#but this morning i walked out smelling gas because the stove was slightly on

[onpyre]

man idk if this is gonna work. i can live fine with stable albeit neurotic alcoholics, but living with a v emotional one is, uh, how you say, triggering

[solarwonux]

Business Proposal || knj (6/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love Warnings: slow burn, angst, talks about sexual assault, talks about being drugged, nosey people, rumors, boxing, drinking. Rating: mature, 18+ w.c: 11.7k Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

a/n: hello, I'm here after thousands of years. Thank you so much for sticking around I know I can't upload as often as I used to :( Lololol and I couldn't wait unti tomorrow^^ Also this chapter was very heavy for me to write, but I'm happy that I did it! That's all lmk your thoughts and I will see you when I see you :))

AO3 || Masterlist || series masterlist

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It took you almost three hours to fall asleep.

You felt all giddy and excited for the morning to come, so much so that you woke up before your alarm without a complaint. Everything just felt so much simpler and brighter. You didn’t groan when the morning light peeked through the little slits between your blinds. You didn’t hesitate to push the white duvet from your body. And you practically skipped to the kitchen where Namjoon danced to his own rhythm as he prepared what seemed to be kimchi eggs.

At least that’s what your nose was hinting at. If you weren’t so distracted by the pleasant tangy smell, you would’ve noticed it the second you walked through his kitchen arcs. Maybe you would’ve had enough time to keep your jaw from hitting the floor, but it was like he sensed you despite your slow movements and turned around the moment you walked in.

“I made you breakfast.”

There was Kim Namjoon in all his perfect glory. Smiling. Shirtless. With a pair of black sleeping shorts hanging just below the navel of his abs, a light brown apron to protect him from the gas stove. You couldn’t see everything but you could see enough, and if enough was what was making you shake, then you were thankful you couldn’t see everything.

“Did you sleep well?” He cocked his head to the side as he plated your eggs on one of your ceramic plates with painted clouds on it. The stark contrast between his decor and yours was starting to morph into each other, slowly becoming perfect molds of the other and you had only been living together for a day.

“U-um, yeah my mattress is much more comfortable than my old one so I slept like I was on a cloud.” You said in a soft whisper as you slowly made your way to the barstool. Once you were seated you looked at the absolute feast in front of you.

Perfectly scrambled eggs with kimchi, a side salad, peanut butter toast topped with a perfect circle of sliced bananas, and a small bowl of tofu soup. This wasn’t like any breakfast you could ever make yourself. It was more than you deserved.

Suddenly you felt like crying. It’s only been a day since your compromise. You didn’t expect him to do a complete one eighty in the last twelve hours since you last saw each other. You were expecting small arguments here and there before they slowly died down. The domesticity of it all was slightly overwhelming, but you didn’t get enough to react like you would’ve liked because he was clumsily working his way through the kitchen again. Turning on the stove and mixing ingredients right before your eyes.

He looked so comfortable, effortless. You felt like a misplaced doll.

“What are you doing?” Was what came out of your mouth instead of the ‘thank you’ you had been mindlessly repeating over and over in your head. He chuckled, turning his head giving you a sweet dimpled smile.

He had to be messing with you. Not even the Namjoon you knew before acted like this. He never smiled wide enough to make his dimples appear and his eyes turn into little half moons. Unless it was towards his mother, who always made him turn into the sweet little boy she helped raise along with her son.

“I’m making us lunch. I figured we should clear out the fridge as much as possible to restock with new produce.” He shrugs and turns his attention back to the lilac frying pan he was using. Before you can answer with whatever obscenity your frontal lobe was currently developing. He spoke up again, “I’ve finished most of it already but when you’re done eating can you cut up the kiwi’s for me.” He finishes, continuing his task.

Certainly you’ve woken up in a different dimension. Are you still dreaming? This was most definitely not the same Namjoon who you were arguing with just a couple of days ago. Maybe it was his long lost twin brother that his entire family had kept hidden until now. Though, that theory would’ve been debunked with the amount of times you spent at his parents house doing Jungkook’s laundry for him. Maybe he fell last night and hit his head against one of his curated art pieces.

Come to think of it, you did wake up to the sound of something falling last night at around three in the morning.

That just had to be it!

“Are you okay?”

Namjoon stops and reaches his arm over, circling his fingers around the black knob to turn off the gas. He waits for the flame to die down before placing the pink rubber spatula on one of your cat holders. He turns around slowly, moving a bit to the side and leans against his perfect marble counter. One hand resting firmly on his hip.

He tilts his head to one side and narrows his eyes at you in suspicion. “I’m perfectly fine, why do you ask?” He replies through a forced gritted smile. His calm and composed demeanor falters for a second and you almost let out a sigh of relief.

There had been no alien abduction last night. The last and final theory you had come up with. The Namjoon you knew was still present, and he was slightly annoyed.

“You’re not being you?” You confess pushing your eggs around on your plate.

Namjoon scoffs and pushes himself away from the counter and begins to untie his apron. You’re in the middle of your first bite, when you see him throw it onto his kitchen island. Your eyes almost fall out of their sockets when you finally get a glimpse of his faint abdominal muscles. But what really has you swallowing fast so you don’t choke on your food is his chest. And the bulging muscles of his arms as he crosses them in front of him.

Did he turn off the air con? It is suddenly really hot in this kitchen.

“I don’t think you know me well enough to make that assumption.” He speaks up, taking you out of your trance. Right, you think. This isn’t time to shamelessly ogle at Namjoon’s body. You’re in a serious conversation? At least that’s the direction it seems to be heading. Whatever type of conversation you could currently be having with Namjoon, his tone of voice and accusatory glance triggers something in you. You’ve forgotten the compliment about how his hard work at the gym is paying off. The heatwave is replaced with a wave of defense and you’re up in a seconds ready to stand your ground in a battle that you have unintentionally started.

“I’m just saying Namjoon, you’re acting completely different than the person you were just last night.”

Namjoon shakes his head, grabs hold of the pan and sets it on top of an old kitchen rag. “You wanted a compromise, this is me trying. You wanted to be friends, so I’m treating you like how I treat all of my friends.” He mumbles and opens a lilac tupperware and begins to plate the spinach spaghetti aglio he had been making this entire time.

Defeated, you sit back down on the barstool. So, this is what being Namjoon’s friend was like. What were you all of those years ago?

It’s that realization that has you standing again, almost knocking down the barstool, catching Namjoon’s attention whipping his head in your direction, a confused look on his face. The conversation isn’t over yet, and he guesses it’s because that stubborn part of you that always needed to have the last word is still in there. He finds it just as infuriating as he did all those years ago.

“So you basically beg all of your friends to marry you?” You start, the accusation isn’t enough to fire up Namjoon. That is until you open your mouth again. “You kiss all your friends too.” You mumble, looking around his kitchen, taking in the modernism and avoiding the glare he sends your way.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” He speaks up. His voice is laced with annoyance. You always knew how to hold a grudge and you always knew how to bring up past mistakes in order to win an argument.

“Do you cook breakfast and lunch for all of your friends? You give them all jobs and help pay for their student loans? Oh, do you offer them a place to live or a separate house too? Or do you only do that for the woman you pay to be with you?” You accuse, rolling your eyes in annoyance. It’s a petty accusation and definitely out of pocket, but that’s what he does to you. He brings out the nasty little monster that still holds a grudge against him for what he did to you all those years ago.

Namjoon has had enough. The anger sizzles inside of him. He slams the lid of the tupperware down against his countertop, making you jump. He turns to face you slowly, moving his chest up and down in a poor attempt to stay calm. The peaceful and easy morning you thought you were going to have has moved out of the vicinity. As well as the deal the two of you made last night, and you’re the only one to blame.

You just can’t ever keep your mouth shut.

“What exactly are you referring to?” He seethes, taking deep breaths as he grips the corner of his countertop with one hand.

“I can’t help but think you have ulterior motives. Nothing about this makes any sense to me. I haven’t been working on campus for long but I have already heard the rumors questioning your character. And Jungkook has continuously ranted about the revolving door of women that would come in and out of your apartment when the two of you lived together. I just can’t begin to understand why I’m your last choice, why I’m the one in this position when you and I both know that there’s someone out there way better. Unless you want something more from me otherwise why would you have kissed me?”

Namjoon closes his eyes, taking in your words. If he’s being honest with himself he also doesn’t understand his motives. He knows why he is doing this. At least the half that involves his parents. But you’re right he doesn’t know why it had to be you in the first place. Sure, it was the simpler choice and he was running out of time, but if he really wanted to he could’ve bought himself some time to find the person he truly wants to share his life with.

Could it be that deep down he wants it to be you?

He can’t stand you accusing him of stooping so low though. He doesn’t know why he kissed you. It was an impulse that he has never felt in his entire life. Yet, he feels so angry that he can’t think clearly, because he’s spent years dodging the accusations at work, and Jungkook’s gossiping.

“You think I am paying you for sex?” He says in disbelief.

You shrug, pushing in the barstool. “I mean it wouldn’t be the first time that you pay someone for sex, according to your colleagues. Which I hold no judgment for but I am not that type of person.”

“And you believe that nonsense?” He chuckles dryly, shaking his head. “I thought that you out of all people would not believe those rumors. I have never done that in my life, because like you just said I am not that ‘type of person’. I will also never do that to you.” He argues, taking slow steps in your direction, reducing the air that’s separating the two of you.

“Why? Because I am undesirable?” You spit out. Throwing out the words that hurt you the most all of those years ago.

He shakes his head, rounding the corner to the bar and stands right in front of you. “No, that’s not why? I–”

“Then why? Namjoon I don’t understand I–”

“I respect you too much.” He interrupts looking at you with pleading eyes. It’s a look you have never seen on him before. It’s new, it feels foreign and it makes you doubt his words even more. Especially when you know that he hasn’t shown any ounce of respect for you since before he rudely barged into your life again.

You click your tongue, turning your head to the side. His gaze burns with something you can’t decipher. “You don’t have to lie, there’s no one around.”

“I’m not lying.” He fights back his voice full of hope. “You don’t have to believe me but–”

“Of course I don’t. Not only have you been a complete asshole since we met again but years ago you threw my feelings for you right to my face. You called me crazy, undesirable, and unlovable. And in that same vein you confessed to me.” Your hands quickly go up to cover your mouth. Your eyes bulge out in surprise. The little secret you had been holding in for the past ten years escapes you before you can even stop yourself. Nobody knew what had really happened after your tumultuous fight. It was something you were going to take with you to your grave.

Namjoon is stunned. He’s stuck between calling you out on your bullshit and believing you. Truth be told he doesn’t remember anything else from that night. Apart from the fight he had with you, and the words he said very clearly.

Could it be that there has always been a missing piece to his story. One that he never bothered to look for because he didn’t know it existed. Until now.

If he’s being honest, Namjoon never understood why you cut all ties with him from one day to another. Sure, he was brutal in his choice of words. He wanted to get his point across but he was always so much better at writing them rather than saying them. The second he opened his mouth both of your worlds turned upside down, and he was full of regret. As a last ditch resort to salvage the remaining spark of your friendship because back then he couldn’t picture a life without you in it–and maybe that’s transversed to now–he apologized. He wrote you a letter, explaining his thought process and that he valued you a lot more than you could ever imagine, but nothing came out of it.

Did you even get his letter?

He figures you did but choose to walk away for good. It’s something that he’s kept locked next to his heart. It’s a hurt he’s never fully healed from and it’s why he acts so cold towards you. Believe him, he’s been suffering since Taehyung’s party. But if what you’re saying is true, then he might finally understand something that has been keeping him up at night whenever he gets into his head.

“I what?” His ego is faltering as he watches your eyes water with frustrated tears. Every negative thought he’s ever had of you since then to make himself feel better for his heinous words and unproclaimed apology, makes him look even worse than before.

Your shoulders drop, “You came back. You apologize, and told me that you had loved me all this time.��� You sniffle, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly. “You were drunk, so I didn’t believe you. I thought you were playing a joke on me, but I made myself believe that if you could tell me exactly that when you woke up the next day then I would forgive you.” You take a deep breath in, closing your eyes tightly. “I never got to know the truth because Jungkook called me. He was furious, asking if I had seen you. He let it slip that the girl you had picked up that night refused to leave and was trashing the apartment.” You take a step back from him. “So, I can’t believe you when you tell me that you respect me because if you did then you wouldn’t have told me that you were in love with me after you told me I could never be loved, and not after you had slept with someone else.” You finish, bringing your hand up and whipping away the lone tear that you had let slip.

The truth was finally out.

The real reason why you never talked to him again. And the reason why your self-esteem crumbled into tiny pieces of glass. You hated that time. You slipped into bad habits, looking for validation in different crowds that never had your well-being in mind. You spiraled out of control. You let go of your bodily autonomy because for the longest time you thought you weren’t worth it. Until the night in which everything was taken from you. Both Jungkook and Jimin were there to witness the crumpled up piece of paper that you had become. It’s why they’re so protective of you because seeing you so helpless and paralyzed with fear was horrifying.

They haven’t voiced it out loud yet, but you know they don’t want you to go through this thing with Namjoon. Although, he wasn’t the culprit for your distrust in men. He was the reason as to why you went down a road that you didn’t belong on.

So, as much as you would like too, because guarding yourself with high walls is tiring. You can’t let them down. You lost so much for such a long time. Keeping them up is the only way you can protect yourself.

“No, I’m–no, I didn't do that.” He starts letting his hands fall against his sides. Your attention is back on him and you’ve never witnessed someone look so lost. “I would’ve remembered, I never drink that much.”

“So, I’m lying?” You scoff, throwing your hands in the air. As much as you're angry and want to continue fighting for your side. You’ve held on for so long to that little secret and now that it is out. You feel more exhausted than before.

Namjoon shakes his head. “I didn’t sleep with anyone that night. I would remember if I did.” He says more to himself. His head feels like it's being rewired a milliseconds at a time. Everything he’s thought up until this point feels foreign to him. He’s angry at himself, at Jungkook, and you. He’s trying to recall the events of that night. You told him you loved him with a starry look in your eyes. He turned you down in the worst way possible. He left. He went to the little speakeasy bar located in between a chinese-korean fusion restaurant and a lighting shop, by his apartment. He was approached by someone they talked a little and then he hits a black wall. He suspects that’s where the missing puzzle piece is hidden. He truly doesn’t remember ever going back to see you. Only that the next day he woke up woke up with the worst hangover of his life and Jungkook’s silent treatment that lasted more than two months.

“I really don-“

You lift a hand in defeat, and Namjoon’s words fall dead in the air. You let out a big sigh. “You don’t have to come up with any excuses to spare my feelings. What’s done is done. You don’t have to do all of this either.” You signal to your now forgotten breakfast and half packed lunch. “We can continue to pretend outside of this apartment, but we don’t have to try so hard to like each other and build something between the two of us. I’m sorry for suggesting it in the first place. I thought it would make things a lot easier but now I see that it won’t.” You say almost sadly before finally turning around and walking away.

It’s frustrating because even now he still lets you have the last word. He has so many things he wants to say, but his words are stunted with shock.

If Namjoon was born lucky, we would’ve stopped you from walking away from him again. He would’ve tried to convince you to call out of work so that the two of you could figure this out together. He’s never felt more serious about something before in his life–except for his research. He needs to know what happened during the second half of that night, and you’re the only one who seems to know.

Sadly, he wasn’t born lucky, and he loves to take the easy way out. He’s stuck watching your back, while his feet stay glued on the ground. He’s stuck with having to go about his day as if his world hasn’t just been flipped upside down by you.

There’s a rumor going around in the Literature/ Philosophy/Rhetoric department of HYBE U.

Professor Kim has stormed out of his classroom.

It was a lecture on aesthetics. Ancient aesthetics to be exact. It is one of his favorite’s to teach because he can talk about how beauty can be found in tragedy. It’s an immerseful lecture, it’s inspiring at all times. Namjoon loves to get lost in the philosophy of it all. You could almost say that he’s obsessed with how they believed that for one to be beautiful on the outside, they would need to be vicious on the inside. It proposes the questions:

Is beauty reflective of one's inner self or of what they desire? What lengths would you go to, to achieve that beauty?

Except on Monday for Namjoon’s first lecture of the day, he never made it that far. He never got the chance to hear his students' input, because he walked out ten minutes after walking into the lecture hall. He didn’t give anybody a warning. He didn’t pack up his stuff, he just stormed out, leaving behind a bewildered room of about twenty something pupils.

He hasn’t been seen since.

“I heard that one of Professor Kim’s parents died.”

“I heard that he was coming out of a weekend bender, I mean did you see how he was dressed. It’s like he just rolled out of bed.”

“I heard that it was a cocaine bender. I mean none of those crazy philosophy professors are sober.”

“Actually I heard Professor Kim’s fiance left him. She took advantage of him and then walked out on him this past weekend.”

Normally, contrary to popular belief you wouldn’t have thought twice about the rumors going around campus. Sure, you did tell Namjoon that you believed the rumors that were going around about him sleeping with multiple of the staff. Deep down you knew they weren’t true. At least to a certain extent, you won’t fault him for entertaining his desires.

Now as you’re making your way through the department the whispers only get louder from both faculty and students. The vicious stares only keep zeroing in the closer you get to your office, and if you have to hear one more person say something along the lines of: “Oh, she’s the one that took all his assets, look at her prancing around like she owns the world.” You will go insane.

Have they never seen a couples brawl before?

Though it does bother you to a certain extent. You didn’t leave him. You’re very much still with him. The only difference is the dynamics between the two of you. You only assume you’re being brought into this because you took a taxi to work rather than riding with him.

“I heard Professor Kim caught her with his step-brother, looks like she’s interested in good for nothing guys.”

You stop dead in your tracks, clutch onto your laptop case with an iron grip. Furious is an understatement you’re seething. You could ignore the things being said about you, knowing they would die down the minute they see the two of you together, but not the things being said about Jungkook.

Seriously, did they never fight with their significant other?

Yet, now that Jungkook is being thrown into the mix. You’re seeing red. So, instead of continuing your route to your office, you quickly turn, glaring at the person who just spewed the accusation, and make your way to Namjoon’s office.

You’re walking so fast that you’re there in seconds. You stare at the gold name plate in front of you. Dr. Namjoon Kim, it reads. You don’t let yourself admire it for a second longer because now you have an urgency that feels overwhelming. You knock so hard, your knuckles turn red. He opens on the third knock. His blue dress shirt is untucked, his tie forgotten on his desk. There are papers everywhere, yellow notepads sprawled all over the floor.

Jungkook is sitting at his desk, scrolling through the desktop.

Now you understand why Jungkook was suddenly being brought into the mess.

Namjoon is stunned, he’d been so out of it for the whole day, that he had forgotten that you worked with him in the same building. He’s been hiding out in his office, sending mass emails to all of his students, letting them know that due to ‘unforeseen circumstances’ he will be canceling all of his classes today.

Then, Jungkook showed up. His confusion lasted for a few seconds when he remembered that his brother’s sudden appearance wasn’t out of the blue.

Somewhere on his desk calendar were the words ‘Jungkook computer’ penciled in. It had completely slipped his mind that he had contacted the younger to set up the new desktop computer he had just bought. It required a set of skills that Namjoon d didn’t posses, and the only language he hasn’t bothered to learn, unlike his brother. The computer genius, Jungkook’s strongest forte. Those three semesters of computer coding classes didn’t go to waste. Only the amount of money he spent on them. He left them behind right before his last semester to earn a two year degree in photography, along with his parent’s disappointment.

“Can I come in?” You tilt your head gesturing to the inside of his office. He’s still looking at you wide-eyed, lost, and confused. Almost like he doesn’t quite understand why you are here. He thought he read the signs right this morning when he went to get you from your room to ask if you still wanted a ride to work. It was empty so he immediately took that as you not wanting to talk to him for a while.

Now, you were here standing in front of his office. It wasn’t even lunch time, and he knows you’ve already finished your last lecture of the day. Usually at this time you’re in your office waiting for him to finish, to go home together. It’s a routine that didn’t take long for him to memorize, especially because he had your work schedule printed out and pinned next to a picture of his family on the gray bulletin board of his office.

He is confused because you do want to talk to him now?

He doesn’t realize that he’s only been staring at you like a deer caught in headlights, without saying a word. His train of thought only breaks when you open your mouth again to ask the same question as before. “Um, yeah sure. Sorry about the mess. I think I lost some student papers.” He swallows, scratching the back of his head, as he steps to the side to let you in. He takes a deep breath before closing the door behind him, avoiding all the intrigued stares looking into his office in hopes to get a peak of the situation to add on to their fabricated stories.

“Hey Bunny, I was going to stop by your office to set up your new desktop in an hour.” Jungkook says, his eyes don’t leave the wide screen in front of him to know that you’re absolutely confused.

“I don’t have a new computer, Kook.” You say, walking up to Namjoon’s desk and setting your laptop in front of it.

Before Jungkook can answer and add onto your suspicions. Namjoon speaks up from behind you. “I bought you a new one when I bought mine. They both came in today so I asked Kook to come set them up since he’s the computer genius.”

You whip your head to face him, making him cringe. He hates that you look equally as shocked and annoyed at him. Truth be told he wasn’t thinking when he placed the order. He saw a good deal and took it. Thought that it would be a nice welcoming gift for you. Plus, speaking from experience, HYBE U’s faculty computers were so old that they never backed up anything. He’s lost so many hours of research in the years that he’s worked here.

“You didn’t have to do that Namjoon.” You sigh, shaking your head and making your way to one of his guest chairs. “But we can talk about that later because now that the two of you are here. We have something to discuss.”

This catches both of their attention. Namjoon stops looking through the old files in his filing cabinet, and Jungkook pauses his typing, indicating that you have their full undivided attention.

“Namjoon walked out of his lecture this morning. So, people are assuming the worst of you. And I’m guessing because someone saw Jungkook they’re also saying that I’m in some sort of love triangle with the two of you. Not to mention I am now a gold digger.” You let out a frustrated sigh, looking between the two of them. They look unfazed and it triggers something in you.

“My favorite one is the one where Namjoon is an alcoholic slash drug addict, slash mafia member.” Jungkook shrugs before returning to his typing, humming underneath his breath as he pulls up windows on windows of numbers and letters you can’t begin to understand.

You roll your eyes crossing your arms in front of you. “Don’t listen to them, they have nothing better to do than to assume.” Namjoon says, closing the filing cabinet and then moving on to the stacks of papers on his office floor. He sits down crossed legged, furrowing his brows as he begins to sort through them.

You scoff, “I understand that this is something that you are used to, but I’m not. My life was peaceful, rumor free before I got involved with you again. Now, I’m a gold digger, and a heartbreaker, and a mafia leaders wife.”

Namjoon slams the stack of papers he had been holding down on his carpeted floor. He’s been on edge since your big reveal this morning. He understands your frustration, but what is he supposed to do? Go out into the lobby and tell everyone that the real reason why the two of you are arguing is because ten years ago he confessed that he was in love with you and doesn’t remember a thing. And that the reason why things don’t make sense in your relationship is because your engagement isn’t real, and that the two of you are only together for personal and financial gain. Truthfully, it will only fuel the rumors more. And from personal experience, he’s learned to ignore them because eventually they’ll die down.

“There’s nothing we can do, but ignore them. They’re baseless and people will forget about them by tomorrow.” He pleas, running a stressed hand through his hair. He really needs to find those student papers. He didn’t realize they were missing until he came back from his lecture this morning. This stress is only adding onto the stress of the missing memories from ten years ago. He wants the whole world to hide away until he can figure shit out for himself.

“Maybe if the two of you stopped fighting people will stop making up rumors. I heard the two of you came to work in separate cars.” Jungkook suggests with a shrug. It only adds to your annoyance.

“There’s a reason for that.” You grumble.

“I’m sure there is but you guys are doing such a shitty job at this whole engagement thing. So, you better sort your shit out before it somehow reaches mom and dad.”

You roll your eyes and move to sit on the floor in front of Namjoon. Your heart aches to see the stress lines form all across his forehead. You wish you had been a bit nicer to him this morning, but the adrenaline from your reveal was doing most of the talking. If what he claims to be true. That he doesn’t remember anything then your heart aches for him. You know what it’s like to have pieces of your memories go missing. You’ve been where he has been before, and it takes a lot of brain power and willpower to not give up.

“Do you need help?” You whisper, crossing your legs in front of you. Namjoon lifts his head, nodding at your question before moving onto the next stack of papers. He’s never been this careless before. He’s always been so meticulous with his work and again if the university’s online submission system wasn’t so faulty he wouldn’t be having this problem.

“Do you remember the last time you had them?”

Namjoon shakes his head, running a hand down his face. “They turned them in last week, I swear they were on my desk, and I don’t remember taking them anywhere.”

You nod, starting to sort through another stack of papers. You have no idea what you’re supposed to be looking for. The fault of essays is that they’re all formatted the same way thanks to university guidelines. But you guess giving him the illusion that he has an extra pair of hands and eyes helping him makes him feel more calm.

“What day last week?”

“Thursday.”

A lightbulb goes off in your head. “Joon, didn't you come to my office right after your lecture on Thursday. I think you might’ve left them there. I haven’t been to my office yet, so I don’t know but we can check.”

Namjoon feels like a wave of relief has passed through him. He’s up instantly and full of hope as he extends his hand for you to take. “I hope you’re right, I really need to start grading them before their final papers come in.” He says, while you take his hand and you let him pull you up.

“Looks like we’re going on a family field trip through a sea of gossip.” Jungkook says from behind the two of you. “I’m done setting up your computer, I need to get to yours Bun, Joon and I have a gym session in an hour.” He says looking down at his smart watch, swiping through the tiny screen.

It makes you shudder at how official he looks. You’ve never seen him so calculated and organized before.

“You’re going to the gym?” You tilt your head as Namjoon interlaces his fingers with yours and opens the door to his office. You don’t question it, knowing it’s probably because it will put a rest to the rumors once and for all. It makes you tingle a little bit even though you know it’s all for show.

Namjoon nods as he steps out with you. “I forgot to tell you, but I can drop you off at home and then pick you up to go to the grocery store.”

You shake your head, following his lead as he moves towards your office with ease. Avoiding all the whispers and glares going on around you. “That’d be a waste of time and gas. I can just go with you to the gym and then we can go from there.”

“I don’t want you to get bored.” He’s sincere about it. He knows you’re not a fan of gyms ever since you were young. He knows you hate the smell of them and the testosterone that gets released into the air by all the men that are trying to compete with one another. Seokjin’s gym is no different.

You shrug, and open the door to your office. “I’ll just run on the treadmill and then bother Seokjin until he kicks me out.” You grin, stepping in. He follows behind you along with Jungkook who has a shit eating grin on his face.

Jungkook closes the door behind him. “Good job team, that’s more like it. You two make a very good and fake loving couple. I just saw all the jealous glares following the two of you. I can assure that all those rumors bothering you today will be forgotten by the time we all leave. Or worse, considering I heard some gasps and the accusation of us being a throuple thrown out there. ” He shrugs and lifts his hands up for a high-five, which the two of you ignore, with a roll of your eyes.

“People need to learn how to whisper.” You shake your head in disbelief before untangling your fingers from Namjoon’s. You spot the box of your new desktop on one of your guest chairs, and you guess it had been delivered to your office by the mail department while you were in class. As annoyed as you are about Namjoon spending his money on you. You’re still grateful he even thought of you in the first place.

Before you can admit defeat and give him your thanks, Namjoon is making a beeline to your empty bookshelf. A stack of papers, neatly placed on one of the shelves. He picks them up and lets out a sigh of relief. He must’ve placed them there while he was waiting for you last Thursday. It’s no wonder you hadn’t really spotted them because they weren’t in your line of sight.

“Found them?” You ask, stepping to the side as Jungkook soundlessly moves behind you to get to your desk.

“Yes, fuck, thank you for helping me.” Namjoon says. “Is it okay if I go back to my office to start grading them?” His question throws you off guard. Why would he need your permission? You nod, and he rushes out a quick thanks before he’s disappearing again, leaving you behind with Jungkook.

For a few minutes there’s an air of silence, apart from Jungkook’s angry mumbles as he assesses the mess of cables. Until he speaks up from under your desk. “You know, the rumors bothered him more than he let on.”

You turn around quickly and walk to where he is kneeling. “What do you mean?”

“Before you came in, he was huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf and mumbling about how everyone was stupid for assuming things.” He shrugs, “I think he didn’t want you to worry so much, which is why he told you to ignore them.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you sit down on the floor beside him, watching as he untangles and unplugs cables. “Did you hear the one about him selling his left kidney to the black market?”

Jungkook laughs, looking at you from over his shoulder. “It was so specific, I honestly couldn’t ignore it. I mean why not the right one?”

You laugh, taking the cable he tosses at you.

Namjoon can feel the droplets of sweat roll down the sides of his face. He hates sweating. Scratch that he hates that his body naturally runs hot, resulting in sweating even when standing still, It gets worse during the summer months. Though, in this instance he isn’t just standing. He’s in an intense sparring match with Jungkook.

After leaving your office. He managed to tidy up and grade at least three papers. The hour was up before he knew it and he was driving the three of you to Seokjin’s gym. The session started off simple, but then he saw that you had changed into gym clothes and for some reason his brain short circuited. He found himself pushing himself more when you looked in his direction and trying his best to get your attention whenever it wasn’t on him.

He doesn’t necessarily understand where this animalistic desire to hunt came from. He just knows that he probably looks like those annoying jocks with an inflated ego. And now you’re behind the gym’s front desk, laughing at something the owner is saying. His pit bubbles up with something undesirable and his hits only get stronger.

He wants your attention.

“Want to tell me why the two of you fought this morning?” Jungkook says out of breath, his words muffled from the navy mouth guard. He steps a few feet away from his brother, hands up protecting his face.

Namjoon understands every word, and he knows his brother had been dying to ask since he stepped into his office earlier that day.

“It’s nothing.” Namjoon shrugs, moving in to land a punch on his shoulder only for it to be blocked by the younger. Sometimes, Namjoon really hates sparring with Jungkook. He can’t begin to understand how the younger’s reflexes are so fast. It’s like he can predict where he is going to hit before Namjoon even thinks about it. He prefers Seokjin, but he’s chatting you up behind the counter. This thought has him charging forward again and Jungkook blocks it again.

Fuck, why is he so good at everything?

Jungkook, steps forward landing a punch to the side of Namjoon’s ribs, and he lets out a huff of pain. “It didn’t seem like nothing, it wasn’t like those petty fights the two of you have been having. It's more right?” He side steps, dodging Namjoon’s hit, and he lets out another frustrated groan. “You’re too slow.” The younger chuckles.

“Maybe you’re just freakishly fast, idiot.” He rolls his eyes, before taking a step back. He lets out a big sigh shaking his head. Wordlessly letting his brother know that he needs a moment. If this was a different day Namjoon could go hours without stopping. But every now and then his body asks for a break.

Jungkook nods before removing one of his gloves and mouth guard. “Are you going to tell me or will I have to live in the dark forever.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“So, I can help of course.” Jungkook replies with a hint of arrogance, a smirk making its way onto his face.

Namjoon sighs as he sits down against the wall, taking off his gloves and setting them to the side. Jungkook joins him, bringing his knees up to his chest, patiently waiting for his brother to answer.

Sometimes it’s funny how things work. Who would’ve thought that the two brother’s from different mother’s would one day grow to depend on each other so much. Despite Jungkook being younger than him, he somehow always had helpful advice.

“Apparently told her that I loved her the same night I told her I could never love her.” He whispers, picking at the gauze on his hands. He ignores Jungkook’s shock, it’s enough to know that he didn’t know and that truly the only one who knew was you. Before he can let his brother get a word in he continues to talk. “I don’t remember that, I don’t remember any of it and it’s scaring me.” He admits, bringing his knees up to his chest.

“What do you mean you don’t remember that. It seems like a pretty big thing to just forget.” Jungkook offers just as equally as confused as him.

“Apparently you called her asking about my whereabouts because my one night stand wouldn’t leave.” Namjoon adds and it triggers a memory Jungkook forgot he had. He does remember being furious at his older brother. Not only because earlier that night you had called him to tell him everything. It only added to his anger when he found a strange woman on his couch.

“How do you not remember that?” Jungkook questions again, sitting up straighter. He remembers the anger he felt then. He remembers picking up his brother at your parents house. And he remembers how drunk Namjoon had been, which only made matters worse because he was uncontrollable and winning like a baby as he hauled him into their shared car. He remembers your tear stained face, and your hardened features. He remembers being afraid of never seeing you again because of his brother and his mistakes. He also remembers everything that spiraled out of control after that night. All the nights you were physically and emotionally in pain. He remembers it so vividly, that he’s so annoyed that his brother doesn’t.

Was that moment so insignificant that he was able to forget it in seconds?

Namjoon sighs, closing his eyes. “I swear on mom and dad’s life, on my career, on my fucking life Kook that I don’t remember anything after I left her house the first time. I don’t remember ever getting home from the bar or bringing somebody home.” There is a mess of emotions going on inside of him, but the main one is fear.

Jungkook turns his head to face his brother. He can see the inner turmoil written all over his face, as much as he felt anger back then. He can’t help but feel a little guilty. What if after all these years his anger was misplaced?

“What are you implying?” Jungkook whispers.

“I don’t know, I don’t want to know. I’ve gone through so many scenarios in my head.” He sets his head on top of his arms resting on his knees. The only thing that he can come up with that makes sense is the one thing he wants to ignore. “Maybe I was drugged.” He whispers. In seconds Jungkook’s arms are around him and he’s bringing him closer. He didn’t know that one day he would’ve had to go through this again, let alone with his brother.

He feels angry again, this time at himself for not thinking twice about everything, and to the people who keep hurting the ones he loves. “I’m sorry Joon, I’m sorry for being such an ass to you. I should’ve–”

“You couldn’t have done anything Kook. You don’t normally think about things like this happening to men, let alone people who look like me. I also don’t know if that’s entirely true.”

“It doesn’t matter Joon, someone still took advantage of you.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe that’s just me making shit up in my head to understand why I can’t remember the second half of events that night.” Namjoon sighs, sitting up straight and unwraps the gauze around his knuckles. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”

Jungkook sighs, shaking his head. “Joon, one day you’re going to realize that you don’t have to fight all of your battles on your own. Whatever happened that night, whatever made you lose your memories that night. You don’t have to go through that alone. You don’t have to put yourself through that agony. You have people around you that will always be there for you.” He says, spotting you laughing at something Seokjin was saying, your short ponytail bouncing while you shake. It took so long for you to smile and laugh like that, and he never wants that smile to disappear again. “You don’t have to make up excuses or say it’s not a big deal. If you believe that’s what happened to you, knowing yourself, then that’s what happened. It might be too late to go back to that time and fix our wrongs, but we can start fresh from this moment on. I know will understand and want that too.” Jungkook finishes, nodding in your direction.

Namjoon follows his younger brother's gaze. He catches you staring at them. At him. The second your eyes meet, you send him a smile, ignoring whatever nonsense Seokjin is spewing at you. It’s a silent conversation, only the two of you understand. He knows that even though things from this morning still need to be resolved, that Jungkook is right.

“When did you get so wise?” Namjoon looks over at him.

Jungkook, sits up taller, puffing his chest out, out of pride from the subtle praise. He flexes his arms in front of him before responding. “Mom says it’s because this isn’t my first life.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes before standing up, grabbing his equipment with him and extends a hand for him to take. “Whatever, I’m going to have to cut our session short.” He pulls the doe-eyed man up with ease, before glancing over his shoulder where you’re now organizing the gym’s merchandise. No doubt that you have somehow been recruited by the owner himself to do the thing he finds most annoying. He smiles wide, looks at his suspecting brother.

“I have to go grocery shopping”

As gross as it sounds, Namjoon didn’t bother changing out of his gym clothes. He was in such a hurry that all he did was wet his hair in the sink and wipe the sweat from his face. He acknowledges that he might’ve smelled a little too much like a man, but he wouldn’t know because you haven’t made a face or brought it up. You’re simply scanning the aisles, and referring to your phone while he pushes the cart next to you.

“What meals do you want to have this week?” You ask, as you stop walking out of curiosity. He had been so hyper focused on the way that he might’ve smelled that he forgot to ask you that on the car ride over. Now, he is drawing a blank. He’s sure he looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Pasta?” He tilts his head to the side, making you laugh. You should’ve known the only thing he’s really confident in making is pasta. When he told you that Seokjin had been teaching him how to cook, you expected more knowledge of different meals. Not more knowledge on different kinds of pasta.

“How about I decide and you just continue to help me push the cart.” You suggest, giving his shoulder a pat and then start walking again. He forgot the other reason he had been so distracted, until now. You also hadn’t changed from your workout clothes. Not that it mattered because you hadn’t actually worked out. Apart from the thirty minutes on the treadmill before getting distracted by Seokjin, and being roped into odd jobs around the gym.

There should be no reason why your ass looks as good as it did in those wine colored leggings. Or why they somehow hugged your waist perfectly. And why is your black shirt so tight? He feels troubled.

“I’m thinking that we can make a bunch of power bowls for lunch this week, and then I don’t know what for dinner.” You say with a pensive hand on your chin.

“I can make mandu soup one night? Mom showed me how to make it a few years ago.” He adds on, looking at the frozen packs of different types of dumplings. Personally, his favorite ones are the kimchi ones. “But Seokjin also wants me to start fasting, so maybe I can just make you dinner.” He ends, looking over to his side where you’ve taken it upon yourself to open one of the freezer doors. He smiles when you shudder at the sudden cool breeze hitting your arms.

“I can just fast with you.” You shrug, showing him the mixed bag of dumplings. He nods in approval and you hum while setting it down in the cart. He watches as you pull your phone out of the band of your leggings, and check something off from the list on your phone.

Namjoon starts to push the cart again once you step to the side. He feels you come beside him, and from the corner of his eye he sees you place your hand on the cart handle. A little too close to his. “You don’t need to fast with me,” he stops for a second to gather his thoughts. He’s finally beginning to learn that with you he needs to do that before he starts to spew out nonsense. “I don’t want you to fast with me. You don’t need to and it helps me if I make food for you.” He shrugs, looking ahead because he’s positive that he catches the little warmth that hides behind your indifferent stare; he will melt in this frozen aisle of the grocery store.

“Fine, I’ll do a baby fast after I eat dinner, no more midnight snacks and cookies, and icecream.” You decide, and he can’t argue with that because once you have your mind set on something, he knows he won’t be able to change it.

“We can have cookies and ice cream on the weekend.” He pouts, while you open another freezer door and take out two bags, one of frozen pieces of korean pumpkin, and another of frozen pieces of sweet potato. He makes a face, knowing they’re his least favorite but now he understands why you suggested making power bowls for lunch this entire week.

Seokjin must’ve gotten into your head and your grocery list.

He sees you pause before setting the bags into the cart. The wheels visibly turn in your head and you look at him brightly. “Can we make a pit stop before going home?”

Home.

To Namjoon the word feels so foreign and familiar coming from your mouth. If he’s being honest he’s never pictured building a home with anyone in his life. So, why did it feel so right when you said it? He must be trippin. He must be still running on the endorphins of his workout. He must still be thinking about the past Namjoon who confessed without knowledge. He must still be trying to justify his actions to find an answer, because there’s still a little part of him that doesn’t believe he ever said he was in love.

In his thirty years of life he’s never been in love. He can’t begin to explain what love feels like because he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced it. Yet, there’s the part of him that is yelling at him, annoyed for ignoring all the signs that were already there. Ever since this morning he’s been in a constant battle with himself. Teetering over the edge of letting himself feel again and keeping all of his feelings locked up like a constipated kid who had too much chocolate before dinner.

He can’t deny that it will just be easier if he lets go, but he wasn’t lying when he told Jungkook he was scared. Scared that something had been taken from him and he didn’t know about it for years. Why must life and love be so complicated? Why couldn’t you have one without the other? He’s always been a simple man. A simple university professor for the later half of his life. And here he was contemplating his life altogether like he was going through the midlife crisis he had when he was twenty five again.

It’s all so tiring, but he supposes this is karma for dedicating his life to philosophy. He overthinks everything and runs himself in circles looking for answers only to end up with more questions.

Sigh.

Namjoon realizes he didn’t answer your question, when you shrug and keep walking. He has to catch up to you with only a few steps before he’s back next to you. Your hand comes up to the handle with practice and you look up at him. The same question burning behind your curious stare.

“Yes, where do you want to go?”

You smile brightly, clapping your hands in front of you. “There’s a really small fruit stand by the apartment, the ahjussi there sells the best sweet potatoes in the world.” You explain with such joy that he can’t help but feel excited as well. “I want to eat only that for dinner. I’ve really been craving it for weeks now. Jungkook used to bring me some whenever he came over after visiting you.”

Namjoon’s mouth opens in understanding and he nods. “Well, you can’t just have that for dinner. You need to eat something else.” He tilts his head and begins to push the grocery cart again.

You pout letting out a whine. “But I literally don’t want anything else except for that. I’ll even eat all three. He always gives an extra one. So, I’ll eat all four.” You follow behind him, as he lets out a chuckle.

“I know you well enough to know that if you do end up eating all four you’ll complain about your stomach hurting for the rest of the night. I’ll make you some tteokbokki.” He offers, pulling open a freezer door and taking out frozen bags of rice cakes and fish cakes.

You wave your hands in front of him. “We are totally derailing from our grocery list.”

“That’s what happens when we come to the store hungry and without a plan.” Namjoon overrides your arms and puts the bags into the cart basket.

You huff. “I did have a plan.”

“The one Seokjin gave you is not a plan but more like a work in progress.” Namjoon counteracts before moving. “Come on, We still need to get vegetables, fruits and some sort of protein. Unless you want to eat a whole weeks worth of frozen food.” He lifts an eyebrow almost as if he’s challenging you.

You roll your eyes, hitting his back lightly. “Next time, I’m going to make the best grocery plan in the world so that you won’t be able to infiltrate it.” You state before walking in front of him, your face furrowed in determination.

It's at this moment, in which Namjoon realizes that maybe letting go wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He’s already been halfway there since the infamous kiss and his talk with Jungkook. He might as well just go in head first fearlessly. Something tells him that at the end of the day it will be worth it.

So, he laughs and follows you, like it’s second nature.

In the end, Namjoon didn’t start his fast. In fact he was so hungry that he practically begged for you to split the sweet potatoes with him. He knows you won’t finish all four and they smelled so sweet that it made his mouth water.

Now, you’re both sitting in front of his coffee table, picking at the almost empty pot of rice cakes. Namjoon had practically scraped it clean with the left over rice he had fished out of the fridge. There’s an almost empty bottle of wine in between the two of you as you silently digest your meal.

“I think we should talk.” You look over at him bringing your knees up to your chest, hugging them. You’ve already showered and changed out of your workout clothes sporting an old t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Your hair is still slightly wet, curling at the ends due to the humidity because Namjoon refuses to turn on the aircon until he’s about to fall asleep to conserve electricity.

Namjoon hums, setting down his chopsticks on a napkin, he turns his body to face you, signaling that he agrees with a nod of his head.

“Can I start?” Namjoon tilts his head in question, setting down his chopsticks on the holder in front of him. You weren’t expecting for him to want to go first, especially because he always hated confrontation. He always hated admitting fault, something the two of you have in common. But for some reason it always came easy when it was just the two of you.

You nod your head as a signal for him to continue talking. He takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry for telling you all those things back then. I regretted it the moment they came out of my mouth. I wanted to apologize but I was too much of a coward and I ran away.” He confesses in one breath, bringing his knees up to his chest.

Your heart feels like it's been pierced by a thousand arrows. Each one making the dent deeper. This was the apology you had longed for for years. Not the handwritten one he sent with Jungkook. You had dreamed about it and wondered if you would have ever given him a second chance if he simply just looked you in your eyes and apologized. Yet, the logical part of you knew better. It knew that even if the apology came in any sort of form, you wouldn’t accept it.

The damage was done and you were already spiraling into your black hole with no way out. Until that one silver lining after the unfortunate incident in which you called Jungkook sobbing to pick you up from the stranger's house.

The apology you ever so wanted to hear out loud, meant nothing. Though, that didn't mean you didn’t appreciate it. It was just a little too late.

“I can’t accept your apology Namjoon.” You start, holding your hand up to stop him from speaking up, his mouth hangs open. “But thank you. It took so many years for me to let it go and accept that you will never be in my life again.” You chuckle. “It’s ironic because here we are.” You signal to your surroundings. “I won’t lie you hurt me so much but I ended up hurting myself more. I took your words to heart and spent countless nights thinking I was unlovable but never truly believing it until someone showed me I was only a disposable body to them.” You take a deep breath, closing your eyes.

Namjoon lets out a shaky breath. “Y-You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He whispers, unsure if he can give you a hug because things are starting to make sense.

You shake your head. “It’s okay, I can talk about it now.” You whisper, your voice faltering in the end. You clear it and continue. “I went out with some people I thought were my friends. The night started out fine, we went for dinner and then decided to hit some clubs. By the third club, I was so drunk that I only remember pieces of it, but I remember enough. I approached him, I made out with him. He told me he and his friends lived outside of the city and if I wanted to come over. I said yes. My friends saw us leaving and they tried to stop me but then pushed me to go, so I did.” You tighten your hold around your arms a little more. “Every time I think about that night. I only remember all the times I could’ve avoided the outcome. We didn’t leave right away. We waited for his friends on some stairs and there was this ajumma who kept telling me not to go, to get away from him. And I didn’t, I stayed. I got in the car, I went into the apartment. I sat on his couch. I then laid in his bed. One of his friends came into the room and he asked me if I was okay and that if I wasn’t he would call me a taxi to go back home, but I declined. That was my last out and I decided to stay.” You rest your chin against your knees, blinking back tears. Though, you’ve partially healed from this moment. It still sits fresh in your mind. You don’t remember his face or his name but there are nights in which your head isn’t screwed on right and you remember the acid burn of his touch.

“It didn’t happen right away, but when it did I first begged him to stop because he wasn’t wearing protection. He kept going and going, while I yelled. He finally stopped when he was pleased and my stomach was stained with him. He got up, went to the bathroom, came back and fell asleep. I laid there paralyzed, feeling the naive girl in me break with every breath that I took. I didn’t know what to do. I somehow convinced myself that it was okay, and I didn’t call your brother until the following morning. I don’t really remember if I slept or not. I don’t remember getting up and getting dressed. All I remember is waking up in your brother's bed with him, Jimin and Tae sleeping on the ground.” You finish, running your thumb underneath your eyes to wipe away the remaining tears.

It’s amazing how every time you talk about it, it always feels like you can start anew. Like you’re still subconsciously carrying that weight and it only gets lighter when you let it out. Still, there’s some part of you that is terrified to look over at Namjoon. You aren’t sure if you should’ve said anything or if it was too soon.

What you don’t expect him to say is, “Can I give you a hug?” Because despite his heart being able to hold different kinds of what he thinks could be love. Affection and comfort is not his strong suit. So, you nod and melt into his arms when they circle around your shoulders gently. It feels ghostly. Like they’re not really there because he’s afraid you’ll break. But he’s always been full of surprises and lately as much as you hate to admit it he’s been surprising you a lot. Both in good and bad ways.

He rests his cheek on top of your head and closes his eyes, sniffling. He started crying eons ago. His eyes were already watering from the start and yet he still has nothing to say. “I’m sorry, you were never unlovable. I shouldn’t have said that.” He whispers, “You were the most precious person in my life at the time and I was afraid of losing you, but I guess I did so anyway. I hate that I wasn’t there for you, and I know that if I hadn’t said what I said, you wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place.” He whispers into your hair, finally letting go of his fear and hugging you tightly.

“It’s not your fault Joon.”

“And it’s not yours either.” He counteracts, twinkling his fingertips down your arm, his hand encases around yours, spreading your palm to fit his fingers in between the spaces of your own. “I’m sorry for kissing you the other night and being such an asshole about it after. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.” You grin, sniffling.

Namjoon sighs, before finally intertwining his fingers with yours. I’m sorry for telling you that I loved you and then not remembering it. But please believe me when I tell you that I didn’t sleep with anyone that night I really don't remember ever bringing somebody home. I don’t know what happened, if I was drugged or if I really drank to the point of blacking out, but I really don’t remember.” He says almost begging towards the end. You hold his hand tighter and nod your head in acknowledgment.

The strings of your heart start being plugged like the strings of a guitar that is out of tune. You hope with everything in your being that nothing like what happened to you happened to him, because you know what it feels like. You know what it feels like to lose that part of you and spend years looking for it. Only to realize that it’s gone and never coming back. Only to realize that the one thing you can do is let go and build it up again piece by piece. This time stronger.

“I’m sorry, Joon, I don’t know if we will ever know but I can be there for you if you ever do end up remembering something.” You hold him tighter and he does the same with you. You stay like that basking in the silence that’s grown to be a sort of comfort in the past few hours. You forget about all of the fights and snarky comments. Except for the one prying question you’ve had lingering in the back of your mind.

“Can I ask you something?” You tilt your head to the side, his face is so close to yours that you can still smell the wine and kimchi lingering in his breath.

“Anything.” He grins, moving his head a little up to give himself a little more view of your eyes. They’re twinkling like the midnight skies the two of you used to wish the city had. He never found the stars with the amount of light pollution from all the skyscrapers, but he always found them in your eyes.

His heart jumps.

“Did you really mean it that night?” You begin, “That you loved me.” You whisper the last part so low that he’s thankful the house is silent because otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to hear you.

Namjoon is at a crossroads. He’s unsure of what to say or what the correct answer should be. Yet, he doesn’t want to lie, and remembers the promise he made tonight with Jungkook sitting by his side.

Let go.

“I loved you the minute we sat in that coffee shop, mourning over our unfortunate break ups while sharing that stupid cake.”

For the second time since entering each other's life, both of you give in. Instead of him being the one to move first. It’s you.

You hesitate, until he nods in approval and finally you kiss him.

[sheerfreesia007]

Win A Date With A Naval Officer pt. 2

Title: Win A Date With A Naval Officer pt. 2

Fandom: Top Gun Maverick

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x OFC!

Author: @sheerfreesia007​

Words: 2,267

Warnings: 

Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711, @fioccodineveautunnale, @phoenixhalliwell, @linkpk88, @weirdowithnobeardo, @athalien

WADWANO Tag List: @fandom-princess-forevermore

Gif Credit: @unhandme-orbleed

The early morning sun is shining brightly as Lettie parks her car in her parents’ wide semi circle cobblestone driveway. She grimaces slightly as she gets out of her car and spots her parents' two Cadillacs sitting freshly washed and waxed in the driveway ahead of her beat up Volkswagen Bug that she’s had for years. She grabs her purse from the front passenger seat before hip checking the door shut and walking to the back of the car. Opening the trunk she smiles as she takes in a breath of the delicious smelling food that she made yesterday for the veteran’s charity event that her mom helped set up.

She grabs the large trays that she had packed away for her Dad and begins to walk up towards the large sprawling mini mansion that her parents lived in. Shaking her head she felt her long curly dark brown hair fall down her back and sighed happily before walking up the stairs carefully. Once she was at the top of the stairs she set the trays down on one of the many small tables that littered the large covered wrap around porch before pressing the doorbell. She idly wondered if her mother had bought another set of tiny tables as she looked around the porch, there were so many tiny tables.

“Coming!” Called her Dad from inside the house and Lettie smiled happily as she waited for her Dad to come to the door. “Well, what do we have here? If it isn't, my long lost daughter come to visit her lonely old father.” Teased her Dad as he opened up the front door and stood in front of the screen door.

“I saw you just last night when you came into the kitchen to steal a beignet from me, old man.” Lettie teased right back. Her Dad began to close the door slowly as he stepped back.

“With that sassy mouth of yours I shouldn’t even let you in.” He gripped out and Lettie gasped in faux offense as her hand flew to her chest dramatically.

“Then whomever am I going to give all these leftovers to?” She cried out in over exaggerated dismay while gesturing to the two large trays of food that she had sitting on the side table. Her Dad quickly opened the door once more and peered out the screen door towards the trays.

“Come in, come in child. Don’t want the neighbors knowing that you have food.” He rushed out quickly as he held the screen door open for her while she laughed happily at his antics.

“Hi Dad.” She greeted him kindly before pressing a kiss to his proffered cheek.

“Hey there Lettie girl.” He greeted as he followed her into the house towards the large kitchen that Lettie was so envious of. She never understood why her parents bought a house with such a large, almost industrialized kitchen if they weren’t ever going to use it. Lord knew that her mother never cooked and her Dad didn’t know the difference between a microwave and a toaster oven.

Walking into the kitchen Lettie imagined all the different types of dishes that she could cook in this room. With all the space and countertop surface it had she could cook meals for days and still have room to put the finished dishes. Not to mention the large gas stove or the large farmhouse basin, Lettie could live in this kitchen and die happy if her parents would let her.

“You did really well with the food last night. It was all delicious.” Her Dad said kindly as Lettie set the trays of leftovers on the counter. Her smile was a mile wide as she turned to her Dad who was already pulling out two plates and gathering two forks for the two of them.

“You’re only saying that because I brought you leftovers, old man.” She teased him and her Dad scoffed as he plated up two portions of her Jambalaya and handed one to her with a fork.

“I can’t deny I love when you bring leftovers. But you have a real talent Lettie and I could never take that away from you. And I never would want to.” Her Dad says truthfully as he digs into his plate humming happily once the food touches his tongue.

“Henry! Are you eating again!?” Her mother’s shrill cry rings out and Lettie turns to watch her mother come walking into the kitchen. The way her mother moves makes it look like she’s walking on air and her hands are perpetually extended out as if everyone around her is waiting with their hands out to hold her own. Her dad huffs and takes another bite of his food as he turns away from her mother. “Honestly Henry! You’re going to grow as big as a house!” her mother reprimands him and Lettie laughs as her dad makes a silly disgruntled face at her mother. Lettie knows her dad has a home gym in the basement of the house and uses it almost daily so she knows her mother’s comment is unlikely to happen, her dad’s as  healthy as a horse and enjoys food. Lettie wonders if her dad works out daily because he loves food so much.

“Hi, mom. How are you?” Lettie asks as she greets her mother with a hug that her mother barely leans into before she moves away from Lettie to stand at the opposite side of the large island.

“You didn’t come and greet any of the Naval officers that were at the event last night.” her mother says in lieu of a greeting and Lettie sighs softly knowing that her mother is just going to nag her about the same thing as always. “They were all around your age and all very handsome. You should’ve come and said hello. Maybe you could’ve met your future husband.” her mother said disapprovingly. 

“Mom, I was actually working in the kitchen during the event. All that food you enjoyed wasn’t going to cook itself.” Lettie said pessimistically as she rolled her eyes at her mother’s nagging.

“That’s why you had kitchen staff in there with you.” her mother countered and Lettie sighed while pinching the bridge of her nose. Her mother never truly understood how much work went into catering a charity event, especially one that she hosted or helped with.

“Yes, they cooked most of the food but I was in charge of timing, preparation, presentation and making sure everything tasted the way it needed to taste. I didn’t have a spare moment to myself last night.” Lettie tried to explain.

“Well all that effort and yet the result was subpar at best.” her mother huffed and Lettie sucked in a sharp breath at her mother’s hurtful words. She knew her mother didn’t agree with her career choice but she didn’t think it was appropriate for her to bad mouth her cooking.

“Nonsense.” her dad spoke up and Lettie saw him scowling at her mother. “She worked her ass off last night and the food was phenomenal!” her dad protested before gesturing to the trays of leftovers that she had brought. “Not to mention your daughter was kind enough to bring leftovers for us so that we wouldn’t have to rely on going out for dinner for once.”

“I thought you liked going out for dinner?” her mother asked disdainfully and her dad huffed softly at her.

“Yes, but not every night. It gets tiring always going out. Some nights I’d rather just stay home.” her dad explained and her mom turned her nose up at him before turning back to Lettie.

“Anyway, when are you going to take me seriously about settling down Letticia?” Her mother asked her as if her conversation with her dad hadn’t happened at all. “You’re not getting any younger, you're already twenty five. At your age your sister Vi was already married for five years and had just given birth to Michael.” her mother said, comparing Lettie to her oldest sister.

Lettie sighed as she took a seat on the stool nearest her, her mother always compared her to her older sisters. And for Lettie it wasn’t as if she was getting caught up in trouble or anything, she just wasn’t living the life that her mother wanted for her and her sisters. Her mother was old school southern belle where the woman married young and became a stay at home mom and dedicated her life to charity work and keeping her appearance and home pristine while raising a gaggle of children. Lettie didn’t think there was anything wrong with the lifestyle that her mom wanted for her but it wasn’t something that Lettie wanted for herself. She loved to cook and found that she had a talent and passion for it. Plus she felt cooking for those less fortunate than herself was the best charity work that she could do. She didn’t want to give up her career as a chef because she enjoyed it too much plus she had worked hard for the position of head chef at one of the more prominent restaurants in New Orleans. It was a source of pride for Lettie and she refused to let that go just for her to stay at home, she had so much more that she wanted to accomplish and do in her life.

Not to mention Lettie was a horrible klutz when it came to anything that didn’t involve the kitchen. She was always tripping over her own two feet or knocking into things whenever she wasn’t in the kitchen. But when she was in the kitchen it was as if everything fell away from her, all her worries and stress melted away and she was able to focus solely on cooking. Lettie was her happiest when she was cooking or baking and she was unwilling to give up that happiness even for her mother.

“Leave Lettie alone CarolAnn. She’s a hard working, strong, independent woman. That’s more than we should hope for her to be. She’s also a kind soul who gives up her time and talent to cook for the needy. Give up the perfect Southern Belle dream of yours.” her dad speaks up as he shakes his head at his wife.

“Henry! Lettie is a Southern Belle; she just needs to find the man who will help her create her dream.” her mother argues as she frowns at him.

“Lettie is not like that and she never will be CarolAnn! I don’t understand what you’re not understanding! Lettie is perfect the way she is, let her live her life the way she wants to.” her dad gripped out and her mother scowled at him. Lettie smiled warmly at her dad’s words and felt a warm confidence begin to swell inside of her. Lettie watched the two of them as if she was at a tennis match, her head swiveling back and forth from either parent. She knew that her mother wanted all her daughters to be the perfect Southern Belle but Lettie truly felt that she was the furthest thing from that image. She could clean up well and be presentable but she’d rather be in her worn blue jeans and comfy shirts with flour or food staining them as she cooked and baked in her kitchen.

“I didn’t put in all this work into each of my daughters for her to not be a Southern Belle. She needs to grow up and settle down with a man who will treat her right and take care of her.” her mother snapped out and Lettie felt her confidence drop with each word that was pushed past her mother’s lips. “She needs to start thinking about her future and start looking for a man!”

“Mom, calm down. When I find a man I’ll let you know.” Lettie says calmly as she tries to ease the tension that has filled the kitchen between her parents. She knows that she doesn’t want the life her mother wants for her but she figures that the arguing and tension between her parents isn't healthy and she doesn’t want them to be like that with each other, especially if it’s because of her.

“No matter.” Her mother says with her nose stuck high into the air as she huffs softly at her husband. “I won the auctioned date with one of the Naval Officers. You are going to go on that date and dress up in the dress I’ve bought for you.” Her mother says firmly and coldly and Lettie’s taken aback for a moment.

“CarolAnn!” Snaps her dad but Lettie holds a hand up to him to ease his anger.

“Fine I’ll go but after this no more talk about becoming a Southern Belle. You let me live my life the way I want to.” Lettie bargains and her mother eyes her harshly for a moment before tilting her head from side to side.

“Alright but you have to actually put in effort for this date.” Her mother counters and Lettie huffs softly.

“Fine and after that no more Southern Belle.” Lettie states firmly and her mother nods her head impatiently. “Good. Now when and where is this date?” Lettie asks and her mother lights up before flouncing out of the kitchen to get the dress and information for the date. Lettie looks over to her dad and sees him frowning softly at the doorway that his wife just walked out of. “It’ll be fine dad.” Lettie reassures him. “It’s just a date.”

[soramei]

Intentional - Part 2

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: none right now, eventual smut,

Word Count: 5.2k

Masterlist

A/N: o my god i did not expect so many people to have read the first part… even if only one person reads im still happy :D anyways heres the second part (i swear bang chan wont just be a side character later on hhahaha)

The insistent beeping of the alarm on your phone was what first woke you up from your dazed sleep. Your head still pounded from the night before, and frankly, you were ready to get fired for an extra five minutes of sleep. Tapping the ‘cancel’ button on your phone, you flipped over head down on your pillow to find the beautiful dreamland you were in. However, after just five more minutes, the triggering beeping of your backup alarm took you out of your slumber again, this time really waking you up. 

You trudge towards your bathroom, still dreading the day, on your way to take a shower. Thankfully, the steam from the warm shower combined with the fragrant smell of your conditioner slightly woke you up and dampened the aching in your head. 

Being drastically more awake than before, you made your way over to your kitchen to prepare breakfast. You opened the fridge, mind blank, just staring at the empty shelves. I seriously need to do some grocery shopping, you thought before grabbing an egg. 

You struggled to turn on the stove, not knowing which knob correlated to which burner. Turning a random one, you flinched when an excessive amount of fire appeared. However, after an embarrassingly long amount of time, you finally figured out the stove. Why are there still gas range stoves when electrical stoves exist? You wondered. 

You looked at the sad cooked egg in front of you. 

Was this really how you were going to live from now on? You cursed your whole family for spoiling you so much back home. Sure you were grateful for being able to live with your family for twenty three years, but the consequences of your mother making a fuss when you tried to cook for yourself was really showing now. 

You were about to dig into your lonely meal when your phone buzzed all of a sudden. Taking a quick peek at it, you saw Na-eun’s name flash up. You beamed with joy. Although you already worked up the nerve to be the first one to contact her, you were thankful she did first to break the tension. However, there was a small — microscopic even — part of you that wondered: what if that were Bang Chan?

You unlocked your phone. 

Na-eun: Hey! I know it’s kinda last minute, but do you wanna meet for breakfast?

Na-eun: There’s a café five minutes away from the building. 

Na-eun: ^-^

Smiling to yourself, you quickly typed a reply.

Y/n: Sure! My breakfast looks too sad to eat… 

Y/n: ^-^

In a flash, you stuffed your egg into a plastic tupperware container and put it in the empty fridge before booking it out your door, making sure to carefully enter the passcode to lock it before running to the staircase. You almost tripped over the stairs going down as you tried to sprint and text Na-eun at the same time. Checking the maps app on your phone, you told her how long it would take for you to arrive at the café. 

Na-eun: Do you mind if I bring my roommate? She keeps complaining about how boring it is at home haha.... 

Na-eun: She’s really nice though! ^^;

You happily agreed since you weren’t in the position to turn down another potential friend. Already two potential friends? You were so excited. 

There was a bounce in your steps as you made your way down to the subway. Scanning your card, you made your way to the big group of people on the platform and waited for your train. Taking the subway was so new, yet refreshing. There was something exciting about seeing a brand new set of people board the cart every stop, it was almost like refreshing your Instagram feed over and over again. 

After just a couple minutes more of waiting, your subway came. You naturally found your way in by shuffling along with the flock of people and found a good place to stand. 

You surveyed your cart. Some high school students, a few elderly, and many many businesspeople dressed in attire very similar to you. They all seemed to be busy on their cellular devices, so you quickly pulled yours out as well, eager to blend in. Your little Tamagotchi friend was happy to see you. 

The sound of the automated woman’s voice was what drew you out of your concentration, as she announced that the subway would be stopping at your destination next. When the subway stopped, the sea of people rushed out in a big tidal wave and you just went along with the flow. 

The map posted on a big pillar in the station was difficult to read at first, but after embarrassingly asking a station officer, you were confident you knew where you were going. The station was big with many interwoven hallways, each connecting to a different location. It had a couple shops and convenience stores located along the sides where students running late could buy some bread or tired businesspeople could inject their early morning dose of caffeine. 

You weaved your way through the long halls, confident that you could remember how you got out the right exit yesterday. Finally, after passing by many familiar stores and signs, you eventually made it above ground at the right exit. It was a cloudy September morning, the wind flew past you at just the right speed to elicit a slight shiver. You curse yourself for not bringing a jacket in your rush to the café. The streets were busy with cars zooming by, but it was nowhere near as congested as the subway traffic.

You started following your phone’s GPS to the marked location, and after a couple minutes, you spot the café. You immediately recognized it as a chain café as you’ve seen a few more of these scattered around the city as you got around. This one, however, appeared to be larger than the others (presumably because it was near so many big name companies) as it had three floors in total. 

You texted Na-eun, telling her you’ve arrived. She let you know that they were both in one of the booths on the second floor, so you decided to order before heading up. Walking over to the cashier, you scanned their massive menu, trying to find what you were looking for.

“One mango juice, please.” You politely ordered. “And also a slice of the red velvet cake.”  

After you had paid, you waited patiently, hands folded in front of you for your food. Because it wasn’t busy in the morning, it wasn’t that long until one of the baristas handed your food to you on a tiny plastic tray and you started making your way up. You reached the top floor and scanned your eyes around the room to find a familiar face. 

“Y/n!” Na-eun waved.

You waved back and made your way over. She was in the booth, and there was another girl sitting beside her. 

“Y/n, this is my roommate Yoojin.” She smiled at you and made a gesture towards the smaller girl sitting beside her. She was a fluffy haired girl. Her appearance was puppy-like, with her wide eyes and a large smile that was almost too big for her face. 

“Hi Yoojin.” You said as you sat down. 

“Hi Y/n! Na-eun told me about you yesterday. It seems like you have similar jobs.” She looked back at you with wide eyes. “But I think you got luckier because you actually get to interact with the idols.” 

“I think both of us are lucky to even be working there,” you chuckled, “plus, I don’t actually get to be working directly with the artists. I could only wish.” You joked. 

“Still extremely lucky, Na-eun told me she saw Bang Chan and Felix from Stray Kids at your building’s cafeteria yesterday.” Her hair bounced. “Finally, now I can say I’ve indirectly met famous people.” 

You and Na-eun both laughed. Although Yoojin looked the same age as you, there was something about the way she acted that just seemed so precious and innocent — like a little sister. How old was she anyway?

“Yoojin’s younger than me by a few years,” Na-eun said as if she read your thoughts, “She graduated university a year early. Top of her programming class. She knows everything about technology; one time, I stupidly forgot the passcode to my P.O. box and she cracked it for me in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Stop it.” Yoojin whined, looking down and playfully hitting Na-eun on the shoulder. “I told you before that I don’t like it when you talk about me. Let’s talk about Y/n instead. Na-eun told me you’re not from here, what do you do at JYPE then?” 

“I’m an assistant to help market some of the artists in China.” You leaned in a bit. “Actually, to be honest, I’m working on a secret project and Bang Chan from Stray Kids is technically part of the team.” 

Both Yoojin and Na-eun’s eyes widened. “No way, you’re so lucky.” Yoojin said. “Why can’t you have a job like that?” She poked at Na-eun.

“Get your own job first,” Na-eun smirked, “then we can talk about mine.”  

“Hey! I do have a job.” Yoojin clenched her jaw, looking at her plate and avoiding eye contact.

“I’m not sure if talking to people online all day counts as a job.” 

“Whatever.” Yoojin swirled her fork on her plate, stabbing at a piece of her cake. The scraping of metal on ceramic made all of you wince. 

“Anyways,” you started, trying to change the atmosphere, “did anybody watch the first episode of that new drama?” 

The two girls seemed to have a mood switch, looking relieved to start a new conversation. They gladly added their input and opinions on the new drama, talking about both the plot and the actors. Time passed by twice as fast as the three of you sat at the booth talking about the most random things. However, it was soon time to go to work for both you and Na-eun. 

“Hey, before you leave, could I get your number?” Yoojin asked. “We should hang out again sometime.”  

You gladly typed your contact into her phone, excited to hang out with Yoojin again. She was so full of energy, it reminded you of your university days. Not to mention that fluffy curly hair. It was so cute. 

You and Na-eun both made it out of the café and walked side-by-side over to your building before parting ways at the elevator corridor. It was a miracle that you managed to arrive at your cubicle in time, without getting lost. There was a pile of papers on your desk; they were the files you worked on yesterday. You remember that yesterday Manager Chen marked some improvements that could be made to the papers, but you checked your email just to be sure. 

Hello Y/n,

I put the documents from yesterday on your desk for some final edits. I’ve also added a few more. Could you finish them all by the end of the day?

Best, 

Manager Chen

You flipped through the stack of documents, and sure enough, there were about five more letters that needed to be worked on. Feeling determined, you gritted your teeth, got out your pen, and started to do your job. 

There were more corrections to make than what you expected, plus, you wanted to make sure your work was perfect this time. You skipped a trip to the cafeteria for lunch and ate something from the vending machine at your desk instead. You tried your best to work diligently, but because of your inexperience, it was taking longer than expected. You lost track of time as the hours passed by. 

“Your team is working hard today, Manager Chen.” A voice came from across the room. You looked up from your stack of documents to see Manager Kim walking over towards Manager Chen, who was standing casually outside her office doors. 

“What can I say, I keep them busy.” She replied. “Are you heading home now?” 

“Yes, and so should you.” Manaker Kim stopped at your cubicle, putting a hand on the wall. It was cat-like the way he looked at you. “Y/n, you’re working hard. Are you going home now? I’ll give you a ride.” 

You couldn’t head home now, not with the amount of work you still had with the new letters Manager Chen added to the pile. “Thank you for the offer, Manager Kim, but I’ll stay later today. I need to finish this work by today.” 

“Let her be, Manager Kim, you know how new employees are.” Manager Chen nagged and crossed her arms. “Come, I’ll walk you to the parking lot.” 

You bowed at both your managers and stretched your back before getting back to your work. The black lines of both languages started to blur into one as you strained your eyes to hold a tighter focus on the documents. It wasn’t until two more gruesome hours later when you finished your work. You did a long deserved stretch of the arms and checked the clock for the time, praying that it wasn’t too late. Thankfully, with the time being only eight, it wasn’t that dark out. You took a quick peek at your phone to check your notifications before leaving the office. 

There were only two texts sent fifteen minutes ago. Both from Bang Chan. 

Your chest tightened when you unlocked your phone. 

Bang Chan: Hey, I know it’s a bit late, but I have some ideas for the project and I was thinking we could meet up to discuss them

Bang Chan: Only if you want that is…

Your brain was in jumbles as you thought of what to text back. There were a couple staff that wrote you emails about their ideas for the project, but none of them asked to meet in person. And now, the first person who asked you to have a meeting in person was Bang Chan. Whom you rode back to your apartment drunk with. On your first day at work. And now you missed his work-related text by fifteen minutes. However, even though it was late, you still felt like you needed to take his ideas in. After all, like Manager Chen said, you know how new employees are. 

Y/n: Hi, sorry my reply is late… Are you still free? 

You anxiously stared at the blue-lit screen of your phone, jumping in and out of the text app waiting for a reply. After less than a minute, you saw the little dots at the bottom which indicated that he was typing. It disappeared for a moment, only to come back less than a second later. Your thumbs started unconsciously fiddling with one another in front of your phone screen as you waited for what felt like eternity. 

Bang Chan: It’s alright haha 

Bang Chan: There’s a cafe about 5 minutes from our building, wanna meet there? 

You immediately knew which café he was talking about as you conveniently hung out with Na-eun there this morning. You texted Bang Chan back, letting him know that you would be there as soon as possible. You grabbed your bag, along with your trusty pen and notebook,  before leaving your desk for the elevators. The elevator ride was unusually fast as it was already well past working hours for most people.  

Once you were out of the building, you made your way down the familiar sidewalk, passing by the familiar street shops as you felt the bite of the wind against your face. The sky was becoming dim as the sun made its descent, but the illumination coming from the streetlamps helped guide you there. After five minutes of a brisk walk, you saw the familiar sign of the café. You also saw a familiar person standing outside the door, dressed in all black, with his head down looking at his phone. 

You tried to make your footsteps slightly louder the closer you got to him in order to make your presence known. It seemed to have worked, as Bang Chan heard you and turned his head up. He immediately gave you a boyish grin, putting his phone in the pocket of his hoodie and pulling his face mask down to his chin. 

“Hey,” You waved awkwardly, “did I make you wait long?”

“Not at all.” Bang Chan said as he held open the door, “Let’s go in, it’s pretty chilly today.” 

You thanked him and walked inside. You both made your way to the cashier and looked up at the menu, deciding on what to buy. 

“I think I’ll get an iced americano.” Bang Chan said. “Are you getting anything?”

“Hmm. I might get the mango juice.” You decided and lined up behind Bang Chan, waiting for him to order first. 

Bang Chan walked up to the waiting barista. “Hello, I’ll get an iced americano please.” A second passed. “Also a mango juice.” 

Your eyes widened as you silently tried to stop him from buying your drink, feeling embarrassed that Bang Chan — who was essentially your coworker — was buying your drink. He didn’t seem to notice your quiet protests, as he pulled his card out of his wallet and quickly tapped it on the pin pad. After he was done paying, he turned around and tucked his card back in his wallet, giving you a smug grin. 

“I’ll pay you back later.” You insisted, embarrassed once again that he was doing something for you. 

“Of course, of course.” He casually replied and stood beside you with his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “I’ll wait for our drinks. You can go find a table.” 

You nodded and left to find a table on the first floor. Surprisingly, there were more people there at night than when you were there in the morning. Some people had their textbooks out to study, some were quietly enjoying a book. Some were on dates. 

Finally, after weaving through many fully filled tables, you found an empty one near the table. You sat down, taking out your pen and notebook to prepare for Bang Chan’s ideas. Not long after, you saw Bang Chan walking around, turning his head left and right to look for you. You caught his eye as you waved at him to come over. He strolled over and put the tray of drinks down on the table, placing yours beside your notebook. 

“So,” You took a sip of your delicious mango juice, “do you wanna get started now?” 

“Sure.” His usually friendly face turned serious. It seemed like he took his work seriously. “So I was thinking, we need to film some content to start promoting our debut right? How about we film content for the Mid-Autumn Festival? It falls on the same day as Chuseok, so we can use this as a small promotion for our debut.” 

You nodded in agreement. Although this idea would be a little last minute to carry out, it was a great opportunity to promote their group in order to gain more popularity before their debut in China. “This is a great idea Bang Chan,” You hurriedly jotted down everything he said, “did you have more to add on?”  

“We could make several episodes of this content. I was thinking we could camp in the mountains and maybe cook some food, make mooncakes.” 

“All of this is really good, we have three weeks until the actual Mid-Autumn Festival. If I rush this idea to Manager Chen, we could have one week to plan it, and two weeks to film and produce it.” You beamed, glad that you could be involved in a potential big production. 

You and Bang Chan kept discussing his idea for content, and as time passed, your conversation turned more casual as it eventually evolved into topics unrelated to work.

“So, why are you having coffee this late anyway?” You tipped your chin towards his glass. 

“There’s this part of a song I’m working on that I just can’t get perfect,” Bang Chan noticeably clenched his jaw, “I wanna figure it out before I leave.” 

“Do you usually stay up late to work?” You asked. 

“I can’t sleep anyways, so I might as well work.” 

“Insomnia?” You questioned. He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his coffee. A few seconds of silence passed. “You know, my mom made me pack some of her special tea before leaving. She said it was for jet lag, which is weird because there’s only a time difference of an hour here.” You rambled. 

“Oh?” Bang Chan tipped his head. 

“I could give you some tomorrow.” You said. Your eyes wandered everywhere except to him. “If you want.” 

“Really, you’d do that?” His eyes widened as he stirred his coffee with his straw. 

It may have been your subconscious need to make friends, or just the fact that you mom gave you so much tea for your non-existent jet lag, but you gladly offered your mom’s solve-all remedy. “Of course, anything for a friend.” 

He blinked a couple times. He stopped stirring his coffee. “Thanks.” He looked at you with a slight grin. 

“Plus, this way I can pay you back.” You teased. 

“Okay, fair enough.” He chuckled. A dimple appeared on his cheek as his smile widened. “But seriously, you don’t need to worry about paying me back for anything next time.” 

Next time? You wondered. Of course he would have more ideas for his own group. You wanted to roll your eyes at yourself. It seemed like, despite his easy-going personality, that he cared a lot about not only his job, but the boys he worked with. His work ethic inspired you and made you want to work just as hard as he did. Except you definitely couldn’t stay up as late as he did. 

The two of you kept up the back and forth that was established, talking about whatever came to mind, with a few sprinklings of work-related conversations throughout. You talked about your first day impressions and how well you were adjusting to life in a new country, and he retaliated by sharing his own experiences of moving across the world. You were so enraptured by your riveting conversations that you easily lost track of time. It wasn’t until you had already spent minutes playing around with your straw in the empty glass that you finally remembered how late it was.

“It’s kinda late, I think I should get going now.” You said as you checked your phone for the time. 

“Are you taking the subway?” He asked as he started gathering the empty glasses. “It’s pretty dark now — I could walk you there.”

“It’s alright. I don’t wanna take time from your work” You said, gathering your notebook and pen. 

“It’s no problem, really, it’s just a five minute walk.” He stood up with the tray of empty glasses in one hand and pulled up his face mask with the other.

The two of you left the café and walked the short distance to the subway stairs.  There, you parted ways and you started your trek home. Taking the subway at night was vastly different from morning; the morning rush was filled with rows and rows of busy people, whereas the night train had a completely different feeling to it. There were actually available seats, to begin with. You found an empty seat and took out your phone to kill time. You checked your missed notifications.

Yoojin: Hi Y/n!! ^-~ Today was so fun, we should go again sometime! 

You smiled at the little text from Yoojin, visioning her wide smile stretch across her face. Texting a quick reply back, you were about to put your phone back down when another notification popped up. 

Unknown: Stay away from him. This is a warning.  

A flash of panic rushed through your body making your chest tighten. Your heart was coming out of your chest, the beating was so hard you could hear it even in the running subway. Completely fixated on the bright white of your phone, your eyes strained from the light. Adrenaline filled your blood, and in the spur of the moment, you quickly blocked the number and deleted the text chain. It had to just be a prank text, after all, you have gotten pranked through text multiple times before in your past. 

You put your phone down slowly, turning your head to survey your subway cart for any suspicious acting people. There was only a grandma with her cane and a few middle school girls comparing their new lip tints. Your thumbs naturally started fiddling with each other. Your eyebrows knit together as you clutched your bag tight to your body for the rest of the subway ride. 

The walk back to your apartment was done carefully. You chose the side of the sidewalk with more light as you kept your senses open, trying to remember the face of every person that walked past you. Although it was more likely than not that the text was just a prank, you were still somebody living alone with very few connections in a new country. Your legs quickened at the thought and you hurried your way back.

Arriving at your apartment door, you carefully entered your lock combination and slammed your door shut, double checking that it was locked. Your home was dark, with only the moon casting long shadows on your furniture. You quickly switched your light on. You tried to put this text to the back of your mind as you got ready to sleep, but it loomed, feeling like a shadow cast by the moon. The shadow in your mind stayed as you closed your eyes, waiting for your sleep to chase it away. 

The next morning, you woke up to the obnoxious beeping of your alarm. You sleepily sat up, getting ready to perform your familiar morning routine. Everything felt like routine, so monotonous that the text from last night was completely forgotten. You opened the fridge and ate your suspicious egg from yesterday morning. 

Before leaving, you suddenly remembered to bring your mom’s magical tea. You rummaged through the cupboards until you found the ridiculous packaging your mom insisted on using. 

The route to work was already starting to feel familiar as you mindlessly made your way from your quaint apartment all the way to the opulent blue building. You entered the office and sat at your desk, checking for new emails. After nothing of immediate importance came up, you got out your notebook and started to type up your notes from yesterday. 

You were in a trance. The repetitive task of reading and typing completely hypnotised you as hours passed by without you even noticing. What broke you out of your trance, however, was the voice of your boss. 

“Bang Chan.” Manager Chen called out. You looked up from your monitor and peeked up from your cubicle to see the familiar hair of a certain man you knew. Assuming he was here for a meeting with Manager Chen, you went back to your hypnotising work. The walls of your cubicle were too high for him to see you anyways — something about eliminating distractions to maximise work efficiency. 

You hit ‘enter’ on your keyboard to start a new paragraph when all of a sudden, you spotted an object appear on your desk from the corner of your eye. 

A bottle of mango juice. 

Quickly turning your head around, you were met with Bang Chan’s back. He was already making strides towards Manager Chen, but something about the sway of his broad shoulders and the way his right hand stretched open told you that it was him who gave you this little bottle of happiness. You unscrewed the lid and took a sip before getting back to work.  

Thankfully, the gift you received was enough sugar content to keep you working efficiently for the rest of the day. You had finished all your work and could hopefully pitch Manager Chen the idea by tomorrow. You found your mom’s tea in your bag while gathering your stuff, remembering your promise to Bang Chan. 

Y/n: Hey, I have my mom’s tea — I could give it to you right now?

There was a reply almost immediately. 

Bang Chan: Sure ^^ I’m in a practice room on floor X right now, I’ll wait by the elevators. 

You made your way over to the elevators and tapped your nails on the package of tea whilst silently waiting for an elevator to arrive. The silence, however, was promptly cut off as your phone started to ring. It was from Yoojin. She probably wants to hang out soon, you thought as you happily answered right away. 

“Y/n!” Yoojin yelled into the phone, she sounded worried. 

“Yoojin, is there something wrong?” You frowned, concerned for the girl. 

“I-I was in the parking lot near your building, a-and I fell down the stairs.” She sniffed. “I think I sprained my ankle or something — I can’t stand up. It hurts so much.” 

“Oh god, Yoojin, do you want me to come help?” You were in the elevator by now, already pressing the button for the main floor. 

“If you’re not far, I don’t want to trouble you.” You heard sounds of her wincing. 

“It’s no trouble Yoojin,” You exclaimed, “your ankle is much more important now. I’ll be right there.” 

“Thank you Y/n.” You heard her sniff again through the phone. 

You bolted out of the elevator as soon as it reached the main floor, stuffing your forgotten package in your bag. Ignoring the looks of confusion of the people you sprinted past, you located the parking lot building as soon as you left the main doors of the JYPE building. Your chest burned and your breaths were heavy. 

You were worried for Yoojin. She seemed like such a sweet girl that it pained you to even imagine her hurt in any sort of way. With her fluffy hair and wide eyes, it made you feel like you were helping an injured puppy. 

Your legs felt like concrete after a while of running, but you finally made it to the parking lot building. Entering the parking lot, you looked for any sign of a staircase where Yoojin said she fell on. There were none. 

“Excuse me, where are the stairs to this parking lot?” You asked the parking lot attendant, assuming it was just hidden somewhere. 

“There are no stairs here,” He said, “if you want to get to the second floor, there is an elevator over there.” He pointed to the other side of the lot. 

You thanked the man and ran to the elevator, hoping Yoojin wasn’t too hurt by now. You’ve experienced injuries like these before whilst playing sports back home, they hurt like hell. Your breathing was staggered by the time you reached the elevator, however, you didn’t give up and kept looking around trying to find the girl. There was nobody. You were about to call Yoojin again just to make sure you were in the correct place, but a voice interrupted you. 

“Y/n.” 

It was Manager Kim.

[matwith1t]

A/N: Hiii! I’m fairly new to writing for Mat, but I heard this song and went !!! so I wrote a little something based off it! There’s a part two in the works! I’d love to hear any & all feedback!! 💗✨ @itrocksmysocks​​ here’s your tag 🤩 

Summary: Mat felt beyond nervous to meet your family for the first time, but like you predicted, your family absolutely adored him. But when your relationship suddenly comes to an end, Mat unknowingly broke more hearts than yours. (heavily inspired by More Hearts Than Mine by Ingrid Andress)

ITALICS ARE FLASHBACKS

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking // WC: 11.8K // Fluff & Angst

The trees were in full bloom as you drove down the familiar streets of your hometown. The sweet smell of April air wafted through the slightly cracked car windows; and the sun shined just as bright as the smile on your face when you looked over at the person sitting next to you in the driver's seat.

“And there’s the park where I broke my wrist after jumping off the swings,” you excitedly pointed out the window.

Mat chuckled and squeezed your hand as he slowly rolled to a stop at a stop sign. With no one behind you two, he idled the car for a little longer, and took his time looking out the windshield, “And the place where you got in your first fight, right?”

You turned in your seat to face Mat, who had a wicked smirk on his face. With your mouth wide open you gasped, “I was five and they pulled my hair!”

Mat leaned his head against the seat, eyes shut tight with a crinkled nose, as he let out a boisterous laugh. “Always the fighter,” he said as he brought your connected hands up to his lips, and pressed a kiss on the top of your hand.

You tried to contain your smile, but all of your efforts were lost when Mat’s eyes connected with yours. At the delicate soft smile on his face, you couldn’t control the smile that slowly crept onto your face. And the only thought circling your mind was how did you get so lucky six months ago.

Six months ago, you wound up at a mutual friend's house for a birthday party where you met Mat. It started off with talking in the kitchen over drinks, then to beer pong partners where he would clasp his hand around yours after a high five, and by the end of the night, you two were on the couch off in your world talking nonsense as he kept knocking his knees against yours.

Phone numbers were exchanged by the time the party was over, and a day and a half later, you met him at a coffee shop early in the morning.

A loud honk from behind brought you out of reminiscing. Mat seemed just as startled as you as he dropped your hand, checked to make sure no other cars were at the all-way stop, and then hit the gas pedal.

“Asshole,” Mat muttered under his breath as he slowed down and picked your hand back up.

A small chuckle escaped your lips, “We’ll walk around later and then you can see everything again,” you squeezed his hand as a promise, “Turn left here.”

He turned the blinker as he approached another stop sign, “With all of the stories you’ve told me….” After checking to see no other cars, he turned down the street your parents lived on for as long as you could remember, “I feel like I’ve been here before.”

You felt yourself heat up in embarrassment, “Sorry, I––”

Mat shook his head and quickly glanced at you, “Never apologize. I love hearing your stories.”

With a little embarrassment still lingering in the pit of your stomach, all you offered him was a closed lipped smile. Mat took his time driving down the residential street, admiring the quaint neighborhood, as you piped up, “We’re coming up to it on the right––three more houses––the one with the navy blue door.”

With a deep exhale, Mat’s hand tightened around the steering wheel, as he nodded his head, “Cool.”

With scrunched up eyebrows, you tilted your head to stare at his side profile. Because with his knuckles turning slightly white, locked jaw, and clammy hand, you knew he wasn’t anywhere near feeling ‘cool.’

“Why are you nervous?” you asked him sincerely as he pulled up and parked in front of your childhood house, “You’ve met them over FaceTime and they loved you.”

Mat rolled the windows up before turning off the ignition and turned in his seat to face you with a worried expression, “Because it’s your family, FaceTime is barely anything. This is meeting them face to face and that’s…different.”

You appreciated his honesty instead of denying his nerves, “You’ve already passed with flying colors with everyone,” he still didn’t look convinced so you listed your reasons, “My mom loves anyone who makes me happy and I’m very happy with you.” Mat tucked his chin into his chest to hide his blush, “My dad thinks it’s awesome that you’re a hockey player, won’t shut up about it. And my sister likes you because she thinks you’re her in to get her a hockey boyfriend.”

Mat took the key out as he threw his head back in laughter again in a way that made you fall in love with him all over again. The two of you opened your doors at the same time and got out of the car.

“Trust me,” he said with a few small laughs, “you wouldn’t want your sister to date a hockey player.”

You raised your eyebrows at Mat as he popped open the trunk and took out both of your bags, “What about you, Barzal?”

Mat shut the trunk, slung his bag over his shoulder. When you tried to reach out to hold your bag, Mat pulled it back and shook his head as if asking you why you would even try to carry your own bag.

“I’m better than the rest of them.”

This time, it was your turn to throw your head back in laughter; eyes shut tight and nose crinkled. And when you opened your eyes, you saw Mat staring at you, eyes full of adoration. You imagined it as the same look you gave him after he laughed.

You whispered, come on, to him and Mat followed you up the driveway to the front door. Your hand was floating on top of the door handle to open it, but the door swung open. The sudden movement startled you, which caused you to stumble back a bit, but Mat placed his hand on your lower back to keep you steady.

“Finally, you’re here,” your sister let out an over dramatic sigh and flung herself into your arms.

You hugged her back, “Hit a bit of traffic.”

Your sister scoffed as she pulled away from the hug, but kept her hands resting on your shoulders as she stood arms length away. She raised her eyebrows and looked over your shoulder, “I’m assuming he drove?” You nodded your head and your sister rolled her eyes, “Guess fastest skater doesn’t translate to fastest driver.”

You masked your laugh with a cough as you peered over your shoulder to see Mat’s face turning a deep shade of red.

Knowing how nervous Mat felt, you rolled your eyes and lightly shoved your sister’s shoulder, “There are laws we have to follow when driving.”

“Touchè,” your sister said as she stepped aside and let the two of you in, “Would be kinda cool if there was something in driving that was like the same as getting in a fight during a hockey game.”

“Are you condoning road rage?”

She shrugged her shoulders, not paying any mind to your question as she focused her attention on Mat, “I’ve seen you get pretty feisty out on the ice––”

“Oh, that’s enough out of you,” your mother chastised your sister as she walked in from the other room, “I told her to wait until the two of you were inside.” She playfully glared at your sister one last time before facing you and Mat with a glowing smile, “Mat, so nice to finally meet you in person.”

Mat set down both of the bags on the hardwood floor, “Thank you for inviting me over, my schedule isn’t always the easiest to work with, so sorry for the delay.” He held out his hand, but your mother batted it away and brought him in for a hug.

“No need to apologize,” your mom said with a smile as she pulled away from the hug, “We’re just happy you could make it here for a weekend.”

Mat smiled and shuffled toward you, but kept his arms stuck to his sides, “I’ve been wanting to come, and I know it’d make Y/N happy,” he looked down at you with a smile that you returned, “So I’m happy to be here.”

Your mom clasped her hands together in front of her and the corners of her eyes crinkled as she continued to smile, “You’re too sweet.” She then turned to look at your sister, “Go show Mat the guest bedroom so he can drop his bag off.”

With a nod, your sister was off, talking a mile a minute at Mat who looked petrified. But you gave him a knowing look, referring back to your conversation in the car, how your mom approves of anyone who makes you happy. With a shake of his head and a slight roll of his eyes, he followed your sister up the stairs to see where he would be staying; in a separate bedroom from yours.

You stood in the foyer with your mother in silence for a few seconds before she broke, “I love him.”

“Mom,” you directed your eyes up to where he was only a floor above and had the possibility of hearing.

She laughed as you followed her into the kitchen. You slid onto one of the barstools as she went to stand over the stove. She picked up a spatula and moved around the vegetables in the pan, as she looked over her shoulder, “He’s perfect for you.”

You slumped forward, and buried your face in your hands, something about this conversation with your mom felt as if you were transported back to high school. Peeking up from your hands, your mom was still staring at you with a smile on her face, “He’s pretty great.”

“There’s something about the way he looks at you,” your mom’s comment struck a chord that caused you to sit up straight.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “He just…He looks at you with a lot of admiration.”

“You’ve spoken three sentences to him.”

Your mom spun around and pointed the spatula at you as she playfully glared, “You don’t see the way he looks at you when you’re not looking at him. And I’ve noticed it on the FaceTime calls as well.” Her features softened, “You can see how much he cares.”

An electric jolt shot down the back of your spine as you bit the inside of your cheek to contain your smile. Her comments also made you curious. No one else had ever pointed out the way he looked at you, of course your mom pointed it out because she’s your mom…but no one else had.

Did that mean that his friends saw the way he looked at you? Did his teammates notice a difference in his demeanor whenever they saw you two together after one of his games? Did his family notice the way his eyes lingered on you for just a bit longer when you met them?

You didn’t doubt anything your mom told you, in fact, it only made you confident that your relationship with Mat was definitely one for the long run.

Playing off the semi-serious look she gave you, you let out a small laugh, “You’re falling in love with him faster than I did.”

The spatula your mom held fell against the pan with a clatter as she whipped around, “In love?”

With a slight nod, you let a smile overtake your face as butterflies filled your stomach, “Yeah…” you said softly as you remembered the night Mat told you. There weren't any grand gestures, nothing over the top, just the two of you on the couch––with Mat laying his head on your thighs as you ran your fingers through his hair––and it slipped out from him.

“Just as of a few weeks ago,” you fiddled with your thumbs, “Still a bit new, but yeah.” You looked up at your mom who looked like was on the verge of tears, “He makes me really happy.”

Your mom sniffled, “And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

You smiled at her, but with the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs––and your sister’s nagging about how much time Mat spent in the penalty box last season––your mom picked up the spatula and went back to cooking. Soon enough, two more people came into the kitchen, and your sister picked up a task to help with dinner.

“Do you need help with anything?” Mat asked your mother as he stood next to you.

She waved him off, “No, no––Everything’s almost ready anyway, just relax, I know the drive was long.”

Mat looked down at you, as if asking you if there really wasn’t anything for him to do. Shaking your head, you patted the barstool next to you.

He slid in easily and his hand automatically rested on your knee. Normally, Mat was a very touchy person; whether it be a small hand on your back in public or his hands ventured further up your clothes in private, he always had some sort of physical contact with you. But in front of your family, he was stiff.

So naturally, he placed a hand on you that was out of sight from both your sister and mother.

“Has she harassed you about a hockey boyfriend yet?” You leaned in and whispered to Mat so neither one of your family members could eavesdrop.

Mat chuckled, but shook his head, “No. She did ask a million questions about hockey though, I think she’s trying to warm me up.”

“Keep your phone close, I wouldn’t put it past her to steal a few numbers out of it. She’s had her eye on Tito since she started watching the games.” Your tone of voice was joking, but Mat’s face looked terrified. You knocked your knee against his, “I’m kidding, she wouldn’t disrespect someone’s privacy like that.”

Mat squeezed your knee, which caused you to let out a small laugh, “I––”

He was cut off by the front door opening and a loud voice saying, “Are they here?”

Immediately knowing that your father walked through the door, Mat’s hand from your knee dropped and he moved his chair a few inches away from yours. You let your mouth drop at his actions, but found the whole ordeal hilarious.

You slid off the stool just as your father walked into the kitchen. He set down his work bag and smiled, “Hey, you.”

It only took a few strides to be over to your dad and in his arms for a hug. After a few seconds, he pulled away, and you just knew that he was looking at Mat. And you didn’t need to look at Mat to know that the fear of God was in his bones. He stumbled out of the barstool, placed both hands on the back of the stool to stop it from wobbling, and took a deep breath.

“Mathew,” your dad nodded at your boyfriend, “Nice to meet you.”

It wasn’t lost on you that he didn’t tack on the in person like your mom had. In your father’s eyes, he had yet to officially meet Mat, and considered this their first meeting, even though they had talked on FaceTime a handful of times. And if it wasn’t lost on you…You knew that Mat was overthinking it all in his head.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Mat took a few steps forward and reached his hand out, and unlike your mother who waved off his handshake for a hug, your father reached out and shook Mat’s hand, “Thank you for inviting me for the weekend, I–-I know how much Y/N loves it here.” Mat nervously glanced over at you next to your father for reassurance, and you nodded your head as to say good job.

“We’re glad you could find some time in your schedule,” your father stiffly responded.

There was a part of you that felt bad for Mat. You knew how intimidated he was to meet your father face to face for the first time, but there was another part of you that wanted to laugh. Whenever you talked to your dad, there was always some part of the conversation that Mat was brought up in, and it was mostly by your dad. He admired Mat’s work ethic as a hockey player, and was a big fan of hockey himself, so it was a bit comical to see him acting disinterested toward Mat.

“Dinner’s ready!” Your sister yelled out as she carried a steaming hot pot and weaved in between the three of you.

“Does everyone have a drink?” Your mom called out as she carried a pan of vegetables over to the table.

“Is there something I can bring over?” Mat asked your mom as she set the vegetables down.

She smiled, “There’s a chicken in the oven if you can bring that over.”

Mat nodded, finally feeling like he was of use for something, “Of course.”

The two of you walked into the kitchen and Mat released the biggest breath you had ever heard. You let out a chuckle as you took oven mitts out of a drawer and handed them to him, “Alright there?”

As you took down two glasses, Mat slipped on the oven mitts,  “I think I was more nervous meeting your dad than I was for the draft.”

You let out a loud laugh as you started to fill the glasses with ice and water, “Don’t worry, he really likes you, trust me.”

“He called me Mathew.”

“And other people don’t?”

You knew where he was coming from, but you wanted to also show him that it wasn’t a big deal.

Mat opened the oven and carefully took out the chicken, “It’s your dad––everyone else called me Mat.”

With a roll of your eyes you picked up the waters and slowly walked toward the dining room with Mat at your side, “He’s just playing the dad card,” you hip checked him, “By the end of dinner I swear you’ll see it.”

Mat didn’t look convinced, but the conversation was dropped when the two of you entered the dining room. Mat set the chicken down on the table where your mom instructed and then sat down in the chair next to yours.

Dinner started normally; plates were passed around to be filled up, stories of your childhood were shared, and Mat was able to share some of his stories face to face with your parents rather than a FaceTime call.

Mat perfected the skill of acting suave, mastering easy conversation skills from all the times he’d done press interviews, but no one else was aware that Mat moved his chair a teeny bit closer to yours. And no one was aware how you were slightly sitting on the edge of your seat so that way it would be easier for Mat to hook one of his feet around your ankle.

Again, it was the physical contact that Mat always craved, but you also knew how nervous he was, and skin to skin contact made him feel calmer.

“So, Mat,” your dad started out, and when you heard him not use his full name, you pulled his foot toward you in an I-told-you-so way, “Hockey is quite the career.”

As if he knew that this conversation was leading for him to defend his atypical career path, Mat unhooked his foot from your ankle and straightened out his shoulders, “Yeah, it––Hockey isn’t a normal day job, but I can’t see myself doing anything else.”

“No school?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Mat’s index finger rapidly tap against his thigh.

“I wasn’t very good at it––Not that school isn’t important, because it is,” he fumbled over his words, afraid that he said something wrong, “But when playing hockey professionally started to become a reality, I wanted to put all of my effort into that. Studying for a test was like doing a drill over and over again. Making friends was getting to know my teammates. Doing homework was working out at the gym and camps all year round. And now I…Now I play hockey professionally.”

Everyone at the table was silent as they took in Mat’s well thought out answer. To say the least, you were impressed with his answer, and by the relaxed look on your dad’s face, you knew he approved instantly.

Mat coughed awkwardly into his elbow, “I do have a high school diploma though.”

Your sister snorted at Mat’s attempt to prove that he has at least some level of education, albeit not a higher level of education, but education nonetheless. You stepped on her foot under the table and glared at her.

“That’s a very interesting way to look at it,” your dad took a sip of his water, “Being on a sports team––at any age––means you have a lot of dedication,  hardworking, have goals, and that you know a lot about teamwork.” Your father’s eyes shifted over to you momentarily before he regained eye contact with Mat, “And I respect that in a man.”

You could see the stress float away from Mat as he tried to hold back his smile, “Thank you, yeah it’s a lot of hard work, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

Your dad raised an eyebrow, “Nothing?”

Instead of panicking like you expected, Mat paused for a few seconds, “One thing,” he glanced over at you momentarily before looking back at your father with a small smile, “I would trade it for one thing.”

You ducked your chin into your chest in order to alleviate some of the attention, but it was a small table, and of course Mat was talking about you, so there was no use. But your sister wasn’t shy in stealing away the spotlight.

“Hockey,” she let out a low whistle, “A very demanding sport.”

Mat nodded, “It is, but you end up building a lot of stamina and you sometimes don’t feel the effects of it until you sit down on the bench for a bit.”

“It’s quite aggressive too,” your mom cut a piece of chicken up, “Between fights, getting smashed against the board….”

“Yeah it can be aggressive,” Mat laughed it off, “I mostly get hit in the face with pucks.”

Your mom and dad laughed at his quip before getting into a conversation of their own. And with your parents not paying full attention to the three of you, your sister decided to slip in another comment.

“High stamina and being aggressive?” she shot Mat a look and deviously raised her eyebrows, “I’m sure Y/N likes that.”

Mat spat his water back into the glass and started uncontrollably coughing into the crook of his elbow at the same time you dropped the metal silverware loudly on the ceramic plate.

Your parents paused their conversation, and your dad looked between you and Mat, “Everything alright?”

Mat held up his thumb as he still coughed, and you nodded your head frantically, stuck in a daze that your sister had the guts to say that at a family dinner.

“Everything’s fine,” your tone was high in pitch, but you knew your parents wouldn’t let the topic drop unless they got a verbal answer.

Your sister shot you a wink and a smug smirk as she nonchalantly picked up a few vegetables with her fork. And when you took a peak over at Mat, his face was redder than you had ever seen it. He could’ve played a full three periods of hockey, without any break time, and still wouldn’t be as red as he was now after your sister’s comment.

Luckily, the rest of dinner went without another crude, double meaning, comment from your sister. And when everyone was finished, it was all smiles and laughs as everyone pitched in to help. Mat teamed up with your mom on dish duty, taking it upon himself to wash the dishes. While you and your sister put the leftovers away, your dad wiped down the counters and swept the floor.

In no time, the kitchen was cleaned and everyone was off to the family room to relax, except you and Mat. A few of your high school friends decided to either stay local for college, or to move back to your hometown after graduation, and they were all very keen to meet up…Especially when you slipped it in that your boyfriend would be visiting with you.

You drove Mat’s car to the neighborhood bar where you had one too many nights where you couldn’t remember everything, but you knew they were all happy memories.

“So how many people are coming?” Mat asked as the two of you got out of his car and he locked the doors.

“Just a few,” you said as Mat came up next to you and slid his hand into yours, “You’re not nervous, are you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “They’re your friends.”

You rolled your eyes as you came up to the front entrance. Mat opened the door for you and you dropped his hand to walk through, “You’ll be fine,” you stressed, “They don’t pay too close attention to hockey if you’re worried about that.”

Mat playfully glared at you, “Were you nervous to meet Tito and the rest of my friends?”

Seeing the point he was trying to make, you offered him an apologetic smile, “You’re right, I’ll stop downplaying your nerves.”

He squeezed your hand and looked down at you, “Nothing to apologize about, I just want them to like me.”

You leaned up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, “They’ll like you because I love you.”

At that sentence, Mat’s face lit up and he looked down at you with the kindest eyes, “I love you, too.”

It had only been a few weeks since the first I love you with Mat, but you knew you didn’t want to hear the words from anyone’s lips but his for the rest of your life.

Before you could get another word out, you distinctly heard one of your friends yell over the chatter of the bar, “With twenty-two goals and sixty-three assists during his rookie season, there’s the 2018 Calder Trophy winner!”

Mat’s face turned red as he looked down at you, “They don’t pay close attention to hockey, eh?”

You dropped his hand and softly punched his bicep, “I bet they have Wikipedia open right now.”

Mat threw his head back with laughter as he followed behind you to the table your friends currently occupied. You introduced everyone to Mat and he easily fell into conversation with them. It warmed your heart to see your friends taking so kindly to your boyfriend.

Even when Mat tried to decline your friends buying him drinks, they didn’t listen to him. One after the other, they walked up to the bar and always came back with two drinks in their hands.

“Now this one,” your friend Tyler pointed a finger at you, “Stood up on that bar,” his finger moved away from you and pointed at the packed bar counter, “And sang Dancing Queen at the top of her lungs when it came on for karaoke.”

You hid your face in the crook of Mat’s neck and his arm that was around your waist tightened as his chest shook with laughter, “The ABBA song?”

“Stole the show,” Tyler chuckled at the memory.

You lifted your head up from Mat’s shoulder, “In my defense, it was the first time I was of legal drinking age and I was having fun.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t done that before when you weren’t of legal drinking age.” Your other friend, Paige, said as she laughed before taking a sip of her drink.

“What?” Mat continued to laugh as he looked down at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Even though you were embarrassed by your friends sharing stories that you only half-remembered, you couldn’t help but reciprocate Mat’s smile.

“We have a ton to fill you in on mister NHL-er,” Tyler clapped Mat’s shoulder with his hand and then got off his seat, “What are you drinking? I’ll buy.”

With everyone jumping at the chance to buy Mat a drink, he knew that arguing to pay for his own would be futile. So Mat said a simple, surprise me, and Tyler was off to the bar. Mat had gravitated to talking a lot with Tyler, who actually knew a lot more about hockey than you originally thought, so when he was gone, your friends jumped in on the chance to get to know him more.

And with Mat’s strong arm wrapped around your waist, and his thumb slowly rubbing circles into your side, you stared up at him in admiration. You had only been home for a day, but everything was going even more perfect than you imagined.

The night ended a few hours later, with you and Mat denying any drinks that were offered to you both after Tyler brought him his ‘surprise’ drink. Sober enough to drive the five minutes back to your house, Mat kept his hand in yours the whole way home.

It was only a quarter past midnight, and you were sure your sister was still up, but the two of you still entered as silent as possible. The two of you tiptoed up the stairs, and came to your room, which was closest to the stairs. Unfortunately for Mat, the guest bedroom was across the hall from your parents room.

Mat held both of your hands in his, eyes locked on your fingers that he played with, as you admired the small smile dancing on his face.

“I had fun tonight,” he whispered.

Your smile widened, “I had fun too,” you squeezed his hands, and he picked his eyes up to stare at you, “I’m really happy you’re here.”

“I think your parents like me,” he tried to hide his smirk, but failed miserably when you let out a soft chuckle, “They probably think I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

You scoffed, “You’re getting cocky.”

Mat raised his eyebrows at you, “But am I the best boyfriend you’ve ever had?” His confidence was nothing new to you, but your mouth still dropped as he left you speechless. Mat’s smile widened, “That’s what I thought.”

You dropped one of his hands and whacked his chest, “You’re ridiculous.”

His laughter slowly faded away and the two of you were left standing outside your childhood bedroom door in silence. You so desperately wanted to tug on his hand and tell him to follow you into your room, but you knew he wouldn’t go against your parents wishes under their roof. While he acted a bit egotistical just moments ago about having your parents approval, you knew he was still terrified of them; especially of your father.

Slowly, he brought a hand up to cup your face, and let his fingers trail down your cheek. With his index finger placed under your chin, he tilted your head back so you had nowhere else to look but at his eyes.

His eyes were your favorite thing about him. Whether they were glazed over in the morning just after he woke up, slightly squinted in frustration as a penalty was called on him, or screwed tight when he laughed…His eyes were the first thing you fell in love with.

“I love you,” he whispered the exact phrase that was playing on repeat in your head.

“I love you more.”

Mat slightly laughed as he trapped your lips in an innocent kiss. You had trouble kissing him back with the smile on your lips.

He pulled away, his forehead against yours, as his eyes shined bright in the pitch black hallway, “Not a chance.”

You ignored his statement, because while you two could stand in this hallway and debate on who loved each other more until the sun came up, if Mat claimed to love you more…Than that meant the love he had for you was infinite considering how much you loved him. And it filled you with nothing but happiness.

You leaned forward and pressed another small kiss to his lips, “Goodnight, Mat.”

And for the third time that night, you felt his lips against yours. He pulled back with a smile, “Night, Y/N.”

You placed a hand on the handle and pushed it down, but you watched Mat walk down the hallway and to the guest room before walking into the room where you used to dream of having a boyfriend as wonderful as Mat. After you finished your nighttime routine, you pulled your covers back and crawled into bed.

While you set your morning alarm on your phone, a text from Mat caused your phone to vibrate. A smile erupted on your face as you clicked on it to read.

Can’t wait to see you in the morning…Love you :)

Sometimes, when you and Mat didn’t sleep together at night, you found yourself struggling to fall asleep. But with his text message, and knowing that he was only a few doors down, you slept peacefully.

––

You woke up a few minutes before your alarm, ready to start a new day. And while you didn’t rush your morning routine, you definitely got ready faster than normal. Once you were satisfied with your look, you quietly stepped out into the hallway and tiptoed down to the guest bedroom. Mat liked to sleep in when he didn’t have morning skate or a game, so you expected him to be laying on his stomach, face buried in a pillow, with one leg sticking out from under the covers.

But when you cracked the door open a little, you were surprised to see the bed fully made with no Mat in sight.

A small hmpf escaped your lips as you checked your phone. But the last communication you had with him was when you responded to his goodnight text. Curious to find out where he had gone, you made your way downstairs.

When you walked into the kitchen, you saw your mom sitting at the island drinking tea, and your sister leaned up against the counter with a bowl of cereal.

But there was still no Mat.

“Has anyone seen Mat?”

Your sister looked up from her cereal and smirked, “Good morning to you too.”

With a roll of your eyes, you took a mug down from the cabinet, picked out a tea bag, and poured the water from the kettle that was still hot. Cupping your hands around the warmth of the mug, you glared at your sister, “Morning.”

“He and your dad went on a walk,” your mom answered.

Your hands tightened around the mug to keep it from dropping to the ground, “What?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Your sister let out a laugh as she shoveled a spoonful of cereal in her mouth, “He looked scared to death when dad asked him to go.”

Ignoring your sister, you looked over at your mom with wide eyes, silently asking her if your sister was telling the truth. Your mom’s bashful smile confirmed it, “He did look a little…uneasy.”

With a groan, you leaned your head back, “He is absolutely terrified of dad.”

“With reason.”

You elbowed your sister in her side and looked at your mom for some reassurance. She set her mug down, “Your father likes him, he just wants some time to get to know him more.”

You took a sip of your tea and sighed. From talking with your dad, you knew that he was fascinated by Mat, but no matter how many times you tried to reassure him…Mat never believed you. Maybe this walk would be good for him, you thought to yourself, maybe this is what Mat needs.

The more you talked to yourself, you started to feel better. That was until your sister decided to share her input.

“I wished him luck before he went. Told him if it didn’t go well to not forget to say bye as he hightailed it out.”

An aggravated breath left your lips as you turned to face her, “Would it kill you to––”

But you were cut off when you heard the door open and laughter fill the front of the house. Your ears perked up and your sister sent you a sly smirk.

When your dad and Mat walked into the kitchen, they were all smiles, and Mat didn’t look the slightest bit nervous. A smile instantly brightened up your face when you saw Mat. His hair was a bit unruly, but he looked soft in his gray New York Islanders sweatshirt and gym shorts. And when Mat made eye contact with you, he smiled.

He made his way through the kitchen and leaned up against the counter next to you. His hip touched yours, and you felt like it was a win considering it was the closest thing Mat had done to show any public displays of affection in front of your family.

“Morning,” Mat smiled down at you.

“Hi,” you reciprocated his smile, “Have a nice walk?”

He nodded proudly, but before he could get a word out, your father spoke up.

“Next time I’m in New York, Mat, let’s meet up for dinner or lunch.” Your father spoke so nonchalantly as he poured himself a cup of coffee that it made you choke on your tea, “I’ll buy.”

You looked between your dad and Mat with wild eyes.

Mat let out a laugh and tucked his hands in the front pockets of his sweatshirt, “That sounds nice. If you’re all ever in New York, let me know and I’ll get you tickets for a game.”

Your parents and sister started their own conversation and you bumped your hip against Mat’s, which caused him to look down at you. With your eyebrows raised high, you repeated your question, “Have a nice walk?”

“I think he pretended not to like me at first,” Mat whispered, “But then we talked about fishing, and then hockey, life,” he tilted his back and forth as he listed the topics of conversation, “you.”

“Me?”

A single breathy laugh passed through Mat’s nostrils, “Of course you were a topic of conversation.”

“And?”

Mat shrugged his shoulders and took the cup of tea out of your hands and took a sip for himself. He looked straight ahead as he brought the mug down from his lips, “He said he likes me.” A smile lit up your face, but before you could say I-told-you-so, Mat handed the tea back to you, “He also told me not to fuck it up.”

You let out a laugh as you leaned your forehead against his bicep. When your laughter calmed down, you looked up at him through your eyelashes, “So far, I think you’re doing a pretty good job.”

“Oh, just a pretty good––”

“Hey, hockey player,” your sister cut Mat off, which caused both of you to pick your heads up to look at her. After a moment of silence, she wickedly smiled, “What’s your preferred alcohol of choice?”

“It’s literally not even nine in the morning,” you deadpanned.

Everyone in the kitchen laughed, but your sister defended herself, “It’s Saturday, I want to know in preparation for tonight.”

“Tonight?” Mat’s voice sounded just as confused as his face.

You rolled your eyes, “She wants to sit around the fire pit outside and drink.”

“That sounds fun,” He looked at your sister with a smile, “I’m not too picky, whatever you have is fine.”

As the day continued, everything went more smoothly than you could’ve ever imagined. Mat clearly got along with your family, which made you happier than ever, and you walked around your hometown with him. While you loved the dynamic Mat was creating with your family, it felt nice to have some alone time with him. Especially when he slipped his hand into yours and pulled you close.

And when you were back at the house, and the sun was just starting to set after dinner was all cleaned up, your dad and Mat went to start the fire pit outside. You grabbed a few blankets, your mom made sure there were seats for everyone outside, and your sister grabbed the bottle of wine and glasses.

The fire crackled as you pushed the screen door forward to walk outside. You set the blankets down on the backs of one of the chairs as you made your way over to Mat, who was sitting on a little bench. With a little skip in your step, you walked over and plopped down next to him.

With your head on his shoulder, he threw an arm around you and pulled you in close. You pressed a single kiss to his jaw, “What’re you drinking?”

He shrugged, “Whatever your dad is having.”

“Show off,” you snorted.

Mat’s shoulders softly shook with laughter, “Need to keep impressing him.”

“You play professional hockey,” it was your sister’s voice that took both you and Mat out of your own little world. She came over and handed you a glass of wine, “You can just breathe and he’ll be impressed with you.”

Mat’s face turned red and you gladly took the wine from your sister, “She’s not really wrong,” you said to Mat.

“But I––”

The three of you stopped talking when you heard the squeak of the screen door open. All eyes were focused on your mom walking out with your dad not too far behind, with two glasses of liquor in his hands.

Your mom sat down in a chair, with your sister giving her a glass of wine too, and your dad walked toward you and Mat.

“Hope you like whiskey,” your dad chuckled as he handed Mat a glass.

Mat nodded in appreciation, “This is perfect, thank you.”

As everyone got settled in their seats, you threw the blanket over you and Mat, because you knew that would be the only way for Mat to feel comfortable holding your hand in front of your parents. And your assumption was correct. With the fire, and it being the beginning of April, a blanket felt perfect, but you liked the way his hand felt between yours more.

“He poured you whiskey over ice,” you smiled into your wine glass, “He loves you.”

Mat tried to conceal his smile, but you knew how much it meant to get the approval of your dad.

That night turned out to be one of your favorite night’s ever. Everyone had themselves a good time drinking, your sister eventually brought out her speaker and played music, and everyone––including Mat himself––had a good laugh when they heard him shamelessly singing along to Drops of Jupiter.

Nothing could compare to the bliss you felt in that moment, holding Mat’s hand under the blanket, as everyone had the time of their life.

–––

Sunday night came sooner than expected and that meant your little vacation was close to an end. Both you and Mat had to get back to New York, but your parents––especially your dad––encouraged the two of you to come back whenever you felt like it.

You were stood by your mom as your dad and Mat were kneeling next to his tires, checking the air pressure.

After a few minutes of hushed conversation between them, that you tuned out, they both stood up. Your dad wiped his hands on jeans, “They seem fine to me.”

Mat looked a bit embarrassed as he brought one of his hands to rub behind his neck, “Yeah…I don’t know what happened. All of a sudden the light started to blink…”

“No worries at all,” your dad said, “Better to be safe than sorry. If it happens again, there are a few gas stations before you hit the highway.”

Mat nodded with a closed lipped smile, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” He then looked over at you, “Ready?”

With a nod, you gave your mom one last hug and promised that you’d see her again soon. And just when you let go of your mom and turned around to walk to Mat’s car, you saw your dad and Mat shake hands, before your dad brought him in for a small hug.

Your dad placed a small clap on Mat’s back before pulling away, “Take care,” his eyes fell on you for a brief second, before looking back at Mat, “Alright?”

Understanding the underlying meaning of what your dad meant, Mat nodded his head firmly, “Always.”

After saying bye to your dad, you and Mat hopped in the car for the second time. And this time, whatever light started to blink wasn’t there, and the two of you pulled out of the driveway, with your parents waving.

“Told you you had nothing to worry about,” You turned to smile at him.

Mat rolled his eyes, “Whatever.”

As he pulled up to a stop sign, you quickly leaned over and pressed a kiss on his cheek, “Thank you, again, for coming. It really meant a lot to my parents.” Mat sat at the stop sign and turned toward you as your voice dwindled off with your next sentence, “And it meant a lot to me.”

“You know I’d do anything for you,” Mat furrowed his eyebrows in seriousness, “And I had a really great time with your family.” He smiled as he picked up your hand, “I love you, you know.”

You squeezed his hand in appreciation, “I love––”

“Shit.”

A loud honk from behind––And Mat swearing––interrupted your sentence and it caused him to drop your hand, look both ways to make sure there was no oncoming traffic, and stepped on the gas pedal. You laughed at his face turning a deep shade of red as he slowed down his speed.

“It’s not funny.”

You leaned back in the seat and wiped a few tears from the corner of your eye, “It was so––you looked so scared––and you swore––”

“Whatever,” Mat grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on his face, that you knew he agreed with you that it was a little funny.

Once your laughing settled down, you finished your sentence, “I love you, too.”

With his eyes straight ahead on the road, Mat blindly picked your hand up and gave it a squeeze, “You better.”

And it was that moment that made you realize you didn’t want to say I love you to anyone else, except for Mat, for the rest of your life.

–––

The trees were bare as you drove down the streets of your hometown. Your windows were rolled up to keep the frigid December air outside; and the sun was hidden beneath an array of clouds, just like the nonexistent smile on your face. And when you looked both ways as you came to a stop sign, you were reminded that there wasn’t a person accompanying you in the passenger seat.

Part of you thought about cracking the windows open slightly, because letting in the brisk air would make you feel something other than the numbness that had made a home in the center of your chest recently.

You tried to ignore the sting behind your eyes, but trying your hardest to not focus on everything that had happened in the last few weeks caused your mind to do the exact opposite. In a matter of seconds, you were only thinking about everything that happened nearly two weeks ago. Your frown deepened because how did everything blow up in your face.

Nearly two weeks ago, Mat broke up with you.

For you, it felt like it came out of nowhere. But for Mat, he said that he had been feeling it for a few weeks. It started off with Mat cautiously bringing up how he felt like he didn’t see you enough, then to you defending your work schedule and how hockey had started back up again, and by the end of the night, you had failed to hold back your tears as Mat kept apologizing about how he felt like the two of you were “growing apart.”

You left his place before he could give you another reason as to why he didn’t want to be with you, and a day and a half later, when you made sure he was at hockey practice, you picked up your stuff from his place and left your key on his counter.

The loud honk of a car horn from behind didn’t phase you in the slightest.

Carefully, you checked to make sure there weren’t any cars at the all-way stop, and drove off. You weren’t too far from your parents house, and spent the rest of the drive on autopilot.

Soon enough, you were in front of your old house. With your hands gripping around the steering wheel, you screwed your eyes tight and inhaled a deep breath; I’m fine, you repeated the lie in your head as you exhaled, I’m fine.

With a few more breathing exercises, you decided it was time to face your family. Opening the car door felt like ripping off a band aid as you took your duffle bag out from the back seat.

Sluggishly, you walked up the driveway to the front door. And with another deep breath, you silently whispered “I’m fine” to yourself before placing your hand on the handle to open the door. The first thing you saw was your sister sitting on the bottom step of the staircase.

She looked up from her phone with a surprised face, “You’re here early.”

You mustered up the smallest of smiles, “There was barely any traffic.”

Hesitantly, she nodded her head because she didn’t buy your lie. And she was right not to because you had requested the day off from work so you could get out of New York and to your family as soon as possible. Even though it was one of the most populated cities in the world, you felt suffocated by the thought of potentially running into Mat at any given time.

You needed out of the city like he wanted out of the relationship.

“How are––Are you––You know…” Your sister stumbled over her words, backtracking every time she was about to ask how you were because she knew the answer to that already. She apologetically smiled and itched the bridge of her nose, “Want a hug?”

You took an audible deep breath, and nodded, “Yeah.”

She kindly didn’t point out the way your voice cracked.

With her arms wrapped tightly around you, you squeezed her back as if you were about to fall off the Empire State Building. While your friends in the city had comforted you, there was nothing more comforting than a hug from a family member in a time of distress.

When she felt your grasp around her loosen, she took a step back, but kept her hands on your shoulder, “Do you want water? Or some tea?”

You shook your head and politely declined her offer, “I think I’m gonna put my stuff in my room and then come down.”

She nodded her head with a small smile and you turned around to head up the stairs.

Trudging up the stairs felt like it took too much energy than it should have, but you reasoned with yourself that between driving and being emotionally exhausted…It was fine to feel winded walking up the stairs.

You pushed open the door to your childhood bedroom, dropped your bag on the floor, and went straight to your bed. Unpacking your clothes could wait a few minutes.

Your head was buried into your pillows, the comforting scent of your childhood surrounded you, as you let out a shaky breath. Everything is fine, you repeated, I’m fine. But the more you kept saying the little mantra, the more you felt your throat tighten and the stinging behind your eyes intensify.

No, you scolded yourself as you sat up on your bed, no crying.

So you did your best to distract yourself; you decided to unpack. You absolutely hated to unpack your belongings, especially since you were only going to be home for the weekend, but you hated wrinkled clothing more. And that was your motivation to hang up all of your articles of clothing.

You had just finished hanging up your last sweater, but had let go of it too soon, so the sweater fell to the floor. Letting out an annoyed sigh, you bent down to pick it up, but something blue in the back of your closet caught your eye.

Holding your breath, you hadn’t seen that shade of navy blue in a few weeks.

With shaky hands, and your fallen sweater long forgotten, you grabbed the sweatshirt that was pushed in the back of your closet. And once you brought it out into the light, you sucked in a deep breath, because your thoughts were confirmed when you saw the familiar Islanders logo on the front.

It was as if that sweatshirt was the final key. The final key to unlocking the heart wrenching memory of the day that the relationship you thought would last forever…ended. All you could do was clutch the sweatshirt in your fist and remember.

You remembered the painful sting in your chest when you first arrived at his place and he slightly moved out of the way when you went in for a hug.  

You remembered the lightheadedness you felt when you realized that your worst fear was suddenly starting to become a reality.

You remembered the ringing in your ear when he asked if you felt it too.

“Feel what?” The words barely came out.

“This,” Mat stood at the other side of the kitchen as he gestured his hands between the two of you, “This-–This space. This disconnect.” You were left speechless as he rubbed his face with his hands, it didn’t look like he was enjoying himself having this conversation with you, and that left you even more confused.

“What––Where is this coming from?”

Mat was a very perceptive person, but he ignored the way your hands slightly shook in panic and how your breaths grew shallower.

“I’ve been feeling it for a few weeks,” he confessed in a strained voice, “We’re growing apart––I never see you anymore––”

You let out a laugh of disbelief, “Never see me? You––You just came back from a God knows how long road trip from the west coast!” You waited to see if he had anything to say, but he didn’t. “I work a typical nine to five job, I have time for you. But you––Hockey is––”

“Hockey’s what?” Mat’s voice was challenging as he carried himself across the kitchen to you. He narrowed his eyes, “Want to finish that sentence?”

With a sigh, you took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut. This is not happening, you repeated in your head, This can absolutely not be happening.

You opened your eyes and tried your best to remain calm, even though on the inside you could feel your soul shatter. And it would only take one vicious sentence from him to break absolutely everything inside of you.

“I don’t want to fight,” you took a deep breath because you knew whichever way this discussion went, a fight was bound to happen, “But I have time for you. I make time for you. I know hockey is demanding, I know it’s not a typical job, but if we both work at it, we can make more time for each other.”

“What time?” Mat let out an irritated laugh. You wanted to believe that he wasn’t irritated at you, and that he was irritated at hockey instead, but with his earlier confession of disconnection, you didn’t know what to believe.

“You just complained about me being gone for an extended amount of time.”

You picked at a loose piece of skin by your thumb, “I did, yes–—I know.” You let out a shaky breath, “But we talked, we FaceTimed, we kept up that connection.” You pleaded with him, “What do you––What can I do?”

The anger washed away from his face and you saw that it was replaced with remorse.

With his eyes casted downward, he frowned, “Is there…Is there anything left to do?”

You were left stunned at his ease of abandoning your relationship. In the time you had known Mat, he was never a quitter. He never gave up on anything he was passionate about, even with the trivial things that he didn’t quite care about, he always saw them through. He was an athlete…He never gave up on anything.

So why was he giving up on you?

When you took a step back, he whipped his head up to look at you. His eyes were red; full of pain and heartache as if he wasn’t the one surrendering. He took a step toward you, but like a dance, you took another step back.

“Mat, we’ve been together for over a year,” your voice wavered at the thought of all those months with him dissipating into nothing, “What is happening.”

His best response was to keep silent and shrug his shoulders.

Reality hit you like a ton of bricks. This is it, you thought to yourself, I’m losing the most important person in my life. A tear rolled down your cheek as you let out a hiccup from trying to hold your breath to stop the scratchiness in the back of your throat. You brought a hand up to cover your mouth.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he whispered softly.

“Then why––why are you doing this?”

Mat ran a hand through his hair and let out a deep breath as he leaned his head back to look at the ceiling, “It’s holding me back. Everything is just––I can feel it affecting me and it’s not what I want––”

You heard his reasons differently though, instead of ‘it’s’, you heard ‘you.’

You’re holding me back.

You’re affecting me.

You’re not what I want.

All while you felt your relationship was stronger than ever, Mat felt like it was falling apart at the seems.

“I’m sorry,” Mat sniffled, “I’ll always love you, but––”

You shook your head, “You––No.” You brought both hands up to rub away your tears, but when you dropped your arms down at your sides, the tears you washed away reappeared. “You can break up with me, this relationship can be over, whatever.” You glared at him, “But you cannot say that.”

Mat scoffed, “Say that I love you?” You nodded angrily as Mat flared his nostrils, “But I do! I can’t help that this is how I feel about our relationship now, but I loved you then and I love you now! Things just aren’t working now––”

“While I don’t like what I’m hearing, I’ll respect your feelings,” you choked out, “but you need to respect mine and not say those words to me.”

“I want you to know that I still feel love for you,” his voice trembled, “That I’ll always––”

“Then why are you quitting on us?!”

“Because I feel like I never see you!” Mat threw his hands up in the air, “Sure, we can love each other, but what about the actual connection of a relationship? Furthering something that we can make a future out of?”

“I’m always here for you in New York when you get back,” you clenched your jaw, “We see each other as often as possible between our schedules! What do you––Do you want me to come out to away games?” You raised your eyebrows at him, “Because while I wish I could be at every one of your games, I can’t. I have a job. Just like you have a job––”

Mat scoffed, “So it all comes back to hockey?”

“Maybe if you put in a bit more effort, you wouldn’t feel this way.” You fired back.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really,” your voice softened when you saw his eyes betray him for a moment. Instead of the fiery eyes that burned through you like a wildfire, you saw eyes that looked one sentence away from breaking a dam of tears. And while you wanted him to feel every ounce of betrayal and heartbreak that you were going through, there was a piece of your heart that still loved him too much to put him through that kind of pain.

So instead, you said what you were feeling, which had the possibility to cause the same damage if you had just berated him.

“If hockey is your one true love in life, then that’s great,” you failed miserably at faking a smile, “I’m happy for you. Happy that you found something you can fully commit to and put in effort to make work even when it would just be easier to quit.”

Mat almost reached a hand out to you, but brought it back down to his side after a second thought, as he softly shook his head and whispered, “You know that’s not true–-”

“But it is,” you wiped away dry tears from your cheek with the heel of your palm, “And it’s…Whatever. It’s whatever, but if you don’t put that same effort into your relationships with people––If you don’t prioritize the right things in life––then you’ll end up alone and unloved.”

Mat stood frozen in the middle of his kitchen. And when he snapped out of whatever trance he was under, all he could manage was to shake his head as a single tear fell down his cheek, “You know I’d do anything for you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, “I’m not asking you to give up hockey. I’d never do that because I know how happy it makes you and it’s your career,” you gave him a weak smile because the realization set in, “But I think that last sentence is a lie.”

“I just––” Mat pinched the bridge of his nose, “Something is off, we’re not the same––”

You shook your head, tuning out more reasons why the man you loved more than life itself didn’t want to be with you anymore. You walked over to where your bag hung over the back of a chair, picked it up, and then walked toward the front door for your shoes.

“Where are you going?”

Once your shoes were securely on, you turned to face him one last time. He looked as if he also couldn’t believe that this relationship was over, even though he was the one who pulled the trigger. His mouth was slightly agape, eyebrows raised in anxiousness, and eyes filled to the brim with tears.

“Home,” you said matter-of-factly, “I really don’t want to hear more reasons why I wasn’t enough.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry––”

You were out the door before he finished his sentence.

“Y/N,” a voice pulled you out of the nightmare that was doomed to play on repeat in your mind for the rest of your life, “Y/N?”

You blinked a few times to see your mom kneeling in front of you. She had a hand placed on your thigh and her eyes were filled with concern. But when her eyes flicked down to what you were clutching on for dear life in your hands, her face dropped as she looked back up at you, “Oh, sweetie…”

“I’m fine,” you sniffled as you itched your cheek. But when you scratched your skin, your cheek felt damp, and upon further inspection of wiping away the wet substance on your cheek, it dawned on you that you were crying.

“Y/N…” your mother repeated your name cautiously, expecting you to hit your tipping point soon.

With a shake of your head, you folded the sweatshirt up. But with the way your hands shook, the folding wasn’t even and the sleeve poked out a bit, so you unfolded the sweatshirt just to re-fold it again, “I’ll donate this somewhere.” The sweatshirt was still uneven, so you refolded it again, “I’m sure someone would buy it fast, it––It’s in good condition––”

Your mom tried to take the sweatshirt away, but you tugged it back toward your chest, refolding it again.

“New York teams are pretty––pretty popular,” you let out a hiccup as your vision started to blur, “I––maybe I can bring this back with me? Give it away as a birthday present?” Your chin wobbled as you felt your breathing come out uneven, “It’ll make someone happy, right?”

Your mom gently grabbed you by the wrist to stop your folding of Mat’s sweatshirt. Sitting on the floor, by the edge of your closet in defeat, you clenched your jaw tight as you sucked in a deep breath. Finally, you looked up at your mom through your teary vision and tried to sniffle away your runny nose.

“It’ll make someone as happy as he made me.”

She didn’t have to say anything for you to bring his sweatshirt––one that still smelled like him––up to your face as you openly sobbed.

You had been in other relationships, loved other people, been upset when those relationships ended…But you had never loved someone as much as you loved Mat. You thought that Mat was your forever––the person that the universe specifically made just for you––But you lost him.

Your mom wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into her chest. Easily, you fell into her and continued to cry as you clutched the last remaining piece you had of him close to your chest. Your mom didn’t say anything as she cradled you; she knew that no words could mend this feeling of cataclysmic heartbreak, so she simply offered you her presence and a shoulder to cry on.

“I––Mom, what did I do wrong?” While your words were muffled in his sweatshirt, she heard you loud and clear, and it broke her heart.

She shushed you as she ran a hand up and down your spine, “You did nothing wrong, absolutely nothing…”

“But he––We’re not––I thought that he was the one,” you peered up from the sweatshirt, eyes puffy and irritated from crying, to see tears welled up in your mom’s eyes. You wanted to ask her why she was crying, but an all too familiar pain ripped through your chest as you let out a whine, “Mom.”

Again, she brought you back into her chest and held you close.

“I––I told him he would end up alone and––and unloved,” you tried to speak through the tears, but your erratic breathing made it hard to get a full sentence out without it sounding chopped up.

She shook her head, “We all say things when we’re upset.”

“No, I––I told him that because I––I don’t want anyone else to love him,” you let out a whimper, “I wanted to be…Want to be the only person who loves him like that.” You blinked a few times to look up at your mom and frowned when you saw her tear stained cheeks, “Why are you crying?”

Your mom let out a small laugh and wiped under her eyes “I feel every heartache you go through,” she sniffled and tried her best to offer you a reassuring smile, “If he couldn’t recognize how great of a person you are, then you’ll find someone else who will.”

“But he’s the only one,” you sat up, continued to hug his sweatshirt close to your chest, and reciprocated her sad smile, “I don’t want to fall in love with anyone else.”

Knowing that the heartache you felt was still fresh, your mom knew that no matter how much she tried to convince you that you would find someone else, it would be useless. “I know,” she swiped her thumb under your eye, catching the last of your tears, “Why don’t you take a nap, I’ll come up when it’s dinner.”

You nodded and made your way over to your bed. Once you were under your covers, the blankets tucked right under your chin, your mom shut off your lights and softly closed the door.

While you should’ve knocked out in a few seconds, every time you closed your eyes, all you saw was Mat listing reason after reason why he didn’t want to be with you. Your own personal hell. So, while your eyes stung from crying your heart out, you kept them wide open as you stared at the ceiling out of fear of what you would see when they closed.

A few hours had passed and there was a knock on your door. You let out a small, come in, and saw your dad walk in.

Slowly, you sat up, wiping away a few stray tears, and let out a chuckle when he placed a glass down on your nightstand, “Whiskey over ice?”

He offered a sympathetic smile, “The best cure for what you’re going through.”

For what you’re going through, he said it as if he was still in denial of your break up. Which was fair, because you had never seen your dad warm up so fast to one of your boyfriends.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said, “If you’re feeling up for it.”

You smiled in appreciation, “Thanks, but I’m not too hungry…Might try to sleep some more.” Your dad raised his eyebrows, “I’ll eat in the middle of the night when I wake up, promise.”

He smiled and gave in to your promise as he retreated toward the door. He was halfway out when he decided to stick his head back in, “You know, I never really liked him.”

It was the first genuine laugh you had let out in weeks. Because both of you knew how much of a lie that was.

Whenever your dad was in New York, he texted Mat and they would meet up for a meal or drinks, and sometimes they wouldn’t include you in plans. Your dad never missed an Islander’s game, and for his birthday, Mat had gifted your dad a signed Barzal jersey as a joke. They had their own relationship, and in turn, it contributed to the happiness you felt with Mat.

But nonetheless, your dad was always on your team.

After his comment, he slowly shut the door like your mom had done earlier, and this time, you really did try your best to sleep.

Sleep had been impossible since Mat broken things off with you. It took everything in you not to call his number and have him talk you to sleep most nights. And you wished that deleting his number would be enough, because even if you had deleted it, you had it memorized and could easily dial his number with your eyes closed.

But with his sweatshirt that you still held close to body, sleep came a little easier.

PART TWO

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 39)

“Okay, so… what’s the plan?” Mila looks at Daryl, while pulling the knitted cardigan over her shoulders. “You gonna interrogate him? Tie him up in a chair and go good cop bad cop on him?”

Daryl meets her eyes from the other side of the bed. 

“What, ya’ don’t think he’s gonna have to answer some questions?” He asks, while searching the floor for his shirt. 

The morning sun shines in through the windows in the bedroom and it looks like it’s gonna be another fine day.

Mila dozed off as soon as she laid down in bed next to Juri the night before; after she had a quick but violent shower to get rid of dirty gas station toilet-cooties, and didn’t wake up to Daryl coming to bed or to Jesus strolling into the house in the middle of the night. Baffled to say the least, Mila was therefore greatly surprised when she came out of the bedroom this morning, fifteen minutes prior around eight, and met Jesus who came out of the upstairs toilet.

“Good morning!” He said happily and disappeared down the stairs.

Mila, unable to speak, just gaped and waved back at him lazily, whereupon she closed the bedroom door again and turned to Daryl, who was in the process of turning his sleeveless shirt inside out.  

“Am I still sleeping or did Jesus just walk out of the bathroom?”

“Prolly.” Daryl said with a shrug. 

“Is he just-” Mila paused to find the right words, pointing at the closed bedroom door. “You know, walking around-”

“He escaped.”

“Oh.”  

How he’d freed himself from the townhouse basement no one could figure out, and he didn’t tell them either; Mila was sure they’d captured a wizard.

“I don’t get why everything has to be so hostile.”

“Ya’ gonna teach me ‘bout hostile?” Daryl raises his eyebrows at her.

“Okay fine-” Mila sputters, knowing very well what he refers to. “But this guy isn’t like that- that weird wolf guy. This guy is Houdini-weird, not dangerous.”

“Are ya’ some sort of expert now?”  

“Gut feeling.” Mila replies.

Daryl shakes his head at her words. Mila realizes that it doesn’t sound that convincing, but she gives him a steadfast look; she’s sure about her gut feeling. She looks at Daryl while he buttons the shirt. He must’ve taken a shower too before he went to bed. The brown hair looks tousled, as if he went to bed with it still damp. Her gaze wanders down to the unbuttoned, washed out jeans; he wears boxers underneath for once, something he probably started to do for the first time ever when he realized that there would be a snoring three and a half-year old in the bed too. Mila bites her lip as she rests her gaze at the edge of the boxers, right above his pelvic bone. Her sudden rush of desire, or blunt frantic horniness, is obviously visible, because Daryl frowns at her.

“Ain’t doin’ it in front of the kid.” He nods down at the bed, where Juri still lies asleep, bundled up in the sheets.

“We can put him on the bath rug in the bathroom.” Mila suggests half hearted. “It’s really soft. He’ll just think he’d sleepwalked.”

“Jersey-” Daryl walks around the bed and stops in front of her; softly he lets his fingers run down her hair, playing with it while contemplating under silence. “Fine.”

“About the rug or that you gonna go gently on him?”

“The latter.” Daryl mutters. “Dunno why you care-” He rests his cupped hand at her chin. “I won’t knock him, unless he’s being a-”

“Ap-ap, language.” Mila pulls his hand big to her mouth and gives his fingertips a featherlight kiss. “Thank you.” She places another kiss on his fingers. “I like you when you’re all soft and diplomatic.”

The slightly erotic gesture of tenderness is enough to turn the big man in front of her into water between her fingers. His breath becomes heavier, he exhales through his nostrils and the eyes become soft and the gaze deeper, lingering even.  

“Uhu?”

“Mhm.” She leans in, places her head under his chin and kisses his collarbone, while fingering on the half buttoned shirt. “You know- I’m a good rider, like… really-”

A knock on the door drags them both back to reality.  

“Son of a- what?” Daryl turns and looks at the door that opens slightly and Rick peeks into the bedroom. “Don’t ya’ fucking know how a door works either?!” Daryl mutters huskily.

On the other side of Daryl, Mila chokes a grin. Rick looks questioning, but says nothing about Daryl’s, to him, odd remark; of course he knows how a door works?

“We need to talk.” He just says.

He doesn’t even tell them about what; they already know. Reluctant, Daryl sighs and looks at her.

“Duty calls.” He says, while, discreetly, correcting the crotch on his jeans. 

“Be gentle.” Mila winks.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Daryl leaves the bedroom and follows Rick; to talk to him and Michonne about what to do about the ‘situation’ walking around freely in the house. Mila sighs; so much for that ‘ride’. Not even a quiet quickie in the bathroom. She turns, combs her fingers through her hair and looks at Juri, lying on the bed with his back against her. The blonde hair looks like a bird’s nest, the only thing missing is a couple of spotted round eggs. What a fun job I have in front of me to untangle that bundle of mess, she thinks to herself and kneels down on the bed. Softly she strokes the boy over the back; the pyjamas are so warm and soft and he smells cosy, a warm, sleepy scent mixed with fabric softener. 

“Prosypaysya, solnyshko.” She coos softly, tickles his warm neck. “Wake up, sunshine.”

Juri starts to move, softly pats his feet towards the covers and rolls over, to face her. He blinks, squints a little with his piercing blue eyes at her.

“It’s time to awake.” Mila says.

With the newly awakened boy in her arms, she then walks down to the kitchen, where she’s met by Jesus, sitting at the kitchen island.

“I’m not gonna ask how you got out.” Mila greets him and puts Juri down on the sofa, to awake at his own pace.

She doesn’t really believe in magic, but growing up in Russia, surrounded by ancient stories and with a grandmother who said she was a psychic and was convinced that she had seen both Baba Yaga and a vodnik, Mila’s quite versed in folklore; no sane Russian child disowned Baba Yaga. 

“Slept well?” Jesus replies with a polite, even hearty smile. 

Mila, still slightly bitter about the black eye and the cracked, aching lip he caused her, doesn’t answer at first; instead she puts a kettle with water on the stove and scoops up two abundant spoons of instant coffee in two mugs; the chances of her being in a better mood after she had some coffee is quite high. She needs that first sip of coffee to function. She throws a glance out of the window; where’s Carol? Her eyes are then drawn to a mint green tin can with a pattern of daisies around the brim. Smiling, Mila lifts the lid and peeks inside. Of course, Carol, she thinks with a smile. White chocolate chip cookies. She and Juri must have baked them the day before. She puts the lid back on and turns to the two cups with instant coffee. She awakes from her thoughts -mostly revolving around how unearthly tasty a really fucking strong, big salty caramel latte would be, instead of this sad, colored liquid that nowadays has to go under the name ‘coffee’- when she hears the water bubbling on the stove. 

“I think the water’s done.”

Mila peers at Jesus.

“Yeah I got ears-” She replies surly. “And eyes.”

“Not a morning person?” He asks. 

“I’m not super happy with you.” Mila peers at him as she pours the hot water into the cups and takes out two spoons from a drawer. “No offence, Houdini, but you gave me a black eye.” She hands him one of the cups and stirs around the coffee powder in the water. Not exactly a caramel latte with two extra shots, she thinks and sighs. 

“Sorry about that.” Jesus says. “You’ve ever thought about a career in wrestling?”

“I'm good at running, shooting and drinking-” Mila takes a sip of the blant coffee. “I haven’t got the muscles.”

“I’d say the opposite.” Jesus drinks and makes a grimace; there’s a pretty valid reason why everyone says no when she offers them coffee. According to everyone in Alexandria it’s like drinking tar. “At least you got the spirit.”

“Okay-” Mila sighs. “How did you get out?”

“Magic.” The man in front of her smiles. 

Over at the couch, Juri has finally awakened fully. He climbs down and hurries over to the kitchen and demands to be held; awake or not, he’s always in desperate need to be close by, just in case he needs a cuddle. Mila lifts him from the floor and puts him down on the counter.

“Ready for breakfast?” She asks and Juri nods eagerly. “Let me just finnish my coffee.” Mila looks at Jesus. “You can’t possibly be named Jesus.” She asks and raises her eyebrow at him. “I mean, I get why-” She nods towards his face, the beard and the long hair. “But-”

“Paul.” He smiles, a genuinely kind smile, and offers her his hand over the kitchen island. “Paul Rovia.” 

Mila looks at it, before taking it and giving it a firm shake; like a car dealer who’s just managed to sell a poor fellow an overpriced car. 

“Mila.” She replies and nods at Juri. “My son, Juri.”

With a bright smile Juri waves at Paul from where he sits on the kitchen counter in his pyjamas; Paul’s face bursts into a happy grin. Juri’s sunny demeanor usually has that effect on people.

“Any last name?” He then asks. “Just- you know. Formality.”

“Sergeyevna.” Mila says, takes the tin jar from the other counter, opens it and offers him a cookie; there, now they have put down the hatchet. “So, what should I call you? Sorry, but Jesus-” She grimaces and shakes her head. “Feels odd.”

“Paul’s fine.” He smiles as he takes a cookie and once again looks at Juri. “You’re a lil’ charmer, aren’t you?”

Juri nods and makes the ‘I know that’ sign with his hand, which makes Mila grin. Of course he knows he is, she thinks and takes out the big pack of Quaker oats from a cabinet. She pours the oats at random into a pot, covers them with water and puts the pot on the stove. It will be enough for both her and Juri. She looks up from the pot just in time to see Juri’s small hand being pulled away from the tin jar.

“No.” Mila says, takes the jar and puts it back on the other counter. “You get a cookie after you have breakfast.” 

Juri nods reluctantly, then gestures ‘okay’. 

“He’s mute?” She hears Paul ask behind her.

“He is.” Mila turns around in search of the salt. “Don’t need a voice to be the most charming rascal in the apocalypse though.” She smiles at Juri and winks.

“Is he the father?” Paul asks. “You know- the big guy?”

“Daryl?” Mila shakes her head as her eyes land on the pack of salt. “No, I don’t know who Juri’s father is.” She shrugs a little. “A happy accident.” She pauses and puts a pinch of salt into the pot. “Daryl’s-” 

Yeah, what exactly is Daryl? Mila doesn’t have to think for long. Juri tugs at Paul’s coat sleeve and places his thumb against his forehead, with his fingers outstretched. 

“Have you told Daryl?” Mila smiles at Juri while she opens a drawer and takes out a wooden spoon to stir the oats.

Before Paul can ask what Juri meant by his gesturing, the front door opens and Glenn, Maggie and Abraham enter. Mila greets them with a ‘morning’ and Juri waves frantically at everyone. From the stairs, Rick, Michonne, Daryl and Carl appear.

“Nice talking to you.” Paul winks at her, gets off the bar stool and walks over to the dining table, where they all sit down, looking at Paul.

Mila turns her attention back to her and Juri’s breakfast in the pot. Juri stirs the wooden spoon as she gets honey out of another cupboard and the home made oat milk from the fridge. She listens with half an ear to the conversation at the table while she portions the steaming oatmeal into bowls, puts a spoonful of creamy honey on top and then puts the oat milk over it. She places Juri at the counter next to the window, he likes to look out at the trees and the birds, and then starts to feed him; one spoon for Juri, then one spoon for her. He doesn’t need to hear the grown-up talk and Mila’s too tired to care, well, except for when Rick asks Paul how he got out.

“One guard can't cover two exits, or third floor windows. Knots untie and locks get picked.” Paul replies. “Entropy comes from order, right?”

Mila grins to herself while taking another spoon; it hurts to chew. Apparently he trudged around a lot during the night, peeking at their arsenal, their storage. Juri eats with a big appetite and has soon finished his breakfast.

“Bravo.” Mila praises and scrapes the last of her oats from her bowl. “How about-” She puts the bowls into the sink and turns back to Juri. “You and I hang out today, all day? I need to repay you for not bringing back those marshmallows.”

Excited beyond measure, Juri starts to clap his small hands, which causes the group at the table to pause and turn to look at them. Mila puts her hands around Juri’s and hushes softly, resting her forehead against his. 

“It’s a date.” She whispers and gives Juri a kiss on the nose. “Now- hurry upstairs, pick some clothes and pour a bath, I’ll join you in a minute.”

Smiling brighter than a sky full of stars, Juri scurries over the hardwood floors and starts to climb up the stairs while the group around the table gets up. Glenn, Maggie and Abraham leave, Abe gives her a cheeky wink and a ‘lookin’ sharp, lady’, probably referring to her ravaged face. Daryl gives the big, red haired guy’s back a squinting, dark gaze as he disappears out the door. For some reason she feels flattered about the ‘Dixon jealousy’ today; maybe because she feels anything but appealing. A confidence boost. 

“So?” Mila asks. “What’s been said?”

“He says he’s part of a community.” Daryl replies, referring to Paul. “Raises livestock and crops.”

“Okay. And?” 

“His job’s to find other communities to trade with.”

“That’s it?” Mila asks, slightly disappointed; given his Ninja-skills she’d at least thought he was part of a special force or something. “Okay. What’d you say then? We don’t have anything to trade?”

He thinks we may be in a position to help each other. They got livestock. Grows things.” Daryl pauses. “We’re gonna go back with him. To his community. Hilltop. See if he’s tellin’ the truth. If he does, we’ll see what they’ve got to offer. He also said they’re trading with other groups.”

Mila raises her eyebrows.

“They have contact with other communities?”

“At least that’s what he claims.”

“You think he’s lying?”

Daryl shrugs; apparently he doesn’t know what he thinks about it. On one hand; another community is something they, he and Rick, have talked about for a while. There had to be more people like them out there, other communities with survivors, they knew it. They had expected, or hoped, to be the ones who discovered the other group, not the other way around. The tables have turned and now they’re vigilant. Even though he doesn’t say anything, Mila sees exactly what he’s thinking. The thought has struck her as well. What if Paul Rovia belongs to the group they saw looting the arms deal?

“Does ya’ gut feeling say something ‘bout that?” Daryl asks with a wryly, barely noticeable smile upon his lips - sometimes it seems like they really can read each other’s minds.

“Shut it.” Mila shoves him softly. “No. No, he might fit in at that Harry Potter-school though. How else did he get out of the basement than by magic? I’m not convinced what he said before was the truth.”

“Magic ain’t real, Jersey.”

“At this point, I’m ready to believe it is. Living dead walking around, magic-” Mila shivers throughout her body; it’s as if her dead grandmother was in the room, taunting her for not believing in her wacko stories about trolls and other foul creatures. “You leaving soon?”

“As soon as possible.” 

She nods. 

“Ya’ coming?”

“I’ll pass.” Mila replies. She’s had it with adventures that, more often recently, ends with her getting bruises for a few days. Besides, she wants to spend the day with Juri. “Carol and I hold the positions here.”

“Good.” Daryl lightly strokes her arm. “Where’s she by the way?”

“Out, I believe.” Mila smiles. “You’re cute when you’re worried.”

“I ain’t.”

“Worried or cute?” She gets a light buff in reply to her cheeky question. “Carol’s fine on her own.” Mila ensures her big, worried archer. “Are you going to prepare for the trip?”

“Nah, I’m ready.”

Mila smiles faintly. Had she been Daryl, she would probably at least have changed her shirt to one with sleeves. He notices her smile, frowns a little.

“What?”

“I like that shirt.” 

“Ya’ flirting now?” 

“Yeah.” Mila nods. “Might be because of the concussion.”

“Ya’ didn’t have one last night.” Daryl says doubtfully.

“No, you’re right. But I am actually flirting with you.”

With an entertaining, barely visible, smile, Daryl takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger; a gesture that says more than he does verbally.

“Jersey-”

Mila sighs; she may well suppress the tingling in her body for a few more hours.

“Fine.” Mila pushes Daryl towards the door. “Off you go. Discover new civilizations, Dr. Dixon.” She proclaims theatrically.

In response, she gets a teasing middle finger over the broad shoulder, before Daryl disappears out the front door. Mila turns just as Rick scurries down from the upper floor, holding Judith in his arms. 

“You’re stayin’ behind?” He asks.

Mila holds out her arms; as if to show that her outfit says the most about the matter.

“Okay.” Rick nods. “Good.” He’s just about to say something, but Mila interrupts him:

“I’ll watch Carl too. Promise.”

“I think he’s sneakin’ out.” Rick says, while letting Judith chew on his finger. “He and Enid-”

“-Are teenagers.” Mila shrugs while putting the two coffee cups into the sink. “Be glad Carl’s not doing the shit I did when I was a teen.” She walks around the kitchen island and gives Rick an encouraging pat on the arm. “We’ll be alright.” She smiles overly excited at Judith. “Yes we aaare!”

As Rick closes the front door, Michonne comes down the stairs. As soon as their eyes meet, Mila grins broadly; her missing Jesus trotting into the house in the middle of the night was nothing compared to the disappointment she felt when she learned that he had stormed into Rick’s bedroom, only to discover that Rick and Michonne were lying naked in bed. Michonne raises a warning finger at her.

“Don’t-” She alerts. “Not a word.”

“Ohh I have a lot of words I want to say about it.” Mila chuckles. “How about; finally!”

Michonne says nothing, just smiles. As if Mila didn’t realize before that there was ‘something’ going on. They don’t have time to say anything else on the matter; they are interrupted by Paul, who emerges from the toilet.

“Ready?” Michonne asks him. 

“Yup.” Paul looks over at Mila. “Hey- I’m really sorry about the blackeye.” He looks sincerely sorry. “We friends?”

“Hm, fine.” Mila gives him a sharp gaze. “But I want my grumpy archer back. So no funny business while you’re gone. Then we’re friends.”

Paul nods gravely; hopefully, he doesn’t dare to pull any ugly tricks after yesterday’s haywire ride. In addition, Mila offered him both coffee and cake earlier, so he owes her. She follows them out of the house, still wearing her sleepwear; yoga pants, t-shirt and the knitted cardigan, to the motorhome. Maggie stands by and watches the motorhome. The young woman looks worried, deep into her own thoughts.

“See it as a honeymoon.” Mila suggests with a smile at Maggie as she approaches. “Minus the fancy hotel, the rose petals...” She continues jokingly, in an attempt to cheer her up.

Maggie smiles a little, but there’s obviously something on her mind.

 “Things don’t really go by the book ‘round here.” She replies. “I’m scared, Mila.” The green eyes look worried. “The crops, the baby, other people-” She sighs. Apparently she’s been pondering a lot lately.

“Hey-” Mila grabs Maggie by the hand. “Stop it. We all got days when everything feels like shit.” And those days you spend in bed getting jagged, Mila thinks to herself; that’s at least what she does. “But it’s gonna be alright.” She smiles. “We have made it this far. You’ve made it this far. See it as an- an adventure. And tomorrow is another day.”

Although Mila herself finds it difficult to absorb her own clichéd words, they seem to instill hope in Maggie; somehow Mila thinks that booze works better in her case. 

“Wow, where did the motivational speaker come from?” Maggie smiles, squeezes her hand warmly. “Thanks.” She looks down on her bump. “You know I’ll need all the help I can possibly get when this one pops out, right?”

“Yeah I know.” Mila replies. “But we’re not there yet, thankfully.” She winks. “I have to sober up until then. Well, off you go, adventurer.”

They part, Maggie walks over to Glenn and they get inside the motorhome. Daryl shuts the small hood and brushes off oil from his hands on his jeans. Mila wraps her cardigan tighter around her; she’s still in her tank top and yoga pants, standing bare feet on the hard asphalt.  

“Ya’ sure you’ll be alright?” Daryl asks.

“I’ll be fine.” Mila ensures. Honestly, she thinks, there’s not much that can go wrong when hanging out with a three and a half-year old. “Be careful.” She says and places a quick kiss on his lips. “Don’t punch people.”

Daryl gruffs in reply.

“Let’s chew up some asphalt!” Abraham hollers behind him.

“See ya’.” Daryl places a quick kiss on her mouth, before getting into the motorhome and shutting the door.

Mila and Carl, holding Judith in his arms, watch as the engine of the motorhome starts and it rolls away along the road, before disappearing. 

“Do you think it's safe?” Carl looks at her. “This other place?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Mila replies, while letting Judith grab on to her fingers and play with them. “But I hope so.” She meets Carl’s eyes, smiles and caresses his thick, brown hair. “Come on, let’s get inside. Juri’s having a bath-” Mila smiles at the girl on Carl’s arm. “You wanna bath too?”

Happily, Judith giggles; no sane toddler says no to a bath with rubber duckies and lots of bubbles.  

It turns into a peaceful, playful morning. Juri and Judith bathe for probably an hour under Mila’s supervision; over and over she has to push the floating rubber ducks under the water, for them to jump out of the water again. Judith laughs to the point of her getting hiccups. With one toddler on each arm, drenched in bath water from head to toe, Mila carries them both downstairs.

“Ah, great!” She exclaims just as Carl and Enid walk into the house. “Keep an eye on these two as I get dressed, will you?”

Mila disappears up the stairs before she gets an answer. In the bedroom she removes her wet clothes and drops them on the bathroom floor. She quickly puts on a pair of jeans, glances at the long scar that runs along her stomach, before hiding it with a t-shirt. At least that’s easier to hide than the blackeye. She puts on a pair of socks, sticks her feet into a pair of Birkenstocks and hurries back downstairs. Carl and Enid sit on the carpet in the living room with Judith, still wrapped up in a lilac towel with flowers, while Juri runs around, naked, wearing his towel as a cape.

“Come here you!” Mila sweeps the naked toddler from the floor. “What have I said about being naked Batman?”

Silently giggling, Juri tells her that she’s wrong; he’s not Batman, he’s Spiderman.

“Well, first of all, Spidey doesn’t have a cape-” Mila presses her mouth into his soft belly and makes a loud farting noise, while Juri cries with laughter, silently. “Secondly-” Mila says, while lifting her head. “We gotta find you some clothes.”

“There’s some folded stuff in the laundry room.” Carl gets up from the floor and takes Judith in his arms.

They help out to sort the folded laundry while finding clothes for the toddlers. Mila’s heart swells when she observes Carl with Judith; he’s so much more grown up, so wise and kind, than she ever would have been able to at that age. He dresses Judith, who sits still on top of the washer and calmly lets herself get dressed. Juri on the other hand is in a rowdy mood. Carol returns, stained with blood, in time to see Mila chasing a laughing Juri, dressed in underwear, socks and shirt, around the ground floor; she carries a bucket in her hand, filled with acorns. She catches Juri with her free arm, like a hook, and hands him over to Mila, who can finally put him in a pair of trousers. 

“Thanks.” Mila sighs and brushes her hair out of her face when she has closed the button in the small pair of jeans. “I hope he’s not this cheeky when he’s with you.” She looks at the acorns while Carol assures her that Juri’s usually very angelic when they hang out together; it’s probably just an extra exciting day. Mila nods towards the bucket. “What are the, the-” The english word seems to have disappeared from her vocabulary. “those for?”

Carol looks down at the bucket. 

“You’d be surprised what you could do with acorns.” She smiles, mysteriously. 

“And the blood?”

“An unpleasant surprise.”

“Ah.” Mila nods understanding; a walker. “The others left a while ago.”

While Carol puts the bucket down in the kitchen, Mila tells her about Paul Rovia and the others, Rick, Michonne, Abraham, Daryl, Glenn and Maggie, leaving with him to go to Hilltop. Carol receives the news with calm, a trait Mila loves about her; by now not much seems to surprise her. As Carol disappears to take a shower and change clothes, Juri wonders what they should do first during their extra special fun-day. Mila suggests crafting; Juri loved crafting when he went to daycare and always brought home necklaces, drawings and scrapbooking cards to her. When she was looking for new sheets in the house that belonged to Jessie one day, she found a whole lot of craft materials in a cupboard; Jessie wouldn't need it anymore, so Mila took it. 

They spread the material over the dining table, Mila picks out Capri Sun as snacks and starts to make beaded necklaces and bracelets while Carol returns back after a while, and starts to bake more cookies with the acorns. Deeply concentrated, Juri methodically places pearl after pearl on the small wire, with his tongue between his teeth. He makes necklaces and bracelets for his ‘big brother’ Carl, ‘auntie Carol’, Mila gets a necklace and for Daryl Juri makes a bracelet and a little pendant to hang on his crossbow.

“That will be very nice.” Carol assures as Juri holds up the pendant for her to see, made with beads in all sorts of shapes and colors. “Daryl will be very happy.” She smiles. “I will wear my necklace every day from now on, sweetie.”

While the cookies are in the oven, Carol quickly sweeps up a vegetable soup for lunch. Just in time for lunch, Aaron pops in and joins Mila, Juri, Carol and Judith around the table to eat. Mila sits in-between Juri and Judith and has a full time job making sure Judith doesn't play with her food and tells Juri to stop making another bracelet, this time for Aaron.

“You can finish it after lunch.” Mila says, for the fourth time, before Juri listens, but by then he’s already done and stretches over the table to hand Aaron the bracelet.

“Thank you.” Aaron looks tenderly at the bracelet. “The nicest gift I’ve ever received.” His genuine expression of gratitude makes Juri blush behind his second package of Capri Sun. “I’d love to have kids on my own.” Aaron looks at Juri with glistening eyes. “They’re amazing.” He sighs. “But these times-” He shakes his head.

“You can borrow mine whenever you’d like.” Mila suggests while scooping up the soup in her spoon, pouring it down her still aching mouth. “Besides, you’re already uncle Aaron.”

Juri nods at Aaron at the other side of the table; he’s got a lot of uncles and aunts all of a sudden. But only one big brother, he assures them through his gestures.

“Yeah, there’s only one Carl.” Mila agrees.

Juri points at Judith.

“And only one Judith.” Mila nods. “And since you’re older than Judith, you get to show how to behave at the dining table. Like, you’re not supposed to make bracelets while eating.”

After lunch, Aaron thanks Carol for the lunch and heads off to the construction site, Carol clears the table from bowls and spoons and leaves to go and hand out the still steaming warm cookies to the Alexandria residents. Mila takes on the mission to put Judith to sleep, while Juri finishes off his second portion of vegetable soup at the table, now fully occupied with his walkman. It’s apparently completely impossible to sit and eat without amusement; on the one hand, Mila understands him. She herself likes to have a book or a newspaper with her at the dining table. Before the outbreak, when they lived in Brooklyn, she loved to eat in front of the TV when she was alone; channel surfing until she found a channel with a program about 'tanks in the first world war', 'ancient sharks eating ships' or 'grown men running around in the dark looking for ghosts'. 

Softly Mila sings the girl to sleep while stroking the soft, light brown hair. She sings a Russian lullaby from her childhood, the one her mother used to sing to her when she’d had a nightmare; a heartbreaking song about a dying child. In hindsight, Mila’s surprised she could even fall asleep at all after hearing that song, but the way her mother sang it as they lied next to each other in Mila’s bed, was like being swept in a blanket of protection, a safe embrace from the bad dreams. Then it didn’t matter that Vanya died and was buried the next day. Mila softly strokes the now sleeping girl over her cheek, smiles and leaves the room. 

“Wow, two whole rounds of soup!” Mila exclaims, as she returns to the dining room and Juri, proud beyond measures, shows her two short, tubby fingers. “Bozhe moy, I gotta find you new clothes soon, you’ll grow like a sprout-” She says as she helps him down from the chair. “So, nap or no nap?”

Juri shakes his head; no nap today. Instead he points at the kitchen island, where Carol’s left a couple of cookies on a plate. With the big cookie in a firm grip, Juri announces that he wants to have a dance party. He’s high on sugar from the Capri Sun and needs to let off some steam, pronto! Said and done, Mila runs upstairs, again, collects their dear collection of cassette tapes, runs downstairs and puts a cassette in the stereo in the living room. Having small children is a single gym workout; never a quiet moment. Juri wastes no time and starts to jump around to Van Halen’s “Dance the night away” with the cookie in his hand. Her heart overflows with love as Mila, smiling, watches as the little person moves around on the carpet, making his sporadic, spontaneous moves to the music. Sometimes he takes a bite out of the cookie.

Carl and Enid return just in time to see Juri make a pirouette to “Mr. Blue Sky”.

“Hey, great moves, dude!” Carl greets him. 

They sit down on the couch and watch Juri dance, while Mila sorts the crafting supplies; she has a feeling they’re done making bracelets by now. Activities shift quickly when you’re a child and as a mother, Mila is left to clean up. But when “Dance in the dark” comes on she can’t refrain from wanting to dance; yeez Louise, she loves this song. She lets herself be dragged out on the living room carpet by Juri and shakes her head, making her hair dance. 

“Dance with us Carl!” Mila pants mid air. “You too, Enid!”

Slightly frightened by the invitation, Enid shakes her head so the brown hair swings around her face. Carl on the other hand rises from the couch, widely smiling, and starts to dance with them. It’s fun, liberating; just dancing around, jumping, making silly moves, while singing their hearts out. 

“Come on!” Carl grabs Enid by the hands and pulls her up on the floor. “Don’t be such a bummer. Let loose!”

“I-” Enid looks anything but pumped.

“Live a little!” Mila encourages; she herself feels very much alive at least. Her heart is pounding and the pulse is at ‘moderately working’. It’s actually quite exhausting to dance. She’s a little impressed that she used to go to parties and dance almost every weekend back in university - in heels, moreover. She looks down at her socks and Birkenstocks. 

When the song fades out and the intro to KC & The Sunshine Band’s “Give it up” they hear a soft thud from the upper floor; Judith must’ve thrown her plushie on the floor.

“I’ll go get her.” Mila says. She lets Carl and Enid continue to dance with Juri, and runs up and gets the now awake, well rested little girl. With Judith locked on her hip she walks downstairs again. Judith points at Carl and starts to wiggle her arms, spits out the pacifier and starts to babble.

“You wanna dance too?” Mila asks, while bouncing Judith on her hip. “Come on, let’s dance.”

With a squealing Judith in her arms Mila sways to the music, hops around and swings the girl around the air. But Judith doesn’t get Mila’s full attention for long; Juri, unaccustomed to competition, soon wants her attention, he also wants to dance in her arms. With Judith on one arm and Juri on the other she moves over the carpet, while the two toddlers laugh excitedly by her, a grown up, acting incredibly funny.

Carol returns from her walk around the community in the middle of the chorus to [song], when Enid has returned to the couch and Carl makes an impressive attempt at a moonwalk.

“I disappear for a moment and poof; I come back to a disco.” She laughs.

“Gotta raise the roof around here.” Mila pants and twirls around with the two toddlers locked at her hips. “Right, malysh?” She gets support from Juri, who strikes a disco finger for Carol to marvel at. “But I would actually need a break now.”

The break is accompanied by “Twistin’ the night away” and more Capri Sun, taken on the couch. Carl playfully fans Judith with the wide-brimmed hat and Mila twists her hair in a sloppy ponytail and curses her poor cardio; it’s gotten pretty bad all of a sudden. That uncomfortable nausea she’s felt on and off the last week begins to creep in and she trembles at what Juri wants to do next. “Ya izmozhden.” Mila says when Juri tells her, with sugar rushed excitement, that he wants to dance more. “I’m exhausted. Mummy’s old.”

As if Juri was going to buy that excuse. He answers her firmly that she’s not old, but that they can go out and draw with the street crayons instead. Mila throws a glance out the window. It’s sunny, looks warm. “Fine.” She replies. “Let’s go, Picasso.”

While sitting on the hot asphalt, drawing with the chunky, chalky crayons Mila’s struck by a feeling she hasn’t felt in a long time; it all feels almost as before the virus. It’s been a very normal day. Just as when Mila had her day’s off from work. On those day’s Juri didn’t go to daycare; instead they did all sorts of fun stuff. They went to the park and occupied the swing sets until some irritated mother asked Mila if she would mind sharing with the other children. On the days Jim had a day off as well they went to coffee shops, had coffee and juice and tried different pastries and cookies. Other days they stayed at home playing, or Mila invited her friends (none of them had children of their own) over for lunch and to watch a day-movie with her and Juri. 

Soon Mila puts down her pastel blue crayon and lies down on the warm asphalt, while Juri continues with his masterpiece; this time a zoo with green tigers and yellow monkeys.

“Right now, life’s pretty nice, right?” She exhales and closes her eyes. In the distance she heard the light, barely noticeable, breeze sweeping through the nearby trees. A gentle, soothing sound that mixes up with the faint sound from the walkman, lying on the ground next to Juri. “Pretty, damn nice.”

[queerbutstillhere]

Damian had been planning it for months now. He had this whole big scheme laid out, take Jon to dinner, have a nice evening, have him fly them up somewhere high so they could watch the sunset, and then while Jon was distracted, he would produce the ring and ask him.

Except that didn't happen.

It wasn't like Jon didn't know Damian was going to ask eventually. It's just that he didn't know when. They had discussed it, quite extensively. They had discussed it with their parents. They knew they were going to get married, it just hadn't been intended to be so soon. It had been implied that it would be later, maybe in a year or two. Except there was one thing. One problem

Damian was so hopelessly infatuated with Jon, he knew he didn't want to wait another year to be engaged. If they waited to be married, fine. But he wanted to do it now. So he made his plans. 

Only his plans didn't turn out.

Not for any negative reason. He was simply too impatient.

Here's how it ended up really happening.

Jon was always a morning person. No one ever doubted that, Damian blamed it on the fact that he grew up on a farm, plus he was literally solar powered. So Jon had woken up before Damian, who knows how long before, hours, minutes, one could never tell. But Damian woke up to the smell of frying food filtering under the bedroom door of their apartment. The apartment itself was a fairly modest home, compared to what Damian had wanted to get. It was still on the higher end. Two bedroom, two bath, but just one floor, where as what Damian had wanted was a penthouse with two floors and a huge balcony. This one had a fairly modest balcony, but Jon had loved the "little" apartment, and who was Damian to say no. 

So he woke to the pleasant smells of pancakes and vegan bacon(Don't ask how Damian got Jon to switch, he just did), and also the smell of Damian's favorite dark roast coffee. It was nearly 9am on a Saturday, but Damian was considering lazing around in bed until Jon came to wake him up for breakfast. It was a lazy Saturday, after all.

But then he decided otherwise. His lovely boyfriend was doing all this work for him to make breakfast, the least he could do was get up. So the twenty-five year old pulled himself out of bed, grabbed a pair of sweatpants (who's they were, at this stage, was indiscernible, they just wore each other's clothing, one man's sweatpants were another's. The only thing they didn't share at this point was Damian's suits, because those were specifically tailored for him), and shuffled out of bed, yawning as he checked his texts.

"Hey, there he is," Jon's pleasantly chipper voice greeted. "Good morning babe."

"Good morning, love," Damian hummed, walking over to the man stood by the gas stove. 

Jon, twenty-two now, stood just barely an inch over Damian. This was not to say that Damian was short, 6'2" was fairly tall, but alas, Jon had achieved his life goal of being taller, and had Damian not been so painfully smitten, he would have been annoyed. His hair, had thankfully been appropriately styled, a while back, for a photoshoot with Damian, and he had decided to keep the cut, it was partially shaved, but the front section was a little longer, left side longer then the right at that. Usually it was styled back with a bit of product, but as was, he had clearly showered that morning, so it was down, partially in his eyes. He wasn't terribly muscular, not like his father, and he just slightly outweighed Damian, but they were built significantly differently, Jon had broader shoulders and chest, whereas Damian looked more lithe and evenly built.

He was currently wearing gym shorts and a sweatshirt from his highschool, a spatula in one hand.

Damian walked over and poured himself a cup of coffee stirring in a little bit of sugar and some of the caramel flavoring he kept on hand. He sipped it, and hummed happily before walking over to Jon, gently pulling on his sleeve and pulling him over so they could kiss.

"You're amazing," Damian murmured.

"Says you," Jon chuckled out, glancing down as he started to flip his pancake.

"I do. Did the paper come?"

Jon pointed at something on the island, and Damian snagged the folder newspaper up, walking the few feet to their designated living room and sitting down on one of the sofa's, tucking his feet up under him and starting to read the articles as he sipped his morning coffee.

After ten or so minutes, Jon came over, putting his arms over Damian's shoulders and leaning into him from behind.

"Breakfast is ready?"

"Amazing," Damian hummed, folding the newspaper and then looking up at Jon.

Jon titled his head down and kissed him quickly, upside down. Damian just chuckled softly and then stood after he pulled away, following the kryptonian to the kitchen, where he was served a decent portion of pancakes and vegan bacon. They sat at the breakfast bar together and ate silently.

"So, you got any plans for the day?" Jon asked as he was finishing up, taking the last swallow of his almond milk.

"No. I was more or less hoping for a lazy day at home with you."

"Well we gotta do laundry today, but sure."

Damian grumbled softly, shoving the last bite of pancake in his mouth.

Jon chuckled and took his plate, moving to the sink to wash them.

"It's so cute how much you hate laundry. We've been living together for a year now and you still hate doing your laundry."

"I could just buy new clothes," Damian muttered.

"And that's incredibly wasteful. Aren't you the one who made me go vegan and stop using single use plastics for economical reasons?"

Damian didn't comment. 

"Aren't you the guy who goes to environmental rallies and has a indoor composting tote in the corner of our dining room? And aren't you the guy who saves all our veggie scraps to make veggie stock every Sunday?"

Jon could probably go on, listing for hours the different things Damian did to be more eco-sustainable, but Damian interrupted.

"Okay, I get your point."

Jon chuckled, glancing back at him.

"Besides, it's not even like you do most of the laundry," he said, rinsing off his hands and drying them before walking back over, kissing Damian once more.

"I know."

Jon just smiled at him fondly, and Damian felt his heart go aflutter. 

"You're cute," he murmured, kissing Damian's forehead.

"Jon?"

"Yeah?"

"Marry me."

"Wh-. . . What?" Jon breathed out.

Damian grabbed Jon's hands, holding eye contact.

"Marry me," he repeated.

The words had slipped out the first time. There was no going back now, but it was okay, because he didn't want to. The only thing he wanted was to marry Jonathan Kent.

Jon stared at him with wide eyes, and for the first time since Damian had asked him to be his boyfriend, Damian felt a small stab of the fear of rejection. Then a grin started spreading across Jon's face, and he squeezed Damian's hands, leaning in to kiss him tenderly.

"Of course I will."

"To be clear, I am proposing to you, right now. In this kitchen."

"I know."

"Wait here."

Damian got up and went to his work bag, finding it hanging on its usual hook and digging in it until he found the small lead lined pouch, pulling it out and then pulling out the contents, a beautiful silver engagement band, inlaid with diamonds. He walked back over to Jon, and dropped to one knee, taking Jon's left hand.

"Jonathan Samuel Kent, will you marry me?"

"Yes."

Damian was having a hard time not grinning like an idiot, but he slipped the band(a perfect fit) onto Jon's finger and then stood, pulling him in for another kiss.

"I kind of assumed you had some big elaborate plan," Jon confessed, arms over Damian's shoulders.

"I did. But. . . "

"I like this. . . This is good. You definitely surprised me."

Damian smiled, kissing Jon's cheek.

"I'm glad."

"I love you, Damian."

"I love you more."

"I highly doubt that," Jon said with a chuckle, pushing Damian back against the counter.

"Hmm, try me."

They just started laughing, then grinned at each other for a moment more, before Jon pulled his hand down to examine the ring. 

That's right. Damian was going to marry his childhood best friend, and he couldn't be happier about it.

[spaceskam]

anon prompt: I don't suppose you'd be willing to write a coda to your own little "spite" fic, would you? Something like how Maria finds out Michael spent the night with Forrest and Alex and gets mad about it, but they're like "not everything is about sex you know." If you don't want to, that's cool. Just thought I'd ask lol

follow up to this; it’s a mix of this prompt and just straight-up self-indulgence that has been on my mind since I finished the original

ao3

Michael woke up slow, his mind reminding him that he was snuggled into Alex and, thus, making him really not want to move.

He could hear Alex breathing and feel his heart beating, all the best signs that he was doing great. Michael’s hand was still pressed over his stitches and the hand print that he didn’t even have to open his eyes to know had fully formed. He could feel that too. Loving Alex was never as easy as it was in that moment when he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Alex loved him right back, even though he was still sound asleep.

However, Michael smelled coffee and eggs and, well, he hadn’t fucking eaten anything in a day. So he opened his eyes and reluctantly peeled away from Alex, looking over him to make sure he was okay. He looked more peaceful than Michael had ever seen him. Still, he peeled his hand away from his stitches and moved it to his forehead, checking for a fever. He couldn’t really tell, but he didn’t feel any hotter than he normally did so that felt like a good sign. 

A stupid part of his brain wanted to kiss him awake or just kiss him in general, but that wasn’t an option when Alex’s boyfriend was in the next room. So he didn’t, just let his hand slowly trace over his cheek and his jaw before pushing himself up.

The old mattress creaked no matter how careful he moved and Forrest’s head popped out from the kitchen. 

“Morning,” Forrest called, smiling softly before he disappeared back into the kitchen. Michael got up, his back hurting just a little bit from such a shitty mattress. That is to say, it wasn’t his shitty mattress, so his back wasn’t quite used to it yet.

“Morning,” Michael said, clearing his throat as he pulled himself into the kitchen. It was old and underused, but Forrest had still managed to put together a breakfast. “Where’d all this stuff come from?”

“Uh, I took your truck, hope you don’t mind, but there’s a farm about a mile from here and I know one of the farmhands, so I asked to borrow some stuff,” he said simply. Michael eyed him and then the carton of eggs, the coffee grounds, the perfect procured bacon, fresh milk, and presumably gas for the generator if the working stove said anything.

“You used to sleep with a farmhand who just gives you shit without question?” Michael clarified. Forrest grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

“You have your ways, I have mine.”

“Hey, I’m not arguing.”

Michael poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, watching Forrest layout bacon on the pan like he’d done this a million times. And maybe he had. Michael wasn’t sure what a typical morning after with Forrest Long might’ve looked like.

“How are you feeling?” Forrest asked, looking over at him. Michael had to blink a few times before he realized he was talking to him. Right, he actually wanted an answer.

“Uh, my head’s still a little fucked and my back hurts from that mattress, but otherwise I’m more worried about Alex,” Michael admitted. Forrest nodded. He cleared his throat. “A-and you. How are you? Are you okay? Yesterday was a lot.”

“I’m okay,” Forrest sighed, “Still processing the alien thing, I guess, but I can wait for more information later. And it’s not every day your boyfriend gets kidnapped and then presumably kills four guys with his bare hands and one leg.”

“Yeah, Alex is a badass,” Michael laughed softly. Forrest nodded.

“You got that right,” he huffed, “I knew that, but I guess I never really... knew it. Like I was aware that he was pretty decently high ranking for his age and that he was apart of special intelligence ops and stuff, but he’s... Is he gonna be okay? Is this gonna fuck with him mentally?”

Michael shook his head slightly. “No. Alex only would’ve done that if they were going to do something much worse. He would’ve only subdued them unless they were doing something actually harmful. I think he’ll be okay. Might take a little reassuring, but he’ll be okay.”

Forrest flipped the bacon and nodded, thinking it over. Michael just watched him for a moment while he sipped his coffee before peeking back out to check on Alex. He was still sound asleep. It was probably the longest Alex had ever slept at one time.

“I checked his stitches,” Forrest said suddenly.

“You did?” Michael asked hesitantly. In the info dump of alien bullshit, Michael hadn’t really gone over the concept of a hand print.

“Yeah, both of you slept a lot harder than I did. Kept waking up, so I just made sure you were both breathing and that Alex wasn’t bleeding,” he explained. Michael held his breath subconsciously, not really understanding how someone just casually woke up to make sure he was still breathing. For Alex, yes. But for him? “So, uh... The hand print.”

“The hand print,” Michael repeated. Forrest started separating the eggs and bacon on three separate plates, each of them seeming to be made of wood. “Uh, we don’t really know why it leaves one when we heal people. The working hypothesis is that we’re giving so much of ourselves that it sort of... leaves a trace.”

“So it’s not gonna hurt him?”

“No, he’ll be okay.”

“And you? Does it hurt you?” he asked, turning and handing him a plate. Michael grabbed it and furrowed his eyebrows, staring at him for an extended amount of time. Forrest didn’t seem phased as he waited for an answer. “Does it hurt you?”

“Um,” Michael said, “Not... not really.” He tilted his head in concern, but Michael spoke again before he got the chance. “I’m sorry, I’m just still confused. Why do you care about me? I know you said that I take care of Alex, you take care of me, but... I’m Alex’s ex. I still love him. You should hate me.”

Forrest laughed and shook his head, putting his and Alex’s plate down and using his hand to touch Michael’s arm gently as if he was about to make a very important point that Michael should listen to. So, obviously, he did. 

“Let me explain it like this. You’ve both been through more shit than I can even imagine and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that neither of you have had a real safe space before. And, well, you love Alex and Alex loves you. You protect him and he protects you and, fuck, you both protected me. That’s what you do for people you love, isn’t it? Yesterday was scary and we only made it out because it was all three of us, that makes us family. I take care of family, so let me do what I can since I don’t have superpowers or, special training like you and Alex,” Forrest explained. It still didn’t really compute as he stared blankly at him. Forrest rolled his eyes. “I care about you, Michael, stop questioning it. Eat.”

Michael stood there, feeling frozen in place as Forrest just picked the plates back up and walked into the living room. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel or respond to that. Alex’s boyfriend liked him. Not in a I-Wanna-Sleep-With-You way, but in a You’re-Safe-Here way. Was he allowed to like that? Would Alex be mad if he did?

He blinked away tears that threatened to fall and turned to go eat breakfast with the two of them. 

Alex was sitting up against the two pillows the three of them had shared the night before, bare shoulders seeming that healthy color with the sun peering through the windows instead of how pale he’d looked when he was hurt. That helped Michael breath a bit better and he sat cross-legged on Alex’s left side, across from where Forrest sat on his right.

“Morning,” Alex said, reaching out to touch his arm as if he couldn’t help himself. Michael’s eyes drifted to Forrest who didn’t seem phased. He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t jealous. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t all that jealous either for once. 

“Morning,” Michael told him, eyes scanning over his face to make sure he was okay, “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Alex admitted, picking up a piece of bacon and biting into it, “Better than I should be after getting stabbed.”

“Stabbed? I thought it was a GSW,” Forrest said, leaning forward and pressing his fingers around the slightly swollen area that was glowing with Michael’s hand print. Seeing him touch it, feeling him secondhand, made Michael feel like getting caught in a wave in the middle of the ocean. He was just drowning in feelings he didn’t understand. He had to take a deep breath to bring himself back.

“I think it was both?” Alex said far too casually, touching the stitches himself. Again, Michael got taken out by a wave. “Yeah, one of ‘em shot me and then his buddy stabbed me to make it something that couldn’t be fixed. Clearly they forgot I have good company.”

“Jesus, Alex,” Forrest sighed, shaking his head, “You will never fail to impress me.”

“Good,” Alex said with an easy smile. Michael watched them share a kiss, something short and not meant to hurt him and it didn’t. But it made him feel like his skin was on fire. “Sorry, Guerin, you okay? You feel weird.”

“Hmm?” Forrest hummed, looking between the two of them, “Feel? Is that what you meant by not really?”

“Not really what?” Alex asked. There was too much attention on him and Michael looked away. He didn’t really know how to explain himself. “Hey,” Alex said, his hand going to his chin and making him look at him, “What’s wrong?”

“I think I should go talk to Maria,” he said. Alex’s hand immediately dropped and hurt washed through his system.

“Oh, okay,” he said, clearing his throat. Forrest’s eyebrows knitted together, tilting his head. “Are you gonna come back?”

“Um,” Michael said, looking between the two of them before nodding, “Yeah, I’ll be back in a couple hours. Call me if you need me.”

Michael got up, plate still in hand, as he quickly slipped on his boots and headed out of the door. He needed to think things over. Mainly why the hell he didn’t hate Forrest right now.

He made it about halfway to his truck before he heard footsteps and his name being called. He couldn’t explain why, but he turned to give Forrest his attention.

“If I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry,” Forrest said, “But Alex is on painkillers that make him emotional and you hurt his feelings.”

“Yeah, I can feel it, thanks for letting me know,” Michael said. Forrest stepped up to him and cautiously took the plate from him, hands brushing deliberately.

“It’ll be here when you get back,” he said, “I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”

“You didn’t,” Michael admitted, “You didn’t and I’m still trying to figure out why you didn’t so I’m gonna go and I’ll be back later.”

“Okay. Drive safe.”

And, for some reason, Michael put in effort to listen.

-

“We’re closed.”

“For me?”

“Especially you.”

Michael hovered in the doorway at that, not quite understanding what he did wrong. Sure, he may have accidentally stood Maria up the day before, but he had a damn good excuse. He started walking towards the bar.

“Look, about last night, I–“

“Went on a little trip to the wilderness to spend the night with Alex and his boyfriend, yeah, I know,” Maria said, looking to him with more than a little bit of annoyance. He just blinked.

“Alex was hurt,” he said simply, “He needed me.”

“He had Forrest,” she said, “His boyfriend.”

“I had to heal him,” Michael tried to explain, “He needed me.”

Maria eyed him for a minute, irritation slipping into straight hurt. He felt like he missed a few steps and suddenly he really, really wanted to crawl back into bed with Alex and Forrest even though he was confused. They didn’t make him feel bad.

“So, what, you had to sleep with him to make him feel better?” she asked. Michael blinked and his head moved back in shock. Where the hell did she get that from?

“What?” he asked, “No. We didn’t–Where did that even come from?” She just stared at him like he should know. He couldn’t help but scoff. “It wasn’t about sex, we just had been through a shitty event and didn’t wanna be alone. We just slept.”

“Sure, like I believe that.”

“You don’t have to, but you should,” he said simply, no animosity in his voice, “Alex almost died and Forrest was shaken up, I wasn’t about to leave them.”

The stress seemed to build the more she stared at him with hurt, accusatory eyes. But then he could feel Alex, trying from afar to make sure he was okay and knew that he was loved. It made things click a little more in Michael’s head as to why he didn’t hate Forrest and it just so happened to be for similar reasons that Forrest didn’t hate him. They both loved Alex and Alex loved them both to the point that they were all a little too willing to put themselves in danger for each other. That was bound to bring two people together.

But, more importantly, it was hard to hate someone who put so much effort into making you feel safe and welcome. He’d been so scared of saying or doing something wrong that he hadn’t realized that, as long as he asked before he didn’t something drastic, he wouldn’t say or do anything wrong. They wanted him there because he was him, not because of who he was pretending to be. He was wanted.

Why had he even left in the first place?

“I didn’t sleep with Alex or Forrest, Maria,” Michael said, “It wasn’t about that. They just needed me there and I needed them. That’s what you do for people you love. Simple as that.”

“So you don’t love me?” she asked. He took a heavy, grounding breath and focused on Alex.

“I do,” he said honestly, “But I don’t think it’s the way you want me to.”

Maria stared at him for a moment before nodded, turning away from him. It was clear that was the end of them. He didn’t mind.

“Right. I don’t really want to see your face right now. Tell Alex I hope he feels better.”

“Okay.”

-

Michael took a deep breath as he stared at the cabin. He’d only been gone two and a half hours, having stopped at the store to get groceries since it was clear they were going to stay here until the rest of the crew figured out what was going on with whoever took Alex.

He grabbed the grocery bags and started heading towards the cabin, unlocking it with his mind to let himself in and then immediately locking it back. Forrest and Alex were still in bed and they turned to give him their attention when he walked in.

“Hey,” Alex said, trying to sit up.

“Hey,” he said back, “Let me go put these up.”

He headed into the kitchen where the fridge had gotten cold since Forrest had plugged it back in once he started up the generator that morning. He started putting what he got in there or in cabinets when he felt a hand on his hip. Michael jumped and spun around to see Alex holding his hand up in defense while the other clutched a crutch he absolutely should’ve heard. He had a soft smile on his face and he was still shirtless, eyes tired but still beautiful. He was beautiful. Really, unfairly beautiful.

“I’m sorry I left, I didn’t mean to upset you, but I needed to clear somethings up with Maria and–“

“Hey, we haven’t gotten the chance to talk just me and you,” Alex said softly, changing the subject away from Maria, “Can we do that now?”

Michael swallowed harshly and nodded, waiting. Maybe he wasn’t as wanted as he thought. But that idea only stayed in his mind for a few seconds because, instead of talking with their mouths, Alex grabbed his hand and pressed it to the hand print.

“I wanna try it,” he said, “Liz said we can share memories with it. Show me something?”

“Like what?” Michael asked, that confusion hitting him again. He knew that the last few months, Alex had been a lot more open with him, but this... Well, this felt like he was asking permission to cross one of those lines with his boyfriend in the next room.

“Anything.”

So Michael pressed his other hand on his back, pulling him in close and resting their forehead’s together. Alex gave him an encouraging smile before they both closed their eyes. And then he thought of Alex.

It wasn’t hard to do that, to just flood him with the way he saw things back in high school. The first time he saw him and being confused, playing Romeo opposite his Mercutio and being confused, staring at him in every advanced math class they shared and being confused, constantly just being lost until he realized he wanted to kiss him. Which cleared up the second he did.

He skipped over the pain of the night in the shed, instead skipping to long nights making out in the back of his truck in the desert. He reminded him of that one time they got caught by Sanders who acted like he didn’t see anything or that night that was so hot they were sweating buckets but couldn’t bear to separate or that night they went skinny dipping the only pond in Roswell. He showed him how much he missed him when he was gone, how happy he was when he was home, and how much he loved him even when he left. And he showed him how confused he was right now, not quite understanding what this meant for them.

He could deal with Forrest being kind to him and caring for him, but he couldn’t comprehend how Alex could feel how much they loved each other and not want anything. Right now, they knew, and yet that still didn’t make sense for them. How fucked up could they be?

“You thought you weren’t good enough for me?” Alex asked when he pulled away. Michael stared at him, wondering how that’s what he got from everything he’d shown him. “That day in your truck, when I said that I wanted to be with you, but not if you threw your life away, you thought that meant that I thought you weren’t good enough. And you never stopped feeling that way. You feel that way right now.”

Michael stared at him, unsure of how to answer. Alex looked sad all over again and it was his fault. He tried to pull his hand away, but Alex held onto it and stepped in closer so they were chest to chest with only their hands between them.

“You’re good for me,” Alex whispered, “You’re so good for me.”

“Your boyfriend’s in the next room,” Michael told him. Alex bumped his nose against Michael’s.

“You don’t think he knows how I feel about you?”

“He’s been too nice to me, I’m not about to–“

“Listen to me,” Alex said a little more firm, staring him in his eyes, “You don’t think he knows?”

Michael felt like his skin was on fire again, that wave hitting him again as Alex’s eyes flickered down to his lips.

“No,” Michael said, “You’re just feeling an echo of what I feel for you. That’s not real. Or-or if it is, you’re not in the right headspace. Forrest is in there.”

“You don’t think he knows?” Alex repeated, slower this time. Michael exhaled slowly, his shoulders deflating and his heart going haywire. 

“Knows what? You know I don’t understand half the things you say,” he said. Alex smiled and shrugged a shoulder.

“True,” he said, laughing softly. It sent chills down his spine. Alex’s hand slowly slid up his side and then two fingers pressed against his jaw, tilting it up and his eyes locked with Michael’s. It was unspoken as it usually was between them and Alex pressed a soft kiss to his lips, not lasting more than a second and yet somehow packing more of a punch than any kiss they’d ever shared. It wasn’t even like a real kiss, there wasn’t even passion, it was just him saying ‘hey, I’m here, you’re safe’. Michael loved it. “He knows about what I want.”

“And he doesn’t care? You’re his boyfriend,” Michael pointed out, torn between wanting to kiss him again and feeling guilty for doing that to a guy that had been so nice to him. But, more importantly, he’d shared Alex once and he never wanted to do that again. Still, Alex shook his head.

“I’m not gonna kiss you for real until the hand print is gone and we have a conversation about everything, okay?” Alex said. Michael nodded.

“I don’t wanna share you, Alex, not like that,” he said. Alex nodded.

“I know,” he whispered, fingernails gliding over his stubble, “But Forrest knows everything now, so he can’t just disappear completely.”

“Everything?”

“I filled him in on it all,” Alex confirmed, “He doesn’t want to leave even if that means not having a relationship like that. We already talked about it, we already set new boundaries.”

“How?” Michael asked. Alex smiled and shrugged.

“He’s a good man. Better than we’ve ever been raised to see,” he answered simply. Michael knew that well enough to not need any further explanation. “I love him and he loves me, but not necessarily the way we love each other, does that make sense?”

“So much.”

“Good.”

They sat there for a minute, just staring and sharing what exactly this meant. And it just meant that, for now, this was their new boundaries. Michael was okay with that.

He helped him with his crutch and they made their way back to the pullout couch. As uncomfortable as it was, he couldn’t imagine a place he’d rather be. Forrest didn’t seem upset which was wild in concept, but Michael appreciated in practice. He really was great.

“Thank you,” Michael told him as Alex got settled in the middle. Forrest just flashed a smile.

“No worries,” he said. Michael huffed a laugh and kicked off his shoes before climbing into bed. “How’s your stitches?”

“Fine. Painkillers are wearing off, but I can handle it,” Alex said.

“You sure?” Forrest asked. Alex grinned his way and nodded. Michael settled into the pillow as he watched Forrest lean down to kiss him again. This time he recognized it as what it was: an act of comfort, not pleasure or romance or desire. Which would explain the weird feelings he got from the mark when they did it before and the kiss Alex had given him only a few minutes prior. That was definitely not something he was used to.

He liked it.

“You look exhausted even though you slept until noon,” Forrest noted as they all three got comfortable, “Is that like an alien thing?”

“No, it’s an ‘I just got accused of cheating and then got dumped’ thing,” he teased. Both men looked towards him with confused faces.

“She accused you of cheating? With us?” Forrest clarified, disbelief laced in his voice. Michael blew out a breath of air.

“Yep, apparently it’s weird to want to be around people if you don’t want to have sex,” Michael said. 

“I think if I tried to have sex, I would pop open my stitches and it would not be sexy to started bleeding from my abdomen in the middle of it,” Alex noted. Forrest snorted a laugh and his eyes went to his stitches again, double checking that they weren’t irritated.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t pop your stitches open, I think Kyle would’ve killed me,” Michael added. Alex smiled easily and closed his eyes, looking so relaxed that it was nearly unreal. Especially when they all knew he could feel the pain of literally being shot and stabbed and beaten.

“I feel really loved,” Alex admitted.

“Yeah, you definitely still are feeling the painkillers still at least a little,” Forrest whispered. He smiled a bit broader and shrugged his shoulder. 

Michael mindlessly pressed into Alex’s side, wanting to just fuel that feeling he had even more. He pressed his nose against Alex’s jaw, breathing in slow as he closed his eyes. Alex’s arm made it’s way under his head and his fingers wove into his hair, his bicep making the world’s best pillow. Michael’s hand went to it’s rightful place over the hand print.

“How close am I wanted?” Forrest asked carefully to both of them.

“As close as you want,” they both answered without hesitation. 

Michael had a newfound appreciation for Forrest in a way he hadn’t really expected, but he understood things better after thinking things over. Forrest was clearly as much as touchy as Alex was, if not more. Michael had taken it as clingy before, but now he was starting to see that’s just how he gave and received comfort. That’s why he kissed Alex when their new boundaries had been set, that’s why he touched Michael when got confused, that’s why he was so fucking aware at all times. Michael wasn’t used to platonic affection; he was interested.

So Forrest pressed up on Alex’s other side, the man in the middle having to lay on his back due to his wound. Then his arm went around, laying on top of Alex’s in Michael’s hair. His other arm draped over Alex’s abdomen and paralleled Michael’s. His fingers laid gently against Michael’s side, just enough to know that they were there.

And he was welcome.

[nasfunkysunglassesinactive]

Loving is Easy

Pom groaned as he sat up, reaching for his alarm, blaring at him rudely from the side table.

Shutting it off, he rolled over and glanced out into the kitchen, where the light was already on and faint clanks and humming could be heard.

He found himself smiling, despite it being 6am and still dark outside, even though he hadn’t got to bed until 2am. He couldn’t help it, it was so nice to wake up and know there was someone there for him, on his good days and his bad ones, always believing in him, never giving up on him.

Pom managed to drag himself up, still blinking blearily as he sighed and slung his feet to the ground, reluctantly leaving the warmth of the blankets to pad towards the doorway between the bedroom and the living area of their apartment.

He smiled as Chanon turned to him when he entered the kitchen. Pom stretched down to rest his head in his arms on the counter, eying Chanon fondly as the kettle clicked and he turned towards it, reaching to pour the boiling contents into the mugs set out next to the sink.

Chanon stirred the coffee now steaming from the mugs, the gentle tinkling of the teaspoon the only sound that could be heard aside from the tune he was quietly humming.

He smiled as he tapped the spoon on the edge of a mug and silently handed one of them to Pom, wrapping his hands around the other and gently lifting it to blow across the liquid to cool it down slightly.

Pom huffed under his breath in amusement.

Chanon had burned himself from drinking boiling hot chocolate once in highschool, causing him to jump and spill the rest all over his shirt (and Pom’s). Ever since then, he had harboured a deep mistrust of hot liquids.

 “Thank you.” Pom whispered, glancing up at Chanon as they both took a sip of the coffee.

Apparently adequately satisfied with the temperature of his drink, Chanon smiled back at him.

 “Well you need to go prepare for class in a bit and you only got 4 hours sleep after the Gifted exam last night.”

Pom groaned again at the reminder and flopped his head back on the counter, closing his eyes as his hair fell to cover them.

 “I love being a teacher, I’ll never regret that decision and those kids are like my own at this point. Still sometimes I question why my job takes up so much of my life.”

Chanon smiled down at him fondly.

 “Just like you said, those kids are like your own and you love being able to help them grow up and find themselves. You teach to see them become the people they were born to be and you love it because they mean so much to you. That’s why you put so much time and effort into it.”

Pom laughed at the speech and sat up to stretch his arms out.

 “You’re right as always. I’m just exhausted I guess.”

Chanon put the coffee mug down and stood up.

 “Of course you are, it’s not easy being the cool teacher!”

Pom raised his eyebrows questioningly at the statement.

Chanon smirked and wandered off to the stove, where he flicked the switch of the gas on underneath a frying pan before setting off towards the fridge.

 “I saw a meme. Like, how the cool teacher puts in like this much effort-” he stretched his arms out wide in front of him- “ and end up getting this much recognition from other teachers.” he finished holding his fingers an inch apart.

Pom couldn’t help but smile at the compliment, even if it had stemmed from a meme (that Chanon had likely seen whilst he was meant to be working.)

Chanon came back over to the pan with 2 eggs, cracking one into it before leaning over to stick 2 slices of bread in the toaster.

 “You go get changed, I’ll sort breakfast for us.”

Pom nodded and slunk off to the bedroom to get clothes and take a shower.

He’d always showered in the morning. It always helped him wake up and collect his thoughts for the day, running through the never ending to-do lists as the cool water hit his shoulders helped him organise his day.

Chanon on the other hand, always showered at night. He couldn’t sleep unless he’d washed the day away. Pom quite liked it though. It meant he always crawled into bed smelling faintly of rosewood, the familiar scent of which always managed to calm Pom’s racing mind as they drifted off to sleep.

As he turned off the water and reached for a towel, he paused. From the kitchen came the faint, melodic sound of singing again.

Pom instantly recognised the song and smiled to himself. Chanon always sung when he was in the kitchen.

Once his clothes were on, the dress shirt tucked neatly into his trousers, a tie in his hand, he returned to the kitchen with a towel still around his neck, rubbing the ends of his hair absentmindedly.

He returned to his spot where a plate of scrambled eggs and toast had been placed.

Chanon stood up and silently reached for the towel around Pom’s neck. He took it in his hand and began to massage Pom’s scalp, gently, carefully drying the damp strands.

 “It’s usually you nagging me about things like this,” Chanon murmured, “You’ll catch a cold if you’re wet and shivering.”

Pom sighed, smiling as he closed his eyes and leaned into Chanon’s touch, enjoying being the one taken care of for once- something his job didn’t often allow.

 “I know. But it’s nice having you do this, maybe I’ll leave my hair wet more often.” Pom mused.

Chanon gently knocked Pom’s head and threw the towel over the back of an empty chair before ruffling his hair fondly, causing Pom to duck away and turn to pout up at Chanon, who just laughed and gestured to the plates in front of them.

Pom wrinkled his nose at him before whispering a thank you and turning towards the food.

Chanon had always been an amazing cook. Back in highschool, whenever Pom had been too tired to eat and content to just collapse onto his bunk after a long day and fall unconscious on an empty stomach, Chanon could tell. He would always duck into the kitchen area on evenings when the late classes had begun to take their toll and even though he was exhausted too, he always managed to whip up something so delicious that Pom could never refuse.

Just where he’d picked up this knack for culinary preparation Pom didn’t quite know. Chanon had always seemed busy, either at their desk or the chalkboard or the computer lab. He was always lost in calculations or maps or star charts or some such that Pom could barely keep up in trying to understand, yet he still always managed to find the time to make sure Pom wasn’t burned out or skipping meals again.

In the years that had passed since then, through their ups and downs, the fundamental basis of their relationship had remained unchanged. They both looked out for each other no matter what and loved each other easily, without the explicit need to voice it out loud.

Being together, no matter where they were, was comfortable. It was easy. And it felt right. It had always felt right to be by the other’s side.

They both finished breakfast at the same time and Pom reached over for Chanon’s plate and stacked it on top of his own before carrying them over to the empty dishwasher and slotting them both in side by side before turning to the clock.

 “It’s 7 o’clock.” He murmured.

Chanon nodded before reaching for the tie that lay on the counter and walking over to Pom.

 “Which means you need to get going soon-” he stretched his arms around Pom’s neck to tuck the tie under his collar- “to resume your role as best teacher in history.”

Pom grinned as Chanon continued to fiddle with the tie, looping one end over the other before undoing it and starting again, his tongue poking out in concentration as he bent down to get closer to the complicated knot he was managing to tie around Pom’s neck.

 “Let me.”

Pom gently slapped Chanon’s hands and took over tying the tie. At over 30 years old Chanon still hadn’t got a grasp on the skill.

Chanon looked at his feet sheepishly before glancing back up at Pom through his fringe. God he looked cute doing that.

 “I’ll see you later, then.”

Pom said, slipping shoes onto his feet and reaching for the keys hanging on the hook next to the front door.

Chanon nodded, leaning against the doorframe and handing Pom’s phone to him (he’d walked out the door without it too many times to count in the past.)

 “Make sure you get to work on time. Text me at lunch, if I’m free we can eat together.”

 “Will do.”

Chanon yawned, still smiling fondly at Pom as he fumbled to get his phone in his pocket.

Finally organised, Pom grabbed his bag and turned the key in the lock, opening the door up to the apartment hallway.

Their place wasn’t too big and it wasn’t showy or posh, but it was theirs and it was filled with little bits of each of them, from the decorations to the clutter to the smells, and that made it perfect to them.

 “Wait a sec.”

Chanon called out as Pom stepped over the threshold.

Pom turned to him as Chanon stepped forward and swooped in to quickly kiss his cheek.

 “There we go. Have a great day at work!” Chanon grinned cheekily.

Pom rolled his eyes fondly and nodded.

 “You too. I love you.”

 “Love you more.”

 “Impossible.”

He smiled as he made his way down the hallway, with the warm sunlight beginning to filter through the window in front of him and Chanon’s words still ringing in his ears, he felt he could face anything the day threw at him.

[need-a-new-hobby]

Haunted

Spencer had his leg propped up on the coffee table, crutches just within reaching distance, while he read Fahrenheit 451 when he heard the door unlock. Instinctively, he reached for his gun but paused as he saw a large paper bag walk in with Piper behind it. “You said you were bringing dinner.”

“Takeout isn’t dinner,” Piper scoffed, plopping the keys into a bowl and placing her groceries carefully onto the kitchen countertop. Spencer moved his leg off the table slowly, limping over to the stools next to the countertop, frowning at the green vegetables. “You look like you’ve never seen a vegetable before.”

“I saw Lisbon, didn’t I?” Piper laughed as she set the water to boil on the stove. She moved to tie her hair up, grinning as she took the elastic Spencer offered.

“You know, you always have those bands, you never wear them.” Piper’s smile faded as he blushed. She leaned over the countertop, brushing his lips before turning back to the water. He watched her clean the stalks of spaghetti before sliding it in carefully.

“You know, Rossi makes his own noodles.” Piper smiled.

“I’m gonna tell him you called his handmade carbonara ‘noodles’. Besides, Rossi’s actually Italian.”

“Right. And what are you?”

“I am…trying my best,” she grinned at him before pulling out the cherry tomatoes and sliding them over to Spencer.

“No, I’m— I’m not good at this,” Spencer stammered, pushing the tomatoes back.

“Spencer, you just have to halve them.” She pouted.

“But what if they fly and hit you like last time? No, no thanks.” He leaned away from the countertop.

“Spence, it’s not that hard. Look,” she said, grabbing a chopping board and a knife. “All you have to do is hold the tomato between two fingers, slip the knife between and slice. That’s it.” Piper gently placed his fingers on each side of the small tomato, watching his hands carefully as he sliced through. “See, easy.”

She let Spencer have fun with the tomatoes as she put together a quick marinade for the chicken and started frying. Soon, the smell of food permeated the apartment as Spencer chopped tomatoes and grated cheese, then spotted the onion. Piper still had his back to him as she cooked the spaghetti, coating it with a rich sauce. Spencer grabbed the onion and started peeling. He cut the onion slowly through the middle and kept the cut sides on the board like he’d seen her do a million times. He sliced through the onion, gaining confidence with each slice. His eyebrows furrowed as his teeth dug slightly into his lower lip in concentration. He looked up as Piper yelped, blowing on her finger. Wincing, she ran it under the water, looking back as Spencer mirrored her wince, slicing his finger by accident.

Abandoning her finger, she grabbed his hand and sucked on the wound before ordering him to keep the pressure on it while she searched for the first aid kit. She grabbed a purple band-aid and ran back as she peeled the plastic away, wrapping it tightly around his finger. “You idiot,” Piper muttered as she checked his finger was okay. “Who told you to chop that onion?” Spencer gently grabbed her burnt hand and she winced, eyes flicking up to his. He started dabbing burn ointment on it gently and suddenly, the pain melted away as she watched him blow gently on her hand until she remembered the food. “My pasta!” Piper whipped around, running to the stove to turn the gas off, sighing in relief while Spencer laughed from behind her. She rubbed the ointment into her finger and pulled on a glove before she scooped the vegetables Spencer had so delicately prepared. She tossed it all together before adding a dash of salt, pepper and olive oil. She grabbed two plates from the inner cabinet and served both of them after setting the table and helping Spencer to his seat.

“You know, the word spaghetti is the plural of spaghetto, which comes from the Italian word spago, meaning twine or thin string,” Spencer nodded as he grabbed his fork.

“Italy makes 3 tonnes of this stuff every year,” Piper said as she sat down. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Not really. The average American consumes nearly 9 kg of pasta annually.”

“Huh.” Piper thought as she chewed her mouthful. “Wonder what would happen if we cooked it all at once.” Spencer choked at the thought and Piper laughed as she passed him a glass of water.

“Rossi would drown you with it.” They spent most nights like this. Just eating together and laughing. Sometimes they’d fall silent with the food just being that good. Eventually, it came to an end. Like it always did. She’d clear up the table, then the kitchen while he’d protest to try and help. And then she left, pressing a small kiss to his forehead. That was the worst part. Listening to the apartment quieten. Feeling the apartment become a little colder.

In the morning, Rossi helped Spencer into his car, placing the crutches in the back. Spencer found a warm cup of coffee sitting on his desk with a little sticky note left on the top. He recognised the little doodle of a coffee and the neatly scrawled pun below, ‘Don’t feel depresso, have an espresso.’ He looked over to Piper’s empty desk. Smiling, he lifted the little note, sticking it on his monitor before scrawling his own. He rolled his chair over to her desk, sticking the pun on her monitor. ‘I love you a whole latte.’

Slowly, he grabbed one of his crutches and moved over to Garcia’s lair. She yelped happily and helped him into a seat before returning to her own. “Thanks.”

“Does it hurt?” Penelope asked as she resumed her seat.

“It really only hurts when I think about it, which is pretty much all the time.” Spencer smiled at his cheerful friend before noticing the cookie box. Except Penelope slapped his hands away.

“Get away, you. These are for Hotch.”

“I get shot in the leg and I don't get any cookies,” he pouted until Penelope handed him a lollipop. “You know he's gonna hate the attention.”

“It's cookies, not cake.”

“He's probably gonna pretend like nothing happened, anyway.”

“Well, it doesn't mean we have to.”

“I think maybe we should.”

“I don't roll that way,” Penelope shook her head.

“I've been thinking about it. The entire time I've known Hotch, I don't think I've ever seen him blink.”

“I know. It's weird.”

“Classic alpha male behaviour.”

“Do you think he stared down Foyet?”

“Maybe. If it would save his life.”

“Do you think he stared the whole time, like with each stab?”

“I have no idea.”

“Is he ok?”

“I wouldn't be, but... I'm a blinker,” Spencer said as JJ entered the lair.

“Spence, there you are. Grab your go-bag. We’re going to Louisville.”

“Just after 8:00 this morning, 40-year-old Darrin Call assaulted customers at a pharmacy,” JJ briefed them on the jet as Piper and Derek flipped through the file. “Eyewitnesses saw him walking east on main street minutes after the attack. He hasn’t been seen since then.”

“Do we have footage from the scene?” Piper asked JJ.

“They’ll have it ready for us at the precinct. The governor’s called in all sources for a manhunt. We have 3 confirmed dead, 2 are in critical condition. Our point person in Louisville is Lieutenant Kevin Mitchell.”

“Any other attacks?”

“Um, no, not yet. Call's proven hard to track.”

“He's never had a driver's license, so he's most likely still on foot.”

“Or public transportation,” JJ offered.

“He's not gonna take the bus. His face is everywhere,” Morgan explained.

“Has anyone found a stressor?” Hotch asked.

“He just lost his job. He's worked at a factory since 1990. Made appliances since forever and not a single promotion.” Piper smiled at the sight of Garcia.

“That's a long time to be bitter,” Emily pointed out.

“Or he doesn't care,” Spencer added.

“Not if he's got a family to feed,” Piper contributed.

“Actually, he's of the hermit variety. As far as I can tell, he's got no one. No wife, no kids, no parents.”

“Nothing to live for.” Hotch put the question to the team. “Sprees usually end in suicide. If he's got nothing to live for, why hasn't he ended it?”

“Because he isn't finished yet. We know he has displaced anger. He took it out on the first victim,” Rossi answered.

“Well, the stock boy represents someone. We need to know who.”

“Is he military?”

“Negative.”

“Well, he's lashing out for a reason,” Morgan surmised. “This guy's got anger, endless targets, and a gun, and he's just getting started.”

“Prentiss and Rossi take Call’s address. Morgan and I will see the crime scene. Reid and Bishop go through the security footage. Frame by frame, you understand?” Piper nodded, leaning back in her chair as she watched the plane hit the tarmac.

At the precinct, Piper took Spencer’s 4th cup of coffee, handing it to JJ who was helping with the geographic profile. “All right. We've got checkpoints at the state line on both I-64 and I-65 and within a 20-mile radius of downtown.”

“It's been just under 3 hours with an average walking speed of 2.5 miles per hour, which rounds up to an approximate 8-mile radius,” Spencer calculated. “Did you get anything from the footage?”

“Yeah,” Piper answered, taking a seat next to Spencer. “So, he doesn’t attack anyone until the stock boy touches his arm which made me think that that was the trigger.”

“Like a sensory trigger?”

“Exactly. Especially considering the fact that the stock boy was carrying a knife. Do we know why he was at the pharmacy?”

“What do you—” Spencer asked, looking back at JJ. “Did he not go in to kill?”

“He was unarmed when he entered. The weapon he used was the stock boy’s knife, then the police officer’s gun. He probably went to get…” Piper trailed off in thought before calling Garcia on the answering machine. “Garcia, I need full medical charts on Darrin Call, specifically a list of prescriptions.”

“Hold on, are we saying that this was defensive? We just put his face everywhere,” the lieutenant spoke rapidly, panicking. “People are going to try and stop him themselves.”

“Relax, sir.” JJ’s voice was soothing. “How soon can we have a press conference?”

“We have uh… camera crews ready outside.” JJ nodded, leaving to dial Hotch.

“Hey, Pen, you got those prescriptions for me?” Piper repeated.

“He used to be on thiothixene.”

“He had an antipsychotic prescription?” Piper all but shrieked as she dialled Hotch. “Nothing. Just comes up as busy. Garcia, I need a doctor.”

“Yeah, just give me a… state-appointed psychiatrist Charles Cipolla.”

“Alright, send me an address.” Piper pressed a quick kiss to Spencer’s cheek before he said he’d tell Hotch as soon as he could. Piper weaved through traffic on her way to the office. She pulled off her helmet, racing up the steps, opening the office doors to find 2 bodies mangled on the floor. Her shoulders sagged as she dialled Reid. “I wasn’t fast enough. They’re dead. Let Hotch know and I need forensics here.” Piper sighed as she sagged to the floor in the corridor, letting CSI do their job when they arrived just before Hotch and Morgan along with Mitchell, Prentiss and Rossi.

“Hey, Reid told us what happened. You okay?” Piper nodded, getting up.

“Yeah. I was too late. Couldn’t have been more than 5 minutes.” Hotch entered the small office, repulsed by the figures lain on the floor.

“Yeah, you were,” Hotch shot at her before leaving downstairs. Piper watched helplessly as Emily followed him.

“The pharmacist said he wasn’t on his medication,” Derek updated. “Why would he do that?”

“A lot of trauma patients do it to recover memories,” Piper explained, pulling her eyes away from the stairwell to Derek as Rossi moved to the file drawer, scanning the names.

“Why?”

“Lots of reasons, the main one being you can’t heal from your trauma if you don’t know what happened. In which case, the formative event was probably in Call’s childhood. Other than that, it could be recurring dreams or just plain curiosity.”

“Call’s file is missing.”

“That’s fine. There’s a digital database for all state departments,” Piper solved, moving to the computer.

“What are you doing?”

“All state psychiatrists have a department login. But they don’t disappear when they retire for consultation reasons.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning my login still works.” Piper beamed at Derek. “And if I still have departmental access, then…” she trailed off, gazing expectantly at the printer, pulling out a copy of the file. “I can pull the file. Alright, I’m gonna go back to the precinct, see what I can make of this. Have fun, boys.” She waved before taking the steps two at a time. Back at the precinct, Garcia connected a call between Reid, herself and Hotch.

“Here's the deal. I went back to the beginning for the call, except there is no beginning. Darrin call didn't exist like from 1969 to 1975. There's no birth certificate, no social security, no identity, nothing until he was 6 years old.”

“Guys, if he was abandoned in the 70s, it’s likely his case revolved around something seriously twisted,” Piper thought aloud.

Morgan’s voice flooded the machine. “Garcia, where do the records start?”

“May 1, 1975, a 6-year-old Darrin Call was found roaming in the middle of nowhere and was picked up and was in state care for the first few months.”

“Pen, I’m gonna need state transcripts.”

“That’s the thing my doves. Because he didn't talk, Not for over a year. And once he started talking, he only knew his life as Darrin Call. Little Darrin was never even claimed. But never fear for I’ve got more.”

“This one of your jackpot surprises, Garcia?”

“Oh, for you, sugar, always. So, listen up. Call left Louisville 3 times. Always came back to the same 10-Block radius.”

“Victims are often drawn to the scene of their first trauma,” Piper filled in.

“Part of him wanted to escape, the other part probably struggled to find answers,” Spencer continued.

“In 1985, he was hospitalised and again in '95 for a few months, both at the state facility in Fayette County. That’s all I got for now.”

“Bishop, what about the file? You get anything?” Hotch’s voice was direct, straightforward but colder than usual.

“More like what didn’t we get. His moral complex is severely damaged probably as a result of neglect. Nightmares and chronic insomnia, scars that he doesn’t know when or how he received. His dreams are about falling and running, all pointing to abandonment issues. He’s suffered from blackouts, probably resulting from early trauma. He’s lethargic, explains why he stayed in the same job for so long. Hotch, this guy is gonna be hard to—” The line disconnected. “Hotch?” Piper raised an eyebrow at Spencer who just shrugged. He turned to Lieutenant Mitchell, asking him about unsolved missing children's cases from the 1970s.

“Now, there was a case in Hollow Creek. Kids were dead, though. Found them in pieces.”

“When was this?”

“'75. Nobody talks about it because they never found the guy. You think Call walked away from there?”

“It's possible. Can you get us the files?” The lieutenant came back with two boxes just as the rest of the team filed in.

“Is there a suspect list?” Rossi took a seat while Piper leaned over Spencer’s shoulder reading the police reports.

“It's in here somewhere,” Reid murmured. “He was known as the Hollow Creek killer. 3 bodies were found, some never identified.”

“There's a survivor,” Piper added.

“Call?” Rossi looked up.

“No, a 12-year-old boy named Tommy Phillips,” Spencer explained. “Parents said he'd been missing for 2 weeks, came back a different kid. The family left Louisville after Tommy told police where to find the bodies. He also said the suspect was a white man in his 30s and drove a red pickup truck.”

“The victims had cuts. The stock boy's blade is what set him off in the pharmacy,” Piper pointed out.

“If this is what Call's been running from, it's no wonder he's blocked it out,” JJ sighed as Hotch looked back to the 1975 on the board. Sterner Orphanage.

“Since he's clean now, there's no medication to block his memories and he wants answers,” Emily surmised from her seat.

“Where would he go?”

“To what he knows,” Hotch murmured. “He's beginning to remember. 1975, Sterner Orphanage. It's where he became Darrin Call.” Piper and Emily took a bike while the boys took a single SUV to the orphanage.

“You used to be a state psychiatrist?” Emily murmured into Piper’s ear

“After my PhD,” Piper spoke into the wind. “Worked in the state department for a few years.”

“What changed?” They skidded to a stop outside the orphanage.

“I thought I could do more good making sure people didn’t wind up there in the first place,” Piper said as she took off the helmet and they walked over to Hotch coming back from the ambulance. Piper noticed Derek and Rossi up front talking to witnesses.

“He took a kid this time. Called him Tommy,” Hotch explained.

“As in Tommy Phillips? You think that’s what set him off?” Emily questioned him.

“She thought it was his reflection.”

“Whoever hurt him years ago might have been the same age he is now,” Piper pointed out. “He might have seen the similarity.” They turned to see Lieutenant Mitchell walk up from his vehicle.

“A minivan was stolen one block from here. Call's never driven in his life. You think he's still not running from us?”

“Which way?” Rossi asked.

“Eastbound. I got roadblocks set up everywhere. He's not getting out of this county,” the lieutenant scoffed and Piper motioned Emily to the bike.

“You’re wasting your time,” Hotch murmured.

“He's outnumbered. You think he's gonna just disappear?” The lieutenant’s voice became defensive and Rossi made eye contact with Prentiss and Bishop.

“I think he took the boy for a reason.”

“I don't care why he took him.”

“You should. Call's memory is no longer suppressed,” Hotch explained. “He's reinventing his past, and unless we understand how, we're not gonna find either of them.”

“Well, I'm not gonna just sit around and speculate.”

“Then don't.” Hotch levelled his gaze at the lieutenant who turned to Rossi

“You don't think we should chase him either?”

“We need to get ahead of Call,” Rossi explained, his tone neutral and soothing. Mitchell licked his lips, considering his options, then moved to the vehicle.

“There’s a kid missing, Hotch.” Emily’s voice was laced with warning.

“They don't need the extra manpower.”

“Since when?” Rossi asked softly.

“If we'd studied Foyet's initial crimes, we would have known that a survivor didn't make sense.”

“Hotch, what does he have to do with this?”

“All we had to do was stop and look at Foyet's history, and we didn't, and we lost two couples and a bus full of people. And I'm not making that mistake again.” Hotch led the agents down to the precinct, Derek following behind them.

The precinct was a mess. There were files everywhere as the examined a case more than 30 years old. Hotch divided the group into objectives. While Rossi narrowed down suspect lists, Emily examined victimology. Piper broke down the M.O. with Derek as Spencer gauged the geographic profile of the second unsub. After a solid 20 minutes of working, Hotch brought them together to discuss the details. “There were only 4 suspects in the hollow creek case and they're all dead,” Rossi said grimly.

“The kids were taken in 1973, '74, and '75,” Emily continued.

“All on the way home from school,” Piper interjected.

“Different school districts too,” Spencer added.

“He waited for them to be alone,” Derek pointed out. “That takes patience. He must have had time off in the afternoons.”

“I can’t find a secondary location,” Spencer sighed. “Could be anywhere.”

“He’d need seclusion to do what he did,” Derek added, clapping Reid on the shoulder as Piper answered the phone.

“You’re on speaker, Garcia.”

“I found Tommy. He goes by James Thomas Anderson now.”

“Is he local?”

“One county over. Address and bio are coming...now. Au revoir!” With Hotch and Prentiss leaving for the address, Piper could breathe freely as she sank into a seat next to Spencer while Morgan and JJ left to grab lunch

“That bad, huh?” Spencer noticed and Piper scoffed.

“Look, Spence, you know I love him and I’m here for him. But if he doesn’t talk about what happened to him out there, it’s gonna keep eating at him.” Spencer nodded, discreetly placing a hand on her thigh. “I can’t even imagine what he went through and yeah, therapy sucks but it works.”

“I think he’s afraid that if he talks about it, he won’t be able to focus.” Piper smiled sadly but then noticed Spencer’s far-off look.

“What’s up?”

“How did Tommy and Darrin escape?” Piper was stumped. They started rummaging through the transcripts of the police interview with Tommy. “We know Call was found wandering around a neighbourhood…”

“Reid, the file. It said he had recurring dreams about falling and running. That it was suggestive of abandonment, but who would he have been abandoned by?”

“Tommy. Tommy must have escaped with Darrin. Tommy would’ve been about 12, double Call’s age in 1975.”

“And the reflection,” Piper murmured. “The woman at the orphanage said he was triggered by his reflection.” Suddenly the answering machine rang, and Piper picked up. “Hotch, it’s Call’s father. He’s the Hollow Creek killer.”

“We know. Call wasn't a victim,” Hotch said. “The question is how did the father explain his son just disappeared?”

“Could have said he ran away,” Spencer supplied.

“The mother would have reported him missing,” Hotch refuted.

“Maybe he said the boy died.” Prentiss’s voice came through the monitor.

“No, she'd want a funeral,” Spencer refuted while Piper was deep in thought.

“What if there wasn't one?” Her voice was quiet, and Spencer rubbed circles on her hand under the table.

“Call Garcia,” Hotch directed. “Ask her to check death records from 1969 to 1975 for the mother.” The line disconnected.

“You need a minute?” Piper tried to even her breathing by focusing on Spencer’s circling thumb, sweeping a strand of hair away from her face.

“No. Let’s do this,” she said before stabbing Garcia’s number into the machine and relaying Hotch’s instructions. “What have you got?”

“6 years is a long time, Pipes. I need more parameters.”

“She lived within that 8-mile radius,” Spencer started. “She was married. Most likely in her 20s. He was probably her only kid. The husband drove a red truck.”

“Okay. This could be one. Here we go, Doris Jarvis. Died in childbirth. Had a beautiful baby boy. Was married to Bill Jarvis. He owned a machine shop just outside the city.”

“That could be the secondary location,” Piper noted quietly.

“It closed in 1980. He hasn't done anything since. I guess he laid low. He had a red pickup until 1976 when he bought a black one. I know that because that's what he was driving when he was arrested for DUIs. He was locked up from '77 to '80, And I'm sending his picture now.”

“Thanks, Garcia.” A photo pulled up on Piper’s screen. “Well, that could certainly be Darrin Call's father. Where's Jarvis now?”

“In the same house. 1457 Hitchens Avenue.”

“Alright. Let Hotch know,” Piper said as she got up, squeezing Spencer’s shoulder as she went to grab her vest and mic.

“Be safe, my angels.”

“Always.” Piper fastened the vest outside as she met Derek and Dave. She updated them on the address and started driving. She skidded to a halt just past Hotch’s SUV. She pulled the keys out of the ignition, slipping them into a pocket before she pulled off her helmet. Unhooking her leg from the bike, she approached Emily and the lieutenant as she tied her hair up. “What’s the situation?”

“The kid's in there,” Emily started.

“We've got this,” the lieutenant interjected. “Tactical teams are covering the exits.”

“Call needs a distraction.” Emily reasoned.

“He's focused on the old man.”

“For now. But we're gonna have to figure out the safest way to get that kid out.”

“I've got a team in the back and one on the way. We're going to infiltrate.”

“You do that and someone else dies.”

“Either call or a child murderer... Flip a coin.”

“It doesn't have to end like that,” Piper dissuaded. “We get a confession out of Jarvis and he goes away, and Call gets his answers. No one else has to die.” But just as Piper thought he’d been convinced, Hotch marched past the without a suit jacket or bulletproof vest. “Hotch?” But he kept walking straight towards the house. “Hotch!”

He ignored the yells from Piper and Derek, headed straight inside. He opened the door and walked in; hands palm up as he faced Call. “My name's Aaron.” He ignored the hammering inside his chest as Call raised his gun towards him.

“This is between us and him. You leave us alone.” Darrin’s arm quaked and his father lay seated in his armchair.

“I know what he did to those boys. I know about hollow creek and the cage. And Tommy.”

“You know about Tommy?”

“Let him go. Tommy doesn't need to see this.”

“He should die.” Darrin moved his gun to aim at his father.

“He should. But if you kill him, you have nothing, and I thought you wanted some answers. Go ahead, Darrin, ask him.”

“Why did you do that to those kids?” Darrin whimpered.

“What kids?” The father’s voice snarled, reminiscent of a wolf at prey.

“No! The ones that we buried. Why?”

“You're confused.”

“Jarvis, why didn't you move?”

“This is my home.”

“You sure it's not the view? Darrin, come here.” Darrin moved towards the door, following Hotch’s gaze to the kids in the back of the school next to them. “Come take a look at this. He sits on the porch every day and watches those kids. He can't help himself.” Darrin grunted, moving back to his father as he released his grip on the young boy. Hotch discreetly pushed him out of the doorway while keeping an eye on Darrin Call.

“We...we drove around in that truck.” Darrin panted.

“You made your own son sit in front so the other boys would feel safe?”

“You...you kept them in cages. And burnt their clothes.”

“And when you finished, you'd bury them, and you made him help.”

“And—” Darrin made to continue until Hotch pulled Bill up by the shoulders.

“Get up. Pretend you're a man. You like little boys, don't you? But they can't be too small, 'cause that would be wrong. What was it about them? They make you feel strong, make you feel like a man?”

“You shut up.”

“Is that a yes?” Bill Jarvis stared right back at Hotch’s levelled gaze. Hotch stepped back, addressing Darrin.

“Darrin. Please... Please. We're surrounded here. The police are gonna storm in here any minute. They will not shoot you if you are unarmed. You need to put the gun down now.”

“Don't...don't... Tell me what to do!” Piper and Prentiss heard 3 gunshots ring out and they sprinted out and into the house, only to see Bill Jarvis slumped in his armchair.

“What happened?” Prentiss looked to Hotch.

“I couldn't stop him.” As abruptly as he said the words, he pushed past the team to go outside. Piper stared at the dead body for a moment before following Hotch. The rest of the day blurred past from packing up the precinct to the jet ride to their dispersal from the airport. Derek and Rossi decided that they needed a drink while Emily dropped Hotch and Spencer off.

Meanwhile, JJ and Piper needed a boost, so they showed up to the smell of takeout and the sound of a bassline pumping in Garcia’s apartment. As they entered, they couldn’t help smiling as Penelope danced over to them with two glasses of wine. The three ladies danced to the beat, Penelope and Piper taking turns spinning JJ. But the atmosphere quickly changed with the Penelope crying over how adorable Will was with Henry whilst JJ and Piper built a pillow fort. It is ill-advised, as Piper would tell the boys later, to build a pillow fort whilst drunk. But that didn’t stop them.

[unpack-my-heart]

I Have Crossed Oceans Of Time To Find You – Final Chapter

FYI: This chapter contains explicit smut, and as such the fic rating has been bumped up accordingly.

Chapter Word Count: 12293

Read Chapter One on AO3 HERE

Read Chapter Two on AO3  HERE

Read Chapter Three (this chapter) on AO3 HERE 

@tinyarmedtrex​ @xandertheundead​ @violetreddie​ @constantreaderfool​ @eds-trashmouth​ @toziesque​ @moonlightrichie​ @appojoos​ @sunshines-fabulous-legs​ @perrytheplatypus4president​ @qwertsod​ @rainbow-reddie​ @pulitzerandhearst​ @mad-h-w​

Preview:

“This place is too big for just you, Eds.”

“Eds?”

“Edward, y’know, your name. It’s too long, and I’m too -- too drunk to say it. So now, you are Eds.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Yes you do,” Richard insisted, poking Edward on the cheek, “You’re Eds, the littlest vampire”

“Stop calling me that!”

“What? Eds? Or little?”

“Both!” Edward groaned, and he swotted at Richard’s finger that was still pushed into the soft swell of his cheek.

“Fine, fine. No Eds, and no little. You can be Edward the Terrible, Edward the Undeadward, Edward the Blood-Thirsty, or --”

“Eddie.”

“Pardon?”

“You can call me Eddie.”

Read the rest of this chapter under the cut

“I may have a heart that no longer beats in my chest but I am not immune to your barbed words, Tozier.” 

Richard shrugged, and watched Edward leave the room. The alcohol that swam in his stomach rapidly began to turn his mind foolish. He stood up, half intending to follow the sulking vampire out of the room, but instead found himself wandering over to the decanter of wine, and he poured himself another large glass. And then another, and another and another until he found himself lying prostrate on the floor, arms slung above his head clumsily, laughing at something he couldn’t quite explain.

An hour later, or perhaps two, Richard couldn’t be sure, the door creaked open and the sound of heavy footsteps filtered into the room. Richard opened his eyes, and saw Edward hovering over him, eyebrows knitted and face scrunched in an expression of hybrid concern-surprise. 

“You’re still here,” Edward said plainly, leaning down to gently pry the glass from between Richard’s fingers.  

“My wine! You can’t take my wine, that’s --” Richard hiccupped, “that’s not very nice.”

“I thought you would have left, I assumed you’d --”

“Where would I have gone? I don’t --” Richard hiccupped again, “I don’t know where anyone is, you killed them all!” 

At that, Edward jumped back slightly, releasing the very gentle grasp he had on Richard’s hand, leaving it to flop to the ground with a loud thwack.

“No! No, no,” Richard said, in an attempt to backtrack, “I mean, you ate them? Is that, is that better? Ate?”

Edward chuckled, a deep, syrupy sound that sent a jolt of static up Richard’s spine, setting the tiny hairs on his arm on end. 

“I suppose you are correct, I did, technically, consume some of them. You are a bizarre little thing, aren’t you.” 

“Little?!” Richard gasped indignantly, and rolled onto his side before pushing himself up. He wobbled on his legs like a new-born deer, but Edward’s arm shot out, and grasped him around the waist. “I’m taller than you! Much taller than you, actually.” 

“Careful. Yes, yes, fine. Not little, you’re very --”

“You’re little, you know. The littlest vampire. Were people really scared of you?” 

“Terrified,” Edward replied, solemnly, and helped Richard stumble back towards the couch. 

“I wouldn’t be scared of you -- I mean, I’m not scared of you, I’m just --”

“Just what?”

“Confused, and a little bit --” Richard yawned, “a little bit tired.” 

“Quite right, it’s nearly nightfall. You must rest.”

 “Hey, hey why -- why aren’t you asleep? Don’t vampires have to sleep during the day? Isn’t that sort of your whole deal?”

“My whole deal?” Edward parroted, amused. “Yes, well. I suppose that is usually our whole deal, but, at this present moment my body uh -- well, it doesn’t want to sleep.” 

“Oh. What does it want to do?” Richard asked, and watched curiously as Edward stepped away from him, just barely, before his eyes darkened.

“The bond, between us, is so powerful, so strong, that even though we barely know each other, my body wants to -- do other things. To -- to you.” Edward said, gesturing vaguely at Richard, who pulled one of the cushions up to his neck.

“No, not -- not those things” 

“No, Edward, I don’t -- I’m not -- I don’t want to --” 

“Richard, look at me,” Edward implored, sitting down next to Richard on the couch, and grasping both of Richard’s hands in his. “I would never, will never, do anything that you don’t want me to. I’m not --” Edward dropped Richard’s hands, and stood back up, “I’m not a monster” 

“I didn’t say you were, I just… This whole thing. It’s bizarre. I’m flushed with alcohol and twice as stupid as I normally am, and this, well, this isn’t something you just get used to”

“I am aware of that,” Edward snapped, before rubbing a hard across his face harshly. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to snap at you. This is a lot to process, for both of us. You need to rest, please let me help you to your room”

Richard didn’t protest. He let Edward slot his arms around his shoulders, and let himself be hauled to his feet. They walked slowly through the twisting corridors, Richard’s legs trembling under his own weight.

“This place is too big for just you, Eds.”

“Eds?”

“Edward, y’know, your name. It’s too long, and I’m too -- too drunk to say it. So now, you are Eds.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Yes you do,” Richard insisted, poking Edward on the cheek, “You’re Eds, the littlest vampire”

 “Stop calling me that!”

“What? Eds? Or little?”

“Both!” Edward groaned, and he swotted at Richard’s finger that was still pushed into the soft swell of his cheek.

“Fine, fine. No Eds, and no little. You can be Edward the Terrible, Edward the Undeadward, Edward the Blood-Thirsty, or --”

“Eddie.” 

“Pardon?” 

“You can call me Eddie. That’s what -- My mother used to call me that.” Edward – Eddie – said, and he pushed Richard gently through the large door at the end of the corridor. 

“Eddie, huh? Well -- I’m Richie, nice to meetcha,” Richie said, sticking his hand out. Eddie stared at it blankly, before gingerly taking it in his own. 

“Nice to meet you, Richie.” 

– X –

A strange, ethereal noise woke Richie that night, a noise that floated through the mansion, dancing in and out of each of the rooms like smoke. It was a beautiful sound, a siren's call to Richie’s restless soul, and it tugged at him, dug its claws into his flesh, deep into his gut, and it tugged.

Despite still being in the throes of his alcohol-fuelled stupor, Richard hauled his legs over the side of the large bed, feet landing flat on the floor with a dull thud. The sound grew louder, and louder still, until it was practically screaming, as if the house itself was howling some imagined pain that Richie couldn’t understand.  

Before he could convince his leaden feet to move, to go in search of the origin of the noise, Richie’s head began to pound with such ferocity that he fell back, and was consumed by the insatiable appetite of sleep. 

– X –

When the morning sun began to pour into the bedroom, Richie awoke with no recollection of the haunting lament that had woken him in the dead of night. Whilst his memories did not remain, the violent pounding of his head did, accompanied by a swirling tempest in his gut that pressed on his stomach and threatened to send him sprinting to the bathroom.  

A brisk knock on the door spiked Richie’s heart-rate, before a cautious voice called out,

“Richard? I mean -- Richie? Have you woken yet? It’s nearly noon”

Memories of the night before flooded back to Richie, exacerbating his already tender head. 

“Yes, yes, I am awake. I’ll -- What do you want me to do? I mean, what are we doing? What -- What’s the plan?”

Eddie snickered from behind the door, a raspy, rattish sort of sound.

“I want you to come downstairs, when you are modest and ready. You insisted I leave the room post haste last night because, and I quote, I sleep butt naked, Eds, butt naked. I have some food you can eat to help settle your stomach”

“Food?” Richie called out, “Do you mean food food or, um …”

“I mean food food, you oaf. I’m not going to force feed you blood, if that is what concerns you”

“No, I didn’t, well, yes, I suppose I was rather concerned”

Richie stumbled to his feet, ignoring the lusty beckoning of the plush, downy bedding, and he began to shove and wiggle his uncoordinated limbs into the clothes he had been wearing the day before. “I am modest, if you want to come in, you can”

Immediately, and before Richie had managed to properly get the undershirt over his head, Eddie burst into the room, eyes trained steadily on Richie’s pale, and exposed, chest.

“Oh, I mean -- nearly modest,” Richie stuttered, pulling the shirt down. 

“Yes, well,” Eddie said, voice ocean-calm, “you may follow me down, I fear you may get lost on the way to the kitchens”

Without another word, Eddie stalked out of the bedroom, but not before Richie saw the faintest hints of a flush paint his cheeks.

True to his word, Eddie lead Richie down a rabbit’s warren of labyrinthine corridors and stairways that twisted round and round like old, gnarled tree roots. The kitchen was hidden away in the bowels of the house, at the end of what Richie imagined to be the longest corridor in the world, followed by a descent down a seemingly never ending stone staircase. Finally, Eddie stopped in front of an inconspicuous looking door, and pushed it open, revealing the biggest kitchen Richie had ever seen. The gas stove was lit, and a large copper pot was sat on it, bubbling away, and the smell of cooking vegetables had filled the air.

 “Vegetables?” Richie asked, and he watched as Eddie walked over to the pot, and began to stir.

 “Yes, vegetables. You need the goodness after last night, you drank far too much”

 “Well forgive me for panicking after being told that, one, I was in the presence of a creature of the night and, two, that said creature of the night was bound to my soul through a sort of metaphysical force that ‘I couldn’t even understand so don’t ask,’” Richie mimicked, hanging back in the doorway. 

 Eddie rolled his eyes. “You’re difficult.”

 “So I’ve been told.”

 “Do you want any of this, or not?”

 “Depends. What is it?”

 “It’s a vegetable stew, one of the only meals that my mother used to prepare for me herself. It’s called --”

 “Ghiveci,” Richie interrupted, with a grin that Eddie returned.

 “Yes! Do you know it?”

 “Yes, my father used to bring me bowl after bowl of it when I was taken ill, and sometimes I’d feign sickness just so he’d make it for me.”

 “Your father? Are you close with him?” Eddie asked, as he spooned the stew into two large bowls.

 “Yes, very much so. I -- I suppose he will be worried about me.”

 “Perhaps,” was all Eddie said in response, setting down one of the bowls in front of Richie. “Now, eat.”

 Richie ate. The stew was good, a hearty, meaty broth with large chunks of tender vegetables floating in it, and, much to Richie’s bemusement, Eddie was slurping it up with an enthusiasm that matched his own.

“So,” Richie began, “you can -- you can still eat, uh, human food?”

Mid-way through lifting a spoonful of tender potato to his mouth, Eddie let the vegetable slop back into the bowl with a splash. 

“Richard. This is growing tiresome”

“What?! I’m not trying to offend you, I’m just -- curious”

“I have no problem with your curiosity, the more you learn now, the better, I suppose, but must you insist on drawing the line between you and I so harshly?”

Richie blinked.

“I shall not ask anything else of you, I will not ask you to stay, I will not ask you to like me, but do please stop calling everything I am not, everything I cannot do, human. I am acutely, painfully, aware of what I am. I do not need you to remind me.”

The asparagus stalk turned sour in Richie’s mouth, and he swallowed, but a lump remained petulantly lodged in his throat. Eddie, sat across from him, was hunched over his own bowl of rapidly cooling stew. He wouldn’t look up at Richie, and continued to solemnly spoon his food into his mouth.

“Eddie?” 

No response, just the clinking of cutlery against china.

“Eddie? Please don’t ignore me.”

More clinking of cutlery, this time accompanied by obnoxious slurping.

“Eddie I’m sorry, you’re not -- you’re not a monster.”

“How do you know?” Eddie spat, finally looking up at Richie with wild eyes. “How do you know? You have no idea who I am, or what I am. What I’ve done. Now you’re here, because -- because I didn’t die like I was supposed to, and now it’s all… it’s all wrong” 

“What? What are you talking about?”

“The bond.” Eddie said, plainly, “That metaphysical bond I said I wouldn’t explain to you. The reason I said that, the reason I wouldn’t tell you, is because it’s my fault it’s like this, that the bond is so … concentrated” 

“Concentrated? I’m lost, Eds.”

Eddie sighed, pushed the bowl away and cradled his head in his hands.

“I didn’t die like I was supposed to because I was turned. Those motherfuckers turned me, and then I didn’t die. Most people, they don’t meet the person they’re bonded to. They live thousands of years apart, or even if they are born in compatible eras, they never meet. One lives in China and the other in England. That’s how it usually is. But ours, our bond, it’s wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Wrong,” Eddie confirmed with a short nod of his head. “I didn’t die, so the bond became … stronger. More concentrated. It caused those headaches you get, and it drives me wild with … a sort of craving. A need.” 

“I’m still lost, how exactly is that your fault?” Richie said, leaning forwards until he could, if he tried, grab Eddie’s hand in his. 

“I’m the one that got turned, I’m the one that didn’t die,” Eddie said, staring at Richie as if the answer was obvious, as if his immortality was his fault, his burden to bare, and his alone.

“Look. Eddie, look,” Richie implored, standing up and rounding the table so he was crouched in front of Eddie, who looked down at him with a mildly panicked expression.  

“I’ve only known you for, hell, one day and one night, but I know, despite all rationality telling me to get the fuck out of here as fast as my legs can carry me,” Richie said, eliciting a wet sounding laugh from Eddie, “I know, in here,” Richie grabbed at Eddie’s hand and placed it on the left side of his chest, directly above his rapidly beating heart, “I know, in here, that you’re not a monster” 

Eddie let his hand rest gently on Richie’s heart for a few seconds, before drawing it back with a small, caged smile.

“You are very kind, Richard. Now, help me wash the dishes.”

They made quick work of the dishes, with Eddie plunging his hands into the soapy water to clean them, before he handed them to Richie who dried them off with a soft piece of cloth.

 “I haven’t eaten a vegetable for nearly two-hundred years, I’d almost forgotten what a carrot tasted like,” Eddie said.

“Really?”

Eddie nodded. “Yes. Whilst the taste is nice, nutritionally, it does nothing for me. It would be the same as you just drinking bowl after bowl of bone-broth. It tastes good, but you’d wither away soon enough”

“So, you get your nourishment from --”

“Blood, Richie. Yes, I drink blood.”

 “Human blood?” 

“Look,” Eddie turned around, crossing his arms over his chest, leaving a small trail of suds on the floor. “I’m not going to lie to you, or pretend that the maintenance of my life doesn’t cause suffering to others. I exist mostly on a diet of sheep blood, but -- there are only so many months that will tide me over. I do, occasionally, and not without guilt, venture beyond the confines of this town.”

“To find people to eat?”

“I prefer drink, as I do not actually -- uh -- eat them. I drink their blood, but yes. To find people.”

“Huh,” Richie said, mulling the notion over in his head. Here he was, standing in front of a man, a vampire, who had just readily admitted to killing people to drink their blood, and here he was, standing in front of a vampire, without the slightest sprouting of the seeds of panic in his stomach.

 “Huh.”

“Is that it, huh?” Eddie said sceptically, and Richie shrugged. 

“I mean, yes. I’m not -- I’m not scared? Or, even remotely freaked out? Which, in itself, is freaking me out. I am scared of the fact that I am not scared. Is that normal?”

Eddie laughed, syrupy and warm, and placed a hand on Richie’s shoulder. “I have no idea.” 

– X –

The rest of the day passed slowly, like running through sand. After tidying up the kitchen, Eddie ushered Richie back upstairs and back to the room where they’d drank the night before, the evidence of which still stood on the table, the sight of the rich, burgundy wine turning Richie’s stomach. 

“What -- what now?”

“Well,” Eddie said, as he walked over to the large, wooden bookcase before he ran his finger across the dusty spines of the many, many books housed on it, “that’s sort of up to you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I would normally be asleep now, and would only arise when the sun begins to sink beneath the horizon, but, as I’ve explained --” 

“Ah, the whole your body wants to do things to me issue.”

Eddie shuddered, before he grinned, a smile slightly too wide, with too many teeth on show, the smile of someone who hasn’t smiled for centuries, the smile of someone with a mouth full of fangs.

“Yes, that issue. I have many many books, and, as long as you promise not to pull up any of the plants, I have a -- Well, I have a garden.” 

“You mean, the grounds?”

“Sort of. I have a… vegetable patch.” 

Richie paused, before shaking his head. “You, creature of the night --” 

“Stop calling me that!”

“Edward, stalker of the living, devourer of necks --”

“I’m warning you--” 

“You have a vegetable patch,” Richie laughed, collapsing backwards on the couch, and he held his stomach as he laughed, for fear that he would explode from sheer joy. 

“I’m failing to understand what’s so funny about me growing my own potatoes!” Eddie said, crossing his arms across his chest as he leant against the wall. 

“Everything about that is funny. Everything,” Richie said, still laughing. “You don’t even eat them! Why do you grow them?”

“It’s … something to do, I suppose. I get bored, moping around this ridiculous building on my own.”

“So I have permission to go and look at your potatoes then?”

“Yes, but don’t you dare pick any of my tomatoes, I’ve counted how many --” 

Before Eddie could finish his sentence, Richie had grabbed the nearest book from the shelf, and had skittered out of the room, and had begun to charge down the hallway, not knowing exactly how to get out of the building and into the grounds, but enjoying the air rushing past his ears and the slight burn of his lungs. After turning this way and that, and getting hopelessly lost for nearly fifteen minutes, Richie managed to find his way outside. The air was frigid, and it whipped at his skin with tiny hands. The book now slotted firmly in his back pocket, Richie began wandering the grounds, rubbing dead leaves between his hands and throwing rotten twigs into the air as high as he could, sending them soaring like birds before they inevitably fell to the ground with a sickening crack.

Before long, Richie found the vegetable patch, nestled neatly in the corner of the grounds under the safety of a large, grandfatherly oak. The patch was divided up into orderly rows, six in total, each row with a different crop of vegetables sprouting from the earth. Potatoes in the first, carrots in the second, cucumbers in the third and so on. To annoy Eddie, Richard plucked a juicy looking tomato from the vine and popped it in his mouth, sweetness exploding over his tongue as he crunched into the plump fruit. As he walked around the plots, he noticed that at the end closest to the bordering wall there were little handwritten signs propped up on wooden stakes, written in elaborate, curling cursive letters, indicating which vegetable was growing there, and what date they had been planted. Richie was taken aback by how normal Eddie’s handwriting was, how normal the whole ritual must have been, when Eddie had written out the names of his plants, had hammered the stakes into the soil, had presumably sat back on his haunches and admired his handiwork. Yes, the whole thing was so normal, it forced Richie to sit down and breathe, in and out, in and out, until his heart-rate slowed and he could see more than three feet ahead of him.

“Must you insist on drawing the line between you and I so harshly?” 

Eddie’s words echoed in Richie’s brain, a cacophony of sound that forced Richie to listen to it, that insisted he drink in its message, that insisted he allow the message to percolate, to ferment in his stomach. 

“Must you insist on drawing the line between you and I so harshly?” 

After he had inspected all of Eddie’s vegetables, tried and failed to open the locked door of the small shed, and eaten a few more of Eddie’s tomatoes for good measure, Richie wandered out onto the huge lawn. The lawn was overgrown but not wildly so, and had wildflowers littered across it sporadically. The grass was plush and bouncy beneath his feet, and it didn’t take much persuading until Richie pulled the book out of his back pocket and lay down. He spread himself out like a cat, and began to read.

– X –

“Richie? Richie, wake up, you’re covered in grass”

When Richie blearily blinked his eyes open, his immediate reaction was to believe that he had, in fact, gone blind. All he could see was nothingness, an oppressive blankness that stretched on for miles and miles, until Eddie’s illuminated face floated into view. 

“Rich, how long have you been asleep?”

 Asleep. Richie didn’t remember falling asleep, but now that his eyes had become accustomed to the dark, and he could see Eddie standing there, wrapped in a thick, black overcoat and holding a large, hand-crank torch, that was the most obvious conclusion. 

“Oh, hey, Eds, long time no see,” Richie groaned, rolling onto his stomach before pushing himself to his feet. His muscles groaned, and he shook out each limb, hoping to shake any remnants of sleep from them. 

“Come with me,” Eddie said, not waiting for Richie to respond before striding off purposefully, “I have something to show you.” 

Richie jogged to keep up with Eddie, unleashing a litany of questions to the tune of “where are we going?” and “Oh I didn’t know you had an outhouse!” until Eddie stopped in front of a pair of metal gates, locked with a heavy chain and padlock.

“Now, what I’m about to show you is my pride and joy. This, Richard Tozier, is what I call The Poison Garden. Within these gates is the most beautiful garden you will ever lay your eyes on, and each and every one of these plants, if consumed, would send you spiralling down a tunnel of agony you cannot even comprehend”

Richie nodded. “That -- is actually very cool, Eds, and exactly the kind of plants I expected a vampire to grow.”

“Are you insulting my potatoes again?”

“Would I do that?” Richie said, faux-shocked, and Eddie laughed.

“Yes, yes you would. But, if I am to let you inside these gates, you must promise me, sincerely, that you will not touch or eat any of these plants.”

“I’m not a cow, Eddie, I’m not about to go chomping on your foliage.”

“Promise me, Richard.”

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

When he was satisfied that Richie’s promise was genuine, Eddie pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket, and unlocked the gates, which swung open with a loud creak. 

“After you,” Eddie said, and he thrust his arm outwards, guiding Richie inside. 

The garden, as Eddie had promised, was beautiful. Unlike the neat, orderly rows of plants in vegetable patch, this garden was more sporadically organised, as if Eddie had stood in the middle of the narrow path and thrown the seeds into the air to be carried to their rightful place by the wind. Richie walked forwards, not noticing that Eddie had hung back, and he scanned the garden with awe. Each plant was encased inside its own little metal cage that didn’t affect the amount of light the plant got, or impede its growth, but stopped any rogue animals from taking a lethal bite. Like the vegetable patch, however, each plant had a little handwritten sign, with information about the effects on the human body upon consumption of the plant, and, endearingly, Eddie had drawn a tiny white skull on each sign.

“That one is called belladonna,” Eddie muttered into Richie’s ear, and Richie jumped, having not been aware that Eddie was so close to him, close enough to speak directly into his ear without the sound bleeding out into the surroundings. 

“Belladonna, otherwise known as deadly nightshade, is one of the most toxic plants in the world. They say consuming it can send a man insane, that is, if your nervous system doesn’t turn to sludge first. Brutal stuff, but just so beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Uh-huh,” Richie replied, barely making a sound. Something about their proximity, something about having Eddie practically pressed up against his back, speaking in hushed tones directly into his ear, set Richie’s skin alight. 

“That one over there,” Eddie continued, pointing at another caged plant over Richie’s shoulder, “that one is conium maculatum, or poison hemlock. See its beautiful white flowers? Well, eat those and your muscles will constrict, and your lungs will fail, and you’ll heave your last sorry breath, all for eating just one of those little white flowers.”

“You know a lot about plants,” Richie said, turning his head to look past Eddie’s hand, but, when Eddie’s breath hitched slightly, he realised that he had just bared his entire neck right in Eddie’s face. Richie held his breath, waiting for the inevitable pain that would shoot up his neck when Eddie –

“I’ve had a lot of time to learn,” is all Eddie said, however, and he stepped back, stepped away from Richie and his defenceless neck, and walked further down the path. He made it only a few steps before he turned on his heel, and held his hand out.

“Are you coming?” 

When they got to the other end of the garden, there was another small wooden shed. Eddie took the ring of keys out of his pocket once more and unlocked it, before he disappeared inside for a few seconds. He emerged holding a small, potted sapling in one hand, and a pair of large, rubber bright yellow gloves in another. 

“I need to plant this young thing before she dies in that shed, she’s ready to be put to the soil. It’ll only take a few moments and then I shall escort you back to the house,” Eddie said, placing the plant pot on the ground and putting the gloves on. 

“Oh, Eds, believe me, I could sit and watch you prance about in those gloves for hours, take your time,” Richie laughed.

“What? What’s wrong with my gloves?” Eddie asked, staring at his gloved hands as if they’d suddenly speak up and tell him the answer. 

“I mean -- bright yellow rubber gloves? That go almost the whole way up your arms? Can you really not see how that isn’t funny?”

“Well, I suppose -- I don’t even really need them, the plants, they don’t -- affect me. I’ll take them off,” Eddie mumbled, as he began to take the gloves off.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. I think they’re quite dashing --”

“It’s fine, really. I guess it was silly of me to keep up with the pretence, I just --”

Eddie paused, and looked up at Richie, with a helpless expression. The gloves hung limply in Eddie’s grasp. 

“Do you know why I love flowers and plants so much?”

 “Because they’re pretty?” Richie guessed, but Eddie shook his head. 

“I love them so much because they die.”

“... That certainly is a novel reason for loving plants so much,” Richie said, tone jovial and light but Eddie shook his head again.

“No, I -- look. When I was a boy, when I was still … when I was younger, my mother locked me away. People kept disappearing in the town, and she was paranoid that I’d join their ranks and be the next little boy to disappear in the night. So, she locked me up in this house, and didn’t let me leave. For years.” 

“Shit, seriously? Not even into the grounds?”

“Not even into the grounds,” Eddie continued, “and I used to watch the gardeners, with their silly rubber gloves and their pruning shears, spend hours out here, tending to the garden and making it look beautiful. Then, when the frosts came and everything died, they’d collect all the dead, like the men who collected the dead after the plague times, and then the spring would come, and they’d start again.” 

“I can’t believe she locked you up, like a princess in a tower.”

“Yes, yes, that isn’t really the point. When I became … this ... When I was turned, and everyone left, and they boarded up the house, I watched the garden sprout and grow and blossom without any help, without any intervention. But, when the frosts came, year after year, they died. They all died, as living things are wont to do. Would you -- Would you think I was crazy if I said I find comfort in death?” 

Richie shrugged. “Not really, no” 

“I can’t die, I found that out when I tried to throw myself off of one of the balconies. My bones didn’t even shatter, Richie. Not one. Watching my flowers die, watching them bloom and blossom and thrive and then shrivel, turn brown and die, it reminds me that … not everything is chaotic. Some things … Some things are inevitable.” 

“Inevitable, like …” Richie paused, unsure of how to continue, “like …” 

“Say it.”

“I --”

“Richie, say it.”

“Inevitable like us?”

Eddie smiled, and thrust the gloves into Richie’s hands. 

“Yes, like us”

– X –

Despite his initial qualms, Richie settled into mansion life with remarkable ease. 

Eddie’s body remained hypersensitive to Richie’s presence, so they’d spend the days holed up together, moving from room to room leisurely, from library to kitchen to sunroom, but together, always together. They’d spend the days reading aloud to each other from Eddie’s expansive, sprawling collection of books, or they’d sit quietly, basking in each other’s presence, or Richie would sit hunched over reams of paper as he sketched out the maps he knew from memory, and Eddie would watch him. Then, sometimes, when the top floor library was the only still point of the turning world, Richie would, with sweeping lines, draw out a map of his home town. Voice door-mouse quiet, hoarse from lack of use, Richie would begin to tell Eddie about the town, “that’s my house, my parents’ house, and that is where the tree is that I fell out of, and my grandmother lives here, and that’s where …”. Eddie would listen, eyes trained to the page, absorbing each little snippet of Richie’s life, each little crumb of who Richie was. Richie’s pen would dance across the page, a complicated foxtrot that Eddie didn’t understand, but loved to watch. This would go on for hours, until Richie had projected his entire town, his entire life, onto the page, and Eddie would remain perfectly, entirely silent, content just to listen, just to observe. 

Occasionally, Eddie would excuse himself, some unknowable errands calling his name, and he’d be gone for several hours. When he’d return, his pupils would be blown, eyes as wide and as bright as polished dinner-plates. The times when Eddie’s eyes were the widest and his breathing was loud and erratic were the times that he was the most tactile with Richie. A fleeting touch here, a hand that lingers on the small of Richie’s back as they walk, a hand that pushes errant locks of hair behind Richie’s ear. It’d stop though, as soon as Eddie’s eyes returned to normal, the respectful distance between them returned, too. 

It took nearly a week of Richie continually getting lost, or wandering into cupboards in the dead of night when he was looking for the bathroom, and being constantly late for dinner before Eddie demanded that he accompany Richie on a tour of the entire mansion. As per Eddie’s demand, the tour began in the grand entrance hall. 

“That’s my piano. It was a gift from my father before he died, and I’ve kept it going with sheer willpower ever since. It’s almost as old as I am.”

“Do you still play?”

Eddie shrugged, and avoided Richie’s gaze. “Sometimes.”

The tour is rather whistle-stop, and Eddie didn’t give Richie more than mere seconds at a time to poke his head into each room.

“That’s the seventh bedroom, this is the eighth, the next one is the ninth, the tenth and eleventh are down there. There are two libraries on this floor, a study down there and this --” Eddie paused, and then gingerly pushed open the door revealing a very small room with a bed, a small stool and nothing else inside. “This was my old room.” 

When Eddie didn’t enter the room, and chose instead to hover awkwardly in the doorway, Richie pushed his way past, breaching the threshold, before walking steadily into the room. The room was brightly lit by two decent sized windows overlooking the main lawn and flowerbeds, and the small bed had been pushed against the wall underneath them. Richie could so clearly imagine a very tiny Eddie, all those centuries ago, kneeling on the bed, elbows propped up on the stone windowsill, watching the gardeners labour away below. The only other item of furniture in the room was a small wooden stool pushed against the other wall, but, when Richie extended his arm, he could touch it from where he sat on the bed. The room was tiny, barely bigger than the cupboards Richie found himself stuck in most nights on his trips to the bathroom.

“You really lived in here?” 

“For several days, yes, before she -- before I convinced her to let me roam the rest of the house.” 

The room was tiny, and it grew tinier and tinier still, the walls closing in on Richie every time he thought of Master Edward, hammering on the door, pleading to be let out, pleading to once again feel the sun on his cheek and the wind through his hair, before he’d give up and sit on the bed with no one but the sun’s taunting rays for company. 

“With all due respect, Eds, your mother sounds like a bitch,” Richie said, tone too jovial for the weight of his words, and he expected Eddie to snap at him, to accuse him of cruelty, but he didn’t. Instead, Eddie laughed.  

Eddie laughed so much that tears sprang from his eyes, and they chased each other down his face in great, glittering ribbons.

“Oh, Richie,” Eddie said, clutching his belly, “oh how I adore having you here.” 

At that, Richie felt the blood rush to his face. “Heh. Tell me again how you escaped?” 

As they walked around the rest of the mansion, Eddie regaled Richie with stories from his youth, how he’d snatched the key from around his mother's neck that allowed him to escape, how he’d spent many a winter's night huddled in front of a blazing fire with the groundskeeper sat in the rickety old armchair, scaring him silly with ghost stories of yore, and how the servants used to sneak him crumbs of sweet cakes on hot, sticky afternoons in the summer when he’d long for the feeling of a fresh, summer breeze on his face, when he’d long to feel anything at all. 

They were walking back to the kitchens, Eddie having promised Richie a mug of hot cocoa, when Richie spotted it. A large metal door, entirely unlike the rest of the opposing wooden ones, with four heavy-duty locks set deep into the frame.  

Richie stopped walking immediately, and let Eddie carry on own the hallway, chatting mindlessly to the air. It wasn’t long before Eddie noticed Richie wasn’t with him and turned around.

“Richie? Are you okay?” 

“What’s in there?”

“Nothing,” Eddie snapped, marching back to where Richie stood. “Do not concern yourself with what is behind that door.” 

“But --” Richie started, but Eddie cut him off.

“What is behind that door has nothing to do with you, and you shall not seek to discover it. Now, leave it.”

Before Richie could protest further, Eddie stomped off, sending a sharp, “Come!” over his shoulder. 

Richie followed.

– X – 

It took fourteen days of being in almost constant contact with Richie for Eddie’s body to return to normal. Richie first noticed it when Eddie’s eyes began to droop, bulldogish, in the afternoons, and soon after, he began to flinch away from the sun’s midday greeting when they’d sit in the sunroom and play cards. He’d expected it, that one day the vampirism squirming in Eddie’s veins would rear its ugly head and pull Eddie away from Richie and back towards what he truly was.  

The days without Eddie were long and tedious, and, more often than not, Richie found himself pacing the corridors aimlessly, counting down the hours until the sun sank below the horizon and the familiar sound of Eddie shifting in his room began to echo around the mansion. Eddie would emerge, smacking his lips, with his hair sticking up wildly, and he’d greet Richie with a sleepy, “Good evening” that would shake the butterflies in Richie’s stomach until they awoke themselves. 

If asked to pinpoint when his attraction towards Eddie transcended simply being physical and entered the unpredictable realm of emotional, Richie would have to shrug. It was as simple as if it had happened spontaneously, as if he’d woken up one morning, walked downstairs to the kitchen where Eddie was bent over the stove, meticulously stirring herbs into a bubbling pot, and Richie’s heart had suddenly burst into song, “yes, yes, it’s him, it’s him, it’s him.”  Whilst he still didn’t understand this bond that Eddie spoke of reverently, and whilst he didn’t believe in soulmates, and had said as much to a bemused looking Eddie, Richie felt something. It wasn’t  a cosmic force, nor was it a metaphysical hand guiding him towards Eddie without consulting him first. It was something lighter, something more delicate, like a string of the most fragile spider silk had been woven between them, no wider than a hair, and the longer they spent together, the more Richie looked at Eddie, really looked, the more convinced he was that one day he’d be on his knees before Eddie, and he’d thrust own his beating heart clasped into Eddie’s hands, bloody and raw. Spider silk turned platinum. 

At the time when the only light came from the fireflies floating like embers in the inky darkness,  it was this same something that pulled Richie’s eyelids open, an insatiable desire to be near Eddie stopping him from truly slipping away into blissful, restorative unconsciousness. Though he was fearful of encroaching on Eddie’s nighttime activities, more often than not, Richie waged victorious campaigns against the part of him that pleaded that he remain in bed, that he shut his eyes against curiosity. More often than not, Richie found himself tip-toeing to the door of his room and coaxing it open with tiny, jerky movements to avoid the tell-tale creak that would alert Eddie to his rising.

As soon as the door swung open the first time Richie snuck out of bed, though, a different noise invaded the room, swirling and dancing in the air until it was all Richie could hear. Immediately, memories of his first night in the mansion flooded back to him, memories of a haunting cry that came from the belly of the house. Filled with a reckless sort of determination, Richie crept down the hallway, and, as he walked, the sound swelled around him, growing louder and more insistent with each step. 

Richie burst onto the main balcony that overlooked the entrance hall at precisely the same moment that the sound crescendoed, before it fell gently downwards, furious yelling replaced by comforting whispers. 

It was Eddie.  

Eddie was sat at the piano, back rod-straight, hands flying over the ivory keys frantically. Richie didn’t recognise the piece, but was more than content to crouch down on his haunches, lest he be seen by Eddie, close his eyes, and listen. The tempo peaked and troughed at seemingly random intervals, and Richie wondered idly whether Eddie was playing a pre-existing song or whether he was having his hands be guided by the invisible muses, letting his body become a conduit. 

Without consciously wishing to, Richie began to awake most nights, body and soul alight with anticipation. He’d sneak out of his room, and hunker down in his spot on the balcony, concealed by darkness, and he’d watch Eddie play.  

Until a rogue sneeze escaped his nose before he could stop it, and his cover was blown.

With a hand covering his nose, as if it could claw the sneeze back in, Richie watched Eddie jump so hard he stood up, snapping his head this way and that, searching for the noisy intruder.

“Up here, Eddie,” Richie called out, face pulsing with heat and embarrassment.  

“Richie! I -- how long have you been there?” 

Richie gulped. “Not that long, perhaps an hour or so?”

Eddie shifted, and closed the lid of the piano with a loud bang. “You must return to your room, it is very late.” 

“You’re beautiful, you know,” Richie blurted, without thinking. 

“Beautiful?”

“I mean, you play beautifully. I didn’t recognise the piece, though.” Richie said, beginning to descend the stairs to where Eddie was still sat at the piano, hands knotted in his lap. 

“I have begun to write my own music, a somewhat … recent development, I must admit.” 

“How recent?”

“A few weeks, perhaps. I cannot be specific.”

Richie regarded Eddie steadily, and rested his hand on the top of the piano, as if to feel its heartbeat. 

“Be specific.”

Eddie placed his hand next to Richie’s, with an all but a negligible amount of space between them. “Eighteen days.”

 “The exact length of time I have been here,” Richard said, a statement of fact that neither needed to hear aloud.

“Yes,” Eddie replied, simply. “The exact length of time you have been here.”

– X –

Richie sat in the gardens, and, as he watched two small rabbits dance in the lush undergrowth, he decided that tomorrow, when the moon had risen, her smiling face bathing the world in cool light, he would ask, nay insist, that Eddie accompany him on a walk. They would leave the mansion, leave the grounds, to see if they truly did exist in the world beyond the borders of the bubble of existence that they had meticulously created with shared efforts. Whilst he was content to hide away with Eddie, an ever-growing part of him desired to breach the womb-like comfort of the mansion. He stood in front of the mirror, rehearsing his lines, practicing how he would convince Eddie to venture into the wilderness with him, but, much to his bemusement, it wasn’t necessary. 

“Of course,” Eddie agreed, “if that is what you want, then that is what we shall do.”

That night, with the wind howling and rain falling from the sky in great, bloated drops, Richie and Eddie ventured out of the relative safety of the mansion and into the mercy of the wider world. Eddie had insisted that Richie wear one of his coats, a great, woollen thing that swamped even Richie’s lanky frame, but he was grateful for the shelter it provided from the weather as they trundled down the hill into the town of Krov. They barely spoke, as Eddie watched the moon with his dinner-plate eyes, and Richie watched Eddie. 

Abruptly, Eddie stopped walking. 

“Are you okay?” Richie asked, walking backwards for a few steps before he was stood next to Eddie once more. Eddie continued to stare at an inconspicuous spot on the ground.

“This is where it happened.”

“Pardon?” 

“This is where … this is where I was turned.” 

Oh. The fury radiating from Eddie was palpable, a hot current of air fighting the arctic winds. Richie had barely asked Eddie about the circumstances of his turning, and Eddie had offered little to no information himself. It was a vast and foreboding secret, something that Richie was desperate to know but reticent to ask. The look on Eddie’s face, a look of sheer savagery, like he would rip the larynx from the creature who did this to him with his bare hands and not think twice, set Richie’s stomach on edge.  

Up until this moment, it had been easy to convince himself that, whilst Eddie was in possession of two rather large canine teeth, and professed to being centuries old, he was – in all the ways that counted – still human. But now, with his too large teeth bared in a too large mouth that snarled like a wolf, and his eyes, with the pupils blown and the rest an unnatural white, Eddie looked different. Eddie looked scary.  

“Eds …” Richie cautioned, laying a timid hand on Eddie’s bicep. “Eds, can we go?”

Immediately, as if Richie’s words were as sharp as pins, Eddie deflated.

“Yes, uh -- of course. I seem to have … forgotten myself,” Eddie said, as if in a daze, before he allowed himself to be gently tugged away from the spot by Richie, who vowed that never again would they return to that spot.

The silence of the town was deafening. The buildings were the same as they had been when Richie arrived, the same dilapidated, crumbling walls and the same sloping rooves. But, with Eddie stood next to him, fists clenched into tight rocks, it felt different. Now, more so than before, Richie could picture the town as it had been before, a bustling town, thrumming with the energy of life. But now, the only indication that there had ever been life here were the things abandoned in the street, a chair, a bowl, a children's toy, and the incredibly guilty look currently spread across Eddie’s face.

They walked in hushed reverence along the rows of houses, Eddie peering inside each open door, and Richie watched him. Richie watched him walk inside one particular house, and lie his hand flat on the bed, with his eyes shut and his mouth pulled into a thin, straight line.

“Did someone you know live here?” Richie asked, painfully aware of the intimate moment he was intruding on, but unable to squash the curiosity within him.

Eddie’s head snapped up. “Yes.”

Richie wanted to ask more, ask who lived here, ask who it was that Eddie’s eyes glittered for, but he didn’t. Instead, he watched. A silent observer to Eddie’s very palpable, and very private, grief. 

“There’s a river,” Eddie whispered, a small sound that thundered in the silence. “I want to show it to you.”

The river was a mile or so from the town, and they walked there in silence, Eddie several steps ahead of Richie. When they arrived, Richie was awestruck. The river was high and fast-flowing, and curved this way and that, a jagged vein on the otherwise perfectly untouched valley.  

“I used to come here and think when I was younger. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” 

“Yes,” Richie agreed immediately, not looking at the river. “It’s beautiful.”

Despite Eddie’s protestations that he might fall in and be swept away, Richie stood on the very edge of the riverbank, staring at his reflection, warped by the fast flowing current.  

“The river is hungry, Richie. Everything it consumes, it spits out again, but it’s hungry. You must fear it,” Eddie said right in Richie’s ear, causing him to jump and spring backwards.

“Holy shit! I didn’t see you --” 

Then it dawned on Richie, slamming into him like the tide against rock.

 “You don’t -- You don’t have a reflection, Eddie”

 Eddie sighed. “No, I don’t. It’s another symptom of this disease, another curse.  I haven’t seen myself since I was eighteen years old, and that was over four centuries ago. I suppose I must look rather monstrous now.” 

“I wouldn’t say monstrous, not at all. Just --” Richie paused, gesturing with his hands as if he might pluck the right word out of the air, “different.” 

“Well that’s incredibly reassuring, Richard, thank you” 

“Different isn’t bad!” Richie insisted, backtracking, “different isn’t bad at all. Look, I’ll tell you what you look like, so you understand.”

Richie stood back, surveying Eddie’s face as one does a work of art, with his eyebrows knitted.

 “Well, you’ve got pale skin, but I suppose that much is obvious. You’ve got greyish-whiteish eyes, and they can be rather spooky in the dark,” 

“Charming!” Eddie interrupted, but Richie dismissed his comment with a wave of his hand. 

“But sometimes, when the light catches them when we’re sat in the sunroom, or when we are in the library with the fire blazing, sometimes … they look like molten silver, and that’s,” Richie coughed, “that’s quite lovely. You’ve got a messy crop of the darkest, blackest hair I’ve ever seen, and when you wake up it sticks up in all directions, and then that, combined with when you have creases from your pillow all over your face, I just want to --”

“Richie,” Eddie cautioned, but Richie continued. 

“I, um. Your nose is pinched, and quite pointy, but it suits your face, like the peak of a mountain. Your mouth --” 

Richie stopped, and his eyes flitted back and forth between Eddie’s mouth and eyes. 

“Your mouth is large, perhaps bigger than normal. Your teeth, well … they are rather frightening but … when you laugh, when you really laugh and you smile, not that stupid smile you do when I know you’re trying to hide your teeth, you look --” 

“Richard.”

Richie shrugged. “You look beautiful.” 

Eddie placed his hand on Richie’s face, his fingers brushed the hinge of Richie’s jaw, and Richie had but a second to panic before Eddie tilted his face down, and fitted their mouths chastely together. Richie, as if on autopilot, pressed himself against Eddie, knee to chest, and his hands gently gripped Eddie’s waist, fingers curled in the soaking wet fabric of his overcoat.

After a few seconds, Eddie pulled away, just barely, just enough to stare into Richie’s eyes evenly.

“Eddie,” Richie whined, a pathetic sort of noise that he would have been embarrassed about had Eddie not practically growled and pulled Richie back down, back in. 

Eddie tilted his head, as if he meant to go deeper, and fangs scraped across Richie’s lower lip. As much as Richie hadn’t anticipated kissing Eddie at that exact moment, it would be patently untrue to suggest that he hadn’t thought about doing it at some point. Those nights that he’d spent fantasising about when he’d do it, whether he’d corner Eddie after breakfast or whether he’d grab Eddie’s wrist and haul him in when they were walking around Eddie’s poison garden, he’d always come back to one thing, the thing that made his gut swirl with anticipation.

The fangs.

The same fangs that were, at that very moment, pressed gently into the soft swell of Richie’s lower lip.

Richie pulled away, gasping.

“Shit,” Eddie cussed, and stepped away from Richie with clumsy steps, “I shouldn’t have -- I assumed that, you kept saying that I was beautiful, and --”

“Eddie,” Richie said as he stepped into Eddie’s personal space, crowding him against the trunk of a tree, hands cradling Eddie’s face, “Eddie.” 

“Fuck, Richie -- Fuck!”  

They stood there, sheltering under the boughs of the tree, the wind roaring it’s encouragement, and kissed. 

– X –

“NO!” 

Eddie smacked the spoon out of Richie’s hand with a growl, and his movement sent the contents of Richie’s bowl cascading over the floor. 

“What the hell is wrong with you, Eddie! I was about to --”

“It’s fucking poisonous, Richie. It’s poisonous. I was looking in one of my books to see how long I needed to let the vegetable boil – I didn’t know its name, but I’ve been eating it for centuries – but the book said that it’s poisonous! I could have killed you!” Eddie yabbered, wringing his hands as he stood over the mess on the floor, staring at the lumps of apparently-poisonous vegetables.

 “I can eat it because my insides are practically dead, but if you had eaten it … if I had let you eat it … I couldn’t live with myself, Richie, I’ve only had you for a few months and I nearly killed you myself.”

And then, Richie learnt that it was perfectly possible for a vampire to cry.

Richie gathered Eddie up in his arms, and stroked a comforting hand through Eddie’s hair as the vampire wept against his chest.

“Eddie, Eddie, I’m still here, I didn’t eat any, you’ve still got me, you’ve still got me, Eds, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you promise?” Eddie asked. 

Richie pressed his promise to Eddie’s lips. 

– x –

 “SHUT THE DOOR!”

Richie slammed the door shut, but what he had seen would be etched onto the back of his eyelids for centuries to come. 

“RICHARD,” Eddie boomed from inside, voice syrupy and wet, “GO AWAY!” 

Richie didn’t move.

“I know you’re still there,” Eddie’s voice was wet, and as he spoke, his words were interspersed with ugly, slurping sounds. “I can hear you breathing.” 

A coppery, metallic smell lingered around Richie’s head, a heady fog that sent his head spinning and his mind racing.

He’d burst into the room, excited to tell Eddie that the asparagus spears had begun to stick out of the earth, but he’d found Eddie slumped over the body of a rather large sheep, mouth attached to the animals neck. Eddie’s eyes had rolled back into his head, an expression of pure ecstasy, as he slurped at the blood gushing from two large puncture wounds on the animals neck greedily, the dark red liquid smeared around his neck and face. 

“This is my reality, Richard,” Eddie said, pulling the door open. “This is what I am.”

This Eddie was different. This wasn’t the Eddie that Richie had kissed at the riverbank, this wasn’t the Eddie that curled up like a cat next to Richie on the couch, and read Richie’s book over his shoulder. This wasn’t the Eddie that cried from laughter when Richie had fallen over in the mud when his feet gave way from under him in the vegetable patch, sending carrots flying over his shoulder like tiny orange arrows. No, this Eddie, this Eddie who wiped the back of his hand across his mouth roughly, this Eddie who had pupils blown wide, and who chattered his teeth together like an excited hyena, this Eddie was different, and Richie was terrified by how much he wasn’t terrified. 

“I’m not scared,” he blurted, as he stared at the droplet of blood that was still clinging to Eddie’s bottom lip. “I know I should be scared, but I’m not. I’m not even a tiny bit scared.”

Eddie laughed. “You’re a strange little thing, aren’t you.”

“Not half as strange as the vampire who grows potatoes in his back garden,” Richie shot back, before he pulled Eddie into an embrace. 

It took two weeks to get the blood stains out of his shirt.

– X –

Eddie’s hand was pressed against Richie’s throat, a barely-there pressure that had Richie squirming underneath him, rutting against Eddie’s leg that was slotted possessively between his own. They were shirtless, with Richie’s legs bracketing Eddie’s hips as he hovered over him. They had been going at it for a while now; what had started as chaste kisses and gentle hands on waists had become needy, insistent and breathy over a remarkably short space of time.

With Eddie hovering over him, skin ghoulishly pale in the flickering glow of the candlelight, Richie was sure no one else had ever been more aroused than he was in that moment. He bucked his hips up, desperate to make contact with Eddie’s thigh, his dick straining painfully against the fabric of his trousers.

“So needy,” Eddie hissed, and he shifted his attention from Richie’s mouth to his neck, ghosting his breath along the length of Richie’s exposed jaw. “So needy, so ready, would you let me take you now? If I asked very nicely?”

Richie nodded feverishly, mind focused on nothing but the feeling of Eddie’s hand snugged to his jaw.

“Do you want me to? Take you right here? With you flat on your back?”

“Yuh-yes, Eddie, fuck –”

“Do you? It’d be so easy, you know. So easy to just –” Eddie paused, trailing one of his hands down, skating it over the taut, trembling skin of Richie’s chest and stomach,  until he’d dragged his fingers, slowly, over the bulge in Richie’s trousers and down, until his fingers were hovering over Richie’s clothed asshole.

“Eddie, Eddie, please –”

“Please what?”

“Please”

Eddie shifted off of Richie, and sat back on his haunches panting. Richie whined at the loss of contact, at the loss of Eddie’s weight hovering over him, pressing him down into the mattress, and he reached out, and tried to pull Eddie back onto him. Eddie swatted at his arm, and stood up, stumbling a bit, before he left the room in haste. Confused, and rather annoyed, Richie huffed, pushing himself up to a sitting position. Three, or perhaps four, seconds later Eddie returned, holding a small bottle of oil in his hands. 

“This will make it easier,” he said, and placed the vial on the table next to the bed, before climbing back up the bed, and back up Richie’s body like a jungle cat. 

Before he could capture Eddie between his legs again, however, Eddie shoved an arm underneath Richie and deftly flipped him over, so that Richie was now lying face-down on the bed, dick trapped against his heaving stomach. Eddie was on him instantly; he placed open-mouthed, wet kisses against Richie’s neck, before Eddie shifted, and began trailing kisses over Richie’s shoulder, down his shoulder blades, over the dip of his waist, before he landed at the fleshy swell of his hips. 

“I want – Richie, I want to – do you trust me?” Eddie asked, voice crackly.

“Yes,” Richie answered, immediately, as he scrunched the crisp sheets in his fists, as he tried desperately not to transcend this mortal coil.

“I want – just … let me …” Eddie babbled, and then he scraped his teeth along the squishy flesh of Richie’s hips, not applying enough pressure to break the skin, but just enough that Richie cried out, half from surprise and half from concentrated want. 

Eddie continued to bite and suck at Richie’s hip, and Richie buried his face in the pillow, biting at the soft cotton to stop himself from sobbing. 

With deft fingers, Eddie began to tug at the soft material of Richie’s trousers, encouraging Richie to buck his hips up, allowing him to tug the material over the swell of his ass, and down his thighs.

 “So beautiful,” Eddie whispered, a reverent prayer not delivered to Richie himself but to his ass, “so good for me.” 

Eddie replaced his mouth with his hand, that continued to squeeze at Richie’s hips, and, even with his eyes still screwed tight and the static buzz of lust screaming in his ear, Richie heard Eddie unscrewing the top of the vial. Richie shivered on the bed, entirely overstimulated but, at the same time, nursing an insatiable need for more, for Eddie to touch more of him, all of him.

And then it was there, an oil-wet finger that probed gently at the tight ring of muscle, and, instinctively, Richie tensed. 

“Sssh, my love,” Eddie whispered, and he stroked a comforting hand across Richie’s back, “it’s just me.”

Richie nodded, and his breath heaved out of him in great, staccato wheezes as he willed himself to relax. Two of Eddie’s fingers, both wet and dripping, rested against the ring of muscle, slender fingers between the cheeks of Richie’s ass like they were meant to be there, like they had always been there. Slowly, painfully slowly, so slowly that Richie felt like he was about to scream from sheer anticipation, Eddie’s fingers began to move. They circled Richie’s sensitive opening that twitched uncontrollably, as spikes of not-quite-pleasure rippled through Richie’s body. 

With a careful confidence, a certainty that made Richie’s dick twitch from where it was trapped his stomach, Eddie finger bared down on Richie’s opening, until, after pushing past a little amount of resistance, it entered him. Richie’s body instinctively tensed once more, before Eddie leant forwards, and began to press small kisses to the small of his back.

“So good, Rich, so good,” Eddie praised, and Richie’s brain flicked into overdrive, as it oscillated between embarrassment and an unabashed desire for more, to such an extent that, when Eddie began to draw his finger back, Richie’s hips chased it wantonly.

Eddie chuckled, a deep vibrato that cut through Richie’s embarrassment like butter, and he drew his finger back, only to sink it in a little deeper the next time, and again, and again, until Eddie’s finger were burrowed up to the knuckle in Richie’s ass. The motion was smooth, thanks to the oil, and the not-quite-pleasure had been replaced by a rapidly solidifying pleasure buried deep in his gut that was growing and growing with every thrust of Eddie’s skilled fingers. 

“Are you okay, love?” Eddie asked, and Richie almost laughs. 

Richie shifted, and spat the corner of the pillow out of his mouth.

“I’m – fuck. Move, Eddie,” he tried to command, but when spoken aloud, the words just sound like he was begging, like he was pleading. Perhaps he was.

Eddie obeyed. It was slow at first, a teasing, languid movement that had Richie writhing beneath him, before it became firmer, a more confident rhythm that turned Richie’s insides to jelly, and his lips parted in a soundless groan that only the air heard. Eddie continued to thrust his finger in and out of Richie, before he pulled it back all-together, which caused Richie to whine.

“Could you take another, my love? Are you ready?” 

“Fuck me, Eddie,” was Richie’s only response, and Eddie didn’t need to be told twice. However, instead of continuing to finger-fuck him with his face pressed into the bed, Eddie prodded at Richie’s side, prompting him to roll over. Richie obliged, and Eddie shuffled up the bed, and curled himself around Richie’s back. Eddie pushed on Richie’s right leg until it moved forwards so that it was lying at a right angle, giving Eddie access to Richie’s ass once more. 

Before he could push his fingers back into Richie, Richie ground down on Eddie’s crotch, a spike of pleasure shot up his spine at the realisation that Eddie was as rock hard as he was. 

“Eddie, Eds, I want --”

“What do you want, my love?”

“I want you to bite me”

Eddie stilled behind him.

“What?”

“I want you to, ah, I want you to fucking bite me!” 

 “Richie,” Eddie warned, “Richie you have no idea what you’re saying.” 

Richie sat up, and twisted around so that he was facing Eddie. 

“Yes, I do. I’ve been thinking about it, thinking about what this,” he gestured between them, “what this is. What it means, not just for me but for you, too. And these past few months, I’ve -- I’ve …”

“You’ve what?”

“I love you.”

Eddie didn’t say anything, just blinked dumbly at Richie.

“I know you probably don’t believe me, and I know it’s incredibly fast, and I don’t expect you to --” 

“I love you too, Richie, but, God, this is bigger than love.” 

“What could possibly be bigger than love?” 

“Come,” Eddie said, and he stood up, and held Richie’s trousers out to him. “I have something to show you.”

 – X –

The basement was freezing, and Richie watched with a steady gaze as Eddie unlocked the four heavy padlocks.

“This,” Eddie said, as he heaved the door open and revealed a long, dark, stone staircase, “this is bigger than love. I need you to see this, I need you to see all of me, see all of what I have done, before I let you make this decision.” 

Richie, unsure of how to respond, pushed past Eddie and began his descent, deep into the underbelly of the house, deep into Eddie’s past. 

The first thing that Richie noticed was a gaping hole in the stonework, large enough for a man to walk through.  

“Who, or what on earth did that?” Richie asked, confusion evident in his tone.  

Eddie sighed. “Let me tell you about Patrick.”

– X –

Eddie spoke for nearly an hour, and he paced up and down the room, patently not looking at Richie, who was sprawled on the floor, head resting against the cool stone. 

“I haven’t been down here since,” Eddie confessed, staring at the hole in the wall with an embittered expression, “I can’t bear to see what he did, what I did … What I put him through.”

 At that, Richie’s head snapped up.

“What the fuck? Eddie, no, that wasn’t your fault.”

“How could it possibly not be my fault?” 

“How were you supposed to know he’d turn into a feral beast? No, you were the victim, as much as those --” 

“Richard,” Eddie said, voice trembling, “do not compare what I went through to those people who had their throats ripped out by that animal. Do not.” 

It made sense now, of course. Why Eddie’s lusty expression had so rapidly been replaced by a mask of panic, why Eddie was so reticent to even entertain the idea of turning Richie. Eddie, compelled by the kind of loneliness that gnaws at your soul, had taken a risk, and it had so horribly backfired that it had left all but visible scars across Eddie’s entire body. Eddie, his trusting, wonderful, Eddie had been duped by a creature so evil, that even the vampirism coursing through his veins could not have affected his nature that much. 

“You know I’m not Patrick, right?” Richie said, sitting up. 

Eddie scoffed. “Of course, you are nothing like that brute. But what if --”

“Go on,” Richie prompted. 

“What if it goes wrong? What if I … what if I lose you? What if I accidentally kill you? I could --”

“You will lose me either way, darling. I will age, I will grow coarse and weary, and you will no longer love me,” Richie said, and he stood up, walked over to where Eddie was hunched in the corner, and grasped Eddie’s hands in his own. 

“I will always love you,” Eddie insisted, fiercely, but Richie shook his head. 

“You cannot love me when I am dead, Eddie. I will age, and change, and then I will die. Like your flowers, I will rot and turn brown with decay.”

Tears began to trickle down Eddie’s face.

 “It is such a horrible choice, Richie,” he said, voice wobbling.

“I know, darling, I know” 

– X –

The candles flickered in the breeze of the open window, and Richie screwed his eyes shut. Eddie was between his legs, lapping over Richie’s asshole with a broad, wet tongue. He’d been there for what, to Richie, felt like eons, teasing Richie’s hole open with a pointed tongue that darted inside, just for a moment, before the lapping, and the sucking resumed and Richie was left frustratingly empty. Occasionally, Eddie would graze the pointed tip of his fangs over the soft, vulnerable skin of Richie’s inner thigh, pressing in just enough to hear Richie gasp, before he’d pull away again.

“Eds, I can’t – please, c’mere, Eddie, please,” Richie moaned, and he buried his hands in Eddie’s hair before he gave it a sharp tug.

Eddie pulled off of Richie’s thigh, and slithered back up Richie’s body, and pressed their mouths together.

Anticipation pooled in Richie’s stomach like lava, and it took all of his self-control not to force Eddie to chomp down on his neck, but he knew what had to happen first, he knew what he had to wait for. An aching, primal urge tugged ruthlessly at Richie’s lower stomach, and he groaned as he felt it travel up his spine, reaching a deafening crescendo behind his eyes. With Eddie grinding down, swivelling his hips down against Richie’s, their bare cocks brushing together, Richie threw his head back, exposing his bare neck.

 Eddie immediately dropped his head, and licked a long strip up the length of Richie’s neck, beginning at his clavicle and ending at the hinge of his jaw.

“You smell so good,”  Eddie moaned, nose buried in Richie’s hair, “you have no idea what it’s been like for me, all of these months, not letting myself smell you, not letting myself have you.”

“You have me,” Richie babbled, “you have me.”

“I do,” Eddie said, “I do”

Arousal spiked in the cradle of Richie’s hips, a white hot electric heat that spread like wildfire. “Eddie, I’m ready, I’m ready –”

Wordlessly, Eddie pushed Richie onto his side, the same position they’d been in before, when Richie had asked Eddie to bite him. This time, though, as Richie lay there, back nestled against Eddie’s chest, Eddie draped his arm over Richie’s shoulder, positioning it so the soft flesh of his forearm was positioned in front of Richie’s mouth. 

“You know what you need to do, right?” Eddie asked, breathlessly, and Richie nodded. 

Two oil-slick fingers pushed their way into Richie’s ass, and Richie bit down on Eddie’s arm, and began to suck.

Eddie gasped behind him, a noise he’d never heard Eddie make before, breathy and high-pitched.

“Drink, ah, drink up, Rich, oh fuck oh fuck” 

“Does it hurt?” Richie asked, voice thick and wet, mouth still half full of Eddie’s blood, but Eddie shook his head.

“It – ah, it the opposite of hurts, Rich, oh fuck”

 As Richie sucked on Eddie’s arm, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of blood, Eddie’s fingers worked in his ass, maintaining a furious rhythm that worked in sync with Richie’s greedy slurps.

Soon, when Richie’s stomach sat hot and heavy, Eddie gently pulled his arm back. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes, fucking do it, Eddie, do it” 

Eddie pulled Richie back, and Richie jolted when he felt the press of Eddie’s solid length against his ass. Need swirls wildly in his stomach, and he holds his breath, waiting for the press of Eddie’s dick against his entrance. It comes slowly at first, Eddie edging forward with gentle caution, dick slippery with the same oil as before. The tip of his cock nudges at Richie’s tight opening, and he pressed forward, Richie’s eyes snapping shut instantly, mouth parted in a silent gasp. 

Eddie edged in, inch by inch, centimetre by centimetre, until he bottoms out and Richie’s ass was pressed snuggly against his crotch.

“oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” Richie jabbered, and his hips stuttered in Eddie’s lap, micro-movements that sent sparks of not-quite-pleasure and not-quite-plain up his spine.

Eddie waited until Richie stopped jabbering to start moving, but when he did, Richie’s head fell back on Eddie’s shoulder, and he forgot where he was, forgot his own name, all he remembered, all he cared about was the blunt drag of Eddie’s cock, in and out of him, a rhythm as smooth and as regular as ocean waves. Experimentally, Richie pushed his ass back against Eddie’s thrust, meeting it in the middle, and earning himself a “oh, Richie, oh, oh God…” for his efforts. 

“You’re doing so well, my love,” Eddie praised, hand snaking around to grasp at Richie’s dick, “you’re doing so well.” 

Heat flooded to the base of Richie’s spine, a cloying heat that grew and grew as Eddie continued slamming into him, breath stuttering in his ear. 

“I’m gonna come, fuck, Eddie, Eddie, do it.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I love you,” Richie gasped in response, and he felt Eddie nod behind him, before he felt a sharp, piercing pain on his neck, and his vision went black. At that moment, with his lover’s hands scrabbling around his neck, Richard Tozier died.

– X –

The first thing Richie saw when he opened his eyes with Eddie’s face hovering above him, eyes wet. The first thing Richie felt when he opened his eyes was an unfamiliar toothache, overwhelming in its intensity.

Richie swirled his tongue around his mouth carelessly, and jolted with shock.

There, sat in his mouth, as if they’d always been there were two, razor sharp, huge fangs.

“Happy Birthday, Richie”

[spevonnie]

After a long day of work and schoolwork, it's nice to be able to lay down in the peace and quiet, cuddling with someone you love, if you're lucky. Especially if you're Connie Maheswaran, working at a daycare center and going to school for Child Development and Psychology.

Connie had stumbled in this particular night, a Thursday, weary and dreary. She kicked her shoes off and pulled her hairtie out, her long, thick hair tumbling from the neat bun it had been in. She pulled her shirt off and dropped it on the couch, doing the same with her pants and her under garments, walking straight to the shower and taking a nice, warm shower as she tried to relax, rubbing her eyes tiredly. Her stomach growled as she dried off, and she went to the dresser she shared with Steven, pulling one of his shirts over her head, enjoying the smell that lingered from his wearing it, despite being clean. They'd been missing each other a lot, because Steven had been picking up extra hours at the different odd jobs he had in town (Including a small-business pizzeria across the street, a farm down the road from their tiby apartment in rural Vermont, and the gas station around the block) She suspected he was trying to get some extra money before Christmas, but in any case, she missed him.

She sighed and placed a pot of water on the stove, putting her laundry in the hamper as it boiled. She made cup noodles and watched PBS in the dark as she ate, tossing the cup away and the fork in the sink before brushing her teeth and flopping down on their shared, twin bed, pulling the blankets up and falling asleep almost instantly, completely exhausted.

It was about four in the morning when Steven crept in, closing and locking the door quietly. He'd been at all three of his jobs that day, and he was tired too, but it was more of an emotional and mental exhaustion--Certainly, he was part human, he needed sleep. He just didn't need as much sleep as Connie, because of his Diamond powers, and most of the time his sleeping was from mental or emotional exhaustion, which Connie respected. He slipped his boots off and opened the fridge, sheilding his eyes a bit from the light. He chewer his lip as he surveyed his options, but closed the fridge and tiptoed to their bed, seeing Connie asleep and curled up. He noticed she was wearing his shirt and he smiled a bit, slightly worried--She didn't do that often. He crouched down, shaking her shoulder gently.

"Nini," He whispered. "Wake up, berry."

"H-Huh?!" She asked, sitting up a bit quickly. "Steven?" She peered at him in the dark. "Is that you? Did you just get home?" She frowned.

He shook his head but then shrugged as if he didn't know, and then finally nodded. "Yeah," He admitted.

"What's the matter? It's--It's four in the morning! We both have work tomorrow."

"I was...I was only wondering if you wanted to come have a bowl of cereal with me." He said sheepishly, shrugging again.

"A bowl of--What? Steven, couldn't that wait?" She frowned a bit, tired.

"I know, I'm sorry. I mostly wanted to spend time with you, but I didn't wanna wake you up just for that-" He shrugged once more, looking like he was regretting this now. "We've just been missing each other so much this week, I feel like I've barely had any time with you."

"Aww, Steven," She smiled softly, sleep curled into the expression. "Of course I'll come eat cereal with you. I miss you too. Let's have a date night this weekend, okay?"

He nodded and took her hand, leading her to the kitchenette.

"Did you come from Sal's?" She mumbled, sitting on a stool as he grabbed two bowls and some Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

"Yeah!" He nodded, pulling out the milk and spoons. "How'd you know?"

"Because you smell like pizza," She smirked. "Thanks." She added as he handed her her bowl and sat next to her.

"Oh," He blushed, still visible faintly as their eyes adjusted to the dark. "Sorry."

"It's okay," She shrugged, leaning against him. "I much prefer this to manure when you come back from the Brackwell's."

"It's a farm! And I shower every time I come home from the Brackwell's, even if I showered the night before."

She shook her head a bit against his shoulder with a tiny smile, crunching her cereal.

"How was work? And school?"

She sighed. "Tiring. I turned my paper in, so I should have a bit more time until she assigns another. The kids were okay. Katie cut her hair. Brylea tried shoving a crayon down Ethan's nose again."

Steven snorted. "I'm pretty sure I get that report like once a week." The first time, he'd asked if she meant 'up Ethan's nose', but she insisted on 'down', which was slightly disturbing.

"Pretty much," She agreed, closing her eyes.

He was quiet and she fell asleep against him. He finished his cereal and lifted her up, carrying her to bed and setting her down, moving her hair away and kissing her forehead. He walked off to go clean up after the cereal, but she called out to him.

"Steeeeveennn, where are you going? Come cuddle me."

"One second, honey, I gotta pick up the bowls." He said with a finger lifted.

She pouted and struggled to stay awake, holding her arms out for him tiredly as he returned. He climbed in and held her gladly as they snuggled into the large groove they had made in the center of the tiny mattress, falling asleep together, both looking forward to the weekend, where they could spend all day lounging around, maybe drive half an hour to the McDonald's drive-thru and call it date night. Whatever it was, they'd be together, and that's what mattered.

[elisha-mikealson]

3. Wolves

When I woke up I heard what sounded like shuffling so I open my eyes and see Josh still asleep so I lifted my head to see that it was Elijah coming out of Josh's room. I carefully get up and out of Josh's arms without waking him before looking at Elijah which just kind of raised his eyebrow at me. I simply turn around and walk into the kitchen and start making coffee as Elijah walked in, "i thought you were sleeping in his roommates room," he says seriously.

"I was, then as I bet you heard, we watched a movie and I fell asleep," he nodded as I pulled out three mugs and sit them next to the coffee pot. I look at the time on the stove to see that it was about 8:00 meaning that if I got Josh up now and he started to move we could be out of here by 9, then be in Mystic Falls by ten, "so what time do you have plans with the Dr?" I ask as I pour the coffee into a mug and hand it to him and pour it into the two other cups.

"Whenever I get back into town today," he says.

"Okay, well I'm going to wake up Josh so we can get out of here by 9 and hopefully be in town by ten," he nods to this as I walk into the living room and wake up Josh by hitting him in the shoulder.

"You know I hate when you wake me up like that," he says as he rubs his eyes and sits up, "not to mention I was already up."

"Then why aren't you packing for a week now?"

"I need coffee," with that he vamp speeds to the kitchen with me right behind him. Once there he basically chugs the coffee before walking past me and going to his room, "happy I'm packing," he says sarcastically.

"Very," I say sarcastically as I follow him. I go into his room and grab one of his sweatshirts and snap backs and leave to change in the bathroom. When I got done I go back to his room and see a neat pile of clothes and I walk over to it knowing it's not Josh's but once I was close enough to it I knew it was Elijah's just by the smell. I grab one of Josh's bags and put Elijah and my's close in it before stuffing it into Josh's duffel bag. That's when I heard the door being unlocked and I look at Josh and he looks at me before we both vamp speed out to the living room to see Bash walking in and he didn't look good.

"Josh," he says before collapsing, "don't let them in," he passes out and I go over and drag I'm into the apartment and see Elijah standing in the doorway to the kitchen. I hear his heart starting to fade so I bit my wrist and fed him my blood before turning back to Josh which was at the door.

"What do you want?" he asks the person I don't recognize.

"To be left in, of course," the guy was about the same height as Josh but had more muscle mass then he did. The guy also had dark hair with a face that you just wanted to punch.

"Who are you?" I ask stepping up next to Josh.

"It doesn't matter, I have a message for you though."

"From?" I question.

"I can't say," the guys says, "the message is, that you need to come to mystic falls and convince the doppelganger to stop hiding," after that he staked himself.

"Well that doesn't scare me at all," I say, "Josh get your bag and put it in the car then get Bash in the back set, Elijah head to the car also, I'll take care of him," I say nudging the body with my foot.

It didn't take long for me to get rid of the body, I just took him out the back door and threw him in the dumpster before pouring gas on him and burning the body. I left and walked to the car which everyone was sitting in and got in. I start to drive and everything is quiet until there was a loud gasp in the back seat and I look to see Bash awake, "welcome back to the living Bash."

"What did you do to me?" he asks freaking out.

"I saved your life," I say looking in the mirror before looking at the road again.

"Here, you will feel better after drinking this," Josh says handing Bash a water bottle that he filled with blood which Bash basically chugged.

"You changed me," he says shocked.

"Well yeah how else was I to save your dumb ass, you should have been on vervain."

"I was, but I went to see my pack and got caught up and had to stay longer than predicted so I didn't take enough."

"We'll when we get to my place we are going to get you back on it, along with wolfsbane," he simply nodded as we kept driving. It was only about a half an hour before we hit my place and it was very quiet even the radio didn't seem to fill the void.

Once I pulled into the garage at my house and got out I lead everyone in, inviting both Josh and Bash into the house, "you leave with one and come back with three, let me guess father and two boy toy's?" my brother says as we walk into the kitchen.

"Caun, behave yourself, we have a guest and neither one of them are my 'boy toy' one is my boyfriend and the other is his roommate."

"You didn't bring him here," Caun groans turning around to see Josh, "how long is he staying?"

"A week to forever," I say and I can see him fake gag, "oh and preferably don't try to poke Bash too much he just transitioned and I prefer not to have a dead body in this house."

"I'll try," Caun says walking out of the kitchen and up to his room.

"Josh you remember my brother," I say with a sigh, "Bash that was my brother Caun, and the entire don't poke thing applies to you also."

"Yeah I understand," Bash says nodding.

"Great, now where is the small one I left here?" I say walking out of the kitchen to the living room where I see her with her headphones on so I go up behind her and hit them off her head which makes her jump up and grab a stake that is just under the couch as she turns to me.

"Elisha you scared me, I thought you were Caun," Rosa says lowering the stake and putting it back in the couch.

"What has he done?"

"Said that I wasn't training hard enough," she shrugged.

"It's true, you haven't been training enough, but that is on me because I haven't taking you out to train. That is going to change now since Elijah has some things he needs to do in town and I have to start training Bash."

"Okay, what do I need?"

"Nothing, where we are going already has the supplies that we need," I say to her and she nods, "go wait in the car I'll be out in a minute," she nods and walks out of the house and Josh grabs Bash and they follow. "If there is anything that you need here is my number, I can leave them with Josh, just let me know," Elijah nods before we walk out of the house together, him going to his car and I mine. The drive was short and once we got to the little lake house we got out and I head over to the shed while Josh took Bash and Rosa outback as I brought bamboo sticks over to them. The training was surprisingly very successful since Rosa was pretty good at keeping up with our vampire speed and strength. It was about 10 when we finished training so we headed back to the house where we all ate something and showered before crashing.

I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of someone coming in and without hesitation I vamp speed to the person pinning them on the wall. When I look I see that it is Elijah and I let him go, "thanks for the warning that you were going to be back this late," I say, "what happened anyways you got vampire blood on your hands," I took a whiff, "please tell me that you didn't kill Damon."

"I actually spared him," he says calmly, "there were three vampires that were going to take the girl to Klaus, Damon and Stefan will protect her."

"I could have told you that," I say laughing slightly, "you look like you had a fairly long day why don't you go get some sleep and tomorrow you can tell me what your plan is," with that he heads up to his room and I head back to mine.

The next morning I wake up and go down stairs to see Elijah already up sitting in the living room, book in hand, "that's an excellent book," I say sitting next to him, "what's the plan?"

"I got to be able to access the people in the town easily so I plan on going into the town and getting to the people," he says.

"So you going to go undercover?" he nods.

"I guess that's how you would put it."

"Well some people already know your name, but not that you are a Mikaelson, so why don't you go under the same name I've been using?"

"Which would be?"

"Smith, Elisha Smith, nice to meet you," I say with a simple smile he nods to this, "let's go into town today," he nods to this. When Josh comes down I explain to him that I'm helping Elijah with something and to continue to train the other two today.

Once in town we go directly to the Lockwood mansion since that is the family to go to when you need something for the town, "Mrs. Lockwood, it's nice to see you."

"Elisha how are you I haven't seen you in a while, please come in," she says opening the door more noticing Elijah, "who's your friend?"

"This is Elijah, I actually met him in my travels and he wants to learn more about the town and its history."

"Please, come in Elijah, any friend of Elisha's is a friend of mine."

"Thank you," Elijah says.

"I'm actually quite busy right now, but I can send you over to Jenna Gilbert, she has everything that you would need," she says picking up her phone and making a call.

"See it's not that hard to play them," I tell Elijah. When she comes back she tells us that we can go over to the Gilbert house tonight to get the books and stuff which we thank her for before leaving. I show him around town staying clear of the Salvatore's before heading to the little lake house, "this is where I train everyone, I have a feeling more than the three that I sent here are here," I say getting out to see with Elijah following. We walk around the house and that's when I see all the wolves that I know that are in town training.

"There are a lot of wolves."

"Yes but they all stay under wraps with me, and they don't all change with the full moon," I explain to him as I hear a semi pained cry and look to see Bash pinned to the ground by Rosa.

"Bash you should be able to take her down without a problem, not the other way around," Josh says picking him up.

"Come, Josh has this under control," with that I lead him inside the house where we continue to strategize what the plans would be to keep this cover until it was time to leave to go over to the Gilbert's house.

Once there Jenna invited both of us in even though I could enter without it. Elijah and I both were in the kitchen as Jenna was pulling out boxes when Elena came down the steps, "Hey, what are you doing?"

"Oh, perfect timing," Jenna says happily.

"What is this stuff?"

"Your mom's files from the historical society. I got roped into helping Mrs. Lockwood, and when I say roped I mean very excited to participate," she says with fake excitement as she clothes the door.

"Hey, I'm Elijah," he says calmly as I see Elena basically have a heart attack.

"Elijah's in town doing research on Mystic Falls and Elisha volunteered to help him with some of the research," Jenna says as she walks away and Elijah walks up to Elena.

"It's a pleasure," he says sticking out his hand.

"So you are welcome to stay here and rummage through this stuff, or Elena and I could help you load it into your car."

"Yeah or I could just have someone pick it up tomorrow," I say.

"Also a good plan," Jenna says.

"Well thank you so much for inviting me into your home Jenna and Elena I hope to so you again sometime soon," with that he walked away from her but I stayed.

"Don't tell Damon of this, I'll explain later," I told her before also walking away. Once the door clothes I hear her start to run up the steps, "she going to tell her brother."

"We can't have that now can we?" Elijah says as he vamp speed back into the house and I follow behind. Elijah motions for Elena to be quite before stepping back and I easily put a cloaking spell on myself looking at Elijah as I did.

"What is it?" Jeremy asks.

"Um, Jenna was just asking me to a get you to help her with the boxes," Elena says.

"Yeah," Jeremy says before walking past her and me down the steps.

"That was a wise choice," Elijah says leaning against the wall as I take the clocking spell off of me and sitting on the little ledge at the window.

"What do you want?" Elena asks almost scared.

"I think it's time we have a little chat, what do you say Elijah?" I ask.

"I think that would be a wonderful idea," with that we head to her room. Elijah and Elena started to talk and I kind of zone out because I really didn't care, Elijah would probably catch me up as we go. After about 15 minutes Elijah told me it was time to go so we left and headed to the tomb that Katherine was supposed to be in all those years again, but actually wasn't in. I hear them coming so I step out from the side to see Stefan and Katherine standing there. When Katherine sees Elijah she is shocked to say the least and I laugh at it.

"Elijah," she says.

"Feel the love Katarina," I say sarcastically and she just kind of glares at me since she hates being called by that name which makes me smile. I never liked her.

"Good evening Katarina, thank you for having a good sense of being frightened" Elijah says then turns to Stefan, "your release has been requested."

"What? By who?"

"The lovely Elena drives a hard bargain, however we reached a peaceful agreement, she and I. Please, come," he says motion out of the tomb.

"I can't."

"Yes you can, I've had the spell lifted," with that Stefan slowly eases his way out of the tomb before he was completely out I sped over and stop Katarina in place.

"As for you however," I begin, "you shall not exit until I or Elijah says so, when Klaus comes he will want to know exactly where you are," I compel her before stepping away and turning to Elijah which gives me a short nod.

"You are free to go, Elena will explain the full arrangement to you. She keeps her word, I'll keep mine," Elijah says before walking away with me in toe. Once we are back to the car Elijah says, "I know you weren't paying attention with the deal."

"That's between her and you, I will figure it out as we go, but I know that it was that she would help you kill Klaus and do the entire sacrifice thing if you protect her family and friends," I say with a smile before driving back to my house where we both went to our rooms.

I look at my phone for the first time in since I got back into town to see fifty million text from Stefan and Elena which I just ignored. They kept coming though so I ended up calling both of them, "you guys need to stop texting me," I tell them.

"Why are you working with Elijah?" Elena asks.

"I'm not inclined to say."

"Are you an original?" Stefan asks.

"I'm not inclined to say."

"Why are you not telling us anything?" Elena questions.

"Because I don't want to get any of you hurt, now I have to go, it's been a long day and I need sleep," I say hanging up before going to sleep.

The next day I got up and went out so see Elijah reading the same book as yesterday making me laugh a bit, "we have to head out soon, Mrs. Lockwood graciously invited us to a little party that she is hosting and didn't bother informing me about it till this morning," I say looking at him, "you are the guest of honor so you must be there," he smiles a little as he sits the book down and gets up. We walk to the car and  drive to the Lockwood mansion and we entered the house to be welcomed by Mrs. Lockwood which hugged the both of us. At some point we moved over into one of the large doorways while talking to her.

"Have you spent much time in Richmond for your book? There is such a wealth of history there," Mrs. Lockwood questions.

"No. I'm focusing mainly on the smaller reasoning of Virginia. Lost of research. Strictly academic."

"That fascinating, and it's wonderful that Elisha has volunteered to help."

"Please, I'm more of a guide than anything, I love history but I don't know enough about this town to help Mr. Smith out, but I have filled him in on some of what I know," after I say this Damon walks over.

"Damon."

"Carol."

"What a surprise. Elijah, I want you to meet Damon Salvatore. His family was one of Mystic Falls founding families," Damon hums in agreement.

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasures mine," Elijah responds shaking Damon's hand. I could see the ideas turning in his head which makes me have a questioning look. Mrs. Lockwood eventually got pulled away and Damon asked Elijah to follow him and he simply gave me a look that said to follow also which didn't matter because I was going to follow no matter what.

"What can we do for you Damon?" I ask after I shut the door turning to him.

"I was hoping we could have a word," he says in his normal semi sarcastic serious tone.

"Where's Elena?" Elijah questions.

"Safe, with Stefan. They're laying low, there's a bit of a werewolf problem."

"Yeah we heard about that," I say as I sit on the couch with Elijah behind me.

"I'm sure it was your wish that saved the day."

"You are welcome," I say sarcastically as I feel Elijah's hand rest on my shoulder.

"Which adds to my confused exactly why you are here."

"Why don't you just stay focused on keeping Elena safe and leave the rest to me," he says and I stand up knowing this conversation is over.

Then Damon vamp sped over to in front of Elijah, "not good enough."

I sigh slightly as Elijah grabs his throat and speeds over to a wall and pins Damon there, then he gets the amazing idea to try and choke Elijah which just removes his hand with ease, "Young vampire," I say.

"So arrogant," Elijah finishes, "how dare you come in here and challenge me."

"You can't kill me man. It's not part of the deal."

"Silence," Elijah basically whispers before jamming a pencil in Damon's neck and letting him go, "I'm an original," Elijah starts whipping out a handkerchief and handing it to Damon, "show a little respect," he pauses for a second before saying, "the moment you cease to be use to me, you're dead, so you should do as I say. Keep Elena safe," with that he walks out the room and I hesitate before following.

"Damon, he's not someone you want to challenge at all. He will out power you on so many levels," with that I then leave to rejoin Elijah with the party. Neither one of us spoke of what happened in the room, but I know he will want to say something about it later.

By noon the party was over which I was thankful for because it was beyond boring, "Hey Elijah, I want to go check on the training to see how it is going, if you don't want to come that's cool."

"Go ahead, I have some things I need to do."

"Call me if you are getting into any disagreements with anyone, I prefer to be there, plus if it's with the new pack in town then I can explain to them why they need to leave before we start having a problem," I say to him and he nods.

"Duly noted," with that I get into my car and drive to the lake and train with Josh, Bash, and Rosa until I got a call from Elijah telling me to meet him at the Salvatore boarding house. When I walk in I whisper for Damon to invite my friends in which he does so Josh and Bash both walk in then I hear Elijah say, "Looking for this?" that's when I sense the wolves and lead Bash, Rosa, and Josh there. I see Elijah walk down the steps and I'm quick to follow motioning for the three to stay where they are at. Elijah sits down the stone a motions to it and I knew what he was doing.

"Go ahead, take it," I say and Elijah looks at me knowing I know what his plans are. The first person the moves Elijah rips out his heart. Then there was two more people that move that I take their heart out with to see Damon with a 'not bad' look on his face. Elijah and I walk over to where the group of wolves where standing to see the one guy crouch down and put his hood over his head. Pathetic, I say in my head as I roll my eyes.

"What about you sweetheart? Hmm?" Elijah asks the crouching guy as he stands up and is meet with my face.

"Come on take a shot," I say, "No? Yes? No?" I say as he shakes his head scared.

"Where's the girl?" Elijah asks and Damon gives him a 'why the hell would I know' look.

"I don't know," he says.

"It really doesn't matter," Elijah says and looks at me.

"Bash," I say and look at him, "you've triggered your curse right?" he nods again, "good," I say with a smile, "dinner," I say and shove the guy over towards the three. Without hesitation Bash speed over and sinks his teeth into the guy as I move over and help Elijah pull the chains off of Damon.

"So you realized this is the third time I've saved your life now?" Elijah asks him before turning and walk back over to the stone and picking it up before walking out of the house.

"You need to watch yourself or you are going to die again. One day no one is going to save you or clean up your messes. Just be glad that Elena cares enough to keep you alive, that's why Elijah was hear and it's because of that that I was here," with that I walk up the steps and out of the house with Bash, Josh, and Rosa following me.

[riddleredcoats]

Prompt: Bellamort and Anti-Tomione where Bella and Tom torture and kill Hermione together.

Anon, I’m so sorry for the delay, but I wasn’t sure how to do this prompt. But I did manage to come up with something… different?... I hope you like it anyway.

So, I really like Hermione (xd) and couldn’t bear to make this anti-Hermione, which I’m not even sure was what you wanted anon, but still there it is. The torture is also mostly emotional torture and even might not even be really be called torture? I mean Bella and Tom hurt her, but it’s kinda unintentional?

Also, this a Mafia AU because *shrug*, also ‘Mafia’ AU, since everything I know about the Mafia is from Godfather, the Simpsons and some shallow research.

Also posted on AO3

Some slang.

Boss – self explanatory

Consigliere – an advisor to the Boss, most decision are run through this guy

Underboss – right bellow Boss.

Boss, Consigliere, and Underboss run a particular Crime Family and are referred to as the Administration.

Capo – short for caporegime mid-level boss who leads a crew of soldiers

Soldier – is the low of the low in hierarchy.

 The one you least expect.

 New York in 1929 was a bustling city, skyscrapers ripped across the Manhattan skyline, smoke rose from cars, trains and buses alike while the waters of the Hudson ran black and dirty from the freighters. The city, grey and watery during the day shifted at night, to a minefield of jazz clubs and theatres and cabarets in which downtown New York City could rival the Paris as the City of Lights.

 When Hermione Granger had first arrived in the city a staggering 15 years-ago, at the ripe age of eleven from a little county in Georgia, the differences from her quiet hometown threatened to overwhelm her and wrestle her to the ground. Still, the sheer vibrancy of the city guaranteed amazement at every corner, something that Hermione couldn’t help but acclimate to, easily. Her want of answers and sense of adventure couldn’t help but make it so, and so, to her, the city had welcomed her with open arms.

 Getting up every morning – or really, middle of the night, seeing as she got up at 3:30AM – was a challenge, especially in wintery days where the warmth of the bed would be replaced by the cold, rarefied, smoke-filled air of her studio apartment. Nonetheless, work was waiting for her.

 Walking lazily to the kitchen, she made sure to turn on the gas to make her first cup of coffee, making sure to turn off every other appliance or light in the house since the gas and the light fixtures couldn’t stand to work at the same time. Rising off an old but reliable percolator – making sure to, of course, first let the water of the tap run for a while to get rid of the runny, brown water that always came in the morning – and then adding a filter and a spot of coffee to the old percolator, Hermione finished off the preparations for her breakfast by suspending a bit of the hard butter over the stove so it would be easier to spread on her hard bread. She ate mechanically, occasionally listening to the sounds of people coming home from a night out.

 After breakfast she walked to her bedroom and tied her bushy, brown, curly hair back into a ponytail, the humidity of the City making her hair even more frizzly than it already was. She donned her beige suit and with a last check of the buckles in her heels was out the door to the dewy-foggy morning, making sure to bring her umbrella.

 “Hey, Granger!” A man came up to her; Ronald Weasley, resident good boy from the scarce Scottish family that had moved into Harlem about 20 years or so ago, living in a predominantly black neighbourhood would be a big change for almost any white family, but the Weasleys… Well, the Weasley had Molly who, with a swift and caring ease, warmed her way into the Community; and so, her six sons and one daughter had been one of the few white families growing alongside the black ones in Harlem.

 “Hello, Ronald. I see you had an interesting evening.” Hermione knew that the disapproving tone in her voice was very noticeable, but then again so was Ron’s wobbling walk indicating of a night abusing one of the cities many illegal speakeasies.

 “’Mione! Don’t be like that!” He screamed, laughing all the while, and his happiness was infectious. Hermione let out a small laugh too. He twirled around her, “It such a fantastic day.”

 “Ron,” she said, laughing, “It’s raining! And the skies are grey!”

 “And yet,” Ron said, his ginger hair falling flat against his freckled face, framing his attractive blue eyes pleasingly, he came closer to her, holding on to her and twirling her around while she giggled at the drunkenness much as she loathed to do so, “It is fantastic!”

 He made sure to make her stop twirling and grabbed her carefully, looking into her with his slightly hazy blue eyes. Hermione, despite herself, felt her heart catch in her throat at the naked emotion that was lodged in those eyes. Ron seemed to come back to himself and take a step back, giving her personal space back. He chuckled a little, and rubbed his neck as he flushed red.

 “I-I gotta go.” He said quickly and stumbling, he turned fast and almost ran into a lamppost such was his rush, Hermione barely had time to say goodbye as Ron was already turning the corner to his house.  

 Hermione shook off the awkward and charged exchange, even as it lingered in the back of her mind, and quickly rushed herself to the subway stop. If she delayed any longer she’d be late for work, and that simply wouldn’t do, she had never been late, not once in her life and wasn’t about to start now. As the subway arrived and Hermione got in, along with the rest of the sludge of New Yorkers ready for another day at work, she got thinking about the job that she had fought tooth and nails for.

 Hermione Granger was a damn fine detective of the New York City police; she was hardworking, she was tenacious, she was ambitious, she was smart as a whip, but most of all, Hermione Granger longed for the days when the Mafia would stop running her city to the ground.

 Ever since the end of the Great War, things in the city had only gotten from bad to worse for everyone, it seemed, except for the Mafia, who now had a steady and much desired product to sell. The temporary ban of alcohol production during the War as an effort to avoid grain shortage was mostly viewed as essential, but then the War had ended, a half-of-a-generation of men came home and the so-called Prohibition Law remained in effect, increasing the demand of bootleg alcohol, speakeasies and gang violence who maintained control of the first two demands of the people.

 While Hermione found the Prohibition Law more harmful than good, it was the law of the land and she had to enforce it, no matter how she wished to indulge with the others. If for no other reason than to stop the rise in Mafia crime that threatened to almost sink the city to ground; dead politicians, corrupt cops, blackmail, torture, shakedowns and a culture of fear permeated the air of the city like the smoke of the factories in the East side. It had to stop, or it would suffocate them all.

 Hermione sighed as the subway arrived at her station and rushed to leave the carriage she was on, breathing the polluted, but not stale, air of the city. She still had a half-an-hour walk to the Police Station and as she dodged the incoming people that rushed to catch the transport, she sighed as she started walking along the blocks, hearing the occasional curse as some driver or another got frustrated with traffic.

 Turning the final corner of her route, Hermione sighed with relief as she entered the precinct, a cold and humid building, at 4:45 AM on the dot. Hermione cursed at the cold but was glad that at least it wasn’t raining inside. Well, not in most places in the station, that is; the building was old enough that some roofing was missing. Hermione made sure to greet the doorman, a fellow policeman who nodded politely at her as she made her way to the stairs.

 Reaching the third-floor, Hermione smiled as the usual chit chat rumbled from inside the room. She pushed the door open and the smell of third-grade, terrible coffee entered her nostrils, the earthy smell was the only thing about the beverage that was passable, but every single detective in the squad used and abused of the swill that Chief Shacklebolt insisted in calling coffee. Walking over to the old oak desk she shared with her partner – budget cuts were the real devil – she laid her purse and her umbrella down.

 Her partner – already on his side of the desk smiled at her – and just he was about to say ‘Good Morning’ as he usually did, she beat him to the punch.

 “I saw your brother-in-law today.” Hermione said as a form of greeting.

 The grin on Harry Potter’s face was unmistakably smug. The man that had welcomed her into the force with big, open arms and never, for once second stopped doubting her abilities and their friendship was also a smug little shit that drove her insane.

 “Oh? How’s Ron?” Asked, said partner, his wild jet-black curls falling over his face and catching on the wire of his round glasses that made his big, striking green eyes more prominent on his face already blessed with a big nose that went swimmingly with his large lips and stunning dark complexion.

 “Don’t give me that! He was slurring, wobbling around and hugging lampposts. You’re wearing last night’s clothes and smell suspiciously of mint… You went to a speakeasy again, didn’t you?”

 Harry’s green-eyes looked terrified at her and then all around them and then he started making wild gestures with his hands, telling her to shut up “Shhh!” Harry looked desperately around, “Hermione, please, it was just a drink and a bit of dance.”

 “Alcohol selling establishments are against the law, Harry! Something we are meant to enforce, not indulge!”

 “Christ.” Harry sighed, “I’m sorry, Hermione, you’re right. But this time it was a special occasion…”

 “Oh, really?” She asked, sarcasm in her voice, “Was it like last week, you went there because Ronald just happened to not have fallen on his face working at the docks that day.”

 “To be fair, for him, that is a miracle.” Hermione had to agree, Ronald Weasley was a gangly walking disaster, “But no, Hermione, that isn’t it.” Hermione took note of her partner’s soft tone, awed reverence in his voice. She looked on as he turned to look in her eyes, his emerald-green and filled with happy tears, “Ginny is pregnant… I’m going to be a dad!”

 “Harry!” She nearly screamed, and her lecture was immediately forgotten in favour of holding her partner – and closest friend – close to her as they hugged, truly happy for him, “This is great news! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry!” He said, rubbing his neck sheepishly, “We found out yesterday, and you were already gone.”

 Hermione winced, knowing how little Harry would approve of why she left early, “I had a date last night,” Harry was already groaning, she knew that he had been trying to set her up with Ron, and that he liked her date as far as he could throw him, “with Tom.” She confirmed, to his frustration.

 “You know I don’t trust him, ‘Mione.” Harry said, his hand rubbing a odd lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, “There is something wrong with that guy, more than the fact that he is almost old enough to be your father.”

 “We’ve been together 9 months, Harry! And he’s 36, it’s not exactly ancient!” Hermione said with a smile on her lips, Harry’s care for her always warmed her heart, “Besides, he is smart and upstanding and makes me feel important and doesn’t care that I cancel our date thirty minutes after they were supposed to be starting. Also,” she said with a lecherous smile, “he is very sexy.”

 Harry made a face, scrunching his nose, “Gross.” But laughed easily, after, “But you know what you’re doing, ‘Mione. But come on, we’re almost late.”

 “Oh, and where are we going?”

 Harry turned serious and Hermione immediately straightened her back in anticipation for what was to come, her partner was usually either jovial or irritable, never both at the same time, his perchance for mood swings was negligible, but he seemed to be oscillating today, and Hermione figured that if not for Ginny’s pregnancy Harry would be absolutely impossible to put up with.

 “You wanted to meet my informant?” Hermione nodded and moved already to her side of the desk, picking up her discarded coat, “Good, then. Let’s go.”

 “Has he given you any decent information?” Hermione asked as she put on her coat, ready to brace the rain again.

 “He’s young,” Harry admitted as he too put on his coat, “He mostly confirmed intel, which honestly is as good as it gets.”

 Hermione hummed distractingly. Yes, Hermione supposed, getting confirmation from another source usually went a long way to make sure that the intel was acted upon. Hermione’s own sources were more volatile and required a lot more of careful handling, since the intel was usually good enough to take down at least one crew under the purview of a Capo, and sometimes even managing to snag the Capo themselves. So, Hermione had to check and double check every detail.

 “But,” Harry said, drawing her attention back to him as he led her out of the precinct, “he said that today he would give me something more substantial.”  

 “Good.”

 Harry and Hermione got in the car and drove off in the direction of the docks, all the while shifting between work talk and talk about Ginny who was apparently entering her second trimester in a week or so. As they drove off, the sun – which had yet to rise – started picking through the horizon

 Reaching a shady-looking warehouse in the middle of nowhere didn’t exactly raise Hermione’s hopes that this meeting would go well. But, as soon as Harry parked the car, hidden – of course – behind some sort of construction site, they entered the deteriorating warehouse. Careful not to trigger any alarms, and to check corners where they could.

 Once they figured the building was clear, Harry yelled out, “Hey, kid, you in here?”

 A rattling sound, silence and then a stage whisper, “Would you be quiet? Do you want to get us all killed?” A figure stepped out of the shadows and Hermione gasped.

 “Harry, he’s like fourteen! He’s not young, he’s a kid!” Hermione yelled at her partner.

 “Sixteen!” The kid yelled, glaring defiantly at her.

 “Oh, yes, that makes it all better.” She deadpanned.

 “Hermione…” Harry started, a rueful tone to his voice, as if he knew that she would be even madder once she knew the whole story, “This is Draco Malfoy.”

 Hermione couldn’t hold back the gasp. Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy Crime Family. Hermione looked at the skinny, tall kid with a long thin nose, intense blue-grey eyes with a slick top and thick sides blond hair and an expensive suit that probably cost more than her apartment complex.

 Before she could say another word, voices ran out, rough and low and at Draco’s look of panic Hermione knew that the boy had been followed. Hermione and Harry cursed, and grabbing Draco by his shirt dragged him to a nearby office space and made sure to hide with him behind a desk.

 The voices grew louder and louder as they entered the warehouse and Hermione counted at least 4 people.

 “Spread out and find them!” The voice, accented and tilting towards French, seemed to fill the expanse of the warehouse, the voice of Rodolphus Lestrange, Boss to the Lestrange Crime Family, she had heard him testify, once, “Gaunt will get here soon enough, and I’d rather have them in hand.”

 Hermione and Harry exchanged surprised but determined looks. ‘Gaunt’ was the name of the Boss of the Slytherin Crime Family, the oldest crime family in New York City; they had stopped operating a few decades back but about 10 years ago they started wreaking havoc again in the city and re-establishing old supply lines and having more politicians in his pocket than out of it, but no one had even ever gotten a good look at the Boss, creating a mist of mystery and fear around him. Hermione and Harry didn’t have to do more than exchange looks; a glimpse at Gaunt was enough for them to risk their lives.

 Draco, sat between them, was trembling and Hermione was stuck with the sudden realization that Draco knew who Gaunt was. Hermione silently looked at Harry, tilting her head asking a question she was sure her partner would understand, Harry shook his head telling that leaving this hiding spot would not be a good idea.

 Still, they had to do something.

 Hermione was running scenarios in her head when the door to the office space opened. Draco whimpered loudly enough for whoever had opened the door to ear. Without much thinking, Hermione shot out of cover and fired her gun directly at the man’s chest. BANG! Hermione’s brain took a fraction of a second to reassert itself after the gunshot left her ears ringing, and a plan – clumsy as it – was formed in her mind

 “Run, Harry! Run!” At his shocked look she yelled again, “One of us has to make it. Go! You too, kid.”

 They didn’t need anything more from her and took off running, Harry and Draco to the left and she to the right. They had a shot with only four people of the Mafia and with this much ground to cover they might make it.

 “Hey, look there they are!” one of the men shouted, “Wait, is that Malfoy’s kid?”

  “WHO CARES?” Roared another, “JUST FUCKING GRAB HIM! I GOT THE GIRL!”

 Another shot ran out. BANG! Hermione took off running even as she heard someone getting closer behind her. And, then another shot. BANG! A cry – young and high-pitched – Draco. A thud as bodies fell to ground. Harry yelling. Another shot. BANG! Hermione panted as she felt the man chasing her, getting ever closer to her. She forgot Harry, whose voice she could still hear, yelling and pained. She forgot Draco, whose panicking sobs, still echoed in the warehouse. She forgot everything and just focused on getting out there alive. If just one of them made it, it would be enough.

 But it wasn’t meant to be. A grunt from behind and Hermione shrieked in surprise as she was tackled to the floor. “Got you bitch!” The man yelled as he pinned her to the ground, Hermione tried to fight him off. The man on top of her growled, grabbed her more firmly to haul her off the ground and push her towards the centre of the warehouse.

 Harry was already kneeling, bleeding heavily from a wound on his leg, but he continued resisting even as chains rattled with his fury. Draco, however, was unharmed but in the same position, kneeling and chained to the floor, and yet, he didn’t try to resist; the boy seemed resigned to his fate.

 There were two men remaining, not counting Rodolphus, one was standing guard behind the Boss and the other was leading her to where Harry and Draco were, to force her to kneel and be chainedbesides them.

 Hermione cried out as her knees hit the pavement, hard, and as the soldier behind her chained her to the floor, she turned to look at where the Boss of the Lestrange Family was kneeling, taking the hand of a wounded man and closing the dying man’s eyes, then bowing down to say a prayer over the now-dead man. So, she had managed to hit one; she hoped whoever it had been was someone important like the Underboss or the Consigliere. Hell, Hermione would settle for a Capo.

 Hermione felt the men that had dragged her here, search for her gun and handling it to the other remaining guard who put it atop a nearby table alongside what Hermione guesses was Harry’s own gun. Hermione sighed, as she found herself weapon-less and plan-less.

 “You killed our Capo with that gun, Detective.” The soldier snarled in behind her back, seemingly hearing her thoughts, and Hermione smirked in victory, which earned her backhanded slap that threw her to the ground, “Enjoy being smug while you can, you aren’t going to live for long.”

 Rodolphus rose from paying his respects to the Capo, with a heavy sigh, “Augustus, enough. We’ll get our revenge.”

 Before either of them could say anything else, the sound of rhythmic steps echoed in the warehouse and the silence that followed was heavy with anticipation. Had someone come and save them? No. It was unlikely, no one knew where they were. But whoever had come in was powerful, revered, easy to see by the way the two-remaining soldiers straightened.

 “Gaunt.” Rodolphus said in greeting, dashing Hermione’s hopes. Still, at least she’d die knowing who the infamous and mysterious Boss was.

 “Told you this was a bad idea.” Hermione stifled a gasp at the distinctive drawl. Hermione felt the soldier behind her tighten his hand over mouth and grip her tighter.  

 That voice… That croon-y voice that had sang her praises over dinner, whispered carelessly in her ear, led her into a nearby bed… That voice. That was the voice of the man she was seeing, Tom Riddle. Hermione tried to squirm out of the soldier’s hold, to see the face of the man for herself, to maybe see him being coerced into helping… To beg him to tell her they were lying and that he wasn’t the Boss of the newest – and yet, oldest – and most efficient crime family the city had ever seen.

 Hermione finally, carefully as to not draw attention, twisted enough to see the man she had been sleeping with for the past 9 months and yes, there he was. Tall, taller than most certainly, and handsome with his well-maintained black hair shining in the light of sun coming through the windows, looking as if he was dreadfully calm and completely at ease to be in this grim place.

 Hermione watched as the face that had become familiar to her, come fully into her field of vision and couldn’t help but flinch at the high-cheekbones she had ran her hands along, a pair of piercing blue eyes that bored into her, the thin lips that when stretched into a smile managed to make her catch her breath, the elegant nose and the long neck that matched the rest of his long and thin, although deceptively muscular, body. Dressed in a three-piece black suit, completed with a matching black tie, he looked ready for one of their dates. God. Bile rose in her throat and Hermione had to hold herself steady not to break down.

 “You came alone?” Asked Rodolphus, more curious than suspicious.

 Tom hummed disinterested, and repeated again, “I told you this was a bad idea.”

 “I know. I know.” Rodolphus growled, “But this bitch and that fucker have been killing off my men for a year and a half now, I’m not going to let that stand.” Rodolphus this time, sighed, “I probably should have listened to you, but we do have her now.”

 “Yes, you should have.” Tom agreed, easily, “That’s why you made me Consigliere.”

 Hermione bit her lip to not gasp aloud, although Harry wasn’t so lucky and received a club in the head for his outburst. For Gaunt – a head of a Crime Family himself – to be made into a Consigliere, the most trusted person in the Administration, it was unheard of. Whatever Tom had done to endear himself to the Lestrange, it must have been something big.

 “Ah, Hermione,” Tom finally addressed her, with the charm and smooth he always had, but the bastard made sure to keep himself away from approaching her, “I’m sorry to say you won’t be able to make our date tomorrow.”

 “Fuck you!” It wasn’t her gave into her anger and made that outburst, but Harry who was seething in place, kneeling as she was, on the other side of Draco, “Fuck you! How dare you? How could you?”

 “Augustus, please, gag him.” The soldier behind them did as Tom asked, even as Harry raged about him. Tom then turned his blue eyes towards Draco, “He is your nephew, is he not?” Asked Tom, pointing towards the kid between Hermione and Harry.

 “My wife’s.” Rodolphus drawled out, immense anger about him.

 Despite herself, Hermione felt a chill run through her spine, and she saw Harry do the same.

 Rodolphus Lestrange’s wife… Bellatrix Lestrange, merely dubbed ‘The Woman’ since she seemed to be involved in every major crime family in one capacity or another although of course there was no proof, was a chill-inducing person. Originally coming from the Black Crime Family, where her father had been the  Boss and had only had two girls for heirs, everyone thought the family finished, but much worse had happened…The Boss’s daughters had each married into distinct crime families, Narcissa to the Malfoys and Bellatrix to the Lestranges, effectively bolstering each family with men and supply routes.

 That seemed to be the end of it, the Black Family was through after having been absorbed by the others. But then reports of the old Black trading posts, M.O.’s and business fronts roaring to life, putting the family on the map again…All clues led to Bellatrix being the mastermind behind the new life in her old family’s old grounds, although no proof was ever found. Even more concerning, the Gaunts and the Blacks seemed to be coordinating.

 And, instead of having to wrangle with the four crime families squabbling amongst themselves, the city had to start wrangling and negotiating with three strong ones.

 “Your wife’s…” Tom repeated, blue eyes analysing seemingly every part of the scene,  he gestured again towards Draco, “Is he the traitor?”

 “It appears so.” The cold, calculating tone of Rodolphus voice didn’t spring much hope that Draco would live to see the day.

 “Uncle! NO!” Draco yelled, before the soldier behind them gagged him. The boy’s blue eyes – warmer than Tom’s, but much colder than Ron’s were at the thought Hermione shook her head, Ron didn’t belong here in this desolate place and Tom didn’t deserve to be in her head any longer – were wide and teary, pleading for mercy from a man that had none to give.

 “Shut up, boy, you’ve caused enough trouble. My damn wife will have my head.” Rodolphus grumbled, as he took a drag of his cigarette.

 “That’s what you get for making Bellatrix your Underboss,” Tom chuckled, even as he refused Rodolphus offer of a cigarette, “Too much power. Although, she does wield it well.”

 It was then that the sound of high heels, reached their ears, the click-clack of the shoes on the pavement drowning out every sound in the desolate warehouse. It was as if the mere mention of her name had been enough to summon her. Hermione scarcely had to turn to see the woman that had arrived, her present was felt with no need to accentuate it by her image or her voice. Still, having read but descriptions of her, Hermione couldn’t help but be curious about The Woman’s appearance.

 She turned to her side and the first thing she noticed was the deep, black hair styled into a high bun with curls on the side settling nicely into the beaded headband which despite looking like the rest of the country seem to shine with unparalleled rival. A long-beaded necklace adorned her long and elegant neck, while her golden earring dropped to almost hit her slender shoulder.  Her dress – a sleeveless evening dress, meaning she probably came right off one of her speakeasies – was deep black accentuating her figure, and came to rest bellow her knee with a waist drop lined with beads to match her headband, and it gave off a silky quality to it. On her feet, the heels, high and black and T-strapped completed her outfit. To the casual observer The Woman blended in with the other high-class women, if only to attract attention for her exceptional beauty, but there was a hint of something dangerous in her walk, something that Hermione knew would be the end of them.

 “Auntie!” Draco, shaking himself out of the gag, yelled from between them. Hermione and Harry looked over Draco’s head, hoping against hope that at least the police’s source would still make it out even if they wouldn’t, “They are-…”

 Before Draco could finish, Bellatrix snapped her finger and the soldier near Lestrange shot at his Boss, once and then twice. Rodolphus Lestrange fell to floor, grunting and moaning in pain as the bullets that entered his kneecap and abdomen in a way that wounded him but didn’t kill him… yet. Hermione doubted by the way Bellatrix was acting that Rodolphus would last the night.

 “Bella!” The man groaned and yelled, twisting on the floor, blood sputtering out with the effort. A grim sign on all accounts. By the time the dawn was through, New York City’s two most profitable boroughs would be under new management.

 “Oh, shut him up, Theo.” Bellatrix waved the man off. Hermione watched as the large man that had been beside Rodolphus all morning, put a cloth in Rodolphus’ mouth effectively shutting him up. It seemed that the woman wanted him to suffer… Or to hear why she had done what she’d done.

 “You’re late.” Tom said, smirking, remarkably calm in the face of one of his conspirators being under a hostile takeover… Hermione then deduced that Tom had already known about the coup then, which boded badly for everyone. Two of the major three Crime Families plotting together was never good, but when the wife – who was also the Underboss – of one conspired with the Boss - who also a Consigliere to said first family – of the other, to seemingly have the wife take over… It was a hot mess of a disaster.

  Worse still, it seemed, because Bellatrix bypassed everyone and walked towards Tom, pulling him down by his neck, kissing him soundly on the mouth. Hermione was unable to tear her eyes from the passionate display as Tom’s icy facade seemed to thaw enough to grasp the woman closer to him, his hands firmly on her waist and her hair.

 Hermione heard Rodolphus let out one last muffled, pained yell over the cloth in his mouth and she knew it had nothing to do with the gunshot wounds… It was the betrayal of seeing his wife in the arms of another. A pain, Hermione was agonized to find, that she shared; her heart seemed shattered in two, more so than when she found out he was the so-called ‘Gaunt’.

 Bellatrix and Tom separated, begrudgingly, although they remained in each other’s personal space and exchanged whispered words. Bellatrix then, finally, turned towards them; her eyes travelling the three of them kneeling. Hermione watched as The Woman caressed Tom’s arm before walking over to them. The soldier behind Hermione and Draco tightened the grip on their shoulders as Bellatrix drew nearer, making sure that no one would jump The Woman when she got too close.

 “Well, yes, Narcissa was bugging me about Draco, again.” The Woman answered Tom and as she got closer still, Hermione found she had striking grey eyes which were currently fixed on Draco. Hermione watched as she took Draco’s chin in her hand lifted his face up, making him look at her, “Now, now, Draco… Your mama says I should leave you alone, and let you go your own way, but apparently your own way involves the police, a wire and selling your family out…” Draco was trembling, “How shameful.”

 “Auntie…” Draco tried, his voice coming out steady, chin still in Bellatrix’s hands, even if therein laid a hint of fear, “… They are saying I sold you out, but I didn’t! I mean, you wanted these Detectives here, right?”

 Bellatrix snarled, and shoved off Draco’s head away from her, “You should leave the lying for those able to lie, boy.” With that, Bellatrix took a step back, the look in her eyes undecipherable, but Draco seemed to know it well.

 “No, Auntie!” Draco was crying, tears running down his face unabashed now, his age showing as he pleaded with his aunt for his life, “I’ll change, I swear. I’ll never-,” Before Draco could finish making empty promises a loud ‘BANG!’ echoed in the desolate warehouse, and the only thing that left Draco’s mouth was a surprised sob as his body fell to the ground, lifeless.

Hermione looked behind her and saw the soldier that had been holding Draco and her looking at the lifeless body as surprised as she was. Hermione knew that Bellatrix hadn’t done it, having been looking at her the whole time, that left… No, God, no. Turning her eyes to Tom, she found him hand still raised with her police issue gun smoking in his hand. Bile rose in her throat, not so much for the smell of blood although it was potent, but more for the cruel act that a man she had admired just committed.

  “So that was a gun in your pocket,” Bellatrix sighed, shaking her head, disappointed, “And here I thought you were happy to see me.”            

 Hermione shook her head, disgusted by Bellatrix’s heartless reaction to the death of her nephew, traitor or no. Family first seemed to be the one Mafia motto that Hermione could get behind, and yet, here was The Woman, committing most foul sin against kin. Hermione didn’t dare look at Harry, for she knew that her partner was seething, the energy coming off of him was almost overwhelming.  

 Tom chuckled, a sound she had heard a dozen times but had never rang as true as it did this time, “We can talk about it later.” He said, his tone full of promise, as he put her gun back on the table where it had been before.

 The Woman smiled back, “I can’t wait.”

 Hermione felt more than saw the soldier behind her shaking, and Hermione couldn’t be sure, but she felt that he disapproved of the couple, their little affair and their coup. Maybe she and Harry could exploit this, but not when Harry wouldn’t even look at her, his furious gaze still fixed on Draco’s lifeless body.

“Congratulations on your wife’s pregnancy, Detective.” Bellatrix Lestrange said as one of her husband’s – or just hers, now? – soldier, Theo, bought over a chair for her to sit on. Hermione felt more than saw Harry tremble beside her, her partner terrified by the fact that the woman knew of his new family. When Harry said nothing, and kept his head lowered, with a snap of Bellatrix fingers the soldier behind them pulled her and Harry’s heads up by their hair so they might look at Bellatrix in the eyes, “Mister Potter, I said ‘Congratulations’.”

  When the pain of having her hair pulled and her head yanked up subsided, Hermione saw Bellatrix sitting on that same chair, looking like a queen on a throne. Hermione felt Harry stiffen himself, unwilling to show fear in the presence of The Woman.

  “Thank you, Bellatrix.” The eyes of Tom and the two-remain soldiers narrowed at Harry for his use of The Woman’s name, “But you can go fuck yourself with your congratulations.” The man behind Harry and herself growled at the detective. Hermione felt her heart catch in her throat… Harry was as good as dead.

  “Mm-hmm,” Bellatrix nodded, looking disinterested, when the beautiful women snapped her finger again, but this time said, “Rookwood!” Hermione had barely time to close her eyes when the pistol behind Harry fired directly into her partner’s chest.  Hermione bit her lip, willing the tears in her eyes not to fall. Oh, Harry… I’m so, so sorry.

  “Why?” Hermione asked, tears clouding her voice despite her best efforts, “Why did you…?”

  “Why did I kill him?” Bellatrix interrupted, baffled, eyebrow lifting in confusion, “I think it’s rather obvious, Detective. He was in my speakeasy last night even as he arrests those who visit those places frequently, flipped my nephew, and shot at my men.” She then turned to Tom, a pout to her lips, “Bloody hell, Tom, you told me she was smart…”

  "She is, Bella.” Tom’s voice, as it had done all evening, stabbed at her heart. The kiss hadn’t helped… But the way he said the woman’s nickname, the same nickname the woman’s husband had uttered before he died was like pouring salt in a wound.

 “Well, darling, I’m not seeing much of it, I admit.”

  “I meant,” Hermione tried again, voice more-or-less steady, interrupting the banter that was sure to ensue, “Why do all of this?”

  “Well, Detective, I thought it was obvious.”

  The first thought that came over was that Bellatrix had wanted to be with Tom and her husband was simply in the way. But thinking about it, it became clear. The way that the Black and Gaunt family seemed to be operating, the way that Lestrange was organizing his businesses… It was more than a crime of passion perpetuated by lust. It was a business deal.

  “You wanted your husband’s power, almost as much as you wanted him.” Hermione gestured towards Tom.

 “Hmm… rather easy a question, Detective, you don’t get any points for this one either I’m afraid.”

 “And how?” Hermione asked, ignoring The Woman’s goading, but unable to stop her curiosity from sprawling, “How did you…?”

                “Taking over my husband’s men took me a while longer than I care to admit,” the woman spoke, her hands running over her silky dress, taking special care to remove any piece of lint from the where the slit ended at her hip, “Of course, I do have to thank you for continuing to make use of the information we passed to you and continuing to kill my husband’s loyal men.”

                “W-What?” Hermione stumbled and before she could blink, both Bellatrix and Tom pointed their guns at the two remaining soldiers and shot at them, hitting the two targets square in the chest. The men’s eyes were already glassing over before they hit the ground.

                The issued ‘BANG!’ echoed in the warehouse and rang in Hermione’s ears, the sound seemingly much louder than it had any right to be. Hermione closed her eyes tightly, both against the ringing in her head and the knowledge that she’d be next. When no other shot ran out, and she found herself still breathing, Hermione opened her eyes to look at the two-remaining people in the room.

                “W-Why?” She asked again, but now significantly more confused.

                “Again with the questions.” Bellatrix sighed, as she cleaned the weapon in her hand and laid it besides Harry, clearly making it look that there had been a shootout between him and the soldiers, “Blindingly obvious answer again, too, Detective Granger. You are disappointing me…”

                Hermione thought back to the way the soldier behind her had been shaking and realized that the question was a dumb one, indeed.

                “These men still followed your husband,” Hermione said, “Or rather, they didn’t follow you enough.”

                “Yes, good.” Bellatrix said as she retook her seat in the chair, “Of course, there is the issue of loose ends. We couldn’t just let them know about the specifics of Rodolphus death, not after selling out so many of Rodolphus’ men, most of which these two had been comrades with. They’d never accept me and Tom as the new heads. Loyalty is important, after all.”

                “But why go through all this trouble?” Hermione asked, again, “You could have killed him more easily at home.”

                “Well, you can’t just kill a Mafia head, Detective.” Bellatrix explained, as if to a baby, “We needed a motive, someone to blame it on. We started this several years ago, I admit, but then, this one here,” she pointed to her side, towards Tom, “got me pregnant and plans got delayed, some of the men switched from my control to my husband’s and vice versa. It was a mess.”

                The girl she had seen in the company of Lestrange’s men in various photographs… The dark-haired little girl with pigtails and pretty red dress was the heiress to the Lestrange Crime Family – or was the Black Crime Family resurrected once more? – but more than that, she was Tom’s. Tom’s. He had a daughter and a… wife, or maybe a comare, when this was over?... out there while he had been screwing with her head.

                “We could have done something after Del was born, but…”

                “It was too risky,” Tom said, certain, pursing his lips and wincing as he did so, “We had to make sure that people would respect Bellatrix, that no question of Delphie’s parentage would be put in question. She’ll always be a Lestrange.” He seemed aggravated by the thought of his daughter having another man’s name, “But at least she’s safe.”

                “And we’ll tell her, eventually,” Bellatrix said, nonchalantly, “Although I’m sure she’ll be elated to live with her uncle Tom, for now.”

                “In a few months.” Tom said, tempering Bellatrix’s apparent speedy plans, “We have to wait for everyone to adapt, although I’m sure people will push us to act sooner rather than later, we’ve planted the image of us together for too long. People have expectations.” Bellatrix hummed in agreement, Hermione watched as Tom tightened his grip on her shoulder, and said, smirking at The Woman seating on the chair, “Have a few siblings for Delphie, maybe.”

              “Oh, shut up.” Bellatrix said, and Hermione could hear the smile she wasn’t able to hide.

                “That wasn’t a ‘no’.”

                Bellatrix hummed, as she caressed the hand on her shoulder, “I’ll think about it.”

                As Hermione turned from the loving display, part of her longed to beg Tom for her life, longed to say to him that he could have her whatever way he wanted if that was his wish or that she could disappear forever and never step foot in this wretched city again… But she knew, whatever he had had with her was fake. Looking him looking at Bellatrix with a softness in his gaze that was uncharacteristic of him… He had never looked at her that way, not even when faking to be in love with her.  

                But even as part of her begged her to plead for her life, the bigger part of her wrestled to rebel, to shout in their faces that they would be caught and brought to justice… But she knew the likelihood of that was unlikely, Hermione knew that the police were as much in the pocket of the Mafia as the politicians were. Odds were that Bellatrix and Tom would get away with this, scot free. Still, another question plagued her mind.

                “How are you planning to contain this? Two detectives, an heir to one of the Crime Families, a Boss to another, a capo, and couple of prominent soldiers. All dead.” Hermione said, contemplating, “The two of you escaping, and then taking over is a very big coincidence.”

                “Well, the public story will be that Rodolphus was at the warehouse to make an appraisal of the place to invest, Draco came along with him to learn the trade and got caught in shootout between the police and known Mafia members, then a gas pipe burst and the building went in flames.” Tom explained, “Rather amateur-ish but decent enough for the newspapers.”

                “As for our families, something more elaborate,” Bellatrix continued from Tom, “It is well-known that you have been a thorn in our side for quite some time, Detective, something that Tom and I engineered, of course, by giving you intel to arrest many of our least loyal, more problematic members. The meeting that took place here was, of course, spread about the families relaying the intent of catching you, your partner and your ‘informant’.”

                “We’ll pin it on Augustus, he has some connections with a former lover in the police,” Tom then, took over for Bellatrix, gesturing to the dead man behind Hermione, “So you arrive and you, your partner, and Augustus overpowered Rodolphus, killing him and that’s when Bellatrix and I ran. Then Draco, ah, we didn’t plan Draco,” He said chuckling, faintly, “He was never meant to come. Still, some cover will have to be made, about him coming here with Rodolphus and dying as a hero by sacrificing himself, injured after the shootout, to set off the explosives.” He snorted, “Worked out rather well, that.”

                “Cissa will buy it, if only because it makes her son a hero.” Bellatrix explained, “Of course, we always planned on having him killed. Stupid boy was always too clever for his own good and far too close with Rodolphus,” Bellatrix ‘tsk’ed, disapprovingly, “something that will, at least, work in our favour for him being here.”

                “So, Draco was always going to die then?” She tried, one last time, to make the people in front of her show some sort of emotion, some sort of remorse for the life they led. Hermione should have saved her breath, because Bellatrix only chuckled.

                “I admit, I had hoped that he wasn’t stupid enough to come here today, and that he would give up on the foolish idea of becoming an informant and convince him that he had a bright future if he kept his mouth shut, but it is as it is… But don’t concern yourself with my nephew, Detective, because everyone here but the two of us,” long fingers on elegant hands pointed to herself and to Tom with a commanding ease, “will die today. No loose ends. That includes you.”  

                Hermione shook her head, helplessly, there was nothing left to be done. She lowered her head, indicating that her questions were over, that she was, if not ready, resigned enough to her fate. She heard Bellatrix chuckle softly, almost pityingly at her and couldn’t find it in herself to care.

                “You want to do the honours?” Bellatrix asked softly, and the part of Hermione that couldn’t help but care for the man that had been her lover for 9-months was comforted by the fact that Tom, if nothing else, had someone to care for him.

                “You do it,” Tom said, carelessly, as he fiddled with a lighter in his hand, “I still have to set up the explosive. Besides, I know you’re dying to.” He finished with a smirk on his lips. Seemed like he didn’t have the same consideration for her, but Hermione wasn’t surprised, couldn’t bring herself to care, she was numb, her fate decided.

                Hermione heard the heels clicking on the ground as Bellatrix got close and had to fight off the chill that enveloped her body as Bellatrix tipped her head up, hand on her chin, to make her look in the calculating grey eyes, and a cruel elated smile of  the blood-red lips belonging to the woman that would end her life.

 As she felt the barrel of the gun against her temple, a thought ran through her head that she couldn’t stop; she wished she could have, even just once, felt the taste of smiling lips on hers, of worker’s hands on her body, of running her hands over the ginger locks of a man so good and so nice and so uproarious as Ronald Weasley.

 With that thought in her head, she barely felt the gun discharge into her head.

[sixth-light]

I just read your tags on the home inspectors post about the Nightingale-being-a-ghost AU and i just wanted to ask if you have any plans for finishing it? Because when I read those tags I gasped out loud, it sounds like SUCH a good idea.

First of all I need to credit @stardust-rain​ who told me I should write this, er, several years ago now. I would like to finish it, and occasionally I go back and re-read the bits I’ve written and then get indignant that if I want the rest of it I have to finish it myself????, but I’m currently stuck on 1) a plot, but not TOO much of a plot, and 2) having written most of it pre-THT and Lesley subsequently featuring as an ambiguously terrible friend instead of an unambiguously terrible friend. I have to sort out which she should be. 

But, since you’re not the only person who’s asked me about this, have a scene:

The house was so totally un-renovated that the stairs at the end of the back hallway led down to a kitchen in the basement, literally belowstairs. It was a mild spring evening outside, and the building wasn’t too chilly as a whole, but as I descended it got colder and colder – you did expect that in basements, as the surrounding earth insulated the space from warming or cooling, but this was so cold I wished I’d been wearing a jumper as well as my coat. I was getting goosebumps. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, the lightbulb on them gave out entirely, and I was left with just my phone and the dim light coming down from the open door at the top. Which was – judging by the gradual reduction in light – slowly swinging shut.

I don’t believe in ghosts, but I’ve watched the odd horror movie in my time and I’m not immune to getting creeped out, so I fumbled out the mini-LED torch I kept on my keyring – nothing spectacular but good for finding keyholes in the dark. It illuminated an old-fashioned cast-iron stove – gas, not wood. It must’ve been there for at least sixty years. As I ran my torch around the room, trying to get a sense of the space, it ran across a person, standing maybe two meters away from me, on the other side of the wide wooden preparation table that took up the centre of the room. I flicked the torch back, but they were gone.

I’m not ashamed to admit I let out a bit of a yelp. It echoed dimly. There were no other sounds – no footsteps, no movement. Just my breathing.

“Hey,” I said out loud, “The owners have just asked me to take a look at this place, all right? I’m not here to bother you.”

It would be a bother and worse than that, of course, for any poor buggers who were squatting here, but I couldn’t do much about that, and unless there was a secret drug lab down here or something they were unlikely to do me any harm. And I doubted that. It’d been a while since I’d done any chemistry, but I was pretty sure it would smell a lot worse. Cannabis wouldn’t, but there’d be lights. My biggest problem either way would be if the police decided I was responsible for it, never mind that I’d never been here before today.

Nobody answered me, and there was no other noise, but it felt like it was getting colder and colder – there must be a draft down here. I wasn’t sure where from. The click of the door at the top of the stairs finally shutting, as the last sliver of light vanished, sounded like thunder. The draft felt, almost, like someone was breathing on my neck.

I made a judicious retreat up the stairs, which is to say I went so fast I tripped and shinned myself. When I reached the door at the top I was certain for a sickening moment that it was going to be locked, but it opened with only the resistance you’d expect from an old, un-oiled door. I stumbled back out into the hallway, heart pounding, and already ready to laugh at my own moment of panic. I turned around. I should go back down there and –

The door shut itself. Not the slow swing from when I’d been down there, but a firm and final slam. And I heard footsteps, the click and thud of someone in a hard-soled, heeled shoe, going down the stairs. I ran back and pulled the door open again, and shone the torch down the stairs, but – nobody.

The thing was. I could still hear the footsteps.

I shut the door again. I was beginning to get some idea of why the disposition of this place might, as Beverley’s sister had put it, been a matter of some debate.

*

In an effort to remind myself that everything was fine, and maybe work up the nerve to go back down there – there was a basement door, and maybe somebody had got into the house that way – I looked through the other rooms on the ground floor. They were the victims of some truly terrible sixties carpeting, and don’t even ask about the curtains in the front parlour, but there was no obvious rot or damage. The main problem, so far as I could see, was that there was only one phone jack – in the hall – and I sincerely doubted the place was wired for cable.

The first floor was much the same as the ground, though the rooms were obviously bedrooms – or a bedroom and a study, given the built-in bookcases and the big desk that someone had clearly decided was too much trouble to move in one – plus the bathroom. That was also decidedly of its time; a big claw-footed tub with no shower, and no sockets for an electric razor. But the way the rest of the place looked it seemed like I was lucky to be getting indoor plumbing.

The prickling feeling of being watched had gone, now, and the second floor revealed nothing more than another two bedrooms, both empty, and a box room. The biggest problem with this place was going to be furniture; I didn’t have much. It wasn’t the end of the world, but I’d have to see what I could borrow or scrounge, since I didn’t want to acquire stuff I’d maybe be getting rid of again.  Actually, Abdul might not want to take some of his up to Glasgow. I should ask.

I realized I’d pretty much decided to take don’t-call-me-Cecelia’s offer. The kitchen thing had to have been my overactive imagination. I’d go in through the basement door, let some light in. That would fix whatever had gotten me while I was down there. But on my way back down the stairs, my eye was caught by what looked like movement in the study door. Except when I looked properly it was shut, the way I left it.

I went in anyway, and the room was still empty, except for a large old desk which you’d have had to disassemble to get out. I walked over to the window, which overlooked the small back garden. That, too, was clipped and mown and somehow barren, despite the technical presence of grass and shrubs and things. They looked sort of leggy and old. I hoped I wasn’t supposed to look after it – I didn’t know the first thing about gardening; they hadn’t exactly been a feature of the Peckwater Estate and my dad wasn’t the allotment type. (My mum was very clear that she had moved to London to get away from places you had to grow your own food.) But Cecelia had said something about that, hadn’t she? So that wasn’t a problem.

As I looked one of the squares of light illuminating the garden went – somebody closing their curtains or turning a light off – and I turned away. I’d wedged myself slightly in beside the desk to look down at the garden properly, and as I wriggled back out my foot nudged something under it. It was hard, so I thought it was a bottle or some other piece of detritus, but it turned out to be a walking cane, the kind that you might see on an earlier episode of Downton Abbey. It was carved from a dark wood, with a silver top only distinguishable as such by its thick coat of tarnish. It covered my hand in dust and gunk, picking it up, and then I didn’t know what to do with it; I left it lying on the desk.

There was another draft in the study, as bad as the one in the kitchen, though at least it didn’t feel like someone breathing on my neck this time; just cold.

“Fuck,” I muttered, and rubbed the back of my neck. If the insulation was this bad – but it was spring, coming into summer; I wasn’t going to be here in winter. It probably wouldn’t make any difference. And free accommodation was, after all, free.

There was a dull thud as the cane rolled off the desk and back onto the floor, to trip up the next passer-by - probably me. I propped it up against the side of the desk, instead, and this time it stayed.

I still needed to go and check the kitchen again, but – worst case I could eat a lot of takeaways. The kitchen could wait until morning, or whenever I came here next. Whatever I thought I’d seen down there, I hadn’t.

I re-armed the alarm system on the way out, to be polite. Also to be polite, I called out “See you later!” as I left.

Nobody answered.

[fourmisfitz]

Drowse: Part 2 (Roger Taylor x Reader)

Part One

Summary: You had needed a quiet space to work, so you went to your best friend Rogers. You were exhausted and Roger took it upon himself to take care of you and get you the rest you so desperately needed. Now, you’ve woken up the next morning and the rest of your day pans out still at his flat…

Setting: Current year but London, England when Smile was still together and Brian and Rog were still studying together at Ealing Art College. Imagine whichever Roger Taylor version you fancy, I just chose the Ben!Roger gif to prime you with that look!

Word Count: 5.7k  sister snapped, but lots of little things happen, and I have big plans for part 3... 

Requested? ✔

Warnings/Content: Swearing, fluff, lil bit of smut *gasp* i was saving it for part 3 and i might regret it later because i knew how i wanted to end this one but I couldn’t help myself- I wanted to move things along...

A/N: Hello beautiful human beings, loves of my life, adoring supporters and lovers of Rogahhh Taylahhh - it took me a while to figure out how I wanted to end it off and I don’t know how much I like this but... Sending you hugs, I hope you enjoy :)

Ahem... and don’t forget, FEEDBACK ;)

    You woke up at about noon to the smell of smoke. Your eyes still closed in a half asleep drowse you just groaned until you processed the scent. You jolted your eyes open and, to your surprise, Roger wasn’t on his side of the bed anymore. You reached out to feel the mattress and the sheet wasn’t warm; it hadn’t been occupied in awhile.

Taking a moment to think, your eyebrows furrowed as you aimlessly looked around the room, but you couldn’t remember if he had said he was going somewhere or anything.

The last thing you remembered was a brief content moment you shared a while ago between dreams. The shower wasn’t running, and you would have heard the TV if it was on. The bitter scent permeated even stronger now. Christ, what the ~hell~ was that?

“Rog?” You called out, loud enough that, had he been in the bathroom closeby, he would have heard.

“Rog!” You yelled a bit louder, urgency wrapping your voice.

You groaned in worried frustration and flipped back the duvet to free yourself from the trapped warmth. Instantly you were overcome by the cold air of the London flat as you scurried over to Roger’s wardrobe to grab something to wear over the band tshirt he had lent you.

When you opened it, the wooden doors released a fresh cedar scent mixed with a musky cologne as you bent down to pluck a folded sweater from the heaps of top garments. How many shirts does he need… There was something of every fabric, thickness, and colour, and he even had a section dedicated to denim.

You pulled a grey hoodie over your head and down your torso as you threw the bedroom door open and pursued down the hall towards the kitchen.

The smell was stifling, and it was much warmer in here. Your eyes were drawn to the gas stove, hissing a flame like a dragon underneath a pan that was sizzling and spitting oil around a pancake… or whatever that round charred thing was now. Found the smell.

Within the same matter of seconds your next hunt was to locate Roger. Glancing over to the island counter as you entered the room, you could now see an unkempt blonde. Putting the pieces together, you rushed to turn off the element, picked up the pan, and didn’t bother inspecting the contents before shuffling the pancake off into the garbage under the sink.

You looked up across from you to see Rogers head limp on his forearm, the other dangling from his torso, his long hair splayed over his arm and onto the counter. You sighed and walked around to him.

“You know,” rubbing a gentle palm in circles on his back, “there are easier ways to burn the house down.” You grinned, shaking your head, bringing your hand to lightly squeeze his shoulder. He groaned, scrunching his face and rubbing his eyes as they adjusted to the light filling the room. You reached into a cupboard for a glass and held a button on the fridge door to pour yourself some water, beginning to chug it facing away from Roger.

“What’s the fun in that? Slow and steady. Like sex-” he pinched your ass, both the comment and gesture instantly causing you to choke on the water you were gulping down, your shoulders contracting into a hunch as he continued, “-conflict is more entertaining when it’s implied.” 

Are you kidding me right now? Trying to suppress your coughs, a wrist held to your mouth to mute any sign of them, you squeezed your eyes shut, concentrating on calming down before he realized. But he realized.

You finally got the mini-convulsions to settle. You bit your lip, trying to get on his level, but for the life of you, you couldn’t really comprehend why that’s where he’d taken it.

“You would know.” You're congested voice peeped as you sniffled, turning around to face a very cheeky Roger, who was clearly trying to stop any laughs from bubbling up.

You shook your head as you opened the pantry to get out a loaf of bread.

“Now, why don’t you try some toast,” you held the bagged loaf in front of you, “or-” retracting it, “are you gonna burn that too?” you teased.

He didn’t say anything, his eyes just followed your hands with the bread and then rested his right hand on your hip while your eyes were stuck on his.

It was like he had all the time in the world, so calm, not rushed. He was still finding his way out of a haze.

His thumb snuck under the hem of your sweater and you felt it brush against your skin hidden beneath it before he looked to his hand and pinched the fabric.

“ ‘Don’t remember loaning you this?” he wasn’t upset in any way, in fact, he seemed a little flattered.

You paused for a moment, admiring his eyes and his lips from this angle, towering over him. When his gaze returned to you, not realizing you hadn’t answered, you quickly snapped out of your trance and smiled, lifting your chin as you walked out of his light grip and towards the toaster.

“Got cold… which, y’kn- now that I think about it, is ironic considering how hot it is in here”, twirling a finger gesturing to the room, turning back to face him. “How’d you manage to fall asleep? I mean, surely you slept all night, didn’t you?”

His lips parted at that, like he was the slightest bit caught off guard and registering something.

“Yeah… ‘course.”

He shrugged at both words, adjusting his position on the stool, looking down. You just observed his face, biting your the inside of your lip.

“Hmh.”

Shrugging it off, you went back to the pantry and grabbed peanut butter and honey for the toast, then got a plate from a high cupboard. Roger watched as you did, still trying to fully wake himself up.

When you reached up on your tiptoes, you could feel a faint cool sensation on your hips as your sweater lifted.

Roger noticed, and his elbow slipped off the counter causing him to jolt, eyes wide - that woke him up.

You retrieved the plate and placed it on the laminate counter top of the island, facing his direction now.

“Did youuu…” He trailed off, swaying his head, staring down in front of him, “have any dreams last night that you recall?” His curious, swell eyes found yours. 

You leaned forward on the counter, propped up by your elbows, giving it a lot of thought. He mirrored your motion, an innocent smile appearing.

“Hmm… perhaps.” You leaned into one palm, shifting your weight as you envisioned it. An imaginary thought bubble basically appeared, it was so vivid. He perked up.

“Yeah, I was watching you play at a gig in a bar and you were saving someone from getting roofied, like,” you looked back at him, impressed with dream Roger, “you literally threw a drumstick in the guys direction to draw attention.” He hummed, a short breath of air leaving his nose. “Yeah, didn’t know you were such a hero.”

“Do you know who the girl was? In your dream?”

“Nah, just some blurry silhouette. I could only make out your face.”

He nodded, eyes trailing away as he rested a fist in front of his mouth, chin on his palm.  “So no particularly bad dreams, then?” His voice low, inquisitive. Your expression turned slightly.

“Well… there was one, I guess…”

“Go on.” he encouraged.

“I… was running…” He waited patiently as you took a breath. “I was in a forest, and, I had headphones in, and some guy came up behind me… anddd, I didn’t hear him approaching,” All you could see were Roger’s stark blue eyes shadowed by his concentrated eyebrows, 100% focused on you, and then you looked back to beside his body as you continued, “he tackled me, I fell, there was a moment of struggle and then,” one of your hands opened up in front of you, still propped up, “you showed up - out of nowhere it seemed, and everything was inaudible but I just saw your face, shouting as you yanked him by the collar of his jacket, pulling him off… and then he was gone… and all I saw was a white sky. Your face reappeared, and then it ended.” Your eyes trailed back up to him as you finished the thought, he gulped, still staring. “You showed up and everything was fine.” You said simply.

His lips parted again and just then, the toast popped.

You took the slices from the toaster and began spreading generous amounts of the condiments across from him. Roger stayed quiet as you did so. Your eyes glanced up at him briefly. He really looked like he was thinking about something deep.

You recalled your dreams last night, all of them. It felt like there had been hundreds. There was one where Dean, your now ex-boyfriend, was hurting you, another where you were stranded in the ocean at night, and even one …or three... that starred Roger, the most memorable being where he was surrounded by girls, going along with their snide remarks towards you in a hazy, muggy back room of a club. You didn't want to tell him though, because you didn't want him feeling obliged to console you or possibly even see you as a weak little kid. He would never have to know.

There was an age difference of roughly two years, so sometimes people made fun of you for having a slight crush on him - the few people that knew, that is, or the smarter observant ones who could figure it out, though you're pretty sure Roger himself would never catch on. They teased because they saw that gap as a doomed relationship even though its not weird when married couples are two years apart so why would it be weird if you and this incredible guy-

 “YN!” Startling you.

You froze and realized you had been so lost in thought, you started to cut into the thin plate with the knife. He got up from the stool and made his way around the island.

“Oh Gosh- Roger, I'm- uh- I'm really-” He was behind you and took the knife out of your hand, his head beside yours as your eyes were glued to the plate in shock at what you’d almost done.

“Not sure toast is your thing either, love.” His blonde hair tickled your neck before he chuckled and threw it nonchalantly in the sink, eliciting a sharp clang. You frowned at your feet. “ ‘Least you remembered.” tearing a corner off the toast with his teeth, honey drizzling off the edges. Your expression lightened as you looked back up to him while he yanked off another bite. “Nope, you ‘on’t give yourshelf enough cre-it.” he nodded, examining the slice.

One last bite and he stole the next piece off the plate, smiling with chipmunk cheeks as he reached over the island counter to ruffle your hair. “ ‘anks for vuh tohst, sweets.” sending you a wink as he turned and disappeared into the bathroom. You didn’t take your eyes off him until the door closed. PB&H toast, his favourite. You remembered.

You thought about last night, about how good it felt to sleep next to someone again. You had a night like that once with Dean a month or so ago, but it definitely wasn’t anywhere near as special as Roger holding you. His bare chest was so warm against your skin, and he held you so close, like his life depended on it. You shook the thought out of your head, scolding yourself for thinking it was anything more than pity consolation. Marching over towards the living room you decided to get some progress done on your paper.

The research paper was for your psychology course in a humanities program. You had to construct an essay that thoroughly responds to the prompt: Could human civilization have evolved without the use of spoken language? You had begun it one way, but now wanted to take a completely different approach and argument. You started thinking about body language and social cues… how Roger winked at you a while ago and you felt your heart heat up. You could discuss how words evolved for a reason but… sometimes the way he looked at you, when two people share one little moment where words weren’t necessary, and then- gone. Slipped from your hands, but you know it was undeniable - that you both felt it and… focus! You started typing something your prof would actually want to read, after all, this wasn’t some fanfiction. You huffed and got on with it. Without spoken language, human civilization could have…

Before you knew it, you had a solid half of the paper down, though you spent a lot of that time scolding your wandering daydreams of the blonde in the shower… what was taking him so long, anyway? You got up and made your way to the bathroom. ‘Shower was still running, but you checked your watch and noticed it’s been about an hour and a half since you sat down.

You knocked, but when you did you accidentally pushed the ajar door open. Did I not literally see him shut this?! Shit.  Frozen with your fist still in the air, you walked - as if against your will - into the foggy, humid room. Behind the door to your left was the shower. You cautiously peaked around the door, and sure enough, a silhouette was moving behind the curtain - singing, even. Rog was performing Doing Alright for himself, and oh man was it adorable. It sounded like he was drumming against the shampoo bottles, too.

Phew. He wasn’t dead or anything with a mouthful of agua. You let out a sigh and laughed to yourself at his adorableness… and then immediately realized your mistake, because even over the water you’d have to be deaf not to hear that.

Abort mission, ABORT mission! But you only had time to spin on your heels before the acapella concert paused and the curtain was drawn, revealing the top half of a soaked Roger. His hair was clung to his skin, looking longer than ever as it’d been flattened against him. He was panting, blinking as the water poured over his forehead. He looked confused as ever, but you couldn’t part your gaze.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” You gulped, eyes locked on his body, lingering over every exposed part of him, from his collarbones to his arms, to his hands gripping the curled curtain before realizing you said that much louder than just under your breath, eyes widening immediately,

“Enjoying the show?” he panted as his lips formed a laugh, blowing droplets of water off his upper lip.

You have GOT to be kidding me. _____________________

When you and Roger had acknowledged each other’s presences in the bathroom, he instantly got a mischievous look of a little boy and started flicking water at you… which escalated to you turning on the faucet and cupping some revenge of your own. Just as you turned around though, he was holding the handheld shower head, pointing it down at the bathtub floor. Your “You wouldn’t dare-” got cut off by a spatter of shower water spraying down your face, soaking your hair. His mouth and eyes widened at instant regret and he yanked the curtain shut as a poor defense. Oh, it was so on. You grabbed an abandoned cup off the vanity and threw ice cold water over the shower. “That the best you’ve got, Y/L/N?” You laughed, surprised at how natural this felt, you almost didn’t even remember he was completely unclothed beyond that curtain. And then you did. You halted your next intention of ripping back the curtain, leaving the bathroom as your conscience warned you to not go too far for the benefit of your heart later. He was just your best friend. He didn’t see you that way. He stopped the running water when he realized you weren’t there anymore, and you went out on the balcony to get some air as he stepped out of the shower.

Meanwhile, Roger smeared away the condensation on the mirror to see himself clearly.  “At that rate, Taylor, you’re going to scare her off.” He huffed at himself.

After a moment, you returned to his room with a towel in hand. You decided this didn’t have to mean so much, you should stop overthinking it. He’s your closest mate and he just doesn’t think it’s odd for you to see him like that, plenty of girls have before… you have too when you’ve helped him get to bed after drunken, late nights, but you filed the memory in the back of your head. He probably just felt confident.

The bathroom door was open and you were sat on the edge of the bed with a little less exposed Roger in view now.

“ ‘ts not my fault you didn’t lock the door.” You shrugged, sounding a bit more confident than you felt, wringing your damp hair into a towel.

“Well it’s not mine that you pattered in and couldn’t help yourself.” he corrected, the two of you making eye contact through the mirror.

“Yeah and look where it got me.” You shook your head at the wet waves your own hair was gleaming. “I was just trying to make sure you weren’t dead or anything! I mean,” You quieted your voice down a bit. “I swore I saw you shut it...”

Your eyes trailed to the towel you lowered to your lap. He couldn’t help but grin at your reflection as you looked down. He liked seeing you get all frazzled and frustrated, it was kind of adorable to him.

“I’m sorry for walking in on you, though.” You added.

“Are you?” He challenged, swishing some mouthwash around now.

“Well I wouldn’t have  if you weren’t in there for ages… who showers for that long, anyway?” You couldn’t help but laugh at him. He spat the blue fizz into the sink.

“Hey, I care about how I look, a’right?” gesturing to himself defensively “And I don’t?” “Your a rightful mess, Y/N.” he concluded, something soft in his truthful tone. “You’re the reason I’m even drying my hair right now!” He just smirked and shook his head gently as he made his way over to the armoire of clothes in the corner. Yep, things didn’t have to be awkward. He bent down, opening his wardrobe in nothing but a towel draped around his hips.

“ ‘Often am the reason for girls requiring a towel.” “Roger!” “Ah sorry, force of habit.” he snickered.  “No, I mean your towel!”

The armoire door hadn’t completely blocked his whole body as his towel left his waist. You blocked your view out of courtesy with both hands on one side of your face, but you couldn’t help but giggle as you peaked and he-...wasn’t pulling it up. He wasn’t rushing out of shock and embarrassment to cover himself. You dropped your hands, sitting up. He rummaged between shelves for another moment before sliding on some boxers and hopping into a pair of jeans while your jaw practically lay on the floor, but it came unhinged altogether as you shamefully watched him - who you had to remind yourself, is your best friend.

His eyes met yours as he chuckled. “I’m certain,” he began as he swiped the towel up off the ground, tossing it at you and making his way to the bathroom - consider your attention piqued, “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, either,  huh, Bunny?” A very cheeky smile spread across his cheeks as he shut the door and began drying his hair, you left with the widest surprised expression plastered on yours.

With that you trudged into the kitchen to fix yourself some tea and try and clear your head from yet another little flirtatious moment. He was your best friend, why was he doing this? You quickly realized he was out of your favourite tea as well as a few alternatives you searched for. You scribbled on a post-it note and stuck it to the inside of his bedroom door before hurrying out, the slam of the front door echoing behind in the flat.

You hobbled down the steps towards the main entrance of the apartment complex and skipped out, trying to recall which direction the nearest Tesco was in. After about two blocks, the clouds started rumbling and spitting. Great.

You weren’t too far now, the corner store now visible a few more blocks up ahead. On the last block you began jogging as the rain started pouring insistently, pulling the hood of the sweater over your head, even though your hair hadn’t even fully dried yet from your and Roger’s little rendezvous. You trudged inside, and breathed for a moment as you got a basket and began scouring the aisles.

Plucking various snacks from the shelves, you came across the tea section. You snagged a few boxes and on your way out, the ciders and beers caught your eye. You figured you weren’t going to go back to your own flat tonight, so you thought, what the hell? And grabbed a few cases of booze.

You paid and left the warmth of the store, instantly shuddering at the cold that had been plundering with the torrential downpour that had ensued. It was too close for a taxi service, so you sucked it up and began jogging back to Rogers flat, the plastic bag and cases waving in your hands.

Halfway there, you stopped running and figured you would inevitably get wet anyway. You never really noticed the cute little shops that lined the street here. Coffee shops, little boutiques. A particular one catching your eye; boys sat at a table inside playing board games together, boxes of what looked like comic books in the old bay window. You shuddered at the cold and decided to step in for a while to shield yourself from the rain pouring from the evening sky and let it pass before you continued your way back to Rogers.

Bells jingled as you entered, and vibrantly crafted origami figures dangled from the entirety of the old ceiling tiles. You wandered around for a bit, admiring all of the random things in the cozy shop. You found yourself looking through the endless supply of board games stacked on a shelf. After what seemed about half an hour, the sky wasn’t churning quite as loud, and you made a purchase and smiled at the old man running the shop, on your way again.

You shoved open the door to Rogers flat and toed your shoes off as you shut the heavy door behind you.

“Y/N? That you?”

You smiled to yourself and walked into the living room, bags in hand, panting. His eyes lifted from a book he had been reading and once they fixated on you, he couldn't help but chuckle.

“Find the perfect puddle to lay in for a bloody hour or what?”

“Ohh, shut it. I got us some things.” you tried to stifle your giddy grin.

He raised his eyebrows, placing his book on the table to give his attention as he pulled his legs from their outstretched position so you had room to sit. You dumped the snacks out onto the table and set the cases of ciders and beer beside them.

“We having a night in, then?” his grin grew.

“There’s one more thing.” You smiled sheepishly as you pulled a board game out of its bag and handed it to him to inspect as you took a seat beside him. “It was my favourite as a kid, I haven’t seen it since.” He looked up at you and an undeniable smile overcame his face. His eyes sparkled in the dimly lit room as he bit his grinning lip.

“Whose roll, first?”

_____

Cracking open a bottle of a cider in the kitchen, you walked back and handed him one, clinking your bottle with his as you sat down, closer to him this time.

You both had a knee tucked under yourselves and played endless rounds of Candyland, making a mess of snacks, crumbs everywhere.

The two of you had grown more and more intoxicated, laughs trailing off of every sassy comment and joke.

“So tell me,” he began, “who’s been your best shag?”

You snorted as you took a swig of your drink.

“My what?”

“Well we’re best friends,” got that right, “and I feel I should know about my best friends love life - the details, and we didn’t really get the chance to catch up yesterday...”

You took another gulp of your cider and licked your lips, thinking about it. He had some point.

“Rog, I think you know everything.”

“I don’t know about Dean.” 

True, but you weren’t really up for chat about him right now, especially when all you could think about was Rogers hands and how they could make you feel, if the stories and talk from the other girls were true...

You laughed a bit.

“He was an ass, he cheated, and that’s all there is to him now.” You spoke, setting your cider down on the table and trading it for the dice.

“Right...”

His voice a bit more serious now as you rolled the die and moved your piece accordingly.

“I’m sorry.” He continued. You looked up at him. “I can’t picture someone being able to hurt you like that.” His expression was stern but sympathetic.

You took a deep breath and nudged him with a side smile as your way of thanking him and saying it was okay.

“Don’t look now Taylor but I think you’ve got some redemption to conquer.”

“Oh, it’s on.” He purred.

___

“Heyyy, you let me win.” he pouted, crossing his arms as you untucked your legs from under you. You shot the adorable childish boy a wink and went to the bathroom.

When you came back, Roger had his arms spread out over the back and arm of the couch. He looked so warm and inviting, the soft crackle of firewood being lit in the fireplace echoing nearby.

“Roger Taylor, did you move my pieces?” You faked a shocked look, hands on your hips.

“I would never.” he gasped, a hand to his chest, pretending to be offended at that.

You giggled as you sat down beside him, his arm warm behind you, your laughter quickly fading into a cough. You sniffled and instantly recognized the congestion in your stuffy nose.

“You alright?” His hand rested on your shoulder as you hunched into another cough in your sleeve.

“Here, have a sip of this.” He handed you a glass of water he had gotten earlier. You took a sip and leaned back into his comforting arm, feeling hotter by the minute. You leaned into his side, your head in the crook of his warm neck as you hummed in content.

The back of his hand met with your forehead.

“You’re burning up, love.”

You sighed, knowing all too well it was thanks to the stupid London showers. He stood up, pulling his arm out from behind your neck as you groaned.

“Where are you going?” you whined, watching him disappear down the hall. A moment later, he came back with a furry blanket in one arm, something else tucked under his arm, and a washcloth in the other hand.

He raised the small cloth for his mouth to hold while he grabbed a box of tissues off the coffee table. It looked so tiny as it fit so easily in his big palm, chucking it beside you, and taking the cloth back in his hand again.

“This-” he draped the blanket over your lap, “is for your shivers, because I know you’re going to get them…”

“Roger, you don’t have to-”

“Ah-ah-ah!” he warned, and you let out a small sigh, letting him continue. He dropped the other item to the floor as you watched his face. “And this,” he folded the towel, “is for your neck,” bringing his arms around you as he slightly leaned down to place it on the back of your neck,

“Roger-”

“-because even if you’re warm now, you will get cold, and this will relax your muscles.” He said matter-of-factly, pulling back for a brief second. He furrowed his eyebrows at himself, taken aback by the seemingly out-of-character note he’d just made. 

“Wowww, Brian’s really rubbing off on you, huh?” You nodded. He just rolled his eyes in response.

“Guess you just bring out that side of me.”

Although a small comment to him, that meant a lot to you. He finished arranging it so it wouldn’t fall or unfold, his wristbands grazing your jaw. 

He bent down to pick up the item that had previously fallen by your feet.

Beary Potter, his teddy. You heart instantly felt so warm, and he bit his lip, looking hesitant.

“W- I just- didn’t know if...” he waved the bear in his hand as he started to think maybe that was a bit silly, but you reached out for him to give it to you with a smile.

Roger grinned as he handed him over and you instantly hugged it, giggling. He leaned back down and fixed the warm damp washcloth around your neck.

“Ruinin’ my work.” He laughed, adjusting it. Then your eyes met. A tiny grin appeared on his face, his hands frozen on the cloth.

His hair was all wavy and disheveled, and it didn’t look the slightest bit feminine at it’s length. Nobody could pull it off like him. The stronger features of his face were accentuated by the shadow-play in the room caused by the flickering fireplace, now the only light source besides a lamp. Your foot had reached out and slid up and down his shin, not noticing until now. You didn’t bother to move it, though.

“Rog, why do you do this stuff for me?” You asked quietly.

He frowned, confusion following.

“You just get so confident with me... I mean you didn’t even blink when I saw you totally naked earlier.”

He let out a laugh, “Y/N, I’m comfortable around you.” He corrected, and you felt a rush of reassurance roam you. “It’s a good thing.” He nodded.

“You know I know how to take care of you.” He moved to the record player beside the fireplace, setting the needle down as static began to resonate. You watched curiously as he came back over and sat with you, his hand back around your shoulder.

“So why don’t you just let me?” His voice quiet  and low, matching his eyes - lowered to your neck. 

The vinyl disc spun on the record player and you realized it was November Rain by Guns n Roses, your favourite. His warm nose grazed the side of your neck as the lyrics played out.

“Why this song?” you asked quietly, exhaling as a little warm feeling arose in your chest; surely it was just the fizzy ciders bubbling in your tummy.

“ ‘Been listening to it a lot lately. I dunno, just makes me think of you.” He nodded. “Do you know you’re beautiful, Y/N?” He was a lot closer now.

Nope, definitely not from the booze. And with that, his lips finally - as if you’ve been waiting for it for years - settled on the spot where your neck meets your shoulders. You closed your eyes.

  But darlin’ when I hold you,

  Don’t you know I feel the same

Your heart flickered with the flames of the fireplace, feeling a hollow tingly feeling in your chest as your breathing quickened. Roger placed his other hand on your thigh underneath the blanket, his hot breath on your sensitive skin sending shivers down your spine.

“Roger,” you breathed, swallowing the dryness in your throat.

“Let me,” his kisses moved up your neck to your jaw, he then gently turned your head to face him as you opened your eyes, “take care of you.” his voice low and secure. You looked back and forth between his eyes, much darker with lust now, and nodded in response.

His lips molded with yours, a sharp inhale through his nose as if he’d finally gotten something he wanted. He swiped his tongue against your bottom lip for permission and you granted, the kiss deepening. His grip on your thigh tightened, and he slowly slid his fingers in between your legs more. Your feet tugged the blanket down to make it a bit easier. His fingers finally reached under your...-his pants you still had on and ran over your underwear where you were practically dripping for him. A shy gasp left your lips interrupting the kiss and you could feel a smirk spread on his lips and his hand still held your face close. He began swiping them up and down ever so gently, driving you crazy.

“R-Roger” your breathing began to falter.

What were you doing? This is your best friend… you turned to face him, a bit of panic washing over your face.

“We shouldn’t-...” He didn’t look worried, just tilted his head at you awaiting whatever you were going to say next.

“We shouldn’t what, princess?” He cooed

You’d wanted it long enough, and here he was. He wanted you. He was your best friend but… the way he was kissing you, and the way you were reciprocating… the way he was touching you, his fingers dangerously close to where you ached most- told you it couldn’t just be that. It simply wasn’t.

“Screw it.” you breathed, kissing him back harder, your hands gently against his chest, pushing him to lay back on the length of the couch without breaking the kiss once. You yanked the cloth off your neck and tossed it to the table. You adjusted so you were straddling his waist bending down, and his hands found sanctuary on your hips. You began rolling your hips, feeling him grow hard underneath you.

  If we could take the time

  To lay it on the line

You kissed slowly in that position for a while, until he decided he couldn’t take it anymore and pushed you so you were laying back as he hovered over you. He bit his lip as you giggled and rushed back to press his lips against yours, the weight of him on your body now.

  I could rest my head

  Just knowin' that you were mine

Roger broke the kiss for a moment, pulling back so you could clearly see each other’s faces as he cheekily smiled and met the lead singer for the next lyric,

“All mine.” gently shaking his head as he sang quietly, his voice faintly vibrated through a whisper, while his eyes searched yours, smiling the happiest you’d seen him in ages. He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear as the two of you admired the features in front of you.

  So if you want to love me

  Then darlin' don't refrain

And with that, your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him back to you in a passionate kiss. His lips were warm and soft, and just what you needed. You were 100% sure this was what you wanted, and you were even more sure, Roger Taylor wanted it too. Your kisses trailed off into the bedroom, abandoning the record player into the night. You didn’t want to give the potential thought of it being different the next morning any time, and you decided to live in the moment. 

He carried you to his bed and gently laid you back, which was a contrast to how he would be treating you in a matter of seconds. He was back to hovering over you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. You couldn’t get close enough.

A surprised gasp emerged in your throat when you felt his hand return to your core beneath the pants. He then slid his hand under your underwear and slowly drew circles around your clit.

“Oh my god, Rog,” you breathed.

He brought his fingers down and while his thumb took care of faster circles on your sensitive clit, he gently pushed a finger inside of you.

“God, you’re so wet, darling.” he whined, making you moan at his words. He added another finger and started pumping in and out of you faster.

“Who did this to you? Who made you this wet, angel?”

“Y-You did,” your head was dipped back and his free hand reached up to gently clasp around your throat for a brief second. You were rocking your hips to meet with his motion. 

“Speak up, or I’ll stop.” his husky voice right by your ear as he nipped it, trailing down your neck as he continued with his hand, while his other got to know the rest of you.

“You did, Roger!” you moaned.

“That’s a good girl.” He cooed next to your ear.

Endless moans escaped your lips, and each one was pure music to his ears as it went on for awhile...

When you awoke in the middle of the night after some long awaited time together, you remembered your dreams more vividly than usual. This time they involved Roger, but, with way less clothes than the dreams you had the night prior. Roger made sure you knew he noticed with his hands finding their way back to where you wanted them most all over again.

“Let me help you, love.” as he coursed you back into a pleasurable haze, helping you ride out your high until you were satisfied before passing out in each other’s arms again.

You were awoken again by a terribly unsettling dream. Shocker. This time you were awake and he wasn’t.

You sat up, clutching your chest as hitched breaths beat out of your airway. You held back sobs as not to wake Roger, but you felt a hand on your shoulder again. You mentally cursed yourself for waking him.

“I’m sorry, Rog, I just-” your breathing wouldn’t calm down.

You recalled your dream, Dean spitting horrible insults at you blaming you for the relationship ending, when he had been off shagging some other girl. Roger shot up when he registered the distraught state you were in and gently pulled you back to lay down again, holding you close as he lay on his back and pulled you into his chest. Roger hushed you as his hand lifted to your hair and he softly kissed your forehead.

“Don’t you dare apologize; it’s not your fault, bunny.” He assured, and instantly you felt a mix of utter pain for your dream and the relief Roger comforted you with, coincidentally related to the nature of your dream.

“I’m here, love. I’ve got you,” He shushed, rocking you gently in his arms as you clutched his sides. “I always have.” and like an elixir, that helped you release this big breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding and finally even out your breaths as you drifted off for good for the night.

This time, you felt it when Roger kissed your forehead, and you felt it when Roger smiled against your hairline. You smiled too.

You still weren’t sure what this whole thing meant, or what the morning would bring, but if anything, you knew you were glad you didn’t get to finishing your paper the other night.

Please let me know what you thought :”) I crave validation hehe I appreciate all the support :) xx 

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