“It was messy. Thought it’d be nice to see it tidy when you came back.”

He doesn’t reply right away and your head turns to his direction as if he can see you through the door.

“Thank you. You didn’t need to.”

You actually cleaned the whole house when he was away, not that he had the chance to see it.

You were aware from the very beginning that this was what you got yourself into. You and Leon never promised each other love. But why are you feeling like this now? Stupid question, really. Because things have changed, you’ve grown to love him and you’re afraid. You’re afraid that one day you’ll have to face the world without him by your side because he has become your anchor, holding you in place where you now call home. It’s nice having his warm hands on you, it’s nice coming home to him.

However, in moments like now it feels like you’re playing house, actors going their separate ways after the lights go out. It awfully feels like you’re standing in the middle of a dark stage, curtains closed so nobody can see what goes down behind the scenes.

You’re in front of his door, first aid kit in one hand, knocking. “Leon?” You know he’s not sleeping. He can’t sleep well after he comes back from his missions, his insomnia making it impossible for him.

The door cracks open and you slide past him before he can say anything, perching cross-legged on the side of his bed, placing the kit on your lap before propping his pillow against the bedpost so he can sit comfortably in front of you. “Let me have a look.” You pat on the bed. “And turn on the lamp, please.”

You can finally see him when he does. The first thing you see is the big purple bruise on his side because he’s only wearing his sweatpants. His hair is wet from the shower, hanging to his eyes, eyebags dark and prominent, one of his forearms is freshly bandaged. Despite all, he’s standing tall in front of you.

“They already patched me up,” he says, showing his bandage.

You take his hand and draw him near, making him sit on the bed with one leg dangling from the side. Half of his face is illuminated like this and you can see the cut on his jaw in its full glory. Your fingers begin to work quickly, cleaning the wound all the while he winces by closing his eyes. “Seems like they didn’t take a good look at you. What happened to your ribs?” you ask to distract him.

“Got kicked. They’re not broken.”

You put the band-aid on his jaw and search his eyes as they open. He blinks slowly at you, understanding that you want to hear more. “Hurts when I breathe but it should be gone in a few days, it’s not that bad.”

You take his unwrapped hand in yours, the skin of his knuckles is very red, it probably hurts when he flexes it. You grab the ice pack you remembered to bring with you and place it on top on his knuckles.

“Not there,” he mumbles. “Put in on my shoulder, it’s really sore.”

You place the pack on the shoulder he points. He tries to turn his head that way but his face contorts in pain and he gives up, exhaling a long sigh.

“Did you have them wrap it up?”

“No, can’t be bothered to rewrap it later.”

“That’s why you have me to do it for you,” you hum, adjusting the ice pack. You’re closer to him like this, able to smell his soap and shampoo from his body. You can make out the shape of his chapped lips and yours ache to kiss his pain away, except you are overheated with grievance.

His eyes bore into you, taking you in. There’s an unassuming hand on your bent knee, squeezing lightly. “Did I scare you?” he asks.

“You promised me,” you gripe to him, fumbling with your fingers on your lap after you place the first aid kit next to you. “You promised me that you’d let me know when you were back. Of course I was scared.”

His forehead falls onto your shoulder, damp strands of hair pressed to the side of your neck as the ice pack tumbles down his back onto the bed. “I’m sorry, honey,” he says breathily.

He’s only called you by your name all this time, so this is new. And stomach lurching. Your cheek knocks the side of his head with your startled reaction.

“I have no excuse,” he murmurs. His palm on your knee slides up, leaving a burning sensation as it goes along your thigh, bypassing your hips and finding place on the curve of your waist.

“It’s okay,” you squeak when you feel his thumb caressing your ribs through your t-shirt.

You don’t remember ever sitting down with him, drawing lines about the nature of your relationship, lines that both of you never meant to cross, because you didn’t. You didn’t discuss anything about boundaries because at the time you were getting married, you didn’t know him much. Both of you assumed that it would naturally develop, silent agreements to come.

It was manageable before, now it confuses you to the point of ripping hair from your own head. There were times where you didn’t think twice about giving him a friendly hug, a pat on the back, a reassuring squeeze to his knee but after getting into bed with him, every action was testing the waters.

It wasn’t even a bed; it was the couch in the living room where you had countless dinners and conversations, the heart of the home, if you will. It felt shameful afterwards as if it happened in an open space, because it was quick and devoid of any intimacy, but it was in the confines of your own quiet home still.

You want to go back to the time when you were friends, and not what this was supposed to be. You want to go back to the time when you didn’t know how it felt to have him like that, when you didn’t know his touch would be so tantalizing, his lips unbearably addicting, his warmth conquering.

Initially, you thought you’d cross any bridge regarding him when you came across it, but there weren’t any bridges around to reach him to begin with. You quickly realized that he had burned them before you, for everyone. So, you painstakingly built each and every one of them with your bare hands, desperate to get to him. And him shaking them felt immensely unfair, all your hard work threatened to fall.

Your hand on his chest pushes him away ever so slightly before his hand drops from your waist. He hisses softly yet the action hurts you more than it hurts him. He yields to your touch, back leaning on his propped-up pillow, waiting for you to gather the scatter of your thoughts patiently.

“Stop confusing me, Leon.”

“What do you mean?”

“What am I to you exactly?”

“You’re my wife,” he says. Obviously.

“So why doesn’t it feel like it?”

“We never guaranteed that it would.”

“Yeah, I know that. All this time I thought maybe we were doing better, now I don’t know Leon, you’re confusing me. Either stop giving me hope or just say it outright.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That I’m just a fuck buddy to you.”

His jaw ticks, lips curl in disdain. “How shallow do you think I am?”

“I know we never established any boundaries between each other but it’s gotten to a point where I don’t know how I should act around you.”

His face stays stagnant. “You can’t be serious. Your boundaries were set from the beginning. You never had a place for me in your heart.”

Time seems to stop for you in that dire moment, Leon’s blue eyes serving you a new wrench of dismay. “When did I give off that impression?”

“Our first anniversary,” he clarifies hoarsely. “We ate pizza on the couch, remember?”

You do, you even remember the Disney movie he had rented as a cheeky nod to time you two first flirted. The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

“I always wonder why you said yes to my proposal in the first place,” he said after taking a bite from his pizza slice. It had been a year since getting married, Hunnigan was the one to point out to him. Apparently, she was proud of herself due to the fact that she was the one to introduce you two.

“I thought of Cathy and what she would’ve said to me,” you said, watching the animated Quasimodo sing his heart out to the town below him.

“What would she have said?”

“That it is ridiculous and maybe I should say yes.”

“So, you thought of what Cathy would’ve said to you getting married but not your family?”

You turned your head to him, ready to get vulnerable. “Cathy was family to me.”

“I didn’t know you two were that close.”

“Yeah, we met when we were roommates back in college. She urged me to change majors and follow her path.”

“To become an agent?”

“No, she was the one who always wanted to be a special agent. I didn’t know what to do at first but somehow ended up working alongside her.”

“What were you studying before?”

“I was studying to become a nurse. Kind of in my sister’s path, she’s a doctor.”

He scratched his nape, looking ashamed. “I believe I never asked that before, sorry about that.”

You elbowed his side after taking a sip of your drink. “Yeah, you better be sorry for not knowing what your sister-in-law does for work.”

He rolled his eyes upon your teasing. “Were they supportive of you changing majors? Your family, I mean.”

“My family’s always been small. It’s just me and my mom and sister. Dad’s never been in the picture. He left when I was a few months old. My mom raised us herself. And yes, she would support anything I did. She loved Cathy because she would make me do things I’d never do myself.”

“Your mom sounds like a great person.”

“She was. She died four days before Cathy did.”

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” he said, much more ashamed than before. You didn’t blame him, the first year of your marriage flew by really fast, with him on duty most of it. Forget sitting down like this to talk, you rarely got any chance to see him.

“Yeah, their deaths being so close fucked me up really bad. We were on mission. My mom was living with my sister then because she was sick. My sister didn’t tell me her condition was even worse than before.”

“Why?”

“Mom knew we were working on something big and begged my sister not to tell me. She thought she’d see me after I was done with the mission. I had a whole fight with my sister about it. I felt betrayed.”

“I think I would, too, in that situation.”

“I was so fucking unprofessional after that. I couldn’t keep on helping Cathy properly. And she—”

“It isn’t your fault.” He shook his head, meeting your gaze in the space between you two on the couch.

“I’m tired of hearing that,” you huffed.

“None of that is on you. It’s the truth.”

“It’s not. I knew the situation was going bad. Cathy tried to make me believe it was not. Somebody else had to be transferred to take my place instead. I insisted but I had to be taken out. That’s when we lost connection to her.”

“How did you know it was going bad?”

“I could tell from her voice. I know her better than I know myself. I failed to get her help. I should have never listened to her.”

“But you couldn’t do that, could you? She clearly gave you wrong intel. You can’t send back-up until—”

“I could’ve made it seem like she requested back-up. That would’ve saved her, exterminated the mission, but saved her. I’d have faced the consequences of my actions sooner or later. If I did that and saved her, she’d be mad at me for years but who cares as long as she’s safe and sound?”

“I get it. I’d also have someone mad at me if it meant they’d be safe.”

“In the end, she died for nothing. The cult she was infiltrating dispersed after they killed her, all fled to different countries. It’s harder to track them down now. They’re everywhere.”

“You follow through with it? It would be impossible to track down each mission.”

“Why do you think I’m in the archives? I have access to mission reports. They don’t think it is bioweapon related, so sometimes they let me see them.”

Esmeralda was dancing along people’s whistles, captivating every man in the square.

“You said Cathy died for nothing but you actually don’t want that to be true.”

Fiddling with your fingers, you said, “Obviously.”

“You’re loyal,” he remarked. “I’m sure she would’ve loved to see her mission completed. Do you ever think of working as an analyst again?”

“Nope.”

From his expression you could tell he wanted an explanation, so you gave him one, “I don’t want to see people get hurt anymore. It’s a dangerous job, you know it. Why are you asking me?”

“No offense, but then why did you agree to marry me knowing I do the same job? If you’re scared of losing someone this much—it just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You sighed, having a hard time thinking where to even start. “You’re going to call me crazy.”

“I would never,” he said, half-jokingly.

“Okay, I really did think what Cathy would tell me to do. I always listened to her, the whole time we got to spend together. She told me what she wanted to do with her life, told me I looked depressed with what I was studying and maybe we should join an academy together. She was larger than life, lit up an entire room with her presence, never spoke ill of someone, liked to help people in any way she could. I’ve always been shy, so she went above and beyond to find me decent blind dates.”

“She sounds wonderful. She was also your matchmaker?”

“In a way, yes. Dragged me to parties with her so I could have some fun.” You gave Leon a smile, recalling Cathy and her antics in your mind, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Nothing sounds crazy so far,” he reassured you.

Finished with your pizza, you dusted off the crumbs into the box and lifted up your knees to sit cross-legged facing him. “I couldn’t keep someone interested in me for more than two dates.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he replied, his eyes traveling up and down.

“No, seriously. This one time, a guy left mid-date, told me he had a phone call, paid for the coffees and just left. I waited there for half an hour. It dawned on me when I couldn’t see his car outside. Didn’t call me after.”

Leon shrugged one shoulder. “His loss.”

You smacked his bicep playfully as a way of thanking him for his compliment. “I only went on these dates because Cathy thought it would be good for me. I had a few fights with my sister about Cathy and her influence on me. She thought I was like her puppet but I genuinely don’t think like that. I told you I knew Cathy like the back of my hand. It was the same for her. Never pushed me to do something I’d be uncomfortable with. Well, I’d feel awkward at times but it would be momentary, I’d learn so much in the long run.”

“That’s a very healthy way of looking at things. I’m still waiting for the part where you think I’d call you crazy.”

“I trusted her judgment because I knew she only wanted the best for me. She’d definitely try to set me up with you if we weren’t so busy all the time,” you said, lips curling into a roguish smile.

His eyebrows shot up, being brazen about it. “Oh, you’re saying I’d have her approval?”

Especially when you keep raking your hands through your hair like that, you wished to say. “Yes, you would.”

“Thank you, that means so much.”

“You didn’t even know her.”

“Well, she means so much to you, I feel honored that you think that way.”

A haze of grief washing over your heart, lungs expanding, you started, “I also… never mind.”

A comforting hand fell on you shoulder, shaking you slightly. “Now you have to say it, don’t leave me hangin'.”

“Here’s the crazy part,” you swallowed dryly. “Whenever I thought of my future, it was always with Cathy. I didn’t even think of getting married. I thought we’d retire together when the time came, she and Allison—her girlfriend—would live next to me. And if they ever had the chance, they’d marry and maybe have kids. I’d look after them like they were my own, be the best aunt. Isn’t it crazy, dreaming of looking after someone else’s kids and not yours? Sometimes I’d lay my head down and imagine myself in a little community, living next door to Cathy and her family, growing my own vegetable garden��though I don’t know the first thing about gardening but I’d learn! I would also grow pretty flowers and give them out to anyone who decided to come over. Go to the bakery in the morning, greet everyone on the way and grab my breakfast fresh out the oven. I’d get so fat! Eating baked goods every day, sounds like heaven to me.”

“Indeed.” With a fond smile on his face, he took of his hand from your shoulder and fully turned to you, bending one leg up on the cushions. “I don’t think I met an Allison at the funeral, was she there?”

“She was,” you said, remembering the painful conversation you had with her. “She arrived really early and left before anyone from work came.”

“What happened?” he asked, noticing you ripping skin off your fingers just like you had been doing during that day.

“I tried to talk to her. She told me I was a liar and walked out—” Leon interrupted your chain of thoughts by taking your hand, preventing you from damaging your fingers further. “I couldn’t keep my promise to her. It’s awful. I told her before the mission that it was going to be okay, we’d done this with Cathy many times and I’d make sure to keep her in one piece.”

Your other hand had a death grip on your knee, nails digging and leaving indents to keep yourself grounded. “They tortured Cathy while she was captive. She died because she refused to give them any information.”

Leon seemed like he didn’t want you to continue, placed your hand in his as though he was reading your palm and started to fidget with your gold wedding band on your ring finger. “Tell me more about that dream of yours. I bet you wouldn’t even install normal ceiling lights in your house. It’d just be little lamps everywhere.”

Giggling, you said, “Yeah! I’d be that auntie that collects little trinkets and displays them all around her house. I’d learn how to knit and make so many ugly sweaters for God knows anyone.”

“So, no partner living with you? Just you with your trinkets?”

“There’s so many types of love and I just didn’t see myself in a romantic one. It just happened that I never pictured myself alone. That’s it.”

His hands slipped away after your raw confession, broad back straightening, appearing tensed up. Yet again, you couldn’t make out what his expression meant.

Esmeralda was now singing a hymn, Quasimodo staring at her in admiration from the shadows.

“I talked so much today, now’s your turn. I feel embarrassed that you know my abysmal attempts at finding love. How about you, Leon? You got any embarrassing stories that you can tell?”

His answer was quick and mischievous, “Yeah, this one time this lady just got up and left me at the bar. In the middle of an argument.”

You pursed your lips and bumped on his knee on the cushions, restraining a laugh you know he’d get satisfaction out of. “Don’t piss me off, that wasn’t even a date.”

“I had a girlfriend when I was twenty-one, she broke up with me before I started working as a cop.”

“That’s so long ago and not that embarrassing if I’m being honest,” you sniffed at him.

“I already told you about how I thought I’d marry her. I really believed my first ever relationship would live to see its future.”

Offering him a new perspective, you explained, “Well, technically it did, it just wasn’t a bright one.”

“Pshh,” he scoffed, turning to the TV, stretching before bending his arms behind his head. “Wait—you’re telling me I’m the only long-term guy you had?”

His late light-bulb moment pulled a chuckle out of you. “Turning it back to me again, okay. No, I did date a guy for nearly one year. And before you ask, he said I worked too much and wasn’t fun.”

Leon’s face scrunching as if he just ate something sour, he blurted out, “Where do you find these types of guys? Did Cathy set you up with this asshole?”

“No, actually, I found him myself.”

“Is he the one who made you think you’re not fun to be around?”

You were left stumped, unable to think of any answer.

“What? If he is, I disagree with him.”

“You only say that because I go along with your corny jokes.”

“Yeah, that’s the only reason,” he chimed sarcastically.

Quasimodo was saving Esmeralda from the burning stake, the sign that the movie was about to end.

“Your dream,” he cleared his throat. “I could just picture it like a happy ending to a Disney movie. You know, they all have happy endings. Besides, I don’t think you’re insane for wanting a happy, peaceful life.”

“What’s insane about it is that I even imagined myself dying before Cathy. Getting buried before I got to bury her. I’ve never thought I’d live the day she wouldn’t, yet here I am… I wrote an entire script for the rest of my life in my mind, that’s why I spiraled down and down and down when it was not possible to play it out anymore. So, I stopped. It wasn’t healthy for me to continue obsessing over my ruined happy ending. I decided to live in the present. Write as I live on. Be more like Cathy, hopefully.”

There was little beer left in his can but he raised it anyway. “In the loving memory of Cathy Donovan, then.”

“I don’t have any drink left,” you gasped, lifting your can. “Cathy, I’m so sorry, you deserve the fruitiest of Martinis.” If Cathy was there, she would’ve laughed like a hyena, found it hysterical that you managed to call her fruity given the context.

After the honorary toast, Leon leaned back and intertwined his hands on his stomach, eyes fixed on the TV screen where Phoebus and Esmeralda were passionately kissing.

“The novel’s ending was not family friendly, I guess,” you mocked.

“I haven’t read it.”

 “If you’re planning on reading it, my lips are sealed.”

“Don’t know if I have the time. I don’t mind, tell me.”

“It’s painfully sad. Esmeralda gets hanged, Quasimodo pushes Frollo from the cathedral tower in grief and rage. That’s the moment he realizes he’s lost everyone he’s ever loved. He also refuses to let go of Esmeralda, starves himself holding on to her dead body in her grave. Years later, an excavation group finds their intertwined skeletons and when they try to separate them, Quasimodo’s bones crumble to dust.”

“Now that’s vile.”

Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart Baby, bang it up inside I'm not wearing my usual lipstick I thought maybe we would kiss tonight

Baby, though I've closed my eyes I know who you pretend I am I know who you pretend I am

—Washing Machine Heart, Mitski

“How would I know I’d end up here?” you ask him, voice shaking. “We didn’t promise each other anything, so I didn’t have any hope.”

You want nothing more than to ask him about the teddy bear keychain he has in desk drawer, why he holds onto it, ask whether you should be relieved that it no longer has a key attached to it.

There is that gut feeling, clawing at your churning stomach, that tells you he has someone. Someone else who knows him better than you, who is a better match to him, who makes him happier.

Someone he loves.

“But we had sex, it made me question everything and I’ve come to the conclusion that we were both lonely and weren’t thinking straight. You acted like it didn’t change anything, it almost made me go crazy. Please say something so I can finally understand, Leon,” you cry out.

“I don’t regret it,” he declares. “I don’t regret what we did. And I know how we started this marriage, I assumed it would always be the same after you told me your feelings.”  

“I admit I’m hard to be with.” Your head hangs to the side, brows furrowed. “It’s hard for me to trust someone as much as I trusted Cathy. I’m sorry it took two years for us to be candid with each other. I used to be laidback about who I slept around with before. Now, I don’t know, I think twice about how I should touch you, talk to you. I used to think romantic love was not for me, so I wasn’t worried when you proposed because you didn’t expect it. I thought it wasn’t for people like us.”

“But you are capable of love,” he emphasized. “I know you are. You’re so good to me all the time. You stay up all night worrying when I’m not home, cook food for me despite your hatred for it, remember the smallest things and help me out, talk to me when I can’t sleep. I can’t even repay you for any of it and you still continue to be good to me. See, you’re speaking in a way that’s making me think there’s a chance that you love me and I still can’t say it back.”

Your silent tears unsettle him, this is the first time you let him see you cry. He has heard it before, the soft sobs and small chokes at night when you didn’t know he was awake.

You sniffle, “I know you’re capable of it, too, Leon. If the reason you can’t say it back to me is what I think it is, you definitely are.”

You quickly wipe your tears with the back of your hand when he asks, “What do you mean?”

“There is someone, right? You love them.”

His silence speaks volumes and it becomes your acceptance.

“Don’t let this thing between us hamper it, okay? I’m fine with it. To be honest, I didn’t expect you to keep up the faithful husband act.”

“Jesus,” he howls. “Just how terrible do you think I am? This thing between us is our fucking marriage. Not some situationship. Although I can’t make you think otherwise because you refuse to. I’m only gonna say this once, okay? I respect you enough to not sleep around behind your back.”

“Thank you, Leon, but I’m saying it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.” You take both of his hands, wanting to remember the feel of him. “You love someone else and it’s okay. You’re better off with them. Hopefully they’re better at love than I am.”

You take off your ring and place it in your palm, caressing it. “I know I probably shouldn’t be asking for this but I got so used to the weight of it on my finger. Can I have it as a keepsake?”

He grips your wrist tightly, grimacing. “What are you doing?”

“This is me letting you go.”

“No.” He shakes his head, voice thick. The way he places the ring on your finger again is a wretched overcompensation for not doing it before. You two didn’t have rings at the wedding and you were the one to place it on your own finger after purchasing them. “You’re running away,” he speaks in a hoarse croak. “Where will you go this time, hm?”

“I’ll resign and move close to my sister.”

His palms are cupping your jaw, fingertips in your hair. Him closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against yours is a way of saying I can love you if you give me time, I know I can.

“Stay,” he whispers, narrowing your whole world down to his warmth and you shudder from it. “Just tell me what you need.”

I need you to love me more, love enough to fill me up till there’s no crack left for me to write happy ever afters that will never come true. I need you to fill me full up, love enough to drown it out. Drown me out.

“Kiss me.”

“That I can do, honey.”

You know perfectly well that you’re selfish for wanting him like this. However, you yearn for the still of his hands on you, the irresistible feel of his skin on yours.

A kiss is placed on your temple, another one on your damp cheekbone, another on your jaw. Your eyes are closed the whole time he moves slow with his kisses. He grazes his nose beneath your ear, bringing you close to the brink of tears again. His hot breath is licking the other side of your face after, pecking the corner of your mouth.

“Scoot,” he says before gripping your waist and tipping you towards his torso. “My back is killing me like this.”

You’re afraid of hurting him with your weight but he insists, pulling you and placing you on his lap, getting you to straddle him, your thighs encasing his on either side. Your face a few inches above his, he tips his head back and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You can see a gash on his shoulder that disappears down his back which you didn’t notice before and you become aware once again that this isn’t the right moment to ask him for this.

“Leon—”

He can tell you’re about to get off him and he shuts you up by pulling you in a crushing kiss, pressing your chest to his with arms around your back so you won’t get away. “Stay here, don’t run away from me,” he says between labored breaths. His fingertips dance on your sides, making the hair on the back of your neck stand. He can probably feel your heart thumping crazy against his chest.

You caress the indent on his chin with your pointer finger, leaning down to kiss it. Leon lets out a delicious sigh, hands feeling up the sides of your thighs.

“Why did you kiss me at the wedding? There was no one to see,” you finally ask.

He lifts an eyebrow, eyes flicking to the side trying to remember it. “The officiant was there. And the photographer.”

You nod and his lips are on yours again, tender this time. He opts to place quick kisses over and over again when he’s done being gentle. A chuckle escapes you when his nose bumps yours.

Fingers drifting under your shirt, he scratches your back up and down with his blunt nails. Any inch of skin he comes across, he kisses. Earlobe, jaw, neck, shoulder peeking through shirt. One hand splaying his fingers on your back, middle finger in line with your spine, right between your shoulder blades, the other one comes up front, lifting the front hem of your shirt. “Take this off.”

He doesn’t move the hand on your back when you’re taking it off, eyes dropping down to meet the new exposed skin. But you feel too naked, even though he’s wearing the same amount of clothes as you. You hug him around his neck, careful not to hurt him, bare chests pressed together.

He clasps the tops of your arms, biting the inside of one bicep.

“Ouch.” You retreat. “Why did you do that?”

“Let me see you.” He tips you backwards after his hand comes up to your nape, your butt slides on his lap, making you sit right on his crotch. He lets out a content hum, not embarrassed of his half hard erection. You cling to his biceps although his hand on the back of your neck is securing you in place.

A kiss is planted to the base of your throat and then to each collarbone. The hand on the front cups the underside of your breast, goosebumps rising on your skin. A wet kiss on the valley of your breasts, his breath cooling it. A low moan from you when he takes a stiff nipple in his hot mouth, finally giving it some attention. He twirls his tongue around it, teasing, before licking it right.

Your hips move involuntarily, rubbing against him through clothes all the while he sucks, kisses, grazes teeth. A jolt of electricity travels down to your core when he switches sides, underwear clinging to your sticky folds. You keen into him, pushing your chest out when he begins to suck a bruise under your breast. Your fingers dig into his scalp, tugging on his damp strands.

You discern his knitted brows and inclined back before tapping his shoulder. “Leon, stop.”

He halts the moment he hears you. The sight of a string of spit connecting his lips to your chest is obscene. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re hurting. You should lay down,” you say while standing up.

His eyes never leaving you, he gets off the bed as well. He seizes you under your arms, picking you up with ease. “See, honey? I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.” He doesn’t let you protest and nips at your bottom lip before sloppily kissing you, tongue claiming every crevice of your mouth.

“No, put me down!” you wail, kicking your feet in the air.

“Okay, okay,” he grins, setting you down on the floor. Your heated cheeks amusing him, he takes your hand and places it on the waistband of his sweatpants. “This is the only thing you need to worry about.”

You decide to be daring and slide your hand down, palming him through layers of clothing. “Fuck,” he huffs, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against yours, big hands pawing at your backside, fondling your ass. Your hand slips past his briefs, touching him without any barriers.

“Oh, just like that,” he encourages you when you pick up a pace. His abs tightening, it doesn’t take long for him to fully get hard. “Ah, wait—”

“Hm?” You look up at him, just holding him in your palm.

“Need to get a condom, be right back.” He squeezes your ass one last time. “You better take everything off,” he teases before stepping away to get to the bathroom.

Second thoughts come rushing to your mind the time he’s undressing and grabbing a condom in the bathroom. Maybe, you shouldn’t do this. It’s only going to make it harder for the both of you. You admitted loving him and he wasn’t able to say it back. But he told you to stay, he needs you, wants what you’re able to give him. And you desperately need to give him all you have, mind and body, even if it means for a short time.

Because you know you will never be able to love like this again.

Your thoughts are interrupted when a packet of condom is thrown on the bed in front of you, hands gathering your hair on one shoulder to return messy kisses to your neck from the back.

Your back meets his pecs, his erection snug between your bare ass cheeks, you sigh softly when his fingers find their way to your clit, making your spine tingle. You hold on to his forearm, clawing at his veins as he gathers your wetness from your entrance, back to circling your bundle of nerves with now soaked fingers. His bandaged hand urges you to spread your legs more before finding place on your throat. He ruts his hips against your ass, breathing loudly while you whine out incoherent sounds.

He groans your name, drawing your attention up to his scrunched face. “You’re so good to me.”

“Leon,” you whimper as he drags two fingers all the way along your slit, pumping them inside. The way you stretch around his fingers distracts him from the rhythm of his hips, making him still. But you crave the friction, arch back your own hips to get him to move again. Your hand winds around and finds his aching hard dick, thumb stroking the precum all over his angry red tip. Your head rolls back over his shoulder and you want nothing more than to properly see.

“Leon, I’m close,” you moan and push his hand away. “I want to see you.”

“Anything you want, honey,” he pants in your ear, tip of his tongue tracing the shell of it.

You crawl to the middle of the bed, endowing him the sight of your glistening slit before laying down on your back, waiting for him to get on top of you. He parts your legs, taking a good look before smearing his tip on your folds, a mix of your wetness and his precum making it extra slippery.

“Please,” you manage to make out, one arm across your chest, another resting on his shoulder.

He rips your arm from your chest and pulls both your wrists above your head. “I said let me see you.”  

He doesn’t let you fuss, fucking up his cock against your clit, allowing himself the bare feel of you for a little while.

He kisses your pout away before retreating to roll the condom on. You hiss as his tip breaches your entrance, legs trying to close on instinct, but he’s laying between them. He gets you used to the feel of him inside before you nod for him to move, slowly at first. Once your back arches and your hips shift, he gets the message to piston his hips faster.

He searches for the right pace just by examining you, what your face does when he tries something new, how your back arches, by the sounds you make. Not too fast, not too slow, he eventually finds an angle you particularly like.

“Too good for me,” he chants whilst thrusting, intertwining his fingers with yours above your head. You notice the absence of his ring but you don’t worry about it because you know he leaves it on his desk when he’s away for a mission, not wanting to lose it.

Your legs hug him around his waist, heels pressing him into you deeper. “Yes, yes, yes…” You keep singing his name when you feel it building up inside.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last long,” he grunts, listening to the slaps of skin and your frantic cries of pleasure.

“Good ‘cause I’m so close.”

He takes that as a challenge, making sure you reach your high before him. He watches as you do, walls clenching down on his length, lips chasing his.

He’s cooing in your ear between your gasps, coaxing your bliss out of you. “I know, honey, I gotcha. You can let go.”

Your mouth opening in a silent moan as your orgasm ripples through you, hands trembling in his hold, legs trying to shut, your entire body quivering as you ride it out.

Irregular thrusts of his hips bouncing your breasts in front of him, he nestles his face between them, breathing in your scent. He noses the blossoming mark he left under there and moves slow, dragging it out as much as possible.

He sinks boneless on you, his weight feeling comforting rather than crushing. You embrace him as he softens out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He peels the condom off and lays on you for a while, head between your ribs, trying to catch his breath. You wipe away sweat from his temple, frowning.

“You’ll have to hop in the shower again.”

“Give me a few minutes,” he says, voice muffled and nasal. “And you’re coming with me, too.”

“Leon!” you shriek, playfully slapping his twitching bicep. “You shouldn’t tire yourself more.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. I was gonna ask you to wash my back.”

After a few minutes, you drag him in the shower, helping him soap his back. He stands under the hot rain when you’re cleaning yourself with his body wash, eyes and hands wandering, groping here and there. You smack his naughty hands each time, can’t help but giggle. However, he’s tired and sleepy, so he’s only playing.

You offer to change his sheets but he insists on doing it in the morning and tugs your arm to your room, preferring to sleep in your clean sheets. He nearly falls asleep as you blow-dry your hair, waiting for you in the bed.

As soon as you’re snuggled up to him, he tucks you to his chest, chin on your forehead. Soft sighs tickle the crown of your hair.

“Can I ask you a question?” he murmurs, barely audible.

Your pointer finger stops drawing circles on his pectoral muscle. “Mhm?”

“After your mom and Cathy passed away, how did you survive? There has to be a reason.”

“I actually planned to end it all after both funerals. I told myself to just get past that week. It’ll all be over in a week. But there’s my sister. She came with me to help with Cathy’s funeral. Forced me to eat anything she could cook while I lived on autopilot. She was washing my hair in the sink when I realized I can’t leave her behind. It’s just not fair. She has a wonderful husband but a husband doesn’t mean forever— I mean, look at what my mother got. A deadbeat husband who left her with two little kids. My sister doesn’t have any kids. Worst case scenario, her husband leaves her and—”

He retracts abruptly to search your face, hand on your cheek to steer you to him. “So, you wrote a script again. With a sad ending.”

“My sister is my only family left. I don’t want her to live unhappily.”

“Hey, I’m your family, too. Why are you talking like I’m not here?” He presses a long, soothing kiss to your lips. His fingers tip your chin up. “Look at me. What do you have in that mind of yours? What kind of script do you have for us?”

You lie. “I don’t have one.”

He smiles. “Good. Because we’ll write one as we go on.”

(a/n: a very short part 2 will be posted here in a few days, keep an eye out for that. ty for reading!) >> read PART II.

[chrollogy]

i. LETS GO TO SHIZUOKA!

miya atsumu x f!reader

── next: ii. Just me & you | series masterlist

synopsis: What better way to de-stress post-semester than going on a trip with your close friends? It’d be nothing but smooth sailing if you weren’t wedging some distance between you, and a certain blonde. Though, whether you liked it or not, the universe had its ways.

chapter content warning: college au, fluff, a hint of angst if you squint, atsumu might be a dumbass, mutual pining, requited unrequited love, forced proximity, slow burn, my poor depiction of japanese geography, reader can’t ride a bike for the sake of plot, not beta read, a little tame for now!

word count: 3.8k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. weeeee first chapter :> !!

‘You never really know when you’ve fallen in love. One day you just wake up and realise that it’s more than just shallow feelings.’

A phrase you’ve heard countless times growing up. You never really understood it well as a believer of love at first sight, thinking that the cliché ‘time slowing down as you see your lover before you’ was all there was to it to fully grasp the concept of love.

Kind of like in romantic movies where the camera dramatically pans around the main character after seeing their love interest—every person around you disappearing until all there was left were the two of you, heart racing a little too fast, the nervousness settling in—the whole shebang.

Unfortunately for you, it wasn’t as climactic as they ought to be in movies—not one soul magically disappeared until it was just the two of you, the time did not, in fact, slow down. If anything, your heart stuttered like crazy, threatening to leap from your rib cage and onto his hands as if they were its home. At least the movies got that one thing right.

It was down right frustrating leading up to the feelings you now had for none other than Miya Atsumu.

Some days were filled with fluttering heart beats, and dreamy sighs—tucking your chin on your palm at the blissful feeling of being infatuated with the blonde. As if on cloud nine, drifting along the feathery scenery atop a huge ivory cloud, cupid’s bow comfortably pierced right through your heart.

Other days were extremely unbearable, plagued with the ache of yearning, and unwanted jealousy—painfully digging your nails into your palm at the sight of someone else shamelessly flirting with Atsumu. It almost felt like a curse weighed upon you the day you were born, being smitten with a ladies’ man. On days like these, cupid’s bow uncomfortably dug into your heart like a painful itch—awkwardly poking out from your chest like an unconcealed badge saying, ‘Hey, look at me! I have a crush on someone who doesn’t even like me back. How stupid of me!’

Never mind that because the day it finally settled uncomfortably in your bones—that your feelings weren’t mere infatuation—you felt like you were in deep, deep shit. Absolutely fucked with a capital ‘F’ because suddenly the way Atsumu’s laugh sounded was like a sweet, sweet melody; an external stimuli to get your heart racing. The way his eyes crinkled, lashes kissing his cheeks as he laughed at a funny joke, oh, you were weak in the knees.

Your lovesick gaze unceremoniously bore into his handsome face, blissfully unaware of your raging feelings for him. You knew right then and there that love was what you felt for your close friend.

An uncharted territory that you swore to never step foot on, until now.

“You brought your passport?” Kita stared at the mini scarlet document resting between Atsumu’s slender fingers, brows raised with slight amusement. His expressionless question halted the quiet conversation amongst your group, all turning to look at the flustered blonde—his face now matching the colour of the passport in his hand.

“Y-yeah? Are we not supposed ta or somethin’?” Atsumu looked around at the growing amusement between his friends, except for Kita who only closed his eyes in defeat. The former looked over to you for help, honeyed eyes projecting a mix of slight panic and embarrassment, you could only look away in second hand embarrassment, cheeks heating from the eye contact.

“It’s a domestic flight, dumbass!” Osamu lightly smacked his twin on the back of his head, clicking his tongue at the lack of common sense. Before the two could even start their endless bickering, the line moved, signalling the group’s turn. Kita pulled the latter away with him to the check-in counter, saving everyone else’s ears being talked off with the twin’s petty arguments.

Winter break, a convenient time for you and your friends to get together and de-stress from the pressure of university. If anything, it was a purely spontaneous getaway trip to Shizuoka. The trip included a little pit stop to Tokyo for some much needed splurging—totally not your idea—before taking the train back down for Shizuoka.

It all started in the group chat with a lone screenshot from Suna, an on-going deal of inexpensive domestic flights from Hyōgo to Tokyo. There wasn’t even a message attached to the picture, just a wordless tactic in hopes to get the group together for an exciting winter ahead. First to see it was Atsumu, who immediately approved of the idea with an unnecessary amount of exclamation marks tied to his message. Then, it became a domino effect where the rest of the group voiced their interests, including yourself.

Next thing you knew, the five of you were holed up in the twin’s apartment—you and Kita sat on the chairs while the rest hovered behind, laptop on the table with a tab of the itinerary opened, and affordable accomodations in Shizuoka. With a quick transfer of funds from one bank account to another, you all looked forward to spending 4 days outside Hyōgo, 379 kilometres away from home.

Now, the five of you stood in the domestic terminal during the early hours of 7 AM, bound for Haneda Airport. Albeit, a bit sleepy, you were excited, deeming this trip as a little treat for making it through a rather tedious semester.

Sitting in between Suna and Kita, who respectively sat in the window and aisle seats, you took a moment to close your eyes as a muffled announcement from the pilot filled the speakers, the deep hum of the plane’s engines roaring as it moved up the runway, preparing for takeoff. Low murmurs of passengers, and the twin’s deep chatter behind you filled your ears like white noise, focusing on calming your racing heart.

You recounted a few minutes ago where Atsumu had opted to sit next to you, preferably on the window seat before Suna beat him to it, telling the latter that they had designated seats on their ticket, a teasing tongue poking out. ‘Like that matters.’ The blonde muttered, followed by a string of silent curses aimed at his friend before being ushered onto the next row behind by Osamu.

It was always like that with Atsumu and his spontaneity—he had no qualms sitting a row behind when you all had booked your tickets, even saying that he didn’t care wherever he sat as long as he landed in Tokyo in one piece. What drove him to change his mind was beyond your understanding.

Though, you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t grasp onto that little hope of possibly sitting next to Atsumu for the whole flight. To your dismay, it dissipated the second you held onto it—all thanks to Suna Rintarou. Nonetheless, you would’ve felt awkward anyway, now that your heart weighed heavy with the burden of being hopelessly in love, and shamelessly pining.

You wouldn’t know how you would’ve acted during the span of 1 hour and 10 minutes; arms touching one another, albeit, covered in thick layers to fend off cold, and knees dangerously close—your cheeks heated at the thought. Sure, it was nothing intimate but that was Atsumu’s effect on you, and it absolutely drove you up the wall.

It wasn’t like this before, and you felt pathetic.

Gone were the days where you could hold a solid conversation with Atsumu without stuttering, and fidgeting like an idiot—where you were able to freely speak to him without any inhibitions weighing your shoulders. Come to think of it, the last time this probably happened was way back in second-year highschool. You were in second-year college now.

If you were being completely honest, you caught yourself unintentionally placing some distance between you and Atsumu, just a tad bit for the sake of your sanity. Could you really blame yourself? With the way he has been acting indifferent, it did some damage to your poor, poor heart—everyone had their limits and you were bound to reach yours soon enough. Especially with the coming days ahead, seeing him after you wake up, and before going to sleep. All in his glory.

Heavens above, have mercy on your heart.

Suna nudged you awake, head resting on his shoulder for the duration of the flight. You muttered a small apology as he let out a small groan, fingers digging into his padded jacket to massage the tense muscles of his shoulder. “We’re in Tokyo, sleepy head.” Atsumu prodded a finger at your head, poking his tongue out as you turned to face him, as if on cue, your heart beat picked up, only able to playfully roll your eyes in response.

Disembarking the plane, and claiming luggages proceeded without a hitch; thankfully, all your hard suitcases were still intact, and not shattered from the rough handling in the airport. After conveniently hailing a jumbo taxi, you were on your way to the heart of Tokyo. Naturally, Kita sat at the front passenger seat, having no trouble exchanging polite conversation with the driver. You and Osamu sat in the middle row while Atsumu and Suna were at the back.

You had to stop yourself from climbing to the back right after Atsumu did so, letting the brunette happily go instead, earning furrowed brows from the former—one that you tried your best to ignore.

The sound of wheels rolling along concrete filled your ears, along with the hustling and bustling of Central Tokyo as the group searched for the nearest luggage storage. A sea of bodies clad in layers of business casual outfits, men and women alike hastily walked to their destinations. The beloved city was adorned with Christmas lights and decorations, radiant hues of red, green, and gold standing out against the dark winter coats locals donned.

That was to be expected, the start of winter break being only a day after Christmas. It always cheered you up in every sense, seeing all sorts of novel decorations put your mind in a better place.

“Alright! Now that’s done, let’s get somethin’ ta eat.” Osamu locked the storage behind him, quickly tucking his hands back inside his trench coat, puffs of white fog leaving his lips with every word spoken. This earned a handful of hums from the rest, without a doubt there were no arguing when it came to eating food.

Atsumu fell into a step beside you, letting out an exaggerated noise as he shuddered from Tokyo’s early morning winter breeze.

“Hey. Seems like I haven’t talked ta ya in forever. Y’ avoidin’ me or somethin’?”

The blonde teased, all smiles with a tinge of crimson painted on his nose, and cheeks—from the cold, you presumed. The lack of seriousness in his tone put you at a slight ease, at least you didn’t have to start explaining why you were kind of avoiding him.

You shook your head, a genuine laugh leaving your lips as his honeyed eyes met your own, “Me? Never.” This earned a proud smile from your friend, chest puffing in absolute pride underneath the thick layers of winter fabrics.

“Good. I dunno what I’ll do if ya start avoidin’ me.”

His saccharine gaze lingered on your own a little too long for your sanity, all you could do was blink in response, mind flying off into the unknown as your heart picked up its pace yet again. Atsumu’s velvety stare was intense, it was like standing under the blazing sun on a scorching summer day, making you feel all sorts of emotions from A to Z.

Suddenly, the cerulean scarf around your neck felt a tad too restricting, the puffer jacket you wore became awfully warm, and the crisp morning air of Tokyo seemed too thin. Everything felt weird all of a sudden—your skin prickled under his honeyed eyes, getting lost in them as each slow second passed.

“Oi! Are you two coming or not?” Suna’s voice sharply sliced through the enchanting trance you and Atsumu were under, jolting you both back into reality. The rest of them were already far ahead looking into shops for a quick bite, indicating that somewhere down the line, the two of you had stopped walking just to stare into each other’s eyes. How embarrassing.

The latter cleared his throat, embarrassment settling in upon realising the situation at hand. He muttered a quick ‘Let’s go’ before starting a slow jog over to the rest of the group, acting like he didn’t just stare into your soul for god knows how many seconds. Slapping your cheeks, and letting out a puff of breath, you headed towards your friends, navigating through the crowded footpath and making sure not to accidentally bump into anyone.

The next few hours consisted of wisely spending money—per Kita’s words—in the heart of Tokyo. Despite endlessly complaining at first, the twins and Suna were soon sucked into the shopping fever.

Though, the four of you had to worry about your luggages back at the storage, resulting in only buying items that you desperately wanted, and essentials. This unfortunately led to almost being late to the scheduled Shinkansen you all had previously booked, the only option was to quickly run back to the luggage storage, and up the train station just in time before the train departed.

Everyone did their best to keep their heavy breathing in check, trying not to come off as rude to other passengers as well as saving yourselves from the embarrassment of unsolicited stares. You relaxed on the azure seat beneath, situated between the window and Kita—who sat in between you and Atsumu, the other two were on the next row over.

Your gaze turned to the large window beside you, overlooking the opposing platform as the engine of the Shinkansen quietly whirred, signalling the impending departure. Due to the non-rush hour at the quiet time of 1:57 PM, it wasn’t packed at all, only a few commuters coming in and out of the station to get on with their day-to-day routine.

As the Shinkansen slowly advanced to full speed, the outside view quickly turned into a mix of blurred hues; tall buildings decorating Central Tokyo gradually turned into greenery and suburban areas.

The afternoon sun peeked from the winter ivory clouds, seeping into the window to cast a radiant, warm glow upon the three of you. A subtle reflection of Atsumu’s peaceful profile projected on the glassy panel, allowing you to carefully trace each and every detail of his handsome features—the slope of his nose, flaxen strands framing his face, and those rosy pink lips you’ve always longed to touch with your own.

Tucking your chin atop a palm, you shamelessly stared at your friend’s reflection through the window—you watched as his honeyed eyes focused on the scenery before him, angling his head your way to get a good look of the view. Atsumu’s lips ever so slightly pursed with pure fascination, his Adam's apple bobbing with awe, you presumed with the speed of the Shinkansen.

Oh, how wrong you were.

“Staring a little hard, aren’t we?”

You were met with Kita’s warm gaze as you whipped your head around, albeit, rather quickly as if caught doing something you shouldn’t be. His stare held a hint of mischief—something that rarely ever occurred which caused your cheeks to shamelessly heat up. The man wasn’t even fully teasing you or anything—not that he normally did so—but it roused quite a reaction from you: fidgeting at the hem of your jacket, gaze avoiding Kita’s expectant ones, the slight part of your lips, not to mention the small stutter your heart did but you weren’t going to let him know.

Absolutely not.

On the other hand, Atsumu stared out the same window, albeit, not directly at the view outside but rather at the reflection of your side profile on the glassy panel as you animatedly explained yourself to Kita. He couldn’t hear what the two of you were talking about as he resorted to using earbuds a few moments ago, blocking out the white noise.

Atsumu let out a small chuckle—one that was drowned by the hum of the Shinkansen—as he admired you from the window, a subtle smile involuntarily forming at the look of your flustered state. How adorable. Naturally, his eyes drifted down to your plush lips as it moved with every spoken word; Atsumu could only fantasise the feeling of it against his own.

The blonde swiped his tongue across his bottom lip before letting out a small huff, and closing his eyes shut—stubbornly depriving himself of your beauty.

More than a few times in the past, Atsumu has caught himself shamelessly wandering along the borders of ‘friends’ and ‘lovers’, brazenly walking along the fine line that split the two territories—as a matter of fact, in his eyes, the line was so damn thin that it almost appeared blurry. Dangerously blurry. But Atsumu was a thrill seeker, and would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to venture out into the uncharted territory called ‘lovers’.

For as long as he could remember, Atsumu has been patiently sitting by this uncharted territory—endlessly waiting for the day where he’d finally be able to cross that line without any hesitation in his bones. It was delusional of him, really, because at the very back of his mind—carefully tucked and hidden—Atsumu knew he probably didn’t stand a chance. That one day, he’d helplessly watch another man effortlessly cross the line.

He could only hope that was him.

Fortunately, the rest of the train ride was peaceful until Mount Fuji came into view from the distance; the stratovolcano proudly stood in all its icy glory, looking over Shizuoka and Yamanashi—its snow-capped tip slightly peeking from a blanket of clouds. The five of you didn’t hesitate to pull out your phones to start taking photos of the famed mountain, all amazed by its conical form.

After a few more clicks of the symbolic Fujisan, with selfies here and there, the train finally arrived in Shizuoka Station—greeted by the city’s skyline surrounded by impressive sights of nature. Hauling your respective mini luggages, and shopping bags from Tokyo, the five of you, surprisingly, made it to the hotel—located in the heart of Shizuoka—only a stone’s throw from the train station.

Greeted with a homey view, the hotel’s vast foyer was warmly lit, decorated with artificial plants here and there along with lots of comfortable spaces to sit on. Faint jazz music filled the rather deserted place, footsteps along its marbled ivory floors echoing loudly. Kita, and Osamu made their way to the counter—the latter only trailing behind to inquire about amenities—whereas Suna beelined for the nearest toilet, leaving you and Atsumu on luggage duty.

Great.

The blonde unceremoniously plopped down next to you, cream-coloured couch groaning beneath his weight as he yawned, pairing it with a full body stretch. How cute. It reminded you of a cat stretching right after waking up, face scrunched and all. Atsumu sat way too close for your liking, the heat of his right side spilling onto your left—it wasn’t even a comfortable kind of warmth, no, it mirrored the intensity of a hot, sunny day. Despite the lack of skin contact, his touch lit your body with a searing blaze. You scratched at your neck, the familiar prickling sensation coming back for the nth time.

It was awfully quiet, the crisp winter air turning thick, and awkward as each slow second passed. All of a sudden, the wooden coffee table before you looked rather interesting, eyes tracing its natural surface pattern. It didn’t look this cool a few seconds ago. The faint jazz music still played from the hotel speakers, a mocking symbol of the lack of conversation between you and Atsumu.

The latter awkwardly cleared his throat, hand coming up to rub at his nape—a nervous habit he’s picked up, and you knew that too. He turned his mind upside down, and inside out to think of anything just to clear the somewhat awkward air between the two of you but his thoughts fell short. For the first time in a while, Atsumu was rendered speechless. When did it get like this?

“We should do a bike tour. I saw an ad for one outside just before we came in.”

Suna strode over to the two of you, hands snug inside his pockets. What a life saver. “I think it's like a 3-hour tour, though.” He muttered before pulling his phone out, mindlessly scrolling on it.

“Won’t it be snowy?” Osamu replied from behind, Kita trailing closely, room keys and a pamphlet in hand. “Shizuoka has very little snowfall. I think we’ll be fine.” The ivory-haired male interjected, earning a hum from Suna. Before the group could further discuss today’s plans, you spoke up,

“I can’t even ride a bike.”

“Ditto.” Atsumu groaned.

“Well. Technically, I can. Jus’ a bad experience from childhood. Haven’t gotten on one since then and not about ta start now.” The male beside you shrugged whereas his twin chuckled at the recollection. Must’ve been quite a memory for the two, you presumed.

You shook your head, reassuring the group, “Don’t mind me. I can rest up a bit while you all go out.” It wasn’t much of a big deal, anyway. Plus, a good 3-hour nap sounded like absolute heaven to you right now, especially after waking up early this morning. It was only the first day of the trip, and there were more planned activities ahead with the group so you didn’t mind.

The door to the hotel room opened up to a cosy, expansive suite inspired by traditional tearoom elements in Japanese-style—gasping at the intricate vases and traditional scrolls that decorated the room. The suite included two Tatami rooms—excluding the small kitchen, and living room—adorned with cosy futons. Overlooking the vast city of Shizuoka, it gave a sense of luxury amongst the homey vibes of the room.

A few shuffling here, and there, the group agreed to part ways for a bit, and reconvene for dinner—Suna, Kita, and Osamu headed for the bike tour whereas you and Atsumu stayed behind for a much needed peaceful rest.

If peaceful was even the word to describe it.

“We’ll see ya at dinner. Have fun.” Osamu shot his brother a look, one that made you stop in your tracks. A subtle smirk plastered all over the former’s face which looked just like the usual expression Atsumu always wore, it didn’t help how Osamu looked exactly like him.

What the hell?

A resounding thud reverberated throughout the walls as the door shut behind the silver-haired male. There was a slight pause, a heartbeat of silence before Atsumu turned to you, hands on his hips, mirroring the smirk his brother gave just a few seconds ago. You gulped, meeting his honeyed gaze.

“Looks like it’s just me and ya with three hours ta spare, huh?”

Three hours with Miya Atsumu. Alone. How convenient.

—

taglist (closed)

tags: @ushijimaschubbs @tsumudoll @starlitsawamura @littlemiyastars (kind reminder to turn your mentions on!)

© chrollogy 2024 | don’t plagiarise, repost or steal my header.

[lovieku]

Good Luck, Babe! #2 ☆ jeon jungkook

what happens when you leave everything behind, only to be faced with it again years later? eunbi is convinced she was given another shot at keeping all she ever wanted, but it’s difficult when that all is her childhood best friend who doesn’t want to do anything with her anymore. how to earn his trust back?

☾ pairing: non idol!jk x fem!oc

☾ genre: childhood friends to strangers, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut

☾ word count: 9k +

☾ warnings: alcohol consumption. explicit language. underage drinking. this whole thing is fluff vibes imo. like jk is just a little loser who misses his best friend. gureum debut! i love this dog so much he deserves his own one shot.

☾ author’s note: hello !!! i hope this chapter isnt too slow for u guys.. i like this pace tho! we r starting to get to know our ggukkie better. but we’ll get to eunbi too! oh also, theres little hints that help understanding the timeline of the whole story so 👩🏻‍💻 thank u for ur time!!

ps : dal = moon in korean; boreumdal = full moon in korean. it’ll be useful as you read hehe.. ok bye!

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two ⋆ ribs

The first time Jeongguk got drunk, it was with his best friend. At the age of 15, the number of coming-of-age movies he had consumed with her by his side was more than he could count on both his hands and feet, never having enough of getting lost in a world that seemed so entrancing yet far. Not only because his age wasn’t exactly the one depicted in those films, but mainly because Busan didn’t offer such scenarios. Jeongguk was continuously inspired by those, so much so that he’s confident when admitting it was exactly that genre which got him to take directing and film production not only as a silly dream, but as an ambition. No matter how crazy it sounded to everybody’s ears, he wanted to follow that path, because only then he could translate his wild and eager imagination into somewhat of a concrete, tangible reality.

Having Eunbi by his side was only a bonus. At the end of every movie, after impatiently but silently waiting for the credits to roll (she knew Jeongguk took those very seriously, almost as a ritual), she would vomit every single thought she had harboured regarding what she had just watched and Jeongguk felt seen. His same hunger was reflected in his best friend’s eyes, and words, and passionate gestures when yearning for those experiences. The only difference was that, if Jeongguk was content with only jotting down their endless brainstorming after a long session of movie watching for future ideas that he hoped he could bring to the big screen, Eunbi was longing to bring those to life.

”I really wanna get drunk,” she whined in the older boy’s ears while munching on some remaining snacks, attentively observing Jeongguk’s skilled hand doodling what looked like two people watching the sunset on a beach. With time, he got used to staying focused on whatever task he was leading even with the girl going on about whatever passed her mind, but this time he released a chuckle and let his pencil roll down the couch, shifting his attention to his sulky friend.

“Why would you want that?” He said with a curiously amused expression, entertained by the pout on the girl’s face while she took his sketchbook and delicately traced the beer bottles he had scribbled earlier.

10 Things I Hate About You had been the current topic of discussion, being the last of three movies they had watched that afternoon and the one that Eunbi liked more. She couldn’t stop geeking about how cool Kat was and how she wanted to be her when she grew up. Jeongguk thought her little moment of admiration was funny, and let her go about it, “Everybody says it’s bad for your health and bla, bla, then why would they make it look so exciting?”

For the first time since their five years of friendship, Jeongguk thought of himself as the more rational one of the pair. Even if older (by one year), he had always been a bit childish around her and seemed to need his best friend to scold him with her witty, book-obsessed vocabulary. Thus, saying he was surprised by Eunbi’s claims would be an understatement. It was like the roles had switched when he said, “Well, it’s fiction. It’s supposed to be exciting.”

In response, he got the same glare he would reserve for her anytime she would tell him off for his immature behaviour, with an addition of an eye roll and an even sulkier expression, emphasised by her crossed arms. The boy giggled at her disappointment and snatched his sketchbook back from her hands, retrieving the pencil from where it had been buried under the cushions so he could resume his earlier activity.

However, the sudden silence was unsettling. It gave him a moment to realise he had never really been surrounded by quiet when hanging out with his neighbour. The Converse-lover girl would always fill any empty space with words, thoughts, songs, even random sounds made with her mouth, or hands. He was not sure if he should be thankful for such unusuality or if he should search for hints that could be hidden behind her odd quietude.

He went for the latter, and he was proved right when he lifted his head from his drawing and found his friend torturing her lower lip with her front teeth, staring into the void with narrowed thinking eyes. When she noticed his gaze on her, she exchanged eye contact and, unable to hide it longer, a mischievous smirk made its way to her mouth. Jeongguk shook his head, “You’re not seriously considering-“

”I’m just saying!” Her talkative self was back, sitting cross-legged on the couch and fully facing Jeongguk, trying to get him to direct his whole attention to her, “Dancing on a table seems fun…”

Jeongguk scoffed, amused by the way this one movie seemed to have had a huge impact on Eunbi’s running imagination, which he was very familiar with but, as he was having this conversation, he doubted if there was more he needed to discover, “Do you realise Kat was about to fall-“

”And! Got saved by hot Heath Ledger. Twice!” Jeongguk was used to being interrupted, especially when the conversation was about one of the girl’s favourite topics. He didn’t know Heath Ledger was on that list, though. He frowned, “You think he’s hot?”

Her response was as simple as a Duh!, making the boy feel stupid for questioning what seemed to be an ultimate truth. He rolled his eyes and went back to doodling meaningless details that would complete the image that had been clouding his mind, only for his shoulder to be shaken by a whiny Eunbi, “That was not the point. I’m telling you I wanna drink alcohol.”

Jeongguk snorted, taken aback by the unexpected outburst of confidence, then widened his already big eyes at her, signalling to quiet down, “My mom is literally in the next room.” That only got the daring girl to shrug her shoulders, eyebrows raised, and expecting an answer to her admission.

The older one sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed and contemplating. His meditation was interrupted by his determined friend rocking his body back and forth by the sleeve of his t-shirt, in hopes of getting what she wanted. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but figured Jeongguk could find a solution for her. Said boy tried to get the constant pulling to stop, only when it wouldn’t he could only lightly push the younger one away, knowing it would cause a huge reaction. And not even three seconds after, she laid down and acted as if her arm was broken, and her whole body severely injured, faking cries and whines. Jeongguk laughed, “What do you want me to do? Where would I even get it?”

It’s like she was waiting for that exact question, because the moment it was asked her acting immediately came to an end, as she lifted her body up again and sat straight on her heels, “Your dad has a whole collection of random bottles. He won’t notice if one is missing.” The quick response sounded strangely rehearsed, and Jeongguk furrowed his brows.

A smile danced on his lips at seeing his best friend trying not to break too and instead maintain a serious composure, wanting to make her intentions clear and unmoved. Jeongguk was surprised at her sudden resolution, figuring it must not have been so sudden after all, ”How long were you keeping this inside?”

”Literally forever,” she eventually broke, releasing a long breath, her body bending down with it but then regaining its straight posture, resuming her Convincing-BFF-To-Get-Drunk plan, “Movie was the last straw. Please Ggukkie?” She mustered her best puppy eyes and Jeongguk narrowed his, unbelieving of all the tactics she was using to get to her goal.

”No.” He strangely managed to sound firm, despite Eunbi insisting and now deepening her pout, making it hard for the boy to deny her request, “Dad will kill me.”

”I’m sure he won’t notice,” the way she was talking made it sound like she knew exactly what needed to be done, as if she was explaining something as obvious as Heath Ledger being hot. The look in her best friend’s eyes, however, let her know he wasn’t fully on her side yet, so she came up with something unexpected even to herself, as proved by her dubious expression after uttering out, “I will also steal a few beers from mom.”

Jeongguk fully broke out laughing then, nose scrunching and eyes squeezing, hand over his belly while muttering something close to You’re insane, and that went on for a minute, the reaction carrying at seeing his neighbour being as serious as ever, not even hinting a smile (even if she was doing her best to suppress it).

When the chuckles eventually came to an end, the brown-haired boy shook his head and went back to his drawing, leaving the girl incredulous at being ignored like that by who she thought would always be her Number One Supporter. She gasped, mouth hanging. Jeongguk smirked amusedly, seeing her through his peripheral vision, “What?”

The younger one whined and fussed on the couch, impatient with Jeongguk being seemingly impossible to convince but stubborn with wanting to make him agree. When not even her begging worked, going ignored as everything else she was doing, she sat silently just following Jeongguk’s hand on the paper. The boy thought it was over, until Eunbi let her mind speak again, this time more spontaneously, “You know, this thing you’re drawing, it could be reality. Not just film reality, I’m talking about us two drunk on the Busan beach, enjoying everything it has to offer. Can you really resist it?”

Eyebrows wiggling and a mischievous smile on her face, Jeongguk knew he was being difficult just because, the idea of getting drunk with his best friend had sounded inviting right from the start. Little by little, he was breaking, still hesitating when he admitted, ”Busan beach doesn’t sound that exciting but… Yeah, that would be pretty cool.”

At that, the girl’s eyes went sparkling, hopeful of finally winning her battle, ”That would be suuuper cool! C’mon, Ggukkie.”

Her hands were back on his shoulder, shaking him with less vigour this time but still making the boy giggle, “How would that even work-“

”We sneak out.” Once again, her rapid reply sounded so sure, it almost scared Jeongguk. He wanted to laugh again, but something in the girl’s expression made him hold back, slowly being persuaded by her convincing tactics, “I got everything planned. Let’s put the movie brainstorming aside and keep the get-drunk plan brainstorming going and I’ll tell you exactly how we’ll move through it.”

Jeongguk hesitated. The light in her eyes made him put the doubts to the side, ”Alright.”

That same night, they put the plan into action. It wasn’t too thought-out, but Eunbi had a way with words that made anything sound magical and captivating, just as those directors Jeongguk admired could depict their young age in a way too fascinating vision. They had decided to sneak out of their windows at 1 a.m., and before that, they would get their hands on what they had agreed and figured would get them drunk enough: whatever hard liquor attracted the boy more out of his dad’s collection, and two beer bottles from Eunbi’s fridge.

Both of them were clumsy with their actions. If they had to complete this initial part being together, the whole plan would have failed with how much one would have laughed at the other, and vice versa. Jeongguk made the bottle clink with another, while his best friend in the house next to his closed the fridge too hard, causing uncalled-for noise. The sounds were amplified by the quiet of the night, making the youngsters awkwardly stand still for a second, terror-stricken in hopes they wouldn’t get caught. What followed after was hastily placing the contents in their backpack and waiting some more by their window, ensuring no odd movement was heard from their parents’ room. When everything seemed under control, they nimbly climbed out, landing on their feet.

The first to appear outside was the younger one. With every fast and speedy beat of her heart, she felt it coming up her throat. All her senses were ten times stronger at that moment, and she could feel a jittery sensation travel through her whole body, running in her veins and seemingly unstoppable. She tried to, by harshly biting her lip and clasping a hand over her chest. Where the heck was Jeongguk? And why was she so cold? She wished telepathy existed, as she hoped with all her might that her friend had brought a jacket she could steal.

When a minute passed and there was no sight of the older boy, she felt utterly betrayed, and tried to come up with any excuse that could justify Jeongguk’s delay: there were none. If she could make noises she would whine, both the cold and the wait being unbearable.

Jeongguk appeared seconds later, looking like a deer caught in headlights as his feet landed on the ground with a stomping sound. Eunbi couldn’t help the snort escaping her mouth, quickly clasping a hand over it while the boy made his way to her with big eyes and his pointer finger laying over his lips, demanding absolute silence.

The two didn’t utter a single word until they were at a safe distance from their houses, and when they looked back and noticed how those were becoming smaller with each step they took, the smiles on their faces grew bigger. The girl in her Converses giggled and incredulously shook his friend’s arm, “What. The. Heck. We did it!”

Jeongguk let a nervous chuckle escape his lips, sharing that same excitement mixed with tension that he could feel oozing from his best friend, now hanging from his arm, “We did it. Now, where do we go from here?”

“Trust me, Gguk. I told you I know my way,” once again, the younger one managed to sound convincing enough, and Jeongguk let himself put his whole trust in her, too agitated to argue. However, Eunbi expertly noticed the unusual edginess in her friend’s nodding and lost gaze, so using the time it took to get to the beach through the route she knew best, she let out every single thought that passed her mind. Just as the dynamic between them was often like, but this time it served as a way to distract Jeongguk; and it did. The boy chuckled there and then at various comments, adding to them too. He laughed loudly when Eunbi admitted she brought some strawberries and water, just in case, and called her a dumbass. They then proceeded to have a meaningless argument about it, all while he took note of how the girl’s skin seemed to prickle with the soft wind, and laid his hoodie on her shoulders. They had a subtle way of caring about each other, which nonetheless never went unnoticed, but still not really mentioned.

1 a.m. was dark, darker than they’d ever witnessed, and if it wasn’t for the tall buildings behind them, the beach would have been completely surrounded by obscurity. The closer they got to the sea, the more the moon also helped reduce such blackness, with its light reflecting in the water. The pair sat down on the sand, picking the spot they had claimed as theirs during one of their many beach days on the hottest days of summer. There wasn’t much talking now, both of them eager to start the final and main part of the plan, but none of the two brave enough to break the seal.

Eunbi wrapped herself around Jeongguk’s hoodie, her knees to her chest and her chin to her knees, observing the boy sitting by her side with a playful smile dancing on her lips. Her nose scrunched tenderly when he reciprocated it, and her voice was suddenly small, “You want a strawberry?”

”You dragged me all the way over here to eat strawberries?” He chuckled at the girl’s out-of-character embarrassment and lightly shoved her shoulder, getting a lively giggle out of her. She shrugged, putting up her best innocent act, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jeongguk didn’t say anything while he unzipped his backpack and took the main character of the night out, a bottle of Absolut Vodka, the one that had scared the boy less out of the whole collection, its liquid clear like water and seemingly free from danger. Who knows, maybe it also tastes like water.

He was proved wrong not much later, when he brought his mouth to the rim and gulped the first sip, its burning taste firing up his throat, then extending to his chest and finding home in his stomach. Jeongguk emitted a loud groan, eyes squeezing shut with the force of the foreign feeling, and distanced himself from the bottle to cough. The younger one had watched the whole scene with big eyes, unconsciously following every movement of his with her head, attentively studying his reaction and then laughing at his disgusted expression. She stole the bottle from his hands and repeated the same actions.

Unexpectedly, she accepted the sensation much better than the older one, only shaking her head fast in hopes the liquid would go down rapidly, and then taking another huge gulp right after. Jeongguk snatched the bottle from her hold to clasp it to his chest, his brows furrowed, “Woah, slow down there.”

”If I focus on how shit it tastes, I will never get drunk. Let me finish it,” her eagerness triggered Jeongguk’s competitive side, bringing him to swallow down a bigger amount than he had seen her sip, gulping loudly and then standing still, as if to prove a point. See? It doesn’t affect me either, that’s what his eyes were screaming. Of course, Eunbi didn’t back out, a silent race starting between the two the moment she claimed the bottle again and looked him right in the eyes while drinking. Jeongguk laughed too loudly, but he couldn’t control it, “That’s how it is?”

In between sneers and roasts, the competition went on until Eunbi announced her whole world was spinning, and the liquid covered a little less than half of the bottle. Jeongguk felt irrational contentment brimming his mind, making his body feel light yet still shaken by adrenaline. Unlike his friend, he could at least form coherent sentences, though. He had regulated the amount of alcohol he was ingesting, so that he could ensure one of them could still lucidly operate in case anything happened. He had also pulled the bottle away from Eunbi’s mouth multiple times whenever she would overdo the quantity she was drinking, but he figured it still affected her way more than it did him.

Indeed, a whole 10 minutes had passed of her munching on those strawberries she just had to take with her while walking in circles around Jeongguk’s sitting figure. Before going on that ritual-like path, she had also tried one of the two canned beers, and the littlest sip of it had made her declare it as the worst beverage on earth. Jeongguk didn’t mind it, surely liked it more than the clear vodka, but made sure to empty the opened can and hide the other in his backpack, in case his very tipsy friend wanted to try some more.

From his sitting position, he looked at her grinning when she would share bitten pieces of the red fruit with him, while still keeping up the constant walking and the random babbling. In the midst of it, she would also laugh to herself, and then resume her muttering, making the boy laugh as well with no exact knowledge of what she was saying. He just went along with it, didn’t get what was so funny but figured he was too tipsy to entertain meaningful conversation.

As he kept observing her, he saw her look up at the sky, the movement too fast for her spinny head, “Ouch.” She squeezed her eyes shut and quickly reopened them, only to be welcomed by black patches appearing and disappearing from her vision. Then, the starry sky is what she saw; the moon was next. She laughed at that too, spinning around a few times with her arms wide open.

Jeongguk does find a reason to laugh along with her now, his friend acting too silly his heart feels content just watching her, ”You look so dumb. What are you even doing?”

Giggles are her first response, followed by her suddenly sitting down on the sand, on the spot next to him. Jeongguk noticed some of the strawberry juice had dripped down her chin, so he cleaned it carefully with his thumb until there was none. She hiccuped, “Gguk, I think- I think I love the moon.” The sudden admission was out of context, but he accepted it. A little over an hour had gone by at that point, but once again she assumed the position she was in when they first arrived, knees to her chest and chin to her knees, with that same soft smile directed at him, only with sleepier eyes.

With the hand that was already close to her face, the older one moved some of the locks that were blocking her vision, then gently placed them behind her ear. He melted at the pleased expression on her face, her eyes gently closing. Jeongguk had always felt a sense of protection in her regards, just like a brother would to her sister. He wasn’t much older than her, but he still felt like he needed to be someone Eunbi could lean on and look up to. He followed along, nodding, “Yeah? You do look like the moon.” The tender moment seemed to have been interrupted by his comment. Her soft smile was replaced by a frown. Huh? Did he say something wrong?

With Jeongguk seated next to her, she turned to fully face him (the fast movement probably causing her head to hurt again) and furrowed her brows, “You do realise that’s not a compliment,” the same confused expression was now mirrored on her friend’s face, so she kept explaining, “You’re saying my face is round and puffy.”

The boy sitting cross-legged also fussed so he could be directly in front of her, facing the tipsy girl when he smirked, “Your face is round and puffy, Bee.” The grin turned into a full laugh when she hit his shoulder with a stronger force than usual, making him stumble. At that, she shoved him again, intent on making him fall on his back.

”What the hell? No, it’s not.” When she realised how weak alcohol was making her, she backed down from her mission and instead sat on her heels and crossed her arms, annoyed by the stupid smile on his face. She narrowed her eyes, “If anything, you look like a coconut. Fuck you.”

The boy feigned his shock, the act quickly being revealed by his uncontrollable giggles. The alcohol was getting her way sassier, and she was already too mouthy for his liking. Still, he was never intimidated by that, instead living off these moments just to make fun of her and wind her up further, “Should I call you Dal? My little Boreumdal?” His sickeningly sweet mocking voice was aggravated by his tickling under her armpit. She swatted him, “You’re being disgusting. I’ll throw up everything I drank on you.”

”I dare you Dal,” he wiggled his eyebrows and shortly after he figured that was the last teasing comment he could allow himself to throw at her before being pushed fully to the ground this time and receiving harmless punches on his stomach, which made him burst into lively laughter. The sand was getting in his hair and all over his clothes, but he didn’t care, his only goal being winning the nth fight between them, “Ouch, Dal stop-“

“Don’t call me that!” She was fully screaming at him now, her vodka breath fanning over his face while she kept tossing him on the sand, giggling along, “Stupid coconut.” Between laughs and jabs she didn’t realise how close they got, Jeongguk also working his way to free himself from his spot on the ground, resulting in her determined attitude trying to block him by sitting on his stomach and pushing his shoulders down.

However, when she felt his hands on her wrists, the contact triggered sudden awareness in her mind, registering the compromising position they were in, her whole face changing colour. With her movements being haltered, Jeongguk also seemed to notice the quick change in her expression. After a moment of silence, of her staring big-eyed in his starry eyes, a tipsy 15 year old Jeongguk could only come up with, “This is the first time I’m seeing a red moon.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It’s the echo of her voice, yelling Shut up! in his face that startles him awake. When he takes in his surroundings, he relaxes in the bed again. Jeongguk was right when he predicted how hard the simple act of falling asleep would have been, following being so close to the cause of his nightmares after years. He checks the time displayed on his phone, 6:08 a.m. His alarm isn’t set to go off for another hour. Sighing, he’s aware trying to get some more sleep after it had failed to find him would have been useless, reason why he goes on a staring contest with the ceiling.

It becomes a canva for his running mind, which projects the last image that he saw behind his closed eyelids: Eunbi’s face being centimetres to his, her head crowned by a shining white full moon. He’s unconscious of the smile creeping up on his mouth, but when he feels its sides twitch it turns into a deep frown. He hates his own brain for doing this to him, but is also aware the girl coming back so strong and unexpected in his life played a huge role.

It’s not like he was ever confident with the possibility of fully forgetting about her. How does one forget about the moon? But he could still say he had done a great job at keeping her locked in one dark room in the back of his mind; until not more than three months ago, when she showed up beside Dahye, her big smile greeting the rest of the group, but breaking in pieces when she spotted him. Had it been such a disgrace for her?

Jeongguk can’t blame her if she felt like that, because after an initial, very brief moment of surprise, excitement and sparks, he was surrounded by doom. It had been gruelling battling against the kid inside him, probably confused as to why his first instinct wasn’t to hug his Dal. It’s as if that version of him got stuck right in the place he was left, and when he saw her again he wished to pick up from where they had stopped, never having gotten closure. Last night would be an example: the urge to keep an eye out for her, care for her safety. It’s like telling a child Santa Claus isn’t real, and watching his world break. But Jeongguk needed the kid in him to be faced with the truth badly, before a light gets switched on in that dark room of his brain he keeps her in, and next thing he knows she finds the key to open it and escape.

That truth being the fact that everything changes, and people do too. Although, compared to the first time he saw her drunk, he wouldn’t say there were any changes: she would still mutter incoherent nonsense under her breath, and laugh for no apparent reason. And it had the same effect on him, pure amusement and adoration. But this time, he couldn’t let himself indulge in it.

Jeongguk can’t stand his brain being manipulated so easily by his heart, and rather having to sit helpless while witnessing such conflict, he figures he can start his day ahead and get up from his bed. What awaits him is a train journey to Busan in exactly two hours. With summer break starting, he had concluded he could use the most of it to be with his parents, starting by the weekend ahead. He’s fairly excited to be in his hometown again after months, and with the way his mind has been taking him back in time through the memories, he finds it funny how he used to depreciate Busan and fantasise about Seoul, when right now he would do anything to not be surrounded by the capital’s chaos. You truly never know what you have until it’s gone.

Jimin, being also from Busan, had offered to drive him there and go with him, but Jeongguk refused. He’s aware his best friend was just being nice, a leading characteristic of his nature, since he also knows Jimin doesn’t really enjoy being back in his city, and tries to stay away from it as much as he possibly can. The blonde had opened up once to his flatmate, admitting how home wasn’t really that for him. Seoul was his one and only occasion to escape it; he loved it here, and had finally built what felt closest to a home. The fact that Jeongguk is part of it makes his heart swell with joy.

He’s as quiet as ever while he packs the last things in his backpack and exits the flat, making sure the door isn’t shut too loud so as not to wake Jimin, who’s probably going to suffer from the worst hangover as soon as he opens his eyes. Still, the brown haired boy now wearing a baseball hat over his head shoots his friend a text to let him know he’s left the house. A cheeky Don't miss me too much :p is sent after that.

Considering he still has a significant amount of time left before the train leaves (more than he had deduced yesterday, when he had set his alarm at 5 a.m. for 7 a.m. and had gotten even less sleep than that) he picks walking to the station over taking the bus, in fear if he sits anywhere he will fall into deep slumber due to his single hour of sleep and fuck up his whole getaway plan. The walk contributes to waking his senses and shaking off the weariness, his mind finding it especially hard after the previous hours spent in the small suffocating club, swimming in the smell of alcohol and weed, and being surrounded by blasting music.

When he gets to his destination, there’s still 30 minutes left before the train arrives. He sighs while he sits on a bench by the platform, and waits. Two cigarettes later, he figures there’s nothing else he can do but put his earphones to use and play the first album in his recently played. When not even Twenty One Pilots’ Vessel can avert his eyes from batting until they’re slowly closing, Jeongguk forces himself into a staring contest with the nothingness, in hopes the illusion of having to win a fight keeps him awake. Until even then his vision starts to unfocus, and in his zoned out state he feels like passing out on that same bench.

His phone is his last resort, mindless scrolling on social media apparently the only activity capable of avoiding his mind from completely shutting down. When he gets to Instagram, rather than checking the new posts on his feed, he clicks on Dahye’s story popping up as the first one of the list. Stories are a fairly new feature to the app, but he soon came to learn how much his friend loved it, documenting every piece of her life through them. What he didn’t expect, and surely didn’t need, was her recent updates to be a rundown of Eunbi’s recovery from her drunken state last night: firstly, a close up of her baby face, with cheeks covered by smudged mascara and what looked like tears, and a pout so pronounced with furrowed eyebrows; soon after, a sneaky shot of the girl completely bent over the toilet, almost hugging it, Dahye captioning it with her new BFF!; then, an hour later, Eunbi peacefully sleeping surrounded by all sorts of pillows and plushies. Dahye ended the small series with a short apology to her roommate, adding i love u @song_eunbee hehe.

When he realises the unconscious, dumb, stupid, smile on his face, he jerks his head up and shuts his phone, violently shoving it in his sweatpants pocket. Blinking a few times, he also notices how he quite literally almost missed the train, only then registering it had stopped in front of him and was ready to depart again. Jeongguk quickly gathers his stuff and makes his way onto the train, searching for any seat that is close to a window overlooking the outside. He thinks if he can focus on the view for the rest of the ride, he’d be able to shut off the urge to go on a three hour Instagram spiral. He knows he’s so wrong when not even two minutes in, he physically can’t stop his hands from retrieving his phone and looking up song_eunbee on the app’s search bar.

He’s relieved when he clicks on the first account that pops up and finds out it’s not private. In her profile picture her face is half covered by her hand, but the dimple adorning her cheeks doesn’t hide the fact that she’s smiling. He’s welcomed by quite a few posts, varying from landscapes, friends, family, baby photos, random kittens on the streets, club nights, and some selfies. He learns she’s pretty big on Ariana Grande and that she still loves the moon, as confirmed by the crescent moon emoji being the only thing in her bio. He can’t help but foolishly wonder if looking at it at night makes her even subconsciously think of him, and the fact that he kept calling her that nickname even after her protests. A handful of the pictures on her feed portray the moon too, and one of them is captioned with Kat Stratford’s unmistakeable monologue: but mostly i hate the way i don’t hate you; not even close; not even a little bit; not even at all.

Jeongguk was right when he predicted he would be a victim of an Instagram spiral, because for the next hour he studies her posts more attentively, the people she tagged, the people in her comments, the places she visited, the quotes in her captions. He is so consumed by curiosity, and maybe something more (awfully close to envy, anger and misery) that he doesn’t even notice the sleepiness completely dissipating from his body, his mind now running to connect every single pin on the imaginary board his own brain had offered for him to better analyse her account.

Until, after being extremely careful for the entire endless minutes spent on her profile, he accidentally clicks on her story and before he can react, he’s left to stare at the picture until the 15 seconds finish. He blinks. Keeps his eyes shut for a few seconds. Reopens them. Clicks on the story again. Only one side of her face is showing, and beside it it’s her middle finger, on top of it FUCK YOU @dahye.lee96 !!!!!

He shuts off his phone and puts it on his lap, squeezing it in his hand from time to time. He takes deep breaths every one minute. Considers deleting his account, or his whole existence. He doesn’t know what to do with himself now, his eyes closing but not with the intent to sleep. He’s trying to block his flow of thoughts, unsuccessfully.

The incident haunts him for the rest of the trip, causing him to check his phone constantly and contemplating flushing it down the train’s toilet. Only when he sets foot in Busan’s station he’s able to distract himself from it. He sports a boyish smile when he sees his parents’ car parked outside, and bashfully lets himself be coddled by his mom’s praises and his dad’s content grin before driving away. He’s almost 21, most people his age feel too grown for this type of affection, but he will never deny it. That’s enough for him to stop worrying about his earlier slip. It’s still in the back of his mind, though.

Opening the door to his childhood home, he’s greeted by a fawning Gureum, his tail wagging so hard his whole body moves with it. The white Maltese has been the family dog for almost six years now, and giving him a new life after rescuing him from a shelter had cured Jeongguk’s loneliness and heartbreak; he hopes it did the same to the dog. He blocks out all kinds of noises and questions from his mom while he spends the first ten minutes in his house entertaining Gureum’s zoomies, using a sickeningly sweet tone that is only reserved for the small pet. To the point Gureum almost looks like he’s had enough of being called a good boy, feels like he can confidently reply to who’s the best boy ever? with the correct answer. Me! He just barks.

After settling his stuff and catching up with his parents on university and life in Seoul (he doesn’t mention that Eunbi is a new entry in his friend group, yet) he spends the whole morning in between naps, sleepiness eventually catching onto him. He dozes off after lunch, his tummy full and content with his mom’s cooking, which he had dearly missed, and ends up sleeping for more than intended. Next thing he knows, it’s 5 p.m. and it takes him some time to readjust to the reality surrounding him. He drags his feet to the kitchen to retrieve a snack, only to sit again, this time on the couch, Gureum finding home on his lap. The sleepyhead is close to spacing out again while munching on some Peperos, until his dad asks for help, his voice coming from upstairs.

Jeongguk finds out his most recent obsession has been decluttering, and that’s what he was called over for. His dad had collected old stuff that belonged to Jeongguk in two boxes with the intention of getting rid of it, but he still wanted to make sure there was nothing his son still needed, or valued. The boy is glad for such consideration the moment he spots his old Samsung camcorder in between worn plushies and damaged toy cars. He can’t imagine what would have happened if he wasn’t there; he figures the camera would have probably got thrown away, with his dad’s eagerness. He gets sensitive over it, entertaining a small argument with his father about it and forgetting the task he was supposed to complete, instead returning to his room to check on the camera’s contents.

Leaving the door ajar, he can still hear his dad’s faint voice calling for him and asking for truce, and even if Jeongguk’s little fit of anger is already over, he is too enthralled by the device to acknowledge any other sound around him. It had been a while since he last picked it up, not only because ever since he started university the boy had managed to afford better equipment for his short films and casual moments of inspiration, but also because what is stored in there could potentially break the thin line of sanity he has been walking on for the past weeks.

The first videos he’s met with make him chuckle, his big 10 years old eyes reflecting in his equally wide 20 years old ones, still sharing that same love for filming and blabbering on about his passions and ideas. With time, the contents captured by the camcorder changed, from video diaries of family trips and shared meals, to dramatic storytellings starring any toy that could be put to use. He can see the exact moment he began developing a bigger interest for directing, and his various attempts at finding new original shots and angles put a sweet smile on his lips.

Until, one particular clip marked an important switch, and the introduction of who soon after became the main subject for the rest of the images filmed on the device. From the moment she met him, Eunbi had been a constant presence anytime he would hit record on the camera. Their very first encounter is documented by it, when Jeongguk had forgotten to stop the recording, too startled by the sudden changes occuring right in front of his eyes; nevertheless, it resulted in a pure, authentic fragment that he’d never been able to replicate. There is no way to, the earliest smile she directed at him was captured by those lenses, and that started everything which followed.

He can spot the point in which they eventually got tired of making up stories to play out through their toys, even with the addition of Eunbi’s impressive Barbie collection. They also tried replacing the dolls with their own selves, but changing outfits and makeup for every single clip was only fun for a short while. Four episodes later, the both of them left the telenovela they had started taping unattended, and looked for a new reality to portray, even if it was always only for their own eyes and enjoyment.

Jeongguk was searching for something more simple than cliffhangers and plots. He now remembers how even his little self would always go back to that initial scene that saw them together for the first time, Eunbi’s small voice greeting the camera with the sun beginning to set behind her. He wanted his shots to be characterised by that same unadulterated, filtered feeling.

That is most probably what led him to start a documentary about their friendship, just what he had said behind the lenses while his best friend tilted her head to the side, sporting a confused look on her features, unaware of Jeongguk zooming in and out on her face (which probably got Eunbi to yell at the top of her lungs later on), “Was I unaware of you being a National Geographic reporter?”

“Are you calling yourself a beast?” Jeongguk could be heard chuckling in the microphone at Eunbi’s incredulous reaction. That was how it would always go between them, a constant back and forth to battle on who had the last word in. The girl just scoffed, clearly scrambling to find a quick reply, but only managing to roll her eyes with crossed arms and muttering something close to says you. It seemed the older one was ahead, for now.

Jeongguk grins at everything that follows next, and he tells himself it’s because he’s amused by his younger self’s manners, but it’s not like those were the main subject of his shots. He quickly comes to terms with the fact that if he wants to keep scrolling through the videos, he’d have to be constantly faced with Eunbi; there is really no way of escaping it. Jeongguk had underestimated the amount of clips portraying her, to the point the idea of a documentary seemed more like an excuse to film his friend. Make her his first muse. It was Eunbi playing, doing her hair, secretly trying on her mom’s clothes, blowing candles on her birthday cakes, revising for tests, baking Christmas cookies, coming up with friendship jingles; and everytime, she seemed so natural, as if being in front of a camera was all she was ever created for. She insisted she always wanted to be a teacher, though. He wonders if that changed.

He doesn’t know how much time he spends crouching on his desk with the recorder in his hands, but he knows it has to be hours when he gets to a close up of Eunbi’s face, her sleepy eyes and sheepish smile immediately taking him back to the night that infested his dreams hours earlier in his bed, his assumption being confirmed when he can see the sand extending behind her figure. At that point, he figures the relatively small amount of alcohol they had drank had already dissipated from their bodies, only leaving them feeling hazy, but in a good way. The wind makes it hard to decipher their slurry dialogue, and he misses the reason why Eunbi suddenly stole the camera and pointed the lenses at him. It makes him realise how little he showed himself in front of those. His timid smile probably gives out why: contrary to his friend, he wasn’t a natural. Still isn’t. He works better behind them.

He rewinds the clip a few times, curious as to what they were talking about. He can faintly hear Eunbi mention how that scenario looked so much like the drawing Jeongguk was working on that same afternoon. He doesn’t remember what it was, wishes he still had it. Then, the girl balanced the camcorder on the half empty bottle of vodka and stood, struggling to bring the older boy up with her. Now next to each other, Eunbi looked like she was instructing Jeongguk how to pose, and he figures she was trying to recreate that same doodle. She laughed hard when the boy shoved her, visibly annoyed with being moved around, more so with the girl seemingly repeating something again and again in his face. Her voice got louder, but the recording couldn’t quite catch it. From her lip movement, it looked like she was saying Put this in your movie! Put this in your movie! Jeongguk giggles. Was he already working on something? He wishes he could return to that moment to know, and maybe stay there for some more just because.

The boy is startled by sudden soft knocks on his door, jerking his head up and placing the camera on the desk, his hands sweaty from holding it for such an endless amount of time. He hums, signalling to come in, and he smiles when it’s his dad timidly peeking out and lifting his brows expectantly. Jeongguk giggles, “Dad, I forgive you.”

The older man sighs with way too much energy, exaggerating his relief and then coming to his son’s side. He smiles, ruffling his hair, “Are you hiding a girlfriend from us? This thing keeps going off,” handing him his phone, he cackles when he sees Jeongguk’s panicked expression. He must have left it on the couch earlier. And what does his dad mean with “girlfriend”? Phone going off? Does this have to do with him viewing Eunbi’s story? Is she publicly shaming h-

“Anyways. Dinner is almost ready, Gguk.” His dad pats the still alarmed boy’s shoulder and exits the room. As soon as Jeongguk hears the door close, he dashes himself on the phone and unlocks it. It keeps pinging with texts from his friends’ group chat, but there’s no new notification from Instagram. He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, but his relief is short lived when he comes up with another thought: was he that irrelevant to Eunbi? She didn’t even think of requesting his account? He frowns.

His initial idea was to quickly scroll over the messages as to join his family downstairs, positive it was probably just going to be either Seokjin sharing awful unfunny memes or Hoseok updating the group on the next possible catastrophe looming over human beings. He furrows his brows when, instead, he’s met with the whole group chat coming at Jimin, for no apparent reason, after his own name was mentioned.

Jiminssi, 7:48 p.m.

heeeyyy so…. ggukkie’s bday is very soon guys

Dahye, 7:50 p.m.

jimin.

Yoongi hyung, 7:50 p.m.

Park Jimin.

It’s in two weeks

Jiminssi, 7:51 p.m.

what

im just saying

its gonna be exciting!

Dahye, 7:51 p.m.

shut your mouth rn.

Joon hyung, 7:52 p.m.

Bro I thought I could trust u w this

Jeongguk is even more confused when, as he goes on reading, his friends keep brutally bullying Jimin, going as far as threatening to ban him from the next club nights out that he himself had planned. He chuckles at his friend’s misery, but soon remembers he is somewhat involved in it. He pouts, angrily typing.

Jeongguk, 7:58 p.m.

What is this about

Hobi hyung, 7:59 p.m.

baby it’s nothing

Jeongguk, 7:59 p.m.

???

Its not nothing

I wanna know

Like the baby he truly is, he keeps spamming the chat with messages to make himself noticed, until he sees Jimin’s texting bubble going on and off.

Jeongguk, 8:01 p.m.

My dear jimin what is it

I know you wanna tell me 🌀🌀🌀

Jiminssi, 8:02 p.m.

WE R GOING CAMPING FOR UR BIRTHDAY!!!!!!

The next thing displayed on his phone is an incoming group videocall from Namjoon, but Jeongguk remains still staring at himself on the screen for more seconds than necessary, registering the sequence of events that had just occurred. Camping? His birthday?

He slides to answer the call, and he giggles at the imminent chaos he’s welcomed with, all his friends throwing shade at Jimin while he just laughs along with his roommate. As all the members keep joining, he still doesn’t notice a certain someone missing.

”Was this supposed to be a surprise?” Jeongguk finds it hard to stop his laughter, both because of Jimin’s incapability at keeping secrets, but also — and mainly — because of the excitement he feels at the news just revealed to him.

”Well, duh. Jimin just had to ruin it,” It’s Dahye who replies, and Jeongguk can see the indignation on her features even in the little pixelated box she’s now displayed in. She then proceeds to entertain an argument about it with the boy she mentioned, and as everyone just listens and tries to excuse Jimin’s reasoning, Jeongguk searches for Taehyung on the screen. When he finds his eyes, he’s already wiggling his brows and the younger boy silently chuckles, mirroring his actions. It’s been a couple months since the two of them started suspecting something going on between Jimin and Dahye, even with the former always denying it. What is undeniable is the tension between them, though. It is showing right at that moment.

Jeongguk decided to intervene, having to raise the volume of his voice to be heard over the soon to be (in his and Taehyung’s opinion) lovebirds, “Guys, guys. I’m not mad. This is amazing. Thank you, really. Are we the only ones going?”

He questions just because in the last period they were often times joined by Seokjin’s girlfriend, as well as a couple of Dahye’s friends, and he genuinely enjoys their company, would be totally okay with them being present to celebrate his birthday. Seokjin himself speaks, “Sora is coming, and I think Iseul and Aera are also gonna be there. Oh, and of course-“

”Guys!” His phone tings, signalling a new person joining the videocall. It’s Eunbi. Oh. He almost didn’t consider the fact that she is most probably going to be invited too. Well, obviously. From what her camera is showing it looks like she’s outside, more specifically waiting at a bus stop, headphones on, “Sorry, I just saw the texts. Jimin, why the fuck would you do that?”

As the topic of the conversation moves once again on Jimin being awful at secrets, Jeongguk dissociates for a minute, no longer giggling along. He realises this would be the first birthday of his he shares with her by his side after years. He’s not sure how he feels about it. Can only sense a nervous sensation travelling his body, and making him feel uneasy. His furrowed brows and sudden silence don’t go unnoticed by Jimin, while on the other side Jeongguk surely doesn’t seem aware of his internal battle showing on the outside. He can’t let one person ruin his own birthday. He just has to ignore her. How hard can that be?

When he returns to the reality surrounding him again, he absent-mindedly listens to the others talk and can only distractedly pick up that the attention has been shifted to a complely different matter, Eunbi seemingly finding it funny assuming from her loud pearly smile. He frowns, his confidence wavering. It doesn’t look like it’s going to be easy to ignore her. Still, not wanting to dwell too much on it at that moment, leaving it for his future self to worry about, he leaves the call not before thanking his friends again. He misses Eunbi’s fond smile as the others shower their baby with praises, dismissing his gratitude with this is the least we could do for you, Ggukkie boy.

When he joins his mom and dad downstairs, it’s oddly quiet as they eat. Gureum places himself under the table and sighs, laying his head on Jeongguk’s feet. The boy can perceive the eerie atmosphere, so he asks about Gureum’s health and shows genuine interest when his dad updates him on the dog’s improvements. His mom, however, defines herself as an expert when it comes to her only son. She can spot even the tiniest change in his demeanour. Still, she knows to be delicate when asking about it, “Is everything okay, honey?”

Jeongguk stills with the fork in his mouth, looks at his mom with wide telling eyes, then nods. He hesitates, gulping down the previous bite, “Uh, my friends and I are going camping for my birthday.”

His mother smiles a big one, “That’s nice!” She seems aware something is being left out, so she inquires further, “But…?”

The questioned boy plays with his food while still munching on a big bite of it, “I guess I kinda forgot to mention it,” he starts, trying to mask his embarrassment by talking with his mouth still full. When his mom glares at him, he forces it down, “But, huh… Eunbi is in Seoul. And she’s Dahye’s roommate, so she’s coming too.”

It’s his mom’s turn to be silent. She looks like she’s taken aback, her mind working slower than usual to register a name she hasn’t heard in a long while, “Eunbi as in Song Eunbi? Our neighbour?”

Jeongguk unconsciously furrows his brows. The girl hasn’t been their neighbour for years, and never will be again. He doesn’t know why such a simple definition of her makes him feel edgy, “Yeah, our old neighbour.”

”Right… Well, that’s good, no?” Mrs. Jeon tries to lift up the atmosphere, even while knowing the mentioned girl could still be a touchy subject for the boy. When everything happened, a piece of him had been taken away with Eunbi’s sudden departure. There was seemingly no way to mend his heart, and as time went by Jeongguk closed up more and more every time his old friend was brought up, to the point she was never mentioned again, as if she had never existed. That illusion seemed to help the boy move on. His mom is not sure how her son feels about it now, but she unknowingly figures the scar has to have healed after all those years, and maybe seeing Eunbi again even brought her son to the closure he needed. When Jeongguk just nods, she hopes that is the case. His mom smiles, ”Invite her over sometimes?”

“… Yeah, mom. Huh, I will.”

[ellewod]

if their job was to make me root for team black and be against Aegon someone should have told Tom. His layered brilliant performance showing the pain, vulnerability, humor, and insecurities of Aegon made me root for him more then cold calculation team black portrayed IMO. One scene in particular stands out because of how subtle it was. When his new kings guard is talking about gong to a brothel he says in the softest quietest voice “but you’ve sworn an oath of chastity.” Then when they laugh he almost looks hurt betrayed and embarrassed. Then when they try to be serious for his sake he smiles big and continues trying to be the Aegon they know and expect him to be. It’s so small but in that moment he shows how Aegon took it seriously when he made them kings guard, but once again like everyone else they think he’s a joke. Then he has to put on the mask once more of I’m just kidding guys, but you can see he’s hurt. That’s just one of many little moments that made me team Aegon. Tom deserves so much praise for the performance he gave for a character we’re suppose to hate. He deserves all the awards!

agree with everything you said 😭 love this beautiful roach king with all my heart and tom is a blessing, aegon stan nr #1, absolute best casting choice ever

that scene is SO underrated!!! brother was he disappointed. like you said, he tries. so hard. he never wanted the crown, he was forced to wear it.

i would’ve loved the show to actually portray it as him carrying the burden to save his siblings and his babies. but that would’ve made the casual viewers sympathize with him even back in season one and we cannot have that.

the scene you are referring to depicts so beautifully how hard aegon tries once he is king. but even before that, we see him trying so hard. he wants to be a righteous ruler beloved by the people. he yearns for their approval and adoration, and is willing to “buy” their love.

he wants to prepare his heir, wants jaehaerys to feel his father’s pride and love and support. something aegon was never allowed to feel.

aegon wants to make smart decisions to win the war. he offers so many good suggestions, but nobody ever listens. he, however, is willing to hear advice (“what would you have me do, mother?”), but the ones whose opinions he cares most about disrespect him so terribly (“nothing”, “my grandson is a fool”, “imbecile”, “insolent pup”, …).

aegon even tries to be a good brother/husband when comforting helaena who is afraid (“don’t be. they’d be fools to come” — YES that is him trying, softer voice and all, and i will never interpret this any other way).

he tries to be a better man, as tgc stated so beautifully: “I think he’s conscious that he wants to be a better person. He just doesn’t quite know how. He hasn’t had that nurturing that you require to have a good understanding of values and morals and that capacity to love.”

aegon wants his friends turned kingsguard to try as well. he knows of values and morals and he wants to be better. but his buddies don’t and it deeply disappoints him. he is teary-eyed when he smiles??

he desperately wants to be taken seriously and not to be seen as weak. but rejecting his friends isn’t an acceptable solution either, he needs his buddies, he cannot be completely on his own, he cannot not have anyone to drink with. so he goes back to being a frat boy visiting the brothel, drinking, watching his kingsguard break their oaths.

but before he does that, after having this shattering conversation where he realizes that everything he tries fails so miserably, not even his kingsguard are taking their oaths seriously, he turns around and looks in the mirror.

what does he feel, what does he see? a father who has lost his son in the most gruesome way, just mere moments ago, with no one to share his grief with. his mother doesn’t want to hold him, he is unable to converse with his wife. maybe even ashamed he did not protect her and their son from this fate? didn’t take her fears seriously?

what else is there? a young man, unprepared to rule, constantly ridiculed, belittled and used as a puppet, manipulated by his mother during his darkest hours.

a young man that has been made to feel useless all his life, now forced to be king. and he tries to embrace his new role. tries so hard. but everyone continues to belittle him. nobody takes him or their oaths seriously. and it’s crushing him.

[novlr]

I'm working on a monster apocalypse story, but I'm struggling to make it unique. My focus is on the main character finding happiness and peace with his teammates, even though I plan to kill them off. I want to explore how he will overcome his past abuse and traumas while not just portraying the team as a family. I want to depict them fighting together, growing stronger, and forming closer bonds because they have all lost their families at the start of the apocalypse.

What do the series Friends, Harry Potter, and Percy Jackson all have in common?

The Found Family trope.

Found family is a classic trope in stories. But that doesn’t mean it’s overdone and can’t be used to get deep into your characters’ interiority. In fact, this trope can pack a deeper punch than most think.

Sure, it’s easy to have a group in the story with you, the writer, telling how the characters work together–like how one is easily the “mom of the group,” for example. But if you want something much deeper between your characters, and want the trope to work on multiple levels of storytelling, you must show those group connections forming and existing. Get deep with the what, why, and how your found family became a tight-knit group and work well together.

To do this, there are a few questions to ask while creating your characters. These questions flow from basic character knowledge, to in-depth details as an exercise you can do at any time, and with any story or pair/group of characters.

Let’s get started!

What is each character’s personality/identity, and what role in the group are they assigned to because of it?

From friends, to couples, to even crime-fighting superheroes, each group is made up of personalities that fit into a role the group dynamic needs. And in most cases, it’s natural.

For example, let’s say we have two characters dating each other as a couple. One character is more savvy with their finances while the other is not. This can lead to the money-savvy character filling a role for the couple as the money manager (or one with money advice, if the other character wants to learn how to better manage money instead).

You can also have a kind-hearted and loving character act as a parental figure in the group. That is, if other characters tend to get into trouble often, are opposite of kind-hearted, or are without their real parents.

First, It’s important to know exactly who your characters are , how they act, how they respond in a crisis, and so on. Only then can you put together what each character can provide to the group.

It’s just as important to make each character in your group unique. Two jokers in a group is fine, but if they act exactly the same way, and think the same things, you may actually have two characters needing to merge into one, for the sake of redundancy.

Let’s use my book’s found family of superheroes for further example. I have:

A broody, loves-to-research-type soul who’s stuck over the mysteries of his past.

His twin sister, highly personable, yearns for outside validation, and prefers the past to stay as far away as it can.

Their hot-headed childhood friend, who takes no issue picking fights and rises above any occasion with sheer tenacity.

The oldest, but cheery and justice-oriented friend, says “dude” a lot, and is like a child stuck in a man’s body.

His wife, a doctor with a heart full of gold, sass, and sees the team as misfits who are in trouble without her help.

Finally, the reserved intellectual who keeps her words short, unless you start her on science, engineering, and intel gathering.

With this make-up, I can naturally set up the characters’ roles in the group, based on personalities alone. I label the broodster as the detective and problem-solver, his sister “the public face” of the group, the childhood friend the quick-witted action-taker, the oldest “dude” the honorable leader, his wife the classic “group mom” with extra flair, and the quiet one the scientist.

Notice how each character has their own core identity, and how that creates the role they play in the group. Yes, some characters, like my twins, will likely have a small overlap of quirks–just for being family. However, it’s still important to focus on what makes each character internally different. Otherwise you lose the chance of uniqueness in your group dynamic.

As a group, what is the primary goal they want to accomplish, and why?

As you finish putting each character together with their core identity and role, another question to ask is what goal they want to accomplish together.

Here’s another way to phrase it: Why are they together in the first place, and what stops them from going separate ways?

The Avengers band together to save New York against Loki and an alien invasion. They can’t do it by themselves . Harry Potter needs new relationships upon entering wizarding life, fueling him to face Voldemort. In season one of The Mandalorian, Mandalorian Din Djarin and Grogu must face Moff Gideon together, or die trying to face him alone.

None of those groups can separate because the stakes are too high to tackle alone. Each Avenger, Harry Potter, and the adorable Star Wars father-son combo will fail their missions without their found family.

What needs/desires do each character fulfill for one another in the group?

This is where we get into the juicy character interiority and backstory. Despite how it looks, the Found Family trope is much more than what “role” characters fit into for the sake of group dynamic.

It’s also how that dynamic affects each character; and how each character relates, or fills a need, for another.

Let’s go back to The Mandalorian for this example. Din Djarin is a lone wolf mercenary who lost his family at a very young age. While he found a new purpose as a Mandalorian, it’s still not what he needed: love, family companionship. This is where Grogu came in, and why Din was unable to hand Grogu over and complete a mercenary job.

We’re talking internal plot with characters–as in, what they need so they can accomplish their goals. Not what they think they need, and not just overcoming the external plot (in this case, facing Moff Gideon).

Din needed love and family, just as Grogu needed to discover his true self. These personal goals were accomplished with the help of the other. Grogu became the “son” that helped Din overcome self-limiting beliefs about newfound companionship, while Din provided Grogu the safety and protection to discover himself and his force powers.

Maybe you have a character who, on the outside, loves to goof around and tell jokes. But what do they really need as a human being to grow? Do they need a coming-of-age-moment that only one character in the group can provide? Do you have two characters, a childless mother and an orphaned boy, who seek a second chance of love, and can find it again through caring for each other?

Captain America may be the stoic leader butting heads with playboy philanthropist Iron Man, but even those two fulfill a desire the other has: Belonging. Acceptance. Companionship.

So take a look at one of your character’s backstory, and see what other members of the group can do–in their own individual way–to help that character heal and grow.

This, ultimately, is what gives the Found Family trope unique meaning and depth in your story. Because once you truly incorporate this trope into every aspect and detail of your characters and story like this (external plot and all), it cannot be done the same way again–because only you can write your story the way you can!

How to add further depth in the Found Family trope

There was no way I was answering this question without mentioning the one thing that could add even more connection and depth between characters.

Conflict.

Just as conflict is the best method to writing a story that works, it’s also the perfect tool for establishing a found family. There are two ways to do this:

Have two or more characters in the group start as rivals or enemies, before adopting each other as a found family.

Have your found family be completely dysfunctional at the beginning. Let the characters form a group, but act unsynchronized with each other; thus failing challenges together until they finally accept one another, their talents, and grow as one to achieve their goal.

Depending on how you write your found family, these points can be one and the same. But I felt it vital to differentiate between them for the sake of being thorough in explanation.

Conflict against a character in the story is what provides opportunity for growth (or failure, if writing tragedy). The more conflict the character must face, the more opportunities they have for the growth, and thus, the deeper the character development.

This is why so many people love edgy characters and redemption arcs (like Zuko in Avatar). For edge and redemption, a character must already be at a low point in order to rise back up from their failures, and succeed.

This same concept can be done with rivals/enemies in your found family. The relationship between two characters is at a low point, which then provides all kinds of conflict, and therefore creates growth for your characters (and found family) to experience. This is also why many like the enemies to friends/lovers tropes. The character development in the journey from rock-bottom to top, if done right, is a highly rewarding story.

For writing your found family as dysfunctional at first, the story is the whole group at a low point for not being able to work together properly. And they must face extra conflict for extra growth before they can accomplish other goals as one.

All in all, the more effort your characters must give to bond with others, the deeper the drama becomes, and the more rewarding the final bonding and connection. In most cases, it’s too easy, and not as fulfilling for a reader, if all characters already start off as good friends, or become friends quickly upon joining a found family. Give one character a trait or two another character doesn’t like. Have one character forced to learn and accept another for who they are. How their abilities, quirks, or other aspects can actually be a benefit.

This kind of conflict set-up matches perfectly with any story theme that involves one needing to set aside differences with another in order to succeed and/or survive. Once more, Avengers is the perfect example of it. They were a dysfunctional group of people that didn’t trust each other. But, after losing Coulson, only saving the world mattered.

And there you go! The simple, yet meaningful basics of how to write the Found Family trope and make it work for you. If you need more examples, a quick google search will hand you a plethora of stories you can use for reference and research.

Otherwise, I look forward to seeing your found families emerge in your story. Happy character plotting and writing!

written by Lindsay Sfara

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

I was gonna elaborate last night, but then fell asleep lolol

Something that I actually talked about in the past (and damn do I wish I had some of the old blog stuff lol), but I think the point I'm making is that Nuala and Cerridwen are really not tangible characters in the series.

Nuala and Cerridwen have been in the series for over five and a half books - and still, we don't know anything about them. The moments that we do have with them are all in service or in servitude. It isn't enough that they are spy-masters, they also just randomly choose to also pick up occupations as maids. Think about it like this - we've known Emerie for one (and a half) books and she has more personality than we've ever seen from Nuala and Cerridwen - and although I argue that Emerie is not treated well (in fandom spaces) and is victim of bad writing, she still is talked about as an actual character. Go look through the Nuala and Cerridwen tags, look at the way they are commonly drawn, how they are characterized, and what positions they are most commonly depicted (spoiler: its always in service).

And even within the story, they aren't considered fully-fledged members of the Inner Circle, they don't have conversations with other members, and even though Azriel is the leader I can't think of any conversations they've had together. When Rhys gives his little end-game speech, he doesn't stop and thank Nuala and Cerridwen for their loyalty through those fifty years. Rhys doesn't even seem to have anything more than a professional relationship with them. They are very much treated like employed maids who work for the Inner Circle.

"I'm so excited for Elain's friendship with N+C! They're gonna match Azriel with Elain!"

Yeah...okay. Even the Valkyries weren't that invested in Nesta's relationship with Cassian. I think there's a yearning to recreate a dynamic similar to the Valkyries, because its the first time we've seen a friendship group between women in this series. I also think there's this rush to claim the same for Elain and Nuala and Cerrdwen - yet its very elain-centric, and the they seem to just be reiterating a very handmaiden-esque dynamic. I also think its VERY weird that so much energy is put into how N+C "really brought out of her depression" yet they were imprisoned over fifty years UTM and yet we've never seen them be vulnerable about that experience. Why can't elain comfort them? Why isn't it both ways? Why doesn't the story or stans point out how they've gotten better? Its just like a lot to unpack. Like the optics of these women of color being these eager handmaidens and then having that dynamic pushed as friendship is kinda?????????????

[5five5five5five5five5five]

thinking about five and Delores.... do you think baby five always wanted a girlfriend? do you think he would secretly read romance books when no one was watching? he is such a romantic. i wonder where it all came from. viktor and him watching music man and wishing to sweep a small town librarian off her feet. a smart girl.... (him also finding robert preston attractive but baby him didn't have enough time to think that over.) him opening up to Viktor about all this, feeling like a dumb fool for caring so much about something so pointless. he has better things to focus on like practicing his jumps, school work and his cool robot Lego machines....but god. being a preteen sucks lmao. he only got a taste of that normality before being thrown into hell. many people have said it before me but Delores is his heart, his sanity, him projecting the good he knows he has in himself onto another to bond with and keep himself going.

God and the fact that they just ignored all Five laws and rules to make him kiss his sister in law instead of exploring that, yeah....he really CAN'T comfortably date anymore. he cant just get out there bc he knows that they are too young and he'd be INSANELY uncomfortable. and he wouldn't feel right dating someone in his age range bc he would be seen as a sugar baby / gold digger. he cant win either way so he is stuck being a secret romantic that cant love romantically. Dolores is the only one that makes sense and yet she's gone....and wasn't real. him having to come to terms with that is going to be so hard for him. maybe he never will. maybe everyone just lets him have that. he had so much taken from him both by the apocalypse and the events. he has lost the ability to comfortably date. i wonder if he feels jealous of viktor going out on so many dates, a new girl every night almost and he just has to suck it up because he is glad viktor is so happy and finding himself. Lila and Diego , ray and Allison, maybe even at the wedding....he just gets a pit in his chest. he hates feeling it. he hates knowing its there. the yearning for the same. the yearning for his one and only. edit: or maybe he realizes that Dolores wasn't real and comes to terms with the fact that real romance isn't for him. learns about being aroace. he finds comfort in fictional depictions again as a way to cope with what his marriage was and still has fond memories. letting her go., understanding who she was but not disrespecting her image. so what if she was imaginary? she was still the closet friend and partner he ever had and he would never truly say she was anything less. maybe he looks down a bit on his siblings because their marriages and dating lives look so complicated and messy. he doesn't have time or want all that. THIS is the trauma talk i want. THIS is the shit the show should have covered.

[sparrowinthewater]

Gwynriel headcanons that must become CANON in the next acotar book

(please skitter away if you hate this ship, thank you :D)

A flashback to Azriel’s POV when he rescued Gwyn from Sangravah

A flashback to Azriel’s POV when he found out that Gwyn had been thrown into the Blood Rite

More Valkyries training scenes with trainers Az and Cass!!!

Spy missions with our spy master Azriel feat. his spy apprentice Gwyn

Detailed depictions scattered throughout the 900-page novel (yes, it better be 900 pages long to compensate for the toll this wait is taking on our mental health or else i am suing) on the evolving relationship between Azriel and Gwyn (trainer/trainee > friends > more than friends > confidants > what are we? > lovers > and finally, mates)

Azriel’s shadows playing cupid for their extremely clueless master

Azriel lets Gwyn take her time in exploring her sexuality and is extremely respectful and sweet and patient throughout her trauma healing journey (trainer Az in the pit and in bed OK BYE)

Badass Carynthian and Valkyrie Gwyn saving Azriel during a mission or in a battlefield

Gwyn feels the first tug of the mating bond before Azriel does and she keeps it a secret because she knows of Az’s unresolved feelings for Mor/Elain (MISS SARAH PLS GIVE ME ANGST)

Gwyn showing Azriel that he is more than worthy of love by constantly peppering him with hugs and kisses and words of affirmation because let’s face it, Az’s main love languages are probably touch and words of affirmation

A deeply emotional scene of Azriel finding out that Gwyn (kind, brave, loving, loyal, and beautiful Gwyn!!!!) is who the cauldron has chosen for him after centuries worth of waiting and yearning (I need this alone to be at least 5 pages long)

Gwyn falls first but Azriel falls HARDER

[askew-d]

Can I ask your top 10 fav fics ever (from any fandom, if you don't mind)?

Also, just curious, is there a story behind your name "askew-d "?

hello, there! sorry for the long wait, i forgot to check my notifs :( i will do better next time. thank you for this question! i feel like i’ve waited ages for someone to ask me exactly that, lol. i could talk about well-written fanfics forever!! can i give you a hug? because this is wonderful, really.

let’s go for it! my range of fanfiction that i enjoy vary, but one thing remains: i will adore your fic, no matter the fandom, if it’s written with passion and if it contains good, poetic introspection. i love poetry. for me, if there’s melancholic tropes of any kind i’m into it. immortal character and reincarnation? give me now. supernatural elements or slice of life with doomed narrative? i’ll ignore sleep to read it. angst with happy ending? my endgame, for sure.

however, i also adore silly, comedic, cute pieces of domestic life or otherwise. i had a hard time choosing from my bookmarks for this, and i also reviewed some of my favorites, it was fun. before we continue, here are some of the tags that i don’t dive into for whatever reason: porn without plot (it personally just doesn’t interest me at all), non-con, gore, a/b/o dynamics, soulmates au. sorry if you were hoping for it! i’ll try classify them into an order of what i like most.

1. jellyfish, by mystery twin, for the haikyuu!! fandom — i read this when i was finishing high school and coincidentally the story talks about finishing high school! i have a personal attachment that makes me reread it every year. it’s some sort of tradition at this point. not to mention i love kagehina dearly.

2. teen project to change the world, by animeloverhomura, for the mo dao zu shi fandom — respectfully speaking, i would find this author and give them a big hug. their writing is spetacular! if you've never seen this one and you're into mdzs, know it's a story where the characters get to see every event from the novel and donghua, even the dead characters. they watch wei wuxian journey, can you believe it? so goddamn entertaining. promptly waiting for the next update!

3. a hundred or so hellos, by iwillstillopenthewindow, for the haikyuu!! fandom — remember i said i love melancholic stories? well, this one broke me so hard, i had to mention how i hold it with tenderness (we love things that breaks us, dont we?). this fandom manages to write the cutest, most unhinged things sometimes. even it's an anime about sports. i always get amazed by it.

4. no certainty of doors between us, by betts, for the mo dao zu shi fandom — certainly the most silly little fanfic i've ever seen, it's hilariously sweet. i want everyone to read this masterpiece because, seriously, whoever did this deserves only the best. so, so, cute. it had to be in my top 10!

5. their kindred encounters, by fireflavoredwhiskey, for the untamed rpf fandom (bjyx) — you know those kinds of shows, books, any piece of media, that tears up apart? well, this one was it for me. it's a very famous one that deserves all praise, certainly well-written and enjoyable to the core, with doses of angst, romance and beauty overall.

6. as the clouds part and clear, we finally meet again, by 12262325, for the mo dao zu shi fandom — aaaaa, i was truly torn between putting this in the third or fourth place, but i ended up putting it here. come on, i love an age difference kind of story, especially for wangxian, and this one was perfectly done. sweet and funny. the development? the yearning?? outstanding!! i read this many times already, i'll never get tired.

7. pursuit, by emleewrites, for the haikyuu!! fandom — mystery, romance, lawsuits, poker games, adventure, slice of life, AMAZING depictions and so, so goddamn well-written? that's what you're looking for in any fanfiction. the author dedicated herself entirely for this story, and, like i said, i love stories that are written with passion, you can see it pouring through every paragraph. besides, highly entertaining. i'm not very into long fics, but once i started it off, i couldn't stop. that's how addicting it is.

8. linger by the door (i’ve always been yours), by piecrust, for the mo dao zu shi fandom — epistolary?? have i mentioned how i love it?? some of the phrases in this are gold, in my bookmarks you can check some of them (i ought to make a list of my favorite fic quotes, btw, i will sure do it). through each letter i could comprehend more of wei wuxian's feelings and his internal conflict. i love feeling this connected to a character.

9. all the world is ours to take, by khrys, for the fugou keiji fandom — i have more than one favorite fanfiction for this couple. you know these kinds of developing relationship where the transition from (maybe enemies too) friends to lovers happens so smoothly that it feels like they've been soulmates first and foremost at the end? i don't even know how to explain. i just love how, when they finally are together, it's like they've been together for years. and they just... made it official? i like it. i love my mr. kambe haru.

10. he won’t tell you that he loves you, by hellshandbasket, for the house m.d fandom — i found this to be the most fitting, perfect story for this specific couple. they deserved more stories like this, but we dont see it anymore. i would hightlight the feelings realization in this one, that is so fucking real? haha in any case, it's a fanfic that i enjoyed a great deal.

that's it, i guess! i wanted to add link click fanfics also, however i barely started reading fanfictions from its fandom, i'm drowning in it lately but it's just a start. perhaps very sooon!

oh, i’m gonna finish explaining about the name! in my native language, i’ve heard someone tell me before that ‘life’s a little askew, nothing’s ever perfect’, and that quote remained in every biography of any english website i ever went to. then in literature class someday i had to write about historical women and came across this one named anne askew (i wanted to write about the mostly barely-spoken women). it was the second time i saw this word. i didn’t think of it as a proper name before, but then i had to create a nickname for my ao3 profile and thought, humn, why not just ‘askew’? the quote has been engraved in my heart anyway, so i went for it. we’re all flawed and askew. so, yeah, it just… fit? the ‘d’ here on tumblr it’s only because my surname has a ‘de morais’ in it. i also liked that it resembled ‘alaska’, the john green character i was kinda of obsessed with back in my teenager grunge phase. i don’t like these kinds of books anymore, but i guess some details stay with you. do you think it’s weird? never thought of changing.

thanks for this outstanding ask, it certainly entertained me. and hope you have a nice sleep today, big hugs coming your way! 🤍

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 15

An: Took a bit of a break to work on my school stuff, thanks for your patience and understanding! If you can't tell from this chapter, I really missed Soap. Lots of angst to come ;)

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 3700

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of guns.

Soap’s arm brushes against mine as we make our way to an unexpected meeting called by Captain Price. He’s the only stability I have right now. My joints feel weak and unnatural as they carry me through the corridor.

As soon as Ghost landed the helicopter in Ludza, I was ushered off and escorted to a solitary room somewhere deep within the base by a group of men I didn’t recognize. That was yesterday. This morning I’d never been so relieved to see Soap.

He says something along the lines of “It's been dunky's since I last saw ya,” and while I don’t have the slightest idea what he means, I’m just glad it’s him.

His right forearm is wrapped in gauze and looks like it’s supposed to be in a sling. Maybe it was in one for a day or so before he grew irritated from the lack of mobility and tore it off. I don’t know if the new injury is from his previous mission or the attack by the Ultranationalists, but I’m smarter than to ask about it right away.

“So, why did Price call a meeting?” I ask.

“Not sure, but it’s important enough for my whole schedule to change,” There’s something different about his voice.  I’m not sure if he’s annoyed or relieved. Maybe neither. Maybe he’s almost as concerned as I am.

The part of the building we’re in is underground. Most of the base is. It’s an eerie feeling knowing that if something went wrong, we’d be trapped down here. But this base is newer and better equipped than the last one. I get the impression that they use Latvia as their main base because it’s closer to Russia. Closer to the Ultranationalists. But I can only speculate. Maybe this is nothing compared to their other compounds.

I can’t stop thinking about Simon – Ghost – I don’t know what to call him. It’s like the names belong to two different people and I never know which one I’m about to encounter. One is reluctantly vulnerable, damaged, caring, and tender. He yearns for more. While the other… is, something else entirely. Ghost is cold and industrial, the perfect killing machine whose all stoicism and no emotional interference. There’s an indifference present with Ghost: he’s witnessed and partaken in so much violence, so much heartbreaking cruelty that every other human emotion is out of reach. They are two sides of the same coin.

I toss a quarter in my mind and pray it lands on tails. I catch it in one hand and flip it onto my palm. Soap opens the office door as I reveal its face: heads.

Dark eyes peer out from behind that damn skull mask. He stands just beside the entrance while Price leans against a table. The only thing on its surface is a clunky, black laptop.

“Sir,” Soap nods to each of them as I duck my head and follow in behind him. The last time this happened, everything changed forever.

“Sit down, y/n,” I know it’s going to be bad when Price skips the small talk. I feel my blood pressure rising. My neck is warm and my cheeks flush. I sit on the foldable chair directly in front of him. The brim of his hat dips as he looks down at me, still leaning against the table. Soap takes his place at the other side of the door opposite Ghost. Their eyes on me heighten my anxiety. “Take a breath darling, you look about ready to fall over.”

A weak, nervous laugh bubbles from my chest. I try and relax my shoulders but I think we both know this is as good as it’s going to get.

“I’d like to thank you for alerting us to the Ultranationalist’s plan, it greatly improved our reaction time. Probably saved some lives,” Price says, but in my mind drifts to the others that were lost as a consequence. “But for our sake, I need to know everything that prisoner told you.”

So I tell him. I like Price and he’s always been decent toward me, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared of him. Ghost didn’t plan this thing alone. He’s had a hand in everything I’ve endured and has less of an inclination than Ghost to trust me. I don’t know a lot about the English military, but I know his rank means something. He holds power. If he wanted me to disappear, I would without a trace.

As I talk about the things the prisoner said I hear a few grumbles behind me from Soap. I look predominantly at Price but cast a few glances at Ghost who breaks eye contact every time. His actions are far from reassuring.

“Fucking knew there was a mole,” Soap’s voice is bitter with distaste. Ghost shifts as he casts a warning glare in his direction. My mouth feels dry after talking so much.

“Not now, Sergeant,” Price cautions him. This is the kind of discussion I can’t hear. For all they know I’m the mole.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Y/n there’s one other matter we need to discuss,” his attention turns to me. I feel Ghost’s eyes intensify as he watches my reactions. Did he say anything? My heart skips a beat. The inside of my cheek throbs as I nervously bite down on the flesh. Surely he wouldn’t. Right? But their bond runs much deeper than anything he and I had for that single night. When it comes down to me or Price, Ghost would choose him a thousand times over.

Maybe he did say something. What happens then?

I look from Ghost who refuses to make eye contact to Price who won’t look away. He knows.

“It has to do with information discussed at the safe house,” breathing becomes incredibly difficult. My hands clench into fists. Deny everything. Nothing happened. Nothing.

“Okay,” I sound guilty. I sound treasonous. Ready to be put down by a firing squad.

“Lieutenant Riley said you expressed an interest in viewing our tapes of several Ultranationalist attacks,” Relief washes over me as my shoulders sink into the chair. Ghost didn’t tell him. “Specifically the ones involving your father.”

My eyes lock onto Price. His words spin around in my head and part of me refuses to believe I heard him correctly.

“My father?” Swallowing feels impossible. My throat is sandpaper the whole way down. My head is light and a sudden gust of wind could blow me away like a tumbleweed.

“Affirmative,” he uncrosses his arms to brace his hands along the table. “I have them here,” he tilts his head, motioning to the laptop. I look between him and Ghost who finally makes eye contact with me. He wasn’t lying. There really are videos.

My head starts to shake. “I don’t-“

“It’ll make what I have to say next a lot easier,” Price interrupts. What he has to say next? What’s next? What’s worse than this? How could watching my own flesh and blood commit a heinous crime make whatever he is going to say easier? My stomach turns.

“Okay,” I mumble. My hands are being forced. I don’t want to see whatever footage he has.

“Right then,” He moves away from the table to log onto the computer. Already pulled up, ready to play, is surveillance footage of an Ultranationalist attack. “This was in France. Nine months ago. At a soup kitchen.”

Price clicks play and I watch the scene unfold below. A group of armed men dressed as soldiers enter a packed building with people in line for food and sitting at rows of tables. The camera catches the back of their heads. Sewn to their shoulders is the identifying patch underneath the Russian flag. They line the walls and a staff member starts to approach just as they open fire on the crowd. Two minutes of chaos ensue until every single person is riddled with bullet holes. I feel the bile creep up the back of my throat as I sit there completely stunned at what I’m witnessing. It can’t be real. It can’t be.

As the dust dies down, the line of men turns to exit the building. It’s now the camera narrows in on their faces. Their unmasked faces. Not a single man is trying to hide his identity. No. They’re proud of what they just did. I recognize him immediately, even at a distance and in a uniform completely unfamiliar to me. The man leading the group is undeniably my father.

Devastation snags my jaw like a left hook and I feel my face start to crumple under the pressure. What the fuck. It’s real. It’s too real. The first tear falls and I quickly wipe it away, but I know they saw. I can’t stop my head from shaking. I can’t believe he would do something like that. The same man who raised me. Who I thought was so kind.

“Next one also took place in France. South this time,” Price’s voice remains calm. I feel ashamed. I feel dirty from his actions.

I watch three more videos of similar attacks. In the final one, there’s a closeup of the men involved. It’s the first time I’ve seen my father with a beard, but it’s still him through and through. My own flesh and blood. How could a man do something so horrifying? How could he justify his actions?

My stomach turns and I fight the urge to throw up. Full-body tremors take over my weak frame. I wrap my arms around myself in a small attempt to find comfort. I hate the fact that they see me in such a state. I’ve never felt so vulnerable in front of a group of people before. Let alone a group actively hunting down my family. If I can even call him that.

I wish I was back in that cabin, wrapped in Simon’s arms. He’s known this whole time. He tried to warn me.  If only I knew how bad it was going to get.

“It’s a lot,” Price starts. “Which is why I’m going to let you sleep on my next question.”

I nod, still staring at the floor.

“Will you help us lure him out?” I should’ve seen this coming. That’s what this has all been about. Using me to get to my father, maybe even Makarov. Ghost said so himself. But now they want me directly involved. Why?

“I don’t know,” I mumble.

“Think about it,” Price’s answer is short and to the point. He’ll give me time, but his patience is limited.

“Will you kill him?” my voice wavers. It’s a brave question, but I’m not brave enough for Price’s answer.

“That’s up to him,” his voice is resolute. The ambiguity of his answer is anything but reassuring. “That’ll be all for now. We’ll reconvene in the morning. Soap, she’s to stay in her quarters for the rest of the day.”

“Yes sir,” I feel his good arm on my upper back guiding me out of the room before I even realize what’s going on. In the hall, his hand rubs reassuring circles between my shoulder blades. “Do ya want food?”

“No,” I sniffle. I need to get it together before we pass the cafeteria full of men. “Thanks,” I mutter through a deep breath as I wipe my eyes for the last time. I find myself leaning into his touch. There’s a softness to Soap that’s too easy to get attached to.

My eyes are swollen, but at least I’ve stopped crying. Exhaustion seeps into my joints. Just walking feels strenuous.

“Still on babysitting duty, Suds?” a vaguely familiar voice taunts from across the room. A blond man in full gear leans against the entrance to the dining hall. He’s speaking to Soap, but his eyes never leave me. Chills run down my spine.

“Shut up ya fucking latrine queen, I don’t have time for your shite right now,” Soap shifts to my other side, placing some distance between myself and this man. He urges me to walk with a gentle hand but my feet start to slow.

“You know,” suddenly his voice doesn’t sound so vague. It’s the same man from the transportation van. The one who made crude comments toward us. The same one Ghost shut up by pulling rank. “Rumor has it you knew about the ambush.” The man raises his hand to point at me. Guilt swells in my chest.

There are only the three of us in the hall connecting the offices, cafeteria, and sleeping quarters, yet I’m afraid someone else will hear his accusations.

“Friday shouldn’t have gone down like that,” any previous teasing tone is gone. There’s real anger behind his words. “Our men died because of you,” I freeze at his words. The overwhelming feeling in my chest starts to spill over. Death follows me everywhere. He’s right. They died because of me. Others are still in the infirmary. Because of me.

Does he see my father when he looks at me? Is that what they all see? A contorted excuse for a human, twisted to the extent even mirrors don’t recognize?

Overwhelming anxiety and despair push me to the edge. I feel the tears threaten to fall again. I can’t let him see me cry. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

My feet take off sprinting down the closest hall, toward the sleeping quarters. My heart thunders in my ears, drowning out the sound of Soap calling after me. I don’t care. I need to get away from here. They blame me. They all blame me.

The empty corridor is lined with doors that blur as I run past them. Each leads to a room with a single twin bed. But no one’s here. Downtime isn’t for another while. I don’t know where I’m going. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter I just need to get away. Panic and adrenaline course through my veins. Tears cloud my vision and I can barely see.

When I hit the black object, It initially feels like a wall: hard and unmovable. But then his arms constrict around my torso, trapping me against his chest. I try and push off him which causes his grip to tighten even more. My mind flashes back to that night he held my arm so hard it bruised.

“How did you-”

“Where’s Soap?” Ghost’s unmistakable voice thunders in my ear. He sounds pissed. I blink away the newest tears. My emotions feel scrambled. His fingers press into my flesh. Ghost knows he has me. He doesn’t need to be this rough.

“Simon, you’re hurting me,” my throat is sore as my voice cracks.

His breathing falters and immediately the pressure is lifted. Ghost’s hands clench into fists at his side. I don’t know who he’s angry with anymore. Me, Soap, or himself? Part of me still fears him. Of what he’s capable of. Despite it, I don’t step away. I missed the heat of his chest seeping into my own. I want to feel the tenderness he’s capable of.

He sighs, collecting himself for another moment before speaking again. “Why are you running in the halls by yourself?” Ghost’s voice is significantly softer, but I don’t miss the urgency still present. A large hand brushes down my arm. It’s the only comfort I’ll get for days.

“I left him,” I mumble, refusing to make eye contact.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” I lie. The huff of his chest tells me he knows I’m lying. But there’s no time for him to push further. Feet thunder down the hall as the thick Scottish accent echoes off the walls.

“For fucks sake y/n,” Soap is audibly annoyed, but it’s only surface deep. “You can’t just run off.”

“Sorry,” the words tumble from my mouth. I hate this. I hate all the attention. All the expectations. Having to be on my best behaviour. The lack of freedom. All of it.

“What happened,” Ghost inches away from me as he turns his attention to Soap.

“I took care of it,” his thick words jumble together when he’s out of breath, but Ghost is used to it. What does he mean by “took care of it?”

“Is this something I have to tell Price?”

“Nah, shouldn’t be a problem again,” there’s a slyness to his tone. Soap tucks his hands into the side of his vest and it's now that I notice the red swelling at his knuckles. I watch Ghost’s eyes flicker down to the same spot.

“Right then,” he looks between the two of us. “I need to talk to you later,” Soap nods, seemingly already on the same page. Ghost casts one last glance my way before taking off. Conflict brews in the eyes beneath the skull mask. We need to talk. Question is, when? There’s a strange expression furrowed between Soap’s brows as he watches the interaction. One almost of suspicion.

I get an entire room to myself. I feel spoiled by this most basic accommodation. A twin bed, dresser, toilet, and sink. Like a luxurious jail cell. No windows. Not this deep underground. But at least there’s privacy. Tired feet drag their way toward the mattress.

Soap leans against the doorframe, bright blue eyes closely following my figure.

“What happened out there?” his voice is soft as he reaches for the door, slowly pulling it closed behind him. My eyes flicker from his to the swollen knuckles wrapped around the handle. My brain is foggy. His actions are slightly ambiguous. Does he mean today? Or at the safe house? The door silently latches into place as he blocks the only exit. What does he know?

“Out where?” I force myself to maintain eye contact. My hands nervously fist the comforter.

“The safe house,” Soap’s head tilts as he examines my reaction.

People are quick to dismiss Soap because of his openness towards others. He’s kind and doesn’t expect anything in return. There’s no hidden ulterior motive behind his actions. Johnny is simply a good person. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t done the same thing.

But his kindness, his ability to connect with others makes him better at reading people than the rest of the task force. Next to Ghost, Soap is who you have to be so damn careful around. He’s been right there beside Ghost for more interrogations than I can count. But they’re not always bloody and violent. Sometimes they’re soft. Sometimes they’re done by someone you thought you could trust. The right interrogator will caress your cheek and wipe your tears as they coax exactly what they need from your swollen lips. Soap knows exactly how to get information from different types of people. He is dangerous. I can’t let my guard slip around him. He’ll know.

“What do you mean?” I ask, crawling further onto the bed to rest against the wall. I need to stay composed. For a moment I was certain Ghost didn’t tell Price, but I didn’t even consider Soap. They’re closer than anyone else on the task force. Their secrets have to run deep. Chances are he could know already but wants me to confirm it. Or Ghost lied to him and he caught on. What if my story doesn’t match his?

“He’s barely spoken a word since you returned. Something’s up,” Soap steps away from the door, cautiously closing in on the distance between him and the bed. I scan his face just as carefully as he does mine. But I lack the years of experience and training that he has. All I have is my gut. And right now I don’t know what’s the truth and what’s a lie.

“Nothing happened,” I attempt, but it’s apparent my words don’t take when Soap starts to shake his head.

“I don’t wanna do that with ya,” his voice is reserved as he crosses his arms. Nerves start to crawl their way back up my spine. Every part of me feels on edge.

“He was angry I didn’t say anything about the Ultranationalists before the attack,” I mirror him, folding my arms across my chest. It’s true. Just not the whole truth.

I watch as he processes my words. As his eyes narrow and his brows pull closer together. Soap’s sharp jaw angles down as he considers his next words. Something is eating away at him.

“Did he do anything?” I don’t hide the confusion stemming from his quiet words. What would he do? Why is that the first thing that comes to his mind?

“No,” It slips from my mouth in a rush, but I catch myself. “Well, we fought, but that’s it.” The sigh that escapes his chest is heavy and his stance remains closed off. I don’t know if he buys it. “It’s fine. Really. Soap I’m sick of talking about this. I know I fucked up. Every damn thing I do out here is a fuck up. Can we just leave it at that? Please?” I quickly wipe at the stray tear that escapes.

“Don’t talk like that lass,” Soap’s shoulders soften as he uncrosses his arms. His feet risk another step forward, but then he stops. Something about his expression is pained. His hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach out and comfort me. My mind drifts to how it would feel to have his strong arms wrapped around my frame, how safe it would feel…

Soap reigns himself in. He knows he’s tiptoeing the line of his assigned duties.

“Can I get you anything from the cafeteria?” He retreats into safer territory.

“No,” I sniffle. “Thanks.”

The heavy Steel-toed boots thud along the floor. “I’ll drop off a plate,” Soap says as he closes the door behind him. The loud clank of the lock rattles throughout the room. The fog clouding my thoughts mutes the aching betrayal throughout my body, eventually lulling me to sleep.

My father planned the murder of hundreds of people. Innocent people. Mothers and children. Refugees trying to build a better life for themselves. Vulnerable civilians unable to stand up for themselves. All for what? Political gain? What kind of a sick bastard views mass murder as a tool for power? I can’t believe I’ve been so clueless. Maybe he does deserve to die. Maybe we both do.

I don’t notice the plate of food sitting on the empty dresser the next time the door opens. Something else snags my attention.

My sleepy eyes narrow in on the dark, ominous shadow looming in the corner of my room.

Someone is here.

Pt 16:

[justice-flonne]

Twitter and the death of Media Literacy

As the original post now has reblogs turned off before this post came out of the queue, looks like I have to make my own

Lemme tackle picture number 2 first. Number one, what the HELL do you mean "normal mentally ill [woman]"?? There's no such thing. There's not even such a thing as normal non-mentally ill. Everyone is different and has different reactions and symptoms. and number two: where the fuck do you get off calling the author a sex pest for the "crime" of exploring her options in brothels (well, i guess maybe it is a crime, i forget how japan's laws are, but still. i better not hear you demanding more rights for sex workers while indirectly demeaning their jobs, ya nitwit)? Being gay (or even just non-conforming, and that's not even just about gender) in Japan, while not as bad as say, the Middle East, is not exactly a walk in the park. She probably at the time of writing didn't have many options, and everybody explores their sexuality in different ways. It's really messed up that you're calling the author a sex pest for describing her life, especially since she did nothing wrong (as in, her encounters were all consensual. again, don't fully know the laws regarding brothels there. i think it's a "we'll pretend we didn't see that" scenario)

This also kinda ties into the downright dangerous idea that an lgbt+ person, lesbians especially, can only be an innocent pure being. that kind of thinking can and HAS gotten people into horrible abuse scenarios

As for the "incest"... whoo boy, this is gonna be long:

Now, I have actually read this manga, and I can cite the pages with the supposed "incest" mentioned in the first pic. I'd elaborate, but I'm admittedly quite bad at that, so I'll let the comic speak for itself:

(forgive me if there's any errors in the alt text. it's late 😭)

As you can see, the author does not LITERALLY want to fuck her mother. She has childhood issues from not enough affection (elaborated elsewhere in the book, but I'm tired. read it yourself. i got these pages from a definitely legal website, so can you), and wants to be held and coddled. She even straight up says what she feels is abnormal and yearns for a woman NOT RELATED TO HER to do things with. She KNOWS what she feels is strange and wants to (and eventually DOES) grow from this. I could post more images, but i'm probably pushing my luck as is

Point is, you "adults" really, REALLY need to learn that depiction is not the same as endorsement. Not everything is as cut and dry as the Marquis de Sade. This is, as the damn title says, the author's experience with loneliness as a result of growing up with an emotionally distant mother in a society that is markedly different than America

please, PLEASE, learn to think critically, and i mean "critical" in a "english class analysis" kind of way (for lack of a better term), not a "this thing you like is bad and it offends me" "critical." It's alright to be uncomfortable with things and even to not like things, hell I myself am a HUGE hater, but please, don't throw a tantrum because a real person wasn't a smol bean like you hoped

holy shit i need to go to bed

[two-person-job]

assigning songs from my latest romance playlist to mine and my friends' selfships :}

@lexisism @milk-violet @floraldresvi

it got a lot longer than I thought. so. have fun! <3

best friend - laufey

kavexis or verali. definitely an alexis selfship. the parts that are more about how you're best friends reminds me of kavexis, but the parts that are lovingly insulting feels more reminiscent of verali

magnolia - laufey

this song is about yoimiya. or it's mizuha and it's kazuha thinking about mirei. a lot of this song feels more like poetry than lyrics?? which leads me to say that kazuha would hear it whenever he sees mirei.

death, thrice drawn - the scary jokes

baivi? verali? I can't really place this one. but. when I think selfships with lots of pining, baivi and verali come to mind!!

jeanine - the scary jokes

kavexis angst where both alexis and kaveh are feeling overwhelmed and end up kinda neglecting each other. with the line "love is just a name for you to call me by", this song talks about how though they are still acting in love, the feelings are starting to fade. it also goes into someone being emotionally absent, and not being vulnerable enough for the other. both people are stuck in a space between "I can't find time to talk to them" and "they can't find time to talk to them", and lots of conflicting "it's my fault/I shouldn't be to blame here" thoughts. one of the last lines is "just like the smote cedars in the yard, I have fallen so hard for you" which shows that yes, they are in love. yes, they adore their s/o. but. it's not a love that is gentle anymore, it's hard to live with and difficult to manage. very "I love you, but at what cost?"

starstruck - the scary jokes

this song has a permanent spot in my shroomsym playlist for a myriad of reasons!!!! firstly. sylvia is being depicted as a figure who shows enough to be admired, but never enough to be known. that's sym for a while!! and the entire song is just someone gushing and wondering about her.

no leverage / no pleasure - the scary jokes

scarayui because of the "I just can't have a normal heart" line and all that's added onto that. with all the scaramouche lore I know very little about, I believe this fits his character? loving, despite it being against his nature? but since yui isn't on tumblr anymore. this is actually really hard wait. this could lead off of the kavexis angst from "jeanine"?? i'll go with that dfjdjdfk

crushed out on soda beach - the scary jokes

shroomiya angst because. the first lines "I tried just burning the whole thing down today / but decisiveness is such a foreign tenant to my psyche" represents someone trying to break up with their partner, but being too indecisive to do so. later on in the song, it goes "you called my bluff / I love you too much / would you please stay with me? / cause after all is said and done / I want you here, stay with me!" this song is representative of wanting the end of the bad parts of a relationship, but not the good parts. it's about wanting the relationship you used to have, wanting to go back to when everything was normal and better than normal because it was beautiful. "I could hardly stand under the weight of my little crush on you" shows how much yearning can take a toll on someone.

bets against the void - the scary jokes

baivi angst this time. "these days your light beam penetrate / the sorrowed skin that i've been living in". baizhu's condition is getting worse, but vi and everyone else's love and care for him motivates him to try to be everything he could be. "but still I wait for piercing pain / i'll feel when your feelings fade / I feel so good today" he knows that all of the good he feels now is temporary. when vi's gone, or busy, or tired, or sick herself, he feels worse. but how is he supposed to push that onto her? when they both feel so good today, isn't that all that can really matter? "the sun is just a copper coin / I flip in bets against the void / imitating choice / 'til I feel good again / i'll keep them in a tin can / then i'll have copper coins to spend" baizhu's trying to find optimism in vi, in qiqi, in everyone who comes to bubu pharmacy, and he is, he really is, but it's getting difficult to find much more meaning in that optimism. he has all of the little memories from people he's known and loved and cared for, but he doesn't have much to do with them. "will you remember me / when our spirits scatter off?" will you remember him, when he can't remember you? when he isn't there? when he can't be everything you deserve? when he loses all he was? "I know I'm an artist / 'cause I just can't stand the thought / that a love as beautiful as ours / could be forgotten" he knows you'll never forget. and that's just why he wants you too. he wants you to be able to move on a live a life as amazing as it always was. but he also knows that you won't be able to do that. so he will make sure you remember your love as beautiful, and make sure to pass it on to everyone you continue to meet.

anata no koibito ni naritai - choo kyuu mei

MIZUHA!!!!! "koi ni ochite iru" THAT DAY I FELL IN LOVE! "kocchi wo mite yo!" LOOK THIS WAY! "choco yori amai! ondo de tokeru!" SWEETER THAN CHOCOLATE, YOUR WARMTH MAKES ME MELT! ik the translation is rough but!!!! KOI NI OCHITE IRU!!!! THAT DAY I FELL IN LOVE!!! KOIBITO NI NARITAI! I WANT TO BE YOUR PARTNER! I want to make a mizuha animatic of you two falling in love.. and being in love.. and that day you fell in love!

also dreszhu. though I know little about it, I like the idea of baizhu seeing dresvi and going "OMG SHES SO BEAUTIFUL" before regaining his composure lol

what will you leave behind (end titles) - max LL and maude plante-husaruk

spiritfarer is everything to me. BUT this song feels like shroomsym and baivi!! for shroomsym, sym is immortal. there is a way to become immortal with him! this song is about loss, about moving on, about grief, and about getting over it and learning how to lovingly remember instead of feeling constant grief. immortality comes with watching the death of all your favorite people, but the last line "but it's ok, we'll be together my friend" would be how sym would be there through it all.

with baivi though!!! baivi is the sort of couple that goes through and sees everything. they grow old together, watch friends come and go, watch relationships blossom and deteriorate, see the landscape around them shift and change, and learn every little thing they can, and more. they guide each other through every difficulty, every problem they may ever have. and they make their own world, out of love and beauty and patches of everyone and everything in their lives. baivi is a couple that grows old together.

hikouki gumo - yumi arai

kavexis. alexis gets to see all of kaveh's dreams up close, everything he wants and everything he does to reach those wants. hikouki gumo is the ending song of "the wind rises", about an aeronautical engineer (I think?) who falls in love with a woman with tuberculosis. though he stays with her as much as possible, she doesn't survive. however, they get to love in the most beautiful ways possible. they love in paper airplanes, they love in carefully-chosen gifts, they love in dropping everything to see each other, they love in spite of everything that encourages them not to. they love no matter what may happen. that's kavexis to me, passion and dreams and unconditional love. kaveh would do anything for alexis, and all she wants is for him to love her. "i've loved you since the wind brought you to me" is my favorite quote from that movie, and I think it suits kavexis :}

itsudemo dare ka ga - shang shang typhoon

sunvi? this is the ending song of "pom poko", and is playing during a lot of friends reuniting. I feel like sunvi is about never truly being apart, only in different places. this song talks about never forgetting the name of the people who loved you. sunvi is about remembering. remembering favorites and dislikes, anniversaries and birthdays, names and relations. everything that matters, and everything that doesn't. because if it's connected to someone you love, is anything really insignificant?

le temps des cerises - cora vaucaire

this is a song that plays in "porco rosso"! the woman that sings it in in love with the main character, though he feels as if he will never be good enough for anything. he has too much guilt about his past mistakes, and doesn't want anything bad to befall someone he cares about, so he stops caring. but she persists, and I think that's very reminiscent of a possible mizuha or pantalovi au. for mizuha, kazuha feels as if he isn't stable enough for relationships. also everything that happened with tomo, he doesn't want that to happen to mirei. but she doesn't care. all she cares for is kazuha, and that's what matters to her. slowly, she teaches kazuha that she loves him with all the risks he may see in being close to someone. as long as they get to be together, she'll be happy, and so will he. pantalovi has something similar, with how pantalone is in the fatui and all. how could that end up in safety for vi? how could he make sure she'd be ok? by not involving himself with her, is his first thought. but similar to mirei, vi is persistent! she will love freely! and he will have to learn to accept that. and he does, because he loves her. pantalone will make sure NOTHING bad ever happens to vi, who appreciates the sentiment, but once again similar to mirei, won't mind what happens as long as she is with him.

socks - out of luck

MY FAVORITE SONG FOR SHROOMIYA!!!! "what's up? how you been? / I wanna be so much more than friends!" lots of realizing you're in love and wanting to confess and not being good at telling someone you love them but trying anyways!! wanting to be with someone forever and never being forgotten and sharing things that only you and them know! yoimiya reminds me of giggling into pillows at a sleepover, and that's what this song also feels like!! failed confessions and flustered glances!!

i do adore - mindy gledhill

baivi. vi is so deeply in love with baizhu that him just asking her about her day makes her a blushing mess!!! they're different in so many ways, but not in a way that sparks argument, in a way of someone who's always cold has someone who's always warm!! they compliment each other in such a personal way, it feels as if they were made for each other!! no matter how many times vi fails at telling baizhu how she feels, or how much he means to her, he understands. he is able to tell by the absolute adoration radiating off of her, that all her words are laced with love.

sakura kiss - chieko kawabe

i put the ohshc intro on here because of who this playlist is about jhsdjh. but also mizuha kavexis and shroomiya are all couples who would shout these lyrics at a sleepover turned karaoke night. KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE!

pretty girl - clairo

high school au baivi, kavexis, and shroomiya. helpless girls + kaveh who'd do anything for their favorite person.

for baivi, vi would see him in the halls, and it'd start off as just a little hallway crush. but she'd find herself constantly looking for him, trying to find out what he likes, what he doesn't, who he's close with, who he isn't. she's writing him little love notes to stick in his locker, and though she's been found doing this by a multitude of people, none have told baizhu!! she thinks. one day, one day, she'll find the courage to tell him how she feels. (and one day, one day, baizhu will find the courage to strike up a conversation with you) this could also work with sunvi + pantalovi but I think it's cuter with baivi <3

for kavexis this song fills my brain with the image of kaveh in fluffy pajamas and looking at his phone, which has a message from alexis that says something like "thank you!!" and he's blushing because SHE saw worth in HIM and thinks that HE was worth not one, but TWO. WHOLE. EXCLAMATION POINTS!!! they might as well have gotten married already!!! kaveh is so hopeless and in love with Alexis, and thinks that she's so out of his league!! but she thinks the same about him. so they're both stuck in the pining stage with a VERY annoyed alhaitham.

for shroomiya. I would do anything for her!! I'll make her snacks!! this is affection in the form of simple acts of love that are filled with adoration, mistakes made to make someone laugh, and endearing habits belonging to someone you love. I could be her pretty girl!!!

kool - meet me @ the altar

honestly? kavexis. both of them think that the other is so cool! that the other should look in the mirror and think about how beautiful they are! both are such daydreamers, and could spend the entire day just thinking about the other. but they'd much prefer being with them, thinking about them is a good temporary substitute. pining and doesn't know the other feels just like them!!

cat serenade - beetlebug

MIZUHA MIZUHA MIZUHA MIZUHA!!!!! "I've never been the kind to fall in love / it's just me and a couple of fleas and that's all I want" HE NEVER WANTED TO STAY IN JUST ONE PLACE BUT IF IT MEANS ANOTHER DAY WITH YOU HED STAY A CENTURY! kazuha slowly realizes again what it's like to find a home not in a place but in a person, and finds himself imagining all the places he'll go with mirei. he'd go fishing with mirei. go to liyue with beidou and mirei. search for flowers for mirei. everything has mirei added on, and honestly? he doesn't mind. he could use a couple more years of his life, if it means those years will be with you.

honey jet coaster - nasuo and route BLUE - yuki nakashima and kawaii dake ja nai - nasuo

shikimori intro and outro. and the shikimori-themed song. that means baivi. highschool au baivi again where everything with vi or baizhu apart of it is beautiful! everything has to be about the other, and if it's not, then they'll find a way to make it!! every single thing baizhu does is endearing. every bite of food vi takes baizhu finds himself smiling at. ik I compare you to shikimori a lot vi but I think it would be reversed? like. yes ur like shikimori. but for the Cool Person/sweetie who's madly in love with the Cool Person dynamic of shikimori and izumi, baizhu would be the shikimori. while baizhu is always making sure that vi is ok, that she doesn't accidentally hurt herself, that she isn't overworking herself, she's making sure that he doesn't have to worry!! vi's doing everything she can to take care of herself so baizhu doesn't have to constantly worry himself over her, but he still does. and whenever vi tries to bring up possibly being a nuisance to him, he shuts it down before she can get the full sentence out. he worries because he loves her. he worries because she matters to him. he couldn't imagine a world without her, and doesn't want to.

every little thing - cybergirlfriend

shroomiya and mizuha. mirei would GUSH about everything kazuha does!! his handwriting, the way his voice gets softer when he talks directly to her, the way he looks at her with a warm smile after grabbing her hand.. anything and everything she can think of!! and I'm never going to have an empty mind when yoimiya's around. it's always full of thoughts of her!!! <33

biri-biri - yoasobi

i can't say yoasobi without also saying mirei. which is why this is another mizuha song. she's waiting!! she's hoping!! she's anticipating what kazuha will say, do, and everything else about him!!! when will she see him again? what will he say next? where is he right now? when will he hold her hand again? she's always wondering!! and he always has the answer, and it's always "whenever and whatever you want".

shake & shake - sumia

this is the intro to a really weird anime that me and someone else are watching together so I put it on the playlist. anyways this is shroomiya. we'd watch the anime together and laugh at how weird and i'd teach her the choreography in the intro <3

chicken noodle - small crush

kavexis? verali? for kavexis, kaveh is the mess. nothing goes right for him, except for alexis. she's the right in his world of wrongs. when he falls in the mud, she picks him back up and cleans him up. when he loses something, she spends hours helping him find it. he's a mess, but you're the best.

for verali it's swapped. I love you alexis but from what I know of verali you'd be the mess <3 she struggles with falling asleep on time, and he texts her at exactly 10:30pm to go to bed without being prompted to do so. he brushes her hair when she forgets to. he always makes sure that her working space is clean. whenever alexis asks him why, he tells her that he's just doing the bare minimum.

signal dreams - small crush

shroomsym!! "i would rather be living in a dream / if that's the only way I could get close to you" anything for you! everything for you! dedicating your days to someone who doesn't know that you think of them the amount that you do! doing things for someone that they'll never know of! picturing yourself with someone you think will never look your way again!!! he's a dream, and i'm doing fine asleep.

freshman year - small crush

sunvi. vi getting her view on everything skewed. she's having to get used to a new life, a new place, new people and nothing she can do to make the scenario more comfortable. but sunday can do something. so he does, and makes her feel as welcome as he can. he makes sure that she is loved properly, and cared for in the way she needs to be. "but I wish I knew then what I know now" if only she always knew how much sunday would do for her. (he'd do anything)

rumblin tummy - small crush

i swear I didn't plan for it to end like this but. tbh. this fits with everyone.

shroomiya: similar feelings to socks!! i'd never waste a day if it's spent with you! <3 no emotions are useless, no words are meaningless, because they're for her. everything is about her. everything is for her.

baivi: days upon days upon weeks months years and lifetimes spent with each other. spent sighing and dreaming and falling in love too many times to count, and then falling in love again!!! finding new ways to say I love you every day, and new ways to reciprocate.

kavexis: kavexis actually really feels like a couple who has a lot of accidental synchronization!! complimenting outfits, texting each other at the same time, confessions piling over each other because you were both so adamant that the other spoke first.

mizuha: making sure that the other is always cared for. during any absence, any reason for not being together, they are both always secure and excited to see each other again. and they always do, they always, always reunite.

shroomsym: I'm never ever going to be free from him, and honestly, I don't mind. I'd waste all my time finding him, talking to him, and thinking about him while I'm not with him.

sunvi: making space for each other, making time for each other, anything to accommodate to your beloved. because that's what you are to each other. everything you do, is in honor of them. sunvi feels like the type of couple to always be intertwined with each other, when you see sunday, vi is not too far behind. when you see vi, sunday was just making his way over with a bag of food and a kiss for the crown of vi's head.

verali: though he may deny it at times, veritas lives for all of alexis' mannerisms. everything she does fills him with love. everything she says makes him so, so happy. he'd really love it if he were able to just be with her for the rest of his life.

pantalovi: he always makes sure that vi is taken care of, because that is always the top priority. vi is everything to him, and he's everything to her. how could either of them be any less? when all of their spare time is spent on the other, how could there ever be any doubts that their love is less than unconditional and absolute?

[blackoutspoetry]

The anatomy of starved dogs (part 3)(Ghoap) – FLASHPOINT

This is a chapter of a long form slow burn Ghoap fic I've been working on for the past few months.

This chapter alone is has 16k words, so it might be easier to read this fic on ao3.

Read the first few parts on ao3 here:

WARNINGS: gore and graphic depictions of violence, civilian death, acts of terrorism, torture and permanent disfigurement

4 APRIL 2019

CAPTAIN PRICE'S FLAT, UNDISCLOSED ADDRESS, ENGLAND

The most important thing to remember when it comes to human nature, is that the adult brain is shaped from childhood to pursue something which is mostly unattainable. People are defined by the constant pursuit of what they don’t have. 

The healthy brain, it chases after things it's allowed to get ahold of, grows accustomed to the idea of labour rewarded sweetly at the end of a long day’s work. Even if paid in peanuts, a reward is a reward. 

The unhealthy brain is grown from a childhood bid for survival. The young brain is made to endure and spring up like weeds in concrete, grow through difficulty because it becomes indoctrinated with the aesthetic of suffering. It knows nothing else but the weathering of the storm and has not yet learned the concept of injustice or fairness. 

 It learns its place quickly, grows around the stones and infertile soil and becomes a distended, etiolated seedling in the absence of the sunlight it yearns for. 

But grow, it will, forever doomed to reach with begging arms to sunlight that will not yield, until it begins to view itself as a poetic tragedy, see the beauty in the hollowness of needing and wanting. And once that point is reached, it romanticises having nothing until it  becomes afraid of actually grasping that thing it yearns for. 

There is even a point of hunger where the body has grown so used to not being full, that once fed, it rejects the meal to marinate in its own despair. A work of art, one tragic and beautiful, because it cannot fathom the idea that it was robbed of life. A better life. 

If, however, it realises the injustice, refuses to kneel to its feared master and learns that it too is able to bite, it uses this newfound discovery to its advantage. It cuts off completely from the idea of vulnerability and lashes out at anything that mildly gives it the taste of being subservient once more, so that even things that are only vaguely related to the oppression is now a symbol of the life it had fled from. 

It bites and devours out of fear of returning to that life, over correcting and becoming the very thing it had sworn to destroy. 

In the mind numbing hours following the briefing, Soap thinks Vladimir Makarov might be one of those people, grown from a hard life into a dangerous man, or maybe, he was something more dangerous, one planted in the soil of war fertilised earth from his conception. 

Either way, it only further convinces him that he’d made a mistake agreeing to Price’s terms in that coffee shop. He’s dug himself a grave and he’s damn well made his bed in it too. 

Though Soap is substantially pissed at Price, he honours his wishes and makes a point of laying low until they have to leave for Verdansk at midnight. Price had arranged for him to stay over at his flat for the time being and though his thoughts were consumed with visions of doom, he found it interesting to distract himself by the rare insight into the man’s personal life. 

It's a moderately large place, modestly furnished with two bedrooms, a living room, joint kitchen and dining area, a bathroom barely large enough to stand in and a sofa facing a TV. 

“Make yourself at home, I suppose I don’t need to babysit you, but you might benefit from getting some sleep in before we leave,” Price loosely gestures over to the spare bedroom with the single bed, freshly made and ready for him. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Anytime,” Price nods with a hint of guilt. He knows he’s got Soap in over his head but neither acknowledge it, they keep things civil. Whether Price had known about Soap’s talk of retirement remains a mystery to him. 

“I’ve got some work to get done before we leave, so if you need me, I’ll be here,” Price informs him, taking his things and disappearing into the other room where his desk was, leaving Soap standing in the living room.

 

 

It doesn’t take long for Soap to settle into the spare bedroom, throwing his suitcase on the bed with a dejected sigh before beginning to strip out of the thick jacket unsuited to the stale English weather this time of year. 

 

He’s just thrown it on the bed when he hears his phone buzzing with a notification. 

 

He’s put his mother on mute for the time being, so it couldn’t be her, possibly one of his sisters. He supposes he should do some damage control before shit hits the fan, though. 

 

Begrudgingly, he sits down on the edge of the bed and reaches for the phone, swiping at the cracked screen to unlock it. 

 

Five unread messages, better than he expected. Three from his mother, and two from someone he definitely doesn’t have the mental energy to respond to now. 

 

He opens the chat and begins typing back before he’s even formulated what he wanted to say to her.

Elena (barista): heyy so I know its been a while but I wanted to know if you're still interested in that second date?

John: Yes|

‘Yes’ is too short…

John: Ye |

John: |

John: abs |

No, that sounds too enthusiastic and she’ll get the wrong idea. 

John: yes, sure

Before he can change his mind again, he hits send. To his surprise, she begins typing back immediately. 

Elena: Great! How does tomorrow evening work for you??? 

Soap grimaces.

John: I'm actually at work at the moment...

He can almost feel her hesitating on the other end. 

Elena: Work?

Elena: I thought you’re not going back until the 15th??

Soap is unsure how much he should be telling her, but he wants to be as honest as possible. 

John: That was the plan but an urgent last minute thing came up. I only found out about it a week ago.

Elena: oh, okay. But tell me when you think you’ll be available?

John: sure :)

Soap exits the chat and quickly writes back to his mother to confirm to her that he had landed safely, but decides against entertaining the conversation any further after that. 

He tries to get a couple of hours of sleep in before Price comes to fetch him at well after dark for their return to base, but he’s still tired enough by the time they arrive that he has to take two shots of espresso for good measure. 

And then it's off to their designated aircraft, a three and a half hour flight outbound for Kastovia and another promise John MacTavish would inevitably fail to keep. 

 

Its just past midnight by the time Soap finds his seat with Sergeant Burns to his left and Ghost two seats on with Price in between them. Ghost gives Soap a nod of acknowledgement as Soap straps himself in leaning back against the cargo netting behind him and letting his head hit the wall with a thud. 

“You been to Verdansk this time of year?” 

Soap is surprised when Burns asks from beside him. The question is half muffled by the humming of the large cargo door being raised to a close but he shakes his head anyway. 

“Can’t say that I have.” 

“It's nice. Off season so it's not as packed with tourists as it is when all the schools are out. It's beautiful actually, when you’re not working.” 

“You think so?” 

Soap had never had the luxury of being in the city for anything other than a work related crisis. His best memories of Russia and the surrounding countries are the quiet moments when the weapons cease or he’s privileged enough to be in the safety of a fortified military base. 

His worst memories there are by far the most haunting of his career and some of the most life changing. He still has visions of that bomb going off, splatters of blood and shattered bone. He’ll never forget the stillness after Oliver had stopped screaming or the look on his parents' faces when he gave his condolences at the funeral. 

So no, Soap did not consider the idea of finding Kastovia beautiful or inviting in his days off. 

“It’s quite a sight actually. I brought my girl out there to propose last year, to get away from it all.” 

Soap raises an eyebrow. “You’re married?” 

“Almost, the wedding’s in two months. You got anyone waiting for you back home?” 

Briefly the phantom smell of smoke and warm blood fills Soap’s nose and he clutches at the chain around his neck, but the moment’s gone in an instant. 

“Nothing serious at the moment, no.” 

He curses the fact his mind had skimmed over Elena so quickly, but he can hardly call her a significant other. 

“Ah well, I’m sure you’ll find someone soon,” Burns says and reaches into his pocket for a half empty pack of gum. 

The plane had taken off with a rumble and Soap’s ears were having trouble adjusting to the change in altitude. 

“Can I have one of those?” Soap inclines his head to the pack. 

“Sure, but they’re nicotine. I’m trying to quit smoking before the wedding.” Burns tilts the pack in his direction nonetheless and Soap hesitates for a moment, feeling a distant suppressed ache in his chest warning him against it but he silences his concern. 

“That’s alright by me.” 

He takes the stick of gum and pretends not to waver as he pops it in his mouth.

They land in Verdansk three and a half hours later and Shepherd meets them on the ground. Its barely past sunrise and the air is heavy with a piercing cold fog that clouds his measured breaths as Soap steps out of the plane onto the landing strip where a man stood waiting for them. 

The man was around Soap’s height, but he carried himself with an air of authority. Something to indicate he was powerful and very much aware of it. 

He gave them a polite nod by way of greeting. Soap watches his overtly friendly interaction with Price and Burns and then the notably impersonal way he shakes hands with Ghost. 

“Sergeant MacTavish, you come very highly regarded by Captain Price, he’s told me a lot about you.” 

Soap feels himself stiffen but he smiles nonetheless, “all good things, I hope.” 

“ Excellent things,” Shepherd corrects.

“Well, I hope he’s got enough of that in him to live up to the Captain’s expectations,” Ghost chimes in from beside him, not with bite, but Soap can’t decide whether he’s supposed to take the joke as a sign of friendliness or hostility. 

As if sensing the uncertainty in the atmosphere, Price claps him on the back and gives his own response of almost flat feeling reassurance. “He’ll be up for it, I’m sure. But I expect we better get out of the wind before we get into any of the further details.” 

 

The drive takes a while. It isn’t long, but the road out is congested and Soap finds his eyes wandering over the densely packed sidewalks, gaze panning over the figures on the street, blissfully unaware of the danger pending over the city. 

It makes some uneasy feeling run a chill down his spine. An image from the carnage left behind by the street market bomb on Price’s slideshow comes into his mind unbidden and he tries to rid himself of the idea of Verdansk being reduced to rubble. 

The base they’d be operating out of for the next few days was situated on the gentle slope of a hill building up into the nearby mountain range, densely forested with evergreen spruce trees creating a thick coverage for the well maintained dirt road. 

Upon arrival, they pass through heavy security and are let to park on a reserved spot by a painted brick face wall rising into the upper floor of the building. 

Once inside, it is much more temperature controlled and Soap relaxes a bit once they’re through security and the doors are closed behind him. 

General Shepherd’s been in Price’s circle for years. Soap knows about the kinds of things he and Price have buried in the past and he’s got his own theories as to a couple of the more sketchy, off the records things. He gets suspicious about when the talk around base doesn’t match up with what’s on the news, so for him to be standing here in the room with both of them, while official records still have him safely tucked away in Glasgow is disconcerting to say the least. 

He glances to his side at Burns and even gives the futile look over at Ghost on his right, but both of them are tight-lipped and observant, their expressions betraying nothing.

An hour and two coffees later saw Shepherd introducing them to a few men from the local authorities they’d been working with and hurriedly getting them over to a more private room to discuss the details. 

Though Soap is still sceptical of Price’s anonymous source, he keeps his mouth shut for the duration of the discussion, listening intently to the plan for the next day instead. 

The airport had upped its security earlier that month. With Verdansk just gently nudging the border of the country and its frequent conflicts with the nearby Russians, the city has grown desensitised to the sheer amount of military vehicles patrolling the streets at all times. They wouldn’t suspect anything out of the ordinary for there to be a heightened military presence at the airport or the nearby areas. 

The good thing, they figured, would be that Makarov would not be anticipating it either. 

Once more, with detailed information from Price’s informant, they determined that multiple bombs would be left to detonate throughout the airport, but how they planned on getting them through airport security remained unclear. 

By the end of the discussion, they’d concluded that the four of them would enter with the rest of the local team Shepherd had assembled well before the window the informant had provided them with and keep a low enough profile so as to not worry the public but be present enough so that any suspicious activity could be flagged. 

By the time Soap was allowed to leave, he felt as though he was due another coffee with how little sleep he’d gotten in the last few days and the monolith of a task before them. He gets himself a coffee and tries to find some fresh air. 

 

By the next morning, Soap had developed an uneasy feeling about it all, a feeling he doesn’t manage to shake by the time he’s dressed and sharply awake at just before sunrise. 

The sun is high and expectant by the time they arrive at the airport the next morning. The world stands at attention. 

A thin smattering of clouds obscured the sun from view almost entirely and rendered the world washed out and lifeless on the drive out to the airport. 

By the time they’ve parked and Price is well out of earshot, Soap can’t keep it to himself anymore and turns to Ghost nearest to him by the open door of their vehicle. 

“I have a feeling that informant of Price has been feeding us bullshit.” 

“As much as I trust Price, I’m not so convinced either.” 

There isn’t time to talk about it after that. The day at the airport is tense. Speaking is difficult, airport security knows next to no English, with Price and another English speaking security officer needing to translate any time something mildly suspicious turns up. With the extra security keeping a keen eye on the ground, they were sitting in a closed off room watching the security cameras for signs of suspicious activity. 

Security flags a man but it's a bust. He’s pissed and cursing as he’s patted down for the forgotten pocket knife in his coat. A generous amount of similar issues turn up but nothing to write home about. 

A little after that, there was a brief issue on a forgotten suitcase left in a suspicious position on the other side of the airport, but after twenty minutes and broken exchanges, security confirms it was a false alarm. 

Soap doesn’t know if that should disappoint him or not. Even Shepherd starts to look frustrated by the time noon comes around and they’ve noticed nothing else. 

“Any news from your guy?” Ghost asks later and Price gives a frustrated shake of the head. 

“Haven’t been able to get through to him since this morning. Absolute silence.” 

“So he set us up?”

“It's too soon to call any of that, Ghost. Let's not jump to conclusions.”

 

The day’s still young when it all goes to hell. 

Security screens a woman potentially carrying drugs in her suitcase and she is immediately pulled away into a side room and searched. Her suitcase, marked fragile and wrapped in plastic, is thrown onto a table and opened for search. 

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? There’s glass in there!” 

“An American,” Soap observes, finally glad to be able to understand what was going on around him. 

“Just standard procedure, ma’am,” one of the security officers relay in accented English and indicates for her to hold her arms out for her to be searched. Soap watches her disbelief morph into frustration when her handbag is also tipped out onto the table, sending folded receipts, loose coins and her cell phone clattering out onto the table. 

“Hey, you can’t just mess with my stuff like that,” she says as a man shuffles through her suitcase to find the suspicious item. 

The phone suddenly lights up with an urgent message.

Three missed calls. 

The phone suddenly lights up with an urgent message. 

Three missed calls. 

Mikhail: are you ok? 

Mikhail: answer your phone 

Mikhail: I can see the smoke from my window. Tell me u are ok. 

Mikhail: Jess please, are you at the airport? Did you see it?

 

“Captain, something’s not right here.” Soap reaches for the phone, beckoning Price over to show him the texts. 

“Hey, you can’t just look at my phone. That’s an invasion of my privacy–” 

The phone starts vibrating in his hand as another call comes in, Price turns to her, still kept in place by security. “Who’s Mikhail?” 

“My boyfriend, he’s worried about me.” 

“Why?” 

“Maybe I can ask him if you give me my phone.” 

“Bag is clear,” the man searching her suitcase behind Soap declares and she gives him a harsh glare.  

“I could’ve told you that myself,” she says angrily as she takes her phone back from Soap and calls the number back, hurrying to put her things back into her handbag. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine! Wait, slow down, you’re freaking me out… what… like, actually?”

Soap looks from her to Price. 

“No way… just now?... I didn’t hear anything… are you sure?”  

On the other side of the room, Shepherd’s phone rings in his pocket and he goes to answer it while security escorts the woman out of the room. 

Shepherd’s face morphs into a look of distress and Soap tenses in anticipation. “Say again?” 

Soap can’t make out anything on the other side but it sounds urgent. Shepherd relays the news as he terminates the call. 

“Reports of explosions at the stadium. No official confirmation yet, but it seems like the news has caught onto it.” 

Immediately, Soap curses himself for not trusting his instinct sooner. He knew something was off 

“Makarov used the airport as a diversion.” 

“He could still be at the stadium, we might still have a chance to nail this bastard,” Ghost suggests and they turn to Shepherd for confirmation. 

“Ghost and I can stay at the airport until security can get a read on the situation,  just in case he decides to double back while we’re out. Price, take Burns and MacTavish. The three of you head out and assess the situation at the stadium.”

 

 

The door shuts with a resounding, anxious thud as Price ushers Soap into the passenger seat and straps himself in behind the wheel, acting on muscle memory alone as he releases the handbrake and reverses out of the parking lot at an alarming speed. He turned towards the exit and gestures wildly for the security guard to raise the boom for him to exit the parking faster.

Within a minute, he has navigated out of the incoming traffic and headed onto the highway. 

“What’s the plan when we get there, Cap?” Burns asks from behind Soap. 

“It's difficult to say now. It's fresh. We’ve got no idea what the conditions are or what to expect. So we try to assess and contain the situation as best possible. But knowing Makarov, it's best to assume he’s not done yet.”

“And if he’s there?” Soap asks and Price’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. 

“Then we bring him back.” 

“And if he’s not?” Soap asks. 

“Then this entire operation is dead the water.” 

 

The over chewed wad of gum was bland in his mouth and did little to soothe the tension in Soap’s system as he cast a glance out at the world beyond the passenger window, seeing it pass in a smear of colour. They’ve been driving for a good five minutes now. 

 Heart racing a mile a minute, his anger was only spurred by the comms in his ear as Shepherd's voice came through, confirming the worst. 

“Gold Eagle to Bravo-6. Security confirms gunfire and at least one explosion in the stadium with multiple injuries, over… “

He watches the world in the muted grey, fade from obliviousness to panic as they neared the stadium, seeing the world descending into chaos around them. 

Price reached to press the button on his mic, face setting into a hard look as he yanked the wheel hard for the upcoming turn. “Copy, we’re inbound now.” 

Shepherd’s response was instant. 

“Be advised, Makarov and his men may still be inside. If he’s there, you bring him out– alive.”

Soap felt uneasy about letting the man go with his life, but pushed the concern down, silencing the thought with his own acknowledgement of the order, but it did nothing to ease the growing concern as he caught onto the shifting energy on the street around them. 

“Roger that. Where’s medical?” 

Soap couldn’t make out any words from the civilians outside or let his eyes linger long enough to analyse any of the reactions properly, but they were close enough to the stadium that he knew they must have heard something. 

“First responders will not enter until the scene is clear. The third floor VIP lounge may be Makarov’s next target.” Shepherd’s voice was clear and calm as he spoke, but it instantly added another thread of anxiety to the mix and Soap couldn't stop himself from cursing as Price took another left, narrowly dodging past a truck on the corner and putting them on a street funnelling to the stadium dead ahead. 

“You said it, son,” Shepherd acknowledges Soap over comms. “Ghost and I are ten mikes out. Let's bag this bastard. Out here.” 

The high rise office blocks seemed to shuffle them forward and usher them out to the open air, now enough for them to smell the acrid smoke emanating from the stadium in a rolling curtain of grey heat.

A car swerves onto the road and shoots past them at a speed as they merge onto the main road, panic palpable in the erratic driving of those still on the road and fleeing the scene.

The fear ripples through the crowd like a curtain of panic holding the world in a vice grip and descending over the street like a dire blanket of fear. Even the dying leaves on the trees seemed more dead and wilted into themselves with an unseen oppression, like an incursion of an unknown force pushing hostile tendrils into the ground that the earth itself, and by extension, the trees on the sidewalk, seemed sharp and alert to the whims of its enemy. 

The bleak sky was barren like the sun had withdrawn into itself to make way for the undulating spire of smoke curling into the sky before them from the blazing inferno that leaked from the burst windows of the structure, weeping fire. 

Unconsciously, his hand went for the chain around his neck, but it was obscured by his vest and the lack of that comfort made him feel like he was floating in a sea of disarray with no anchor point. 

“Makarov threatened the airport and hit the stadium instead,” Soap seethes through gritted teeth. Even Sergeant Burns, who had been quiet up until that point, had something to say to the carnage. 

“He’s a fuckin’ madman.” 

A row of orange boom gates that was meant to be blocking off the entrance to the stadium’s underground parking was raised for the hurried exit of the cars, now descended into complete disarray as a car drives straight out through the wrong gate into the incoming lane and almost collides with their vehicle. 

“Fuckin’ hell!” Price cursed as he swerved aside for it, missing it by a hair’s breadth and gunning it to the middle gate before another car could block them off. 

“Civilians are everywhere,” Burns noted, sounding as thoroughly shaken as Soap felt. 

Soap resists the urge to look back at the blaze beside him as Price turns down the ramp to the parking lot. 

“Alright,” Price begins, gathering their collective attention. “Check your shots. We’ll have a lot of unknowns inside.” 

Civilians are fleeing on foot and he doesn’t stop when a man trips on the incline of the road and scuttles out of the way before an oncoming car has the chance to plough him over. 

“And Makarov?” Soap risks a glance back over to the stadium, now towering over them like a lit funeral pyre. 

“You heard the order. ROE still stands. We take him alive.” 

Soap jolted when two cars collided in front of them and glass skittered across the junction. Price had been so fixated on the collision that he didn't notice the civilian rushing in front of them until Soap shouted at him to stop. 

There’s a heavy thud against the hood of the car and for a sickening moment, Soap worries they’ve hit her, but when she stands up unharmed, he breathes a sigh of relief. 

Irritably, Price gestures wildly for her to get out of the road. “Get out of here! Go!” 

They watch her stumble disoriented from their path before shooting off ahead into a dark tunnel. Cars piled up on the outgoing lane and Soap shouts for Price to watch it when a desperate soul reaching the back of the row decides to take a risk and turn onto the incoming lane, narrowly missing them again.

“Close one,” Soap says, trying to make sense of the cacophony of panic surrounding them as he watches for more civilians on foot and desperate cars. 

“We’re still in one piece,” Price concedes mirthlessly as he turns off from the incoming tunnel into a wider section that splits off to a higher floor. 

“Watch it!” Burns cries from the back. 

The wailing of an ambulance siren cuts through the panic and the oncoming glow of a pulsing red light gives them enough of a warning to get out of the way as it rushes past them and they turn up onto the ramp to the higher floor. 

For a moment, Soap has the chance to think its blessedly empty, save for a parked ambulance in his peripheral vision until he witnesses a speeding car mow down a civilian, letting the rest of the group erupt into panic as he reversed and rerouted. 

Soap curses. He glances back at the contorted form of the man as Price drives them past, determination set in his face. 

They can’t afford to go back for him now, probably dead on impact by the look of it, but that wasn’t their concern now. 

“This is chaos,” Burns says. 

“Yeah, it's what Makarov wants,” Price confirms. 

Right now, their concern was Makarov and getting that sick son of a bitch behind bars. Soap sends up a quick prayer for the man now, knowing he’ll forget to do it when they’re out of here and he has time to think, it will be lost to the chaos of the day. 

Price drives them into a single lane funnelling them to another parking block and Soap is relieved to find a welcome sight waiting for them. “Police up ahead.”

“They got here fast,” Burns says as they’re approaching the uniformed men, trying to talk down panicking civilians. Soap was even surprised to see them here so quickly, but he wasn’t going to ask questions with more hands– 

“They’re killing civilians!” Soap cries right as an officer guns down three people and turns towards them. 

He dodges out of the way, shielding his face from the spray of glass bursting inward. 

“Return fire!” Price shouts as Soap manages to get his bearings, tugging on the door handle and reaching for his gun and releasing the seatbelt clasp. 

He practically falls out of his seat as one of the men turns his gun towards them. 

With renewed fervour and hatred for the man they were after, Soap takes down three of the fake policemen in rapid succession. 

The concrete floor is slick with a mixture of blood and viscera and Soap can feel it clinging to the bottom of his boots as he crosses over to the entrance of the staircase leading into the building. A civilian lies slumped against a cold wall. The back half of his skull shot out and he lies marinated in a pool of his own blood.

Not far from him lies one of the officers Soap shot down, gun still tight in his grip. A bullet to the neck had been too merciful a death. His face has got the hard look Soap has come to know with the enemies they deal with, and his hand’s got an old prison tattoo obscured by the cuff of his sleeve. Soap’s seen them enough to recognise it instantly, though. 

“Inner Circle’s posing as police,” Soap relays as Price comes up beside him with Burns in the back, taking point and leading them up the staircase. 

“They’d have access to the VIP area," Burns confirms Soap’s concern. 

“It's on the third floor, let’s move.” 

Another bullet shoots off from an awkward position at the top of the stairs and Soap and Price make quick work of clearing the staircase before emerging into the furnished concourse. 

If he'd thought the parking lot was chaos, this was a step up. 

Several more of the fake first responders were opening fire on civilians, screaming and running for safety only to be shot down by a careless bullet. They trip each other and slick the tiled floors with red. 

Price says something in his ear, but Soap is too preoccupied to register what it is as another police officer pulls his gun on him. 

Soap takes cover behind an advertising screen as another one of Makarov's men fires on him. 

Soap shoots first and the man falls backward with a jolt. 

"Gold Eagle, Bravo-6, we're internal and pushing to the VIP area. Be advised, Inner Circle's posing as police, over." 

"Copy. All police on target are considered hostile."  

"Roger that," Price acknowledges. 

Soap gritted his teeth as he pushed forward against the torrent of fleeing civilians. A heavy weight knocks him sideways as a  man stumbles into him, eyes wide and muttering distraughtly in Russian as he scrambles away from him. 

Ahead of him, one of Makarov's men hurls something through a window and it erupts into flames. 

He ducks more gunfire behind a vacant information desk, scrambling for safety before he reports back to the others. 

"Fuckers are using grenades." 

His lungs burn from the hazy wall of smoke as he moves forward. The floor is covered in contorted bodies and coagulating pools of blood, smelling so strongly that the air around him is tainted with a stomach churning thick fog of burning plastic and stench of iron. 

Burns isn't far behind him, trying to get a civilian to safety but struggling with the language barrier. 

Price barely has time to warn him of the figure running out of the smoke before another one of Makarov's men emerge like a wraith from the haze and nearly manages to get a shot in. He dies with two bullets to the head and neck, hand still reaching for his gun. 

Another woman is shot down as she flees from her hiding spot behind a counter of glass cases selling refreshments, pitching forward into the smudged floor, a stone's throw away from Soap. 

"Fuck!" 

Soap aims to shoot and curses when it clicks empty, quickly ducking behind the kiosk to reload as he grimly locks eyes with the corpse of the woman. 

He takes a deep breath to steel himself before leaving his temporary safe haven and charging at her killer with a rage he didn't think possible. 

Taking the man down he dodges behind a pillar in the centre of the floor as another charges out of the smoke and fires at him. 

A bullet clips his exposed arm and blood runs a warm crimson trail down his forearm. 

He just needs to make it through the concourse and get to the VIP area. His arm can wait. The dead civilians, the smoke in his lungs causing him to become light headed, the mission's already half-failure– it will have to wait.

To his right, Soap finds an entrance to the gift shop, by no doubt shorter than the path around it. 

Soap coughs against the wave of acrid smoke hitting his lungs before he informs the team over comms of his detour. 

He steps around the mangled body in the centre of the floor. Even through the cacophony of screaming and gunfire, he has half the mind to notice how heavy his boots have become, slaked in the grime and glass littering the floor. 

Soap reconvenes with Price by the entrance of a stairwell, taking point. He dodges pasta man running them down two at a time, resisting the urge to move out of harm's way as a barrage of gunfire from the top of the staircase sends bodies tumbling the rest of the way to the landing and piling up together by Soap's feet. 

He makes quick work of shooting up the son of a bitch, wasting no more than two billets to make sure he was properly dead. 

At the top of the staircase, he's met with a dead end. 

"Exit's locked." 

"On it," Price says, coming up behind him to pry the door open. 

Burns comes to stand beside Soap, observing the words on the door. Clearly, his Russian was better than Soap's. 

"Executive level. VIP level is close." 

The door gives way and Soap quickly confirms the floor is clear. 

There is an eerie silence overlayed onto the shrill, mindless drone of the fire alarm. The entire floor is strewn with casualties, not a living soul in sight. 

Makarov's men had swept through like a pestilence. 

"Eyes on the VIP," Price says as he spots it to their left. "Got movement inside. Stay sharp." 

Price steps away as they reach the door to give way to Soap, inclining his head in Soap’s direction.  

"On you, Sergeant." 

Soap grips the door handle and twists it on the mental count of three. 

"Special forces," Price cries as Soap pushes the door open, gun at the ready. There’s several men inside, dressed in blue uniforms and tending to bleeding, half dead men on stretchers. Though Soap is glad for the help, he’s seen enough today to be sceptical of anything. 

Soap shouts for them to show their hands and they’re up immediately, all looking from one to the other with worried expressions. 

 "First responders! Don't shoot!" One of the men steps forward, eyes darting nervously from the gun in Soap's hands, to his face, to Price and back again.

The air conditioning is cold on his sweat damp skin. There’s a handful of TVs in the room, all set to mute, but they’re turned into the news, reporting from the outside of the stadium, still shrouded in a column of rapidly worsening smoke. 

"How did you get in here?" Price demands sternly. 

"Security," he stammers, flustered and shell shocked. "Security let us in." 

"Who are you with?" Price pushes. 

"Please, we are trying to save lives." Another of the paramedics is just barely suppressing the urgency in his voice. 

Soap casts a sceptical glance over to the poor half-dead man on a stretcher to his right. Other paramedics are gathered around him, trying to stabilise his condition as best possible. 

"Shit, I need help over here," A paramedic by the side of the body says as he looks up urgently and finds Soap's gaze locked on him. "Soldier, please?"

Taking a risk while the other is occupied by Price's questioning, Soap moves over to assist as best he can. He's no field medic but he knows the basics if he ever gets himself into a twist. 

"Stand fast, Sergeant," Price warns, but he's already halfway over when the man draws a gun from his drug bag. He's a quick draw, but Soap is just as fast.

Soap fires just as a blow to his chest knocks him backwards with all the power of a freight train and he hits the floor with a painful thud. The bullet proof vest absorbs the brunt of the impact, but the shot still hurts like a bitch. 

It is outnumbered by the adrenaline and he recovers quickly, assisting Price and Burns in taking care of the other Inner Circle scum. 

His ears ring in the absence of the gunfire and his free hand comes to clutch futilely at the phantom pain of the gunshot over the clamouring of his racing heart. The tac vest obscures its path and his fingers grasp at spare magazines, his sidearm, as it tries to tear a direct path to ease the pain. 

The shot is absorbed into the marrow of his ribs and he knows somehow he'll feel it worse tomorrow. 

"You broken?" Price asks in a serious tone and he shakes his head. 

"Just the plate." 

Soap makes his way over to the table where various medical bags and equipment was set out on the pretence of being useful, but upon closer inspection, Soap notices the heart monitor is ancient, at least from the 90s and missing its internal wiring. 

Burns beside him opens one of the bags and turns to Price. “Check it. They had explosives. This was their next target.” 

Price calls it in immediately. “Gold Eagle Actual, explosives located in the VIP area. No sign of Makarov.”

Soap moves over to the window, eyebrows knitting together as he sees the rubble beneath the window from where the roiling mass of black smoke was rising up from. The field was empty, but there were casualties twisted and dead in the seats, either blown to bits or trampled by the masses in their bid to weave through the labyrinth of seats. 

He cuts his attention back to the task at hand when Shepherd returns to comms. “Copy, make it safe. Local set up a cordon, so Makarov will have to exfil fast. We’re five mikes out. Don’t let him escape, son.” 

Soap checks the pulse on the nearest man on a stretcher, but he’s so far gone dead, he knows for sure the Inner Circle just had him up there as a cover. 

“Roger that.” 

“The garage,” Burns says. 

It's the next logical option, Soap reasons and Price seems to agree. “Affirm,” he nods to the bag they’d been looking at earlier. “Secure the explosives and get to the secondary exfil.”

Burns gives him a nod of acknowledgement and Price gestures for Soap to follow him, moving over to the door on the opposite side of the VIP area and back into the concourse, the shrill alarm still insistently echoing through the space. 

Along the inner wall, Price stops him short at an elevator and he and Soap just about manage to pry the doors open with force, only for them to slide open and reveal a dark void plunging down into the abyss beneath them.

The only sign that there was something down there was a dim red glow licking up the sides of the elevator shaft, catching on the rivets and dents in the metal plating. 

 Soap took an instinctive step back from where the polished floor dropped off, giving a sceptical glance up to the elevator’s resting point a fair bit above their heads. 

Wires jutted out from the dark and trembled slightly with a phantom tremor of the cables, like vocal cords vibrating an ominous metal groan. Soap was unsure how safe it was for them to be standing there with the metal contraption suspended in the air by nothing but rickety cold war era engineering and pure faith holding it up, but when Price seizes one of the cold cables and drops down into the darkness, Soap has no choice but to follow. 

He hits the floor below with a force he feels compress into his spine and he grimaces. 

Price meets him at the bottom. “Eyes peeled for Makarov.” 

Soap sets himself with new determination as they emerge into the larger space. Empty buses are parked on either side of the tunnel, forcing them to move away from the walls inward. 

A chill runs down Soap’s spine as he hears the echoing of footsteps ahead, run-shuffle across the cast concrete. He reaches for his gun instinctively but Price halts him in his tracks as the man comes into view at the other end of the tunnel. 

“Check fire, that’s a civilian.” 

His gun lowers, but only slightly. 

Ahead of them around the bend of the turn, the rhythmic pulsing of a red emergency light caught Soap’s attention and he stopped dead for a moment, straining to hear the sirens before Price could confirm his suspicion. 

“Vehicle incoming.”  

It rounded the corner slowly, like it was a cornered animal placing a careful step forward into the crosshairs of its pursuer. 

Soap stepped forward, but Price laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“Maintain distance, Soap. Could be Makarov.” 

An empty bus to his left stood as the only shield between him and the ambulance a couple of metres ahead of him. He takes a cautious step backward as the ambulance inched closer at an excruciatingly slow pace, lurching as it halted. 

Price held his gun at the ready, moving away from the direct line of the ambulance. 

“Step out of the vehicle!” 

Though Soap couldn’t see who was inside, it was as though its unmovable energy almost seemed to mock them. 

It happened almost out of nowhere and predictably quickly at the same time. The engine revved and there was a moment the ambulance reversed sharply, turned on the sirens and ploughed forward. 

“Incoming!” Soap shouts and he and Price move out of the way on either side of the oncoming vehicle, Soap knocking his already tender shoulder against the back of the bus with the force he falls backwards with. 

There's the echoing crush of metal as the careless driving of the ambulance sees it knocking into an abandoned car and barreling over onto its side, ceasing the urgency of the siren to a dead silence. The absence of sound and the shifting of angular shadows from the strobing of the red emergency light mounted on the roof drew on the vastness of the dark parking garage, threatening to send the already heightened atmosphere to a fever pitch. 

“It’s down,” Soap says with only a hint of relief. 

Price was already moving. “Move to secure.” 

Soap bit the inside of his cheek to avoid showing how much the strain was impacting him as he and Price made their way over to the upturned vehicle, wheels still spinning for phantom grasp in the air, like desperate waving limbs that couldn’t grasp the earth to flee. 

The doors remained resolutely closed, but Soap’s stomach twisted at what he knew he would find there. There was no question of it. That ominous energy, the itching of his sixth sense, he knows it in the marrow of his bones. 

“Open it,” Price motioned Soap over to the door. 

Though hesitant, he complied, tugging the dented metal door open with a firm yank and flooding the gutted ambulance with sharp torchlight. 

“Hands! Hands!” Price shouted for the figure in the blue uniform moving from his sprawled position, his face turned away from them for the moment. “Pokazat' ruki!” Soap shouted for good measure, drawing on his limited Russian to make sure the man got the message. 

Dead on impact, there were two fake paramedics sprawled on the now earthside wall, but his attention was fixed on the man crouching towards the back, shielding his face from the glaring light. 

His hand shifted away from his face to raise in vitriolic surrender and Soap cursed, instinctively readjusting his grip on his gun. “It's him.” 

“Vladimir Makarov, step out of the vehicle now!” 

Sending them a searing look, Makarov gritted his teeth and crawled across the uneven side of the ambulance panelling, knees shifting over the bruised, dead limbs of his men. 

“Nice and easy,” Soap warns when he gets a bit too close to the door for his liking. After all, he still had his firearm tucked into the holster on his bullet proof vest. 

“That’s far enough.” Soap held out a hand to halt him when he attempted to take a step further from getting out of the ambulance. 

“Now don’t fucking move.” Makarov’s attention shifted to Price as he ordered Soap to search him. 

Soap immediately relieves him of the gun and tosses it out of reach. Makarov’s face held a discontented but somehow still neutral expression that Soap struggled to read. 

“You scared Captain?” he asks in a condescending tone as Soap went through the cursory motions of patting him down for extra firepower. Makarov takes Price’s silence as a win. “You should be.” 

“Shut up.”

A little grin tucks into the corner of his mouth and Soap has had about enough of it. He’ll take silence, he’ll take anger, but he will not have enjoyment coming from someone on the wrong end of a gun. 

He’s a soldier. He does not play fair in the game of terrorists. 

“Get on your fucking knees!” Soap manhandles him into a kneel on the cold concrete. 

Without the usual decorum, Soap roughly completes the search. “He’s clean.” 

Not wasting any time, Soap reaches into his pocket for zip ties and tightens them a bit more than strictly necessary, using a second one for good measure.

“Are you going to kill me?” Makarov asks evenly, completely ignoring the hard plastic digging into his wrists and focusing his attention on Price. 

“Oh I’ve thought about it, yeah.” 

He scoffs. “I recommend you do.”

“And I recommend you tell your men to stand down.” Price’s eyebrows narrowed at him. The gun now hovered only a foot away from Makarov’s face, but he remained unfazed. His expression remained unimpressed and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. 

“They’re not trained to stand down. That’s more… your strategy.” 

Soap couldn’t believe the audacity of him. Even like this, he thinks he’s got the upper hand. It takes a heavy helping of self restraint for Soap not to knock his teeth out. 

Price ignores him, locking eyes with Soap. “Keep him close.”

Soap tugs on his bound arms to get him to stand, following behind Price as he radios in. 

“All stations. We have Makarov. We’re moving to the extract.” 

“Roger that, John. they’ll fight to get him back…” 

“We’re counting on it,” Soap says bitterly with a bit of a shrug. 

He doesn’t miss the way Makarov turns to shoot him a venomous glance and he gets a bit of a rise out of it. 

“Alright, take him left. We clear these vehicles, we move up,” Price instructs him shortly, taking the lead and Soap acknowledges him, yanking Makarov roughly to his feet and shoving him in Price’s general direction. “Get goin’.” 

Price confirms the area on the other side of the ambulance is clear, and Soap starts them out at an urgent pace, making sure not to give the man any chance at a rest after the tumble he’d just taken in the ambulance. 

“You think you can just walk me out of here?” Makarov’s voice doesn’t have a hint of worry or remorse.

“We can drag you out as well,” Soap reminds him, giving him a rough shove to make him pick up his pace, but if Makarov feels anything at the rough treatment, he keeps it to himself. 

“Capturing me… it means nothing.” 

“It means we beat you, Vlad.” 

Soap can just barely see him shake his head, huffing out a laugh. “Don’t be a fool.” 

“Contact!” Price shouts from somewhere ahead of him and Soap’s first instinct is to duck behind the nearest vehicle as the Inner Circle men Price had spotted come into view, irritably losing Makarov to the confusion. 

 He gets a shot in, risking a glance sideways to Price who reassures him he’s got Makarov secured, but Makarov and one of the men are shouting back and forth for another moment before he gets him down too. 

“We clear?” Price asks him when the last man falls. 

“Affirm.” 

“It's not safe here. Grab Makarov, we need to move.” 

Price waits for Soap to take him before they proceed down the tunnel towards where they would be meeting with the others outside. 

“You’re not safe anywhere,” Makarov tells him and Soap’s just about had enough. 

“Your luck’s running dry, Makarov.” 

They’re coming up by another skewly parked bus, promptly ignoring the dead body of one of the Inner Circle men Soap had shot down, lying slumped behind it, Makarov doesn’t even look in his direction, just keeps his eyes focused dead ahead. 

“I don’t believe in luck. I believe in planning. Bad luck, it's just poor planning.” 

“What part of your plan involves rotting in a prison?” 

“A man can be locked up,” Makarov reminds him. “An idea cannot.” 

Soap keeps him close, tightening his grip on Makarov when they pass a woman trying to flee the building and giving her a jump scare. Soap tries to give her an apologetic look, but she’s clearly shell shocked and just stumbles away from him. 

Price is up ahead, securing them a path through to where they were to rendezvous with the others. 

“Found a way through, Sergeant. Lets move.” 

Up ahead was a blockade of buses, narrowly parked together, pressed into the wall. As Soap neared it, he could see the arms of daylight reaching for them from the gap between the two. 

“I bestow my blessings on your courage, but curse your stupidity.” 

“Worry about yourself.”

“Every man is replaceable, even me.” 

The only way around the barrier would be to squeeze through the narrow gap between the two vehicles, but it appeared Price was willing to bet they’d fit. 

“On me,” Price calls to Soap and slots in first. 

Soap gives Makarov a shove, both to move him forward and to shut him up as they come up to the gap, making progress at a snail's crawl. Soap isn’t particularly put off by tight spaces, but this could change that. 

Still, he takes Makarov by the shoulders and forces him after Price, sucking in as far as possible to try to keep his gear from snagging as they move. 

What’s even more unnerving is the pained crying he can hear from inside the bus, a bleak chance that there were still lives that could be saved in this shitshow. They didn’t have the time to stop now. 

“You’re not a soldier, you’re a war criminal.” Price picks up on it too, giving a heated glance in Makarov’s direction as he shuffles sideways. He’s more than irritated with Makarov’s attitude in combination with the injured civilians just metres away from them.

“These people need medical.” 

“What’s stopping you from helping them, Sergeant?” Makarov asks condescendingly and Soap shoves him sideways to keep moving. 

“You.” 

Makarov looks back at Soap. “That's your choice.” 

“You did this, not us…” Price reminds him sharply.

“They’re innocent people,” Soap adds from the side.  

“No one is innocent. War is treachery.” 

“Enough of this shite.” 

Price groans as he squeezes past the last bit and emerges into the open, Makarov –still within Soap’s grasp– follows shortly and Price has them heading for the exit, just to the right, just a little further and they’ll be out of the smoke and into the light. It gives Soap the strength to push on. 

Just to the end of the tunnel. A smoking wreck of a car flickers by the end of it, a false beacon of hope, but Soap knows it's just a little further. He just needs to keep his head on straight. Maybe what he says next is to distract himself, maybe it's because he wants to throw stones at the enemy while there isn’t a glass wall and several government officials between them. 

He doesn’t want to admit that it's probably to cover a chip in his own hope they’ll get out of this in one piece. He’s learned that celebrating the victory too soon only turns a blind eye to the evil building in his peripheral vision.  

“Time for you to meet some friends of mine.” They’re so close that Soap can almost begin to sense the relief of a win drawing close. He’ll get to go home in one piece and he’ll make good on his promises, all the ones he almost failed on. He’ll get time to reconsider his resignation, maybe he’ll let Scotland and its people resculpt him into an honest man. 

“Where are they?” 

Soap doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a full answer, lips turning into a conceited sneer. “Close.” 

Makarov gave a half-shrug, letting the cuffs jingle a bit behind his back. His hands were balled into tight, tense fists. 

“So are mine.” 

Soap worries it’s too late to save himself now, but he’s twenty-five. A lot of people find their feet at the age of twenty-five. He can still choose to rewrite the ending of his story. He can still return to the nostalgia of his not-yet-past youth, his mother’s home cooked meals. “You should know when you’ve lost.” 

“You’re still thinking about victory. Think about success.” 

It's another pebble thrown against Makarov’s unshakable demeanour, hitting nowhere vital but somehow still spurring him to give Soap a word of advice, sitting on that self-made throne. 

“The wicked prosper. They always will. Peace is invisible. War you can see…” 

Soap hates how evocative it sounds, how a weaker man might have thought it inspirational. Soap just thinks it sounds as though he’s pulled it from a fortune cookie. 

Soap’s nose scrunches up as the smoke thickens and burns at his lungs, blinking as his eyes water from the burn too. 

“Incoming!” 

He’s more prepared for the hits this time when the bullet zips past his head to disappear into the inferno. 

“Molotov!” Price shouts to him and he ducks away behind another wrecked vehicle as a bottle hurtles through the air and shatters on the floor just a couple of metres away, sending flames licking up the side of the wall. 

“I’ve got Makarov, you take ‘em out.” 

Soap swiftly takes care of the man running at him, catching him before he’s even spotted Soap behind the car and turns on the other man running to cover his fallen comrade. 

Soap takes down the next three in rapid succession, sidestepping another attempt at a molotov in his direction and finding the thrower with a bullet to the neck.

The last man catches him by surprise and he takes a hit to the arm before he gets a good shot in. The man slumps to the floor and Soap grits his teeth as he scans around for anyone else to materialise out of the smoke before relaxing slightly. Crisis averted. 

“We’re clear.” 

In his adrenaline high mind, the bullet wound, though only a graze, was a distant low hum, barely offering a distraction from the here and now. He resists the urge to clutch at his chest as he returns to Price. 

He’s by the gate, forcing Makarov to his knees with a gun pressed against his neck. 

“Lift it.” Price inclines his head to the gate and Soap drops to his knees to pull at the edge and lift it just high enough for them to duck under. Once out, he lets it drop with a thundering crash. 

“Gold Eagle Actual, we’re external. East side of the stadium. What’s your status?” 

Soap comes up behind Price, eyebrows drawn together and squinting at the too-bright sky for their helicopter flying over the building to land on the other side. 

“Bravo-6, we’re on station. Be advised, you have enemy personnel moving in from the North. Ghost will provide sniper support.” 

“Copy. We'll meet you at primary exfil. Six out,” Price says and turns to Soap. “I’ll handle Makarov, you clear a path.” 

Soap moves ahead, sticking close to cover as he eliminates those of Makarov’s men still looking to take him back. He’s briefly aware of Price behind him, but he makes sure to cover all their bases before the Inner Circle men can get the better of them. He’s too desperate for a win now. 

To his left, a man emerges from behind a white van, cowering behind a riot shield as he tries to get a shot at Soap. Soap moves back to duck behind a parked car but he lets out an involuntary curse when a neat bullet clips the man in the back of the head and he collapses onto the pavement with a heavy lurch. 

He follows the path of the bullet up to the helicopter hovering above their exfil point, finding the imposing silhouette in the doorway and he acknowledges the man with a nod. 

Ghost may be a bit of a prick, but as Soap looks down at the mess of the man’s skull spattered across the concrete, he can at least acknowledge he’s a good shot. 

“Watch right,” Ghost warns him over the comms and Soap turns and fires at a man ducked behind a parked car.  

There seems to be no further pursuit and Ghost confirms it a moment later, giving them the green light to proceed to exfil with Price and Makarov shortly behind him. 

The helicopter has barely touched down and Ghost is standing guard at the open door, expression completely obscured by the mask, but Soap can sense the tension in his stance as he just barely tracks their movements. 

Soap squints against the torrent of wind coming in his direction, finding Shepherd’s outstretched hand to tug him over the threshold of the doorway. And it's homeward. They made it. 

Price comes in after him, handing Makarov over to Shepherd before he wordlessly taps Ghost on the shoulder to signal him inside. 

The door shuts with a resounding bang and soon, they’re up in the air, watching the smoking stadium recede beneath them. 

Soap steadies himself against the wall to allow himself to catch his breath, resisting the urge to turn and face the monster of a man behind him as Price makes sure he’s secure. He takes a long look at the city beneath him. He can sense it writhing with panic and it itches beneath his skin in a way he cannot put word to. 

“Simon Riley.” Makarov’s accent registers behind him and Soap glances to the left to find Ghost still by the door, now facing Makarov at the mention of his name. Soap turns to meet Makarov’s eye for a moment, but his gaze quickly averted back to Ghost. 

“I expected you to stay at the airport… and die there.” 

“If you wanna live, do not threaten my men, Vladimir,” Shepherd warns him. 

“Are we on a first name basis? Herschel?” 

“So you know names,” Soap cuts in impatiently. “Anyone can read a bloody dossier.” 

A beat passes and when no one makes any move to ask any of the big questions, Ghost doesn’t beat around the bush. 

“What’s the rest of your plan?” 

“This.” He shrugs, almost nonchalant, staged in a way that put Soap’s nerves on edge. Like he knew this was eating at them and he was enjoying watching the scene unfold instead of worrying about the fact he wouldn’t be able to slip through the noose this time. 

Price sits forward. “What do you mean ‘this’?” 

“Amazing. You’re all dumber than you look.” 

“I asked you a question–” Ghost reminds him sharply. 

“And I have a question for you.” he addresses them all, inclining his head in Soap’s direction, hinting at his watch. “What time is it?” 

“What the hell do you care what time it is?” Shepherd asks impatiently and he gives half a shrug as partial explanation. 

“Timing is everything, General. I think we’ll all remember this moment. Some… more fondly than others.” 

It registers first as a distant rumble. A shaking of earth that offsets the balance of the air by such a dire tone it compels Soap to look out the window and find the source of the noise. His heart plummets into his feet. 

“The airport,” Ghost says with more concern Soap thought he was capable of. 

“He pulled us off target.” 

“You fucking son of a bitch!” 

Something in Soap snaps. He’s restrained himself far too long and before he’s even realised what he’s doing, he’s pulling his gun and grabbing Makarov with a fistful of the blue uniform he was wearing, knocking him against the metal wall with a reverberating bang before tossing him to the floor. 

“I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out, I swear I’ll do it.” 

Makarov locks eyes with him over the barrel of the gun, mere inches away from his face and finds Soap’s eyes with an intensity he didn’t think possible. 

“Soap, don’t do it,” Price warns him, but its dead noise in his periphery. Still, he hesitates. He feels the chain chafing against his neck.

The gun waits between them for Soap to pull the trigger. His finger itches, he clutches just a bit, with no pressure. But he could if he wanted to, he feels the impulse curl his finger in his mind’s eye but there is no gunshot and Makarov is still looking at him as though he’s bluffing. 

“Do it, come on,” Makarov taunts him. 

“You shut your mouth,” Price tells him, but his eyes never leave Soap. 

“Let me finish him.” Soap doesn’t know why he’s waiting for permission. He knows what needs to be done, but he can’t. He needs that bit of reassurance that its a necessary evil. 

Makarov gives a cynical laugh but Price pulls his attention. “John, we have him, he’s in custody. He’s not going anywhere. Stand down, Sergeant.” 

With all the self restraint he can muster, Soap pulls back before he can impulsively pull the trigger, reholstering the gun and taking a seat as far away from Makarov as possible. 

Price tugged Makarov up from the floor and into his own seat. 

“I thought you were the good guys.” 

“You gon’ rot in hell for this,” Shepherd tells him. 

“You’ll die in the gulag with the rest of the Russian rats,” Soap adds. 

Makarov glances at Soap, eyes drifting down to the gun now tucked uselessly into its holster. 

“You can lock me away, MacTavish, but I can promise you, the next time we’ll be seeing each other, you better hope your Captain didn’t just sign your death warrant.” 

Soap has learned over the years that the silence after the fact can sometimes be more haunting than the screams that came before it. Silence is a full stop that drives the hope into the ground and smothers any thought of change for the better. 

Silence is the whiplash passing of the first stage of grief and sinking into those later phases, the knowing that nothing can be done once the last breath has passed dying lips and all that can be clung to is the husk of what remains. 

Sometimes the acknowledgement of the silence is the victory for the sadistic intention, so tight lipped, Vladimir Makarov took the lack of words following the skirmish with Soap on the ground as a proof of this victory. 

Soap didn’t let it show, but he felt it in his knees, sinking into acceptance of the horror and he sank to his seat in bitter anger. He would not let Makarov have the satisfaction of being ignored, so he made a point of looking him in the eye as they made their way back to base, from which General Shepherd had informed them authorities were already awaiting their arrival to take Makarov off their hands. 

Halfway through the return trip, Ghost comes to take a seat next to him and Soap shifts an inch or two further away to allow himself to breathe. 

He’s aware of the motion beside him, Ghost clenching and unclenching his fist in Soap’s peripheral vision.

He’s surprised Ghost isn’t more visibly worked up by the situation, but Soap realises that idea might have come from a misjudgement of the man’s character on his part. Ghost was reserved and brash, but he was calculated, something Soap worried he fell terribly short on. 

“You’re a hard man to kill, Riley. My men tell me you’re dead on paper. Suppose it goes to show that even if you read between the lines, most of the story is left off the books.”

“You’ve got nothing to gain here, Makarov. You’ve lost. Throwing stones at us isn’t going to help your case,” Soap warns him harshly, but Ghost holds up a hand to silence him.

From out of the window, Soap can see them coming up on the base and the helicopter begins to turn in for landing. 

“No, let him talk. I wanna know what else kind of shit has been circulating.” 

“Only a fool lays all his cards on the table, but I will tell you this. Your system, your government is lying to you. They’re using you, tell you its for your country. But they’re all the same, your Captain,” Makarov nods to Price, “the General, they’ve got more skeletons in the closet than they’ll let on, just make sure you don’t become one of them.” 

“No one should be taking advice from a madman,” Price dismisses him. “And we’re coming up on your last stop before you won’t be seeing the sun for a long time, so you better take one long look at the world, because it's the last you’ll be seeing of it.”

The helicopter descended on the landing pad. 

A waiting group of armed men in uniforms stood close by and approached with urgency when the doors opened and Makarov was taken into official custody of the Kastovian government. 

The exchange happens in Russian and Soap struggles to follow along with it as they get out with Price after General Shepherd and the men escorting Makarov into the building, following behind at a respectable distance. 

Makarov is properly restrained and escorted off base to another facility in an armoured vehicle and Soap feels a strange emptiness settle over him as he watches them leave the premises. They’d gotten Makarov, but he cannot consider this a victory. “You did good today,” Price informs him a while later when they’re alone. “The outcome is far from what we hoped for, but we made sure he’ll never be able to do something like this again.” 

Burns arrives later with questions about Makarov’s arrest and the airport after the bomb squad had successfully taken care of the rest of the explosives on site at the stadium, but he’s got very little to say in return to Soap’s recollection of it. 

 

Finding he can’t manage to catch any sleep after an hour of tossing and turning, Soap supposes he should give up on sleep in general. 

He wants to reflect about the day, but his mind is cluttered with thoughts about the thousand of innocent lives lost in the carnage, its jarring to see those faces from the news, burned into his mind and superimposed over what the airport had looked like when they’d driven towards it just that morning, those people outside, saying goodbye to families, pressing kisses to cheeks with a promise of ‘see you soon’. Most of those people are crushed and buried under rubble and maybe even lost forever. The thought is sickening. 

Though it's futile and seems like a juvenile remedy to a problem that can’t be helped, he replays that moment on the flight out from the stadium over and over again, and in each instance, he pulls the trigger and Makarov is dead on the ground. He doesn’t listen to Price. 

Fuck. If only he hadn’t listened to Price back then. 

It wouldn’t have mattered though, he’d have felt just as guilty seeing it on the news, knowing he could have done something to help as he feels now, knowing that he’d been played for a fool. 

Lying back on the bed, Soap dips his hand under the hem of his shirt and pulls out the tangle of his dog tags with the cross over his chest. It dangles in the artificial heatless glow of the industrial strip light he’d neglected to turn off, clinking together as he holds it just a few centimetres from his face, skin warm and seeming to possess a life of its own. He clutches it all together over his heart and closes his eyes, trying to muster the words for a silent prayer through all the clutter of his mind. 

His mind jumps around, but it's sincere. He prays for the families he knows must be mourning their loved ones, for those in hospitals clinging to life, for the people who’d lost their lives today. He puts a conscious effort to word it understandably despite how utterly exhausted he is, even though he knows that God must already know what he has to say. 

Yes, he should probably stop swearing so much and he’s not proud of his history, but at least he’s trying. His hands are covered in the blood of people that despite their choices, God would have wanted to call his children and he’d killed them for material means. No matter how evil their actions, Soap had killed hundreds if not thousands of people over the years. 

It doesn’t matter how tainted the soul, blood is still blood. 

But he’s doing good with the darkness he’d been born with, the destruction he was always leaning more towards. He’d been entrusted with this attribute like a double edged sword he must use wisely and he reminds himself that he does it so that others can keep their hands clean. 

It's a noble thing to do, to sacrifice your own innocence for the sake of others. It's honourable. 

He can only lie there for so long before his skin itches for something other than the stillness of the stale room. Burns is knocked out on the bunk across from him and Soap gets up and leaves the room, turning off the light upon his exit. 

He decides fresh air might do him good and he takes his chance to slip out onto the roof to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. 

The night sky is almost completely obscured by the haziness of the smoke that had spread out from the epicentre of the airport, only letting in through pinpricks of blinking light from the stars. It takes Soap’s breath away for a moment. 

He hadn’t realised just how easily he could see the airport from the base, especially situated on the hill, overlooking the city. He can’t see all of Verdansk, but he can see enough to know how much the disaster has affected it.

He can hear the wailing of sirens and the dim flashing of red lights responding to the remainder of the disaster. 

Soap sighs heavily as he walks over to the edge of the roof, sinking down to his knees and scooting over to dangle his feet off the edge of the roof, he’s half startled out of the haze when his phone vibrates in his pocket. 

He debates answering the message later but goes to pull out his phone. 

Four unread messages. all from Elena. 

Elena: a guy came into work today and he looked almost exactly like you. It was sort of scary.

Elena: oh btw, you left your sweater at my house the other day in case you were looking for it. 

Elena: hey, how was your day?

Elena: Look, I understand if you’re busy and just don’t have the time to talk to me, but if you don’t want to see me anymore, I’d appreciate it if you told me. I can handle it. I really like you and I thought we had a genuinely good connection the other day, but I get it, the moment’s over and I was clearly reading the situation wrong. It seems like we went into it with two very different intentions and I just don’t think it's going to work. After everything that happened, I think I just need someone that’s present and I need some time to work on myself before I get into anything now. I’m sorry.

Well, fuck. Soap can’t be everywhere, he can’t fix everything, he can’t be there for everyone. Maybe he should’ve tried to respond sooner, but on top of today’s disaster, it stings. 

John: There's nothing to be sorry about. I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I don’t want to talk to you, really, I’ve just had a really long day. And I think you’re right, I don’t think this is going to work. I had a great time getting to know you but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now and things are very stressful here. I just have a lot of things to think of right now and I don’t think it's fair to drag you along with me.

It didn’t take very long for her to respond to him, quickly adding a heart emoji in response to his message before she wrote back. 

Elena: thank you for being honest with me. 

There was nothing more after that and Soap stared at the last message for a couple of moments, frowning at it as the screen darkened and died. He sighed heavily, shoving the phone back into his pocket, looking down at the cracked pavement two storeys below him, right to where they had parked coming into base just two days ago and how he couldn’t have ever imagined what was in store for him. 

“Just don’t fall, you’ll cause me paperwork.” 

The voice startled Soap to his core and he almost tipped forward by the sound of it, cursing as he stabilised himself again. 

He turned to find a small pinprick of light from where a dark clothed figure leaned against a wall not far from him. He hadn’t even recognised the smell of cigarette smoke, figuring it was the wind carrying the smoke from the explosion site. 

“Shit, Ghost, you scared me,” Soap laughed uneasily as the man approached him to stand by the railing. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says. Soap gets to his feet and Ghost holds out a half empty pack of Marlboro cigarettes in Soap’s direction, an olive branch. Soap isn’t sure he’ll take it. 

“I don’t smoke. It's a filthy habit.” 

Ghost rolled his eyes, sighing around his own cigarette as he plucked one from the pack, lit it and offered it again, now with a thin curl of silver smoke distending from its orange glow. It highlights the edges of the skeleton motif on his gloves and somehow, Soap knows he’ll carry a part of this day with him for days onwards, because the smell of that cigarette will burn into the fabric of his gloves. 

“I don’t smoke,” Soap insists again with a frown, but all Ghost does is take his hand –not roughly, but not gently either– and puts the thin cigarette between his fingers. 

“After a day like today, everybody smokes, Soap.” 

Soap hesitates with it for a moment, watching the glow eat away at the unburnt part of the cigarette and inching closer away from the ashen end before he gives in and raises it to his mouth for a long, much needed draw. 

He wishes he could wipe the smug look he just knows Ghost has under that mask off his face as he watches the action, knowing how easy it is to fall back into dormant muscle memory. 

“You don’t smoke, huh?” 

Soap pouts, not sure how much he wants to let the strange man in on his past, but he settles for something basic. “I don’t smoke anymore .” 

Ghost nods, whether it was meant to be mocking or genuine is something Soap’s ego can’t discern. “Right.” 

They stand there for a moment in the pseudo-silence, filled with the ambience of night sounds and distant sirens echoing through the ether and surrounding the two of them in a lamentous hum. 

“If it was up to me, I’d have let you kill him today.”

“You would?” Soap asks with genuine confusion. 

“I would. Price doesn’t always think of it that way, but the world’s better off without having scum like him wasting space, even if he’s behind bars.”

Ahead, somewhere from out of the darkness, the glow of the burning airport stood out, a beacon of hellish light that made Soap’s skin crawl. They’re far away and the attack was hours ago, but it lingers on his skin like an itch he can’t run away from. 

He leans on the cigarette for comfort, and just a little, the presence of the taller man beside him helps to ease the loneliness of feeling like one tremendous failure. 

“Don’t think too hard about it Soap, it’ll make your hair fall out and we certainly can’t have that with that illustrious haircut of yours.” 

Soap jerked his head around so fast, he could’ve almost sworn Ghost startled just a little. 

“Oh you’re one to talk about appearances with that halloween costume shite you’ve got going on.” 

It takes two seconds for Soap to realise he’d chosen the wrong option. He’d overstepped one of the rules Price had very clearly set out for him. No questions about his appearance. 

To his surprise, Ghost just gives him a bit of a laugh, albeit a bit of a snide one. “To each their own, but I’m serious, don’t beat yourself up about what happened today, there’s no use in dwelling on it.”

Soap frowns. “How am I not supposed to dwell on it? If we hadn’t responded to the attack on the stadium, if you and Shepherd hadn’t followed after us, we would have died there too,” he gestures vaguely out at the glow of the still smouldering heap of rubble. 

“That’s just the way of the world, Soap. No one gets into this job thinking you’ll walk away with a bruise or a cut you can just slap a plaster over. People die, that’s how it works. We just happen to see more of it because of what we do. We are not entitled to living longer or dying later or easier because we’re supposed to be heroes. We could have died today, but what does it actually matter in the grand scheme of things.” 

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, Lt,” Soap says dryly, bringing the cigarette to his mouth again. In the corner of his eye, he can see Ghost do the same. 

“Maybe I’ve just been screwed over by the system that’s supposed to keep me alive more than I’ve been saved by it.” 

Soap shrugged, but it didn’t sit right with him, the idea that death was just an inevitable fact of life. He’s too stubborn to believe it. For someone who’d spent more than half his waking life trying to change the hand he’d been dealt when he was born to broke college student parents and the expectation to be utterly average, he didn’t take kindly to the notion of just accepting things he can’t change, even if it drives him up the wall. 

There’s a lot of other, more personal questions he wants to ask the man instead, but he settles for something safer. 

“How do you deal with it? Stuff like today?” 

“I’m not the person you should be asking for advice, Soap,” Ghost says with a hint of surprise. “That’s more Price’s thing.” 

Soap turned to face him, trying to analyse what little he could see of his face where the mask was pulled up just high enough for him to smoke. He can just about see the curve of his lip around the cigarette and the edge of what seemed to be a jagged scar extending from the corner of his mouth. 

Just as quickly as Soap had seen it, he lowered the cigarette, holding the smoke for a moment before he released it in a slow exhale. 

“I’m not asking for advice, I’m asking how you cope.” 

“I keep going. Sometimes the only way to cope is to endure.” 

The silence that followed thereafter was more comfortable, more settled. Soap could begin to see why Price had told him Ghost was an acquired taste. For all his cold facade, he was really just a man with a grumpy disposition. Maybe even one with a personality outside of work, but Soap struggles to comprehend what that might be. 

Reminded of work and everything they’d discussed in the wake of the attack, Soap frowned as he took another drag from the cigarette, now on its last breath.

“What do you think ended up happening to Price’s informant?” 

Ghost scoffed, stubbing out his own cigarette against the rail and crushing the rest under his boot for good measure. “Fuck if I know.” 

Soap shook his head, feeling himself getting riled up just at the thought of it. “Bet you the arse is sitting somewhere comfortable, getting piss drunk, laughing at the news.” 

Ghost shrugs. “Reckon you may be right about that one, sergeant.” 

“Wherever he is, I hope karma comes back to get him good.”

 

MOSCOW 

 

The man convulsed with a cry of pain as another shock of electricity surged through him, curling in a distortion of twitching muscles through the point where the cattle prod made contact with his bare, singed back and burned another snakebite pattern onto what remained of the undamaged skin. 

The small, uninsulated barn stank of singed hair and burning flesh, all emanating from a centre point where a young man, beaten and tortured beyond recognition, was bound to a bloodied kitchen chair. 

He shivered and twitched from the aftershock of electricity under the glaring warm buzzing of a bare filament bulb, fixed to the rafters above his head. 

Six other men, still residually wearing police uniforms and paramedic overalls, were gathered around him in a semicircle. 

The one in front of him, Andrei Nolan, was not holding the cattle prod. His hands were clean of blood, though there was a light spatter across the front of his body from his earlier beating, inflicted by the man now standing behind the chair, resting a gloved hand dutifully on the wooden backrest, waiting for further instruction. 

“I’m not going to say I’m surprised, Dmitri. But I expected better from someone like you,” Andrei says with mock pity, crouching down to find the swollen eyes of the young man. A trickle of pinkish saliva traced down his trembling lip and dripped to the cold floor by his bare feet. 

“Not even twenty with a whole life ahead of him. You could’ve gone and married that pretty young thing you’re hiding in the city. Could have fathered children to carry that name since the anti-communist rats snuffed out the rest of your Soviet supporter family and executed them like dogs, but your bloodline will end here because you wanted to be a bootlicker.” 

Dmitri flinched as Andrei pressed a calloused thumb into the burn on his inner thigh, drawing out a pained noise. He leaned away from the hand, but stripped naked and bound, there was little he could do to avoid the pain of Andrei’s finger scratching open the blistered skin and causing it to bleed again. 

Even Yuri, the man that had inflicted the burn waiting behind him with bated breath, began to feel nauseated at the sight of his own handiwork, but it did not show. He kept his expression even and serious. 

Andrei was a dangerous man and Yuri knows better than to cross him when he’s already angry. Andrei might think of Dmitri as a bootlicker, but he was just as much the same to Makarov. Still, Yuri stood by, idle, complacent. The cattle prod in his other hand was heavy and had more weight to it than it should have had. 

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Andrei asked. 

Mustering the last of his strength, Dmitri lifted his swollen face to look Andrei dead in the eye and spoke around a mouthful of busted teeth. 

“Preserving innocent lives… is not… the same… as bootlicking.” He threw in as much venom as he could into the words, punctuating it by spitting blood and phlegm into Andrei’s face, mere centimetres away from him. The man recoiled with a curse and reacted with a harsh backhanded smack to his already busted face. Andrei wiped at his face with the edge of his sleeve. 

“It would’ve been better for you if you begged for mercy,” he says, getting to his feet and moving a safer distance away. 

“Fucker thinks he’s Pavlik Morozov,” one of the other men laughs, shaking his head pitifully and the others join in. “But by all means if he wants to die a young hero, we give him his martyr fantasy,” another says. 

 Yuri feels himself stiffen. He agreed to rough up the kid, already uncomfortable at the thought of hurting him to teach him a lesson. He gave in when the Inner Circle wanted to use his house to lay low after that afternoon's situation with Makarov’s arrest, but he did not consent to killing a man that had seen him as a mentor. He’d practically fathered him from the age of fifteen when his parents were killed. 

“Don’t be so hasty, Pyotr,” Andrei scolded him. “Now that Makarov is in federal custody, we must make extra sure not to lose his sentiments to our own vision. We must be patient.” 

“We still have Zakhaev,” the first man suggests and Andrei turns to him, unimpressed. 

“Zakhaev is a puppet on a string. He knows what Makarov wants and he’ll be better in executing that vision than any other of his affiliates, but we must not forget that though Zakhaev was Makarov’s predecessor, he still had a different vision for Russia.” 

“It's better than letting the cause die off.” 

“Makarov has planned for this. The system has not failed us. All the more to show that this little stunt of yours has meant nothing,” Andrei directs his attention back to Dmitri, kicking his bare foot roughly. 

“But seeing as this stint didn’t play out as you planned and you have nothing meaningful to say, perhaps you shouldn’t be able to say anything at all.” 

Yuri frowned, unsure where this was going as Andrei addressed one of the men beside him. “Go to the van and fetch the white jug in the back. Should be under the spare uniforms. Don’t let the woman in the main house see you.” 

Andrei tossed his keys to the man. 

“What are you planning to do to him?” Yuri asks, now visibly becoming unnerved. 

“Nothing extravagant.”

“I am not going to kill him with my wife and child barely two hundred metres away,” he said sternly and Andrei scoffed. 

“He won’t die immediately. I’m counting on the secondary complications to do that. Keeps the hands clean and the conscience clear.” 

“You fucking murderer,” Dmitri says as loud as he was able, struggling against his restraints. “All of you will burn in hell.” 

“At least you’ll be there to welcome us,” Andrei says dryly. 

They all turned in tandem to face the creaking of the barn door behind them, just a little way away, the man how having returned and holding up a heavy, half-empty bottle that at first sight seemed to be some sort of laundry detergent, but Yuri’s heart dropped through the floor as he realised exactly what it was. 

“You can’t be serious– that’s insane,” he stammers as the man hands off the bottle to  Andrei, now making a play to thoroughly check the label. 

“Thirty-seven percent hydrochloric acid. A lower concentration is an irritant to the skin, but undiluted, it’ll corrode right through to the flesh. I wonder what it’ll do to those vocal cords of yours.” 

He roughly shoves the bottle in Yuri’s direction. “If you would do the honours.” 

“I am not going to pour hydrochloric acid down his throat.” 

“You’re not really in a position to negotiate here. It would be a shame if I were to show your little girl what her daddy is really capable of.” 

“You leave my family out of this,” Yuri warned. 

“Then you wouldn’t mind teaching the rat here a lesson?” 

Gritting his teeth and avoiding eye contact with a panicked Dmitri, Yuri took the bottle from Andrei and slowly unscrewed the cap. It looks just like water. 

 He moved over to Dmitri with much trepidation. 

“Don’t fucking come close to me– you asshole, I thought I could trust you–” he thrashes, scooting the chair back and lurches back with so much force, the chair tips and he crashes to the floor. He cries out in more pain as he takes his weight on his bound arms behind his back, no doubt dislocating his shoulder in the process. He’s still thrashing and crying out as Yuri approaches him.

He freezes, standing there with the open bottle, not sure what to do now. 

“Dinner’s almost ready Yuri, your wife might come out and fetch us soon. You better get a move on.” 

Torn between what he knows is right and the very real possibility that his family could walk in and see what he had done, he kneeled down by the upturned chair and reached for Dmitri’s face, still trying to move away from him. 

“I’ll fucking bite your finger off! Don’t touch me!” 

“Someone hold him still,” Andrei orders and one of the men dutifully comes over to roughly yank him by his hair into a flat position against the dirty floor, tugging his mouth open with a gloved finger. 

“I won’t be able to hold him like this for long,” the man says plainly, clearly struggling to hold him still but Yuri didn’t move. 

“I can’t.” 

“This isn’t a choice,” Andrei says sharply. 

“I let you stay in my house, share my food with you. I am not getting blood on my hands in my own house.” 

Andrei’s eyes narrowed at him, but he stepped forward nonetheless, taking the bottle from Yuri’s hands and knocking him out of the way. 

“I’m starting to question your loyalty, Yuri.” 

Yuri ignores him, pushing past the five other guys to leave the barn as soon as possible. He doesn't get out before the screaming starts, wet choking around the sound. 

He leaves the barn with his head in his hands. He can still hear him, now, halfway to the house. 

Yuri thinks he might continue to hear that scream five, six years down the line. 

It's not completely stopped by the time he reaches the kitchen and finds his wife standing there over the simmering pot on the stove, shoulders stiff and mouth pressed into a tight white line as she stirs the mix once more and forcefully knocks the extra broth from her spoon on the lip of the pot, clearly demonstrating her discontent while refusing to meet her husband’s gaze. 

“Anya–” 

“Don’t even begin,” she warns sharply. She doesn’t look at him, instead, shutting off the stove and looking out at the uneven plain of dying grass between the house and the barn that had now gone eerily quiet and empty in the symphony of night crickets. 

The barn door opens and five out of the six men still in the room step out and begin making their way over to the house. In the background against the chattering of the TV, Yuri can hear the little girl in the living room, playing with the scatter of toys on the carpet and giggling, blissfully unaware of the conversation unfolding in the kitchen and the horror on the other side of the lawn. 

He turns back to his wife, unsure of what to think, but she gives him something to hold onto. “We’ll talk about it later.” 

She gets him to set the table, clearing all the leftover clutter from the time he’d been away. He’s missed so much over the past few years in Makarov’s ranks, he’s hardly been around to see his child growing up. Still, she draws him in her wobbly doodles of the family. 

He gathers all the drawings together in a stack and goes to shove it in one of the cupboards in the living room, ruffling the kid’s hair as she doesn’t even bother to look away from the TV as he is passing–

“What happened to your hand?” 

Yuri goes back to the kitchen when he hears Anya’s concerned voice, now looking down at Andrei’s freshly bandaged arm as she began ladling soup into the bowls on the counter. 

“Cleaning accident,” he laughs it off, making eye contact with Yuri. “Was struggling with a tough stain that didn’t want to go out without a fight, but it gave in eventually.” 

Dinner after that was painfully quiet, interspersed with a few crude jokes and inappropriate glances in Anya’s direction every now and again when she went to fetch something from a cupboard that one of the men would order her around for, and though Yuri was having none of it, there was little he could do about the situation while being on such thin ice with Andrei and the others already. 

But he knows now, with how deep he’s getting into this, with the incident from earlier that day on the news, his furious wife and his oblivious daughter in the living room, that he has to make a plan to dig himself out of this hole. 

It's only later that evening, when the other men had retired to the spare bedrooms and guest cottage that came with the old farmhouse, that Yuri found his wife in their upstairs bedroom, gathering a bundle of stuffed animals into her arms and throwing it on her side of the bed. 

Their en suite bathroom door was closed and he can hear the faucet of the bathtub running. 

“I’m having Nadya sleep here tonight. I’m too worried about leaving her alone with them,” She informs in a hushed voice, fluffing up one of the pillows and arranging the stuffed animals accordingly. 

“I’m sorry about everything,” he begins to say but she holds up a hand to silence him, still too angry to give him the time of day. 

“Save it. People make mistakes. I didn’t marry you to sit at home alone for half of my life wishing you were here to see your child growing up, I didn’t marry to sleep in an empty bed and wander around in an empty house until the next thing I know is that my husband’s on the news because he was part of a terrorist attack on an airport. I made that mistake, and I have to live with that, but I swear on my mother’s grave, Yuri, you bring these people into my house again, and I divorce you, for real this time. So either, I go back to Kastovia to live with my family, and you forfeit your rights as a father, or you come up with a plan.”

[obsessivelysweet]

Gold that Bleeds Thorns

Synopsis: You never wanted to use your blood at all on anything or anyone but you had to this time.

Notes: This became somewhat lengthy but I hope you enjoy it! There might be missed typos so sorry for that but I do hope whoever reads this you like it! Hopefully the more I write down these ideas the more I get better at it. Thank you and have a good day or night!

Warnings under the cut!

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Warnings: Hostage situation, cult au, blood, sagau, depictions of bodily fluids and gore/flesh, curse words, suggestive creepy behavior.

Gender-neutral reader for this one

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The room was silent except for quiet breathes and the ever so slightly movements from your acolytes. The tension in the room was so thick you could feel it weighing you down, could even drown in it. All of your followers eyes were solely on your hunched form.

In the dead center of your throne room stood a couple of male figures, eyes filled with bloodlust, looking down at you. Your most loyal subjects wanted to strike down the ones who stood before you, wanted to punish them for even breathing the same air as you but they resisted the urge because you told them to not interfere.

Your hands and feet were bound by cold metal shackles that echoed in the silent room whenever you would shift your body around. Fear was painted on your face, so much so, that your apprehenders could see it with one glace.

Even though you looked afraid on the outside, you were calm on the inside. Being in this position you begun to think to yourself how could these brutes threaten you and your people!? That they could best you? You wanted to laugh at the thought but you kept it in, didn't want to break your facade now would you? Honestly though what gave them the idea that they could go up against their own creator?

While you were pondering this the leader of this small group finally spoke up to break the silence. This tall muscular built of a man was the one who chained you, their leader of the group. His messy dark brown hair swayed ever so gently as his green eyes looked down at you. He kneeled to close the distance between the two of you.

He pulled your chin up to face him, digging his nails into your cheek, making you whince a bit from the sudden pain but it soon went away. He laughed at your form, saying that he couldn't believe such a meekly being could be the "Oh so PoWeRfUl creator." He spat at your face before throwing you back down, the sound of your hitched breath mixed with the metallic ringing filled the room once more. He turned and walked away putting back some distance between the two of you as he faced your followers with a smirk.

"So, which one of you fuckers gonna save their beloved creator hmm?"

His voice commanded the audience's attention, yearned for it even. He loved that he was in control, in the spotlight and that he had the upperhand. He walked to where your most trusted acolytes were while pointing at you.

"The dogs aren't gonna save their master? Y'all really just a bunch of bitches who could care less about them." The leader continued his so called speech in a condescending tone to the reluctant audience. He became feverish with his words that a crazed look took over his features while drool hanged from the corners of his lips as he spat his words to the crowd. It was really undignified look to be honest, you couldn't help but cringe a bit on the inside.

You knew this couldn't go on for much longer, considering how you could feel certain onlookers desperately clinging onto their weapons readily. So you decided you would poke the bear just enough to where you could potentially get hurt.

Now only your most trusted acolytes knew what you could do with your blood but never witnessed it in person. So it was safe to say that they were ready to see firsthand if you chose to use it.

You scoffed at him, shifting your body upright to face him while puffing some hair away from your face.

"You're the leader right?"

That grabs his attention so he turns to you, eagerness in his eyes, to see what you'll do in your pathetic bound state. Seeing that you have his attention now solely on you, you continue with a monotoned voice.

"You have me chained up, hands and feet, unable to run away...yet you still haven't done anything."

"For you to call me weak is honestly laughable. You should really look in a mirror sometime soon".

A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth, your eyes make direct eye contact with his. Just one more push you told yourself and he will surely lunge at you.

"So....you thought that if you were to threaten the people I love that I would do whatever you say? Bend to your will? Hmm? You really thought I would just let you shackle me? Did you honestly think you had me? Or are you just that stu-"

He didn't let you finish your sentence, before you knew it he came lunging at you.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair which made you yelp in response. You tried your best despite being bound to push this brute's hand off of your tender scalp to no avail. In one quick motion you could feel cold steel against your throat. This exchange made the room feel even more tense, it was suffocating. Looking at the man's eyes you could see a darkness in them waiting to tear you apart.

Your followers were itching for just one word, one faint syllable that would fall from your delicate lips. Just one word is all you have to say for your followers to strike, to be in their arms safe again. However despite everything your word was absolute. Going against it is unfathomable, equal to death, so they watched and waited even if it meant watching you suffer in silence.

The brute started to eye you up and down staring to long on certain parts of your body while licking his lips. He started to yell at you, saliva hitting your face everytime he spat an obscene word at you.

"Fucking whore, want me to mess you up? I'm sure you've already slept with everyone in this room"

He presses the knife a bit more to your throat, it was uncomfortable, you could feel the knife's blade on your vocal cords. The cold steel moving slightly everytime you had to swallow. You turned your gaze to your followers who looked at you in anticipation.

You managed to move your head slightly to your subjects never changing your gaze at them as a smile forms on your face before opening your mouth to say

"When the rose blooms you may strike".

That was it!

That was all they needed to hear from you. Finally there was a change in the air, a readiness, a willingness for bloodshed, to see the brutes eyes become lifeless. Only your most trusted acolytes knew this code, everyone else was confused but intrigued as to what you meant by that, so they kept quiet with berated breath.

However this made the brute more angry and confused as to what you just said. That's when you took his confusion as an opening. With all of your might you kneed him in his crotch which made him immediately hunch down taking the knife with him.

Adrenaline was coursing through you that you didn't notice a small cut formed on your throat until you were surround by your followers. In a flash you were in the arms of Thoma holding you up, checking your wound and undoing the shackles. While the rest guarded you from the 4 men.

Thoma helped you get up onto your throne with his arms softly supporting you. His warmth from his hands on your back lingered long after his hand left. He soft green eyes looked at you with a mix of worry and anger. He softly spoke to you with a calm demeanor

"Your Grace, hows your cut? Please allow me to clean it once you're done."

You smiled at him with a nod making him gleam back at you with softness emanating from him however it was short lived as he went back to anger as he turned to face the 4 men.

Once you were comfortable your eyes trailed downward to the black marbled flooring. Against the dark color was a small pool of golden blood. The small cut on your throat bled a bit which made a slight trail to where you sat. With your hands placed gently on top of each other, nestled in your lap, you drew a circle with your index finger into your other hand. This was a command to yourself, which made that bit of blood follow suit.

The brute looked at you about to lunge back at you with his 3 men follwing behind him but they soon realized it was futile.

The leader looks down at his hands then at his legs, the anger he had before slowly became fear. His hands were in front of him tied to his neck, almost like in a praying position while his legs were folded to make him kneel. He tried to break free from this strange beautiful rope that coiled tightly around him however it wouldn't budge no matter how much he struggled. This gold like rope was tough but looked like liquid at the same time so what could it be he thought to himself.

The beautiful gold like string that glistened under the light that lumanaited from your chandelier above was your gold blood to be exact.

Even though you got a tiny cut, that was enough blood to coil around each of the 4 men tightly. All 4 were now kneeling in a prayer position with panic setting in. The leader started to desperately shout at you in his panicked state.

"So this is the true nature of the creator, a-always knew you were pretending to be kind, what are you gonna do? Make your followers do the dirty work?" His eyes take a quick glance to the ones surrounding you on each side like a shield. It's almost as if he's trying to convince himself it will be ok. You rest your head upon your hand as you lazily look towards him.

Your kind eyes scan him up and down with a gentle smile caressing your lips as you hum a soft yet audible enough for only them to hear "~no".

You point to the gold string that shined beautifully against their skin. Your eyes shifted to around the room to see everyone's expressions then back to the leader. Still with the smile on your face you said just one simple word.

"Watch"

Even though you sounded sweet in your tone, everyone could sense the vemon in the word. Even in your eyes there was a glint of something ugly. That single word is what made the 4 men start trembling, pleading for your mercy. Honestly it was a bit amusing you couldn't help but chuckle a bit which made the men shake even more.

You announced to everyone in the room to leave if you brought your kin or can't handle torture. There was hesitation and hushed whispers from your people.

Torture?

How could such a divine creature utter such a word. However even though some wanted to stay to see what would happen they followed your command. The room only held a few of your followers alongside your trusted ones. You returned your gaze back to the group in front of you still pleading, snot dripping from their noses.

"Enough" your voice commanded, ushering the men to look up at you once more.

With that dark glint still in your eyes you looked up to your beautiful chandelier made of small like star crystals that glistened with a soft light.

"Even though I'm your creator I gave you free will. I've could've been a tyrant and controlled you from the very beginning yet I didn't." You slowly moved your gaze back at them.

"I chose to give you free will because I wanted my creations to live their life as they choose. However I'm starting to learn that some creations don't deserve my mercy at all" You're words were elegant, melodic yet hurt like venom seeping through their veins.

The men cried out in pitiful sobs, 2 of them pressing their faces on your marble floor snot mixed with drool pooled around their faces as they plead for your mercy.

One was still curious as to what you said, he looked younger then the rest, he hesitantly met your eyes before he asked you

"Your Grace...what did you mean by watch? By torture?"

His azure watery eyes were somewhat visible by his blonde locks as he looked at you. You just smiled at that silly question of his as you said "you'll see"

With a snap of your fingers the room became deathly quiet. The 4 men waited for anything; a sting, a cut, your men in waiting to lunge at them in a blink of an eye heck even for the ceiling to come down on them but nothing happened.

At first they thought you were showing them mercy, that you pityed them, they were about to say thank you until one of them broke into a frenzy. It was the young blonde who was the last one to question you.

He started to writhe in pain while his blood currled screams echoed off the walls. The other 3 watched in horror as anxiety wracked their bodies waiting for whatever he was experiencing to take them as well. It wasnt long until the whole room filled with their screams. It was a grotesque way of dying to be frank. You didnt want to watch but you had to see it through. All of the men squirmed on the floor, drool mixed with blood hanging from their mouths almost to a foam, hot tears streaming down their cheeks as their skin bubbled from the inside out. Eventually these bubbles boiling began to burst. It was like watching a pot of hot water boiling. Screams turned into muffled cries which then finally came to a halt. To them it probably felt like an eternity but it was only a good 2 mins until they were nothing more then a pile of fleshy mush.

The room was quiet once more except for the slight sizzling of the 4 men's flesh. The smell was pungent to say the least which didnt help the pit in your stomach from forming. The rest of your followers didn't know what to say or do, heck some didn't even realize they were holding their breath.

You brought yourself to look away and towards the small crowd who looked at you with mixed reactions.

You were at your limit, you couldnt keep this up any longer. The way everything made you sick from the smell, the way they died, the way their faces twisted and contorted made you want to puke.

You had to get the rest of your followers out, so with the little strength you had left, you turned to them once more with a pitiful smile no less. You waved your hand to dismiss everyone except your most loyal subjects. Even though they must've had questions for you they followed suit one by one out of the room. You were afraid though of what they were thinking. You thought to yourself of all the possible things they could be thinking, you were lost in your own thoughts.

(Do they hate me now? Did everyone who left find me disgusting or are terrified of me?)

It was the loud thud from the door closing that made you get out of your head however that just made you realize how exhausted you were.

You finally crumbled into yourself feeling that pit in your stomach now wanting to be released. You could feel the hot bile rising in the back of your throat, the taste slowly creeping towards the fron of your mouth. Covering your mouth as your breathing became short and heavy in response to the sick feeling.

You never wanted to use your blood like this but you knew you had to set an example especially after hearing rumors of some followers wanting to hurt you.

The ones left beside you tried their best to comfort you. Now all that echoed in the room was your muffled cries as you covered your face.This facade you had on the whole time crumbled and you only allowed your trusted acolytes to see you like this.

They knew you were kind, pure and gentle with everything you touched not some fearsome being who brought suffering to others. Even though their comfort was welcomed and appreciated, you still feared that they wouldn't see you the same way anymore after today.

[theodysseyofhomer]

food for thought!

What is interesting about the Iliad—and what reactions to Wilson’s translation, along with Le Guin’s old blog post, have got me thinking about—is how it gives the lie to this notion that the ancient past—or at least its art—was restricted to the fabular and allegorical, morally prescriptive and didactic. That’s the way that I used to approach Greek myth, anyway. It’s not a reading framework I find that the Iliad or the Odyssey naturally fit into, which ought to be part of their appeal. I worry a little that the reviews which paint them in some totalizing manner (generally in an effort to get a dig at Wilson for missing the “one thing” about them) will turn off potential readers by making them seem more banal than they are. I do want to tread a delicate line here and not imply that the epics were, in total contradiction of reactionary appropriations of them, secretly progressive all along. They’re not. [...]

But these aspects of the epics are not created, as they may be in the hands of a lesser storyteller, through incurious and uncritical depictions of either women’s motivations or men’s pride. Homeric women have as much emotional and intellectual depth as the men—I’ll even disagree with Le Guin around this particular point; I think she reads Homer’s Helen as more shallow than the poet portrays her as—and Achilles’ and Odysseus’ unbending need to be lavishly credited for their greatness is a constant and unambiguous source of their folly. Is there a word for that idea? A Greek word, perhaps? I’m not sure; I’ve never heard of one… There is a lot more we could say about the Iliad and the Odyssey here—and have said, and will say—because there’s no one thing to say about them that feels sufficient. Thus, coming to any conclusion on the subject always also feels a bit artificial, and the only one I can deliver here that feels honest, complete, and adequate is to say that I really love these poems. Considering the misogyny—this is not an imaginary past to which I yearn to return—maybe sometimes my love is as Mr. Darcy loves Elizabeth, “against my better judgement.” But my feelings will not be repressed. I love the heroes’ big man emotions, the manipulative goddesses, the whole forest of metaphors about falling trees, and—one of my all-time favorite fantasy motifs—adoring descriptions of Really Cool Stuff. I also love their sometimes surprising and never mawkish depictions of tenderness between people, even people who are deeply out of harmony with one another, as Hector is with Andromache, or Achilles with Patroclus. I guess what I’m trying to say is, marry me, Homer. I have 10,000 a year. Your weirdo family doesn’t have to be in the picture.

[ryukang1995]

These characters have a larger focus in my version of Mortal Kombat (2021) and its universe.

Liu Kang (played by Ludi Lin)

The undisputed main hero of the lore, and he deserves better than how Ed the Baboon and folks have treated him.

Instead of getting his abilities from killing a human trafficker, I changed it to where he's a descendant of The Great Kung Lao, much like his depiction in the 1995 movie. Liu Kang is destined to be the greatest champion that will defend Earthrealm in Mortal Kombat, but all he wants is revenge on Shang Tsung for orphaning him by killing his family.

Eventually, he puts his vengeance aside and embraces his destiny as The Chosen One. Liu Kang still yearns for a normal life, especially after developing a strong bond with Sonya, but he recognizes that his realm's safety comes first and foremost.

Sonya Blade (played by Jessica McNamee)

The first lady of the franchise, who is also deserving of such a huge role and focus in this film universe.

She is still the voice of reason among the group of heroes, but I restored her motivation to capture Kano. Initially, Sonya is hellbent on killing him if she has to, but she eventually chooses to arrest him. Along the way, she opens her circle of trust, particularly to Liu Kang, whom she develops a romantic bond with (much like my general works based on MK).

Said bond is also a huge driving force behind both characters and their growth in this universe. Plus, with both of them said to be sidelined in the upcoming sequel (which is set to be a Johnny Cage/Kitana-centric movie), I might as well make KangBlade a thing in my take.

Kung Lao (played by Max Huang)

Another character that got done so dirty, not just in the movie, but also in a lot of the recent incarnations (mainly the NRS games and the Legends animated films).

He is still Liu Kang's cousin, but now, he's the one who wants to honor their fallen ancestor while Liu Kang is in it for revenge. Their partnership is also a huge driving force behind the whole story, so much that they end up fighting Shao Kahn together in the 2nd installment.

And no, I won't kill off Kung Lao, let alone make him a Revenant. He deserves to live on and reform the White Lotus Society alongside his cousin...maybe he can get to hook up with Li Mei in this timeline too, lul.

Shang Tsung (played by Chin Han)

The big bad guy of the first installment...at least that's what the movie implied because he has very little to do in it, and he came off as underwhelming.

Shang Tsung is a legit threat who also has hints of being misguided due to Shao Kahn corrupting him. He is Liu Kang's greatest enemy, not just because of him being Outworld's overseer, but also because of what he did to Liu Kang's family.

Despite being Shao Kahn's underling, he also has ambitions to conquer Earthrealm himself, so much that not even the emperor himself trusts his own sorcerer.

There are other characters in this universe who have more significant roles than what they had in the movie, such as Raiden and Goro, but these are the main ones that I could think of.

That's all for now.