#can u tell @ which point i ran out of steam im SORRY! i just wanted to get something up <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gaydiekane · 4 years

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THIS IS MY FIRST TIME DOING A CUT SO IF IT DOESNT WORK IM SO SORRY IM CLOGGING UR FEED ANYWAYS-

before we start~~

greyson- ahhh yeah they/them pronouns but originally greyson used he/him so if you see any stray he/hims that i forgot to change please lmk (comment with the sentence or smth it'd be greatly appreciated)

link to chapter 1

i do not own any of the characters or settings from the riordanverse, all rights go to richard russell riordan. i also don't own perry the platypus, that goes to dan povenmire

finally, this is only my current draft, so when this whole thing is done and completed this chapter could be entirely different. i'm also a cHiLd so my writing isn't that good please bear w me 💀 i also suck at titles if u have any other ideas lmk 💀💀

anywaysssss..

The Currently Unnamed Fic

Chapter 2 - i think this is now named An Intro to New Life but im not 100% sure?

The boy led me down the hill and to the Kansas house. There was a man and a few other people playing a card game. I mean, I thought they were people, but they looked like goat boys. Something was nagging at me in the back of my mind, like something about this was familiar, but I couldn't figure it out.

"Mr. D," the kid said, "we have a new camper. And- hold up," he turned to me, "what are your pronouns?"

"She/her."

He turned back to Mr. D. "She's fifteen!"

Mr. D placed his cards face down on the table. "Fifteen? Whoever your parent is is awfully stupid."

Some useful information, I suppose. And, parent? My mom said she was bad at math in school, and my dad. . .

"My mom mentioned something about my dad when she dropped me off here," I said.

"Well, you're not one of mine," Mr. D said, and averted his attention back to the game. "Owen-"

"Oliver."

"-would you mind showing her around?"

"Oh, I would love to, but," the kid, Oliver, flashed the book he was reading, "I've got some reading to do. And I'm also redirecting mortals, so. . . . Catch ya later," he said walking away.

"He could've just said he didn't want to," Mr. D said under his breath (but still loud enough for everyone to hear). "Uh, Garrett Smith! Can you show around the new kid?" he asked to the nearest kid in the strawberry field.

The kid looked around my age, maybe a bit older. They had curly strawberry blond hair and tan skin like they spent almost all of their time outside. "Sure thing, just let me put this-"

"Nonsense, Sandra over there will take care of whatever it is." Mr. D interrupted. "I've got a card game to finish, so if you would please, George Salazar, show around, er, what's your name?" He turned to me.

"Elizabeth Herman," I answered. "I go by Ellie, though."

"Yes, show Lizzy Henderson around."

"On it Mr. D," the kid said. I didn't trust that their name was Garrett Smith or George Salazar.

I left the table and met the kid at the bottom of the stairs. They greeted me with a bright smile. "Hey, I'm Greyson Summit," they said. "I wish I were George Salazar. Oh, to be on Broadway, instead picking strawberries for the god of wine," they said dreamily.

I returned a smile. "I'm Ellie. Nice to meet you."

"Oh, and don't worry," Greyson added, "you don't have to bow down to Mr. D. He doesn't do much."

I nodded my head. Like Perry the Platypus, I thought. "Why would I need to bow down to him?" I asked.

"Oh, right, I should explain," Greyson said. "That's Dionysus, the god of wine and all that. You said your mom said something about your dad, right? I'm assuming she meant he's a god too."

I felt like I had been hit by a brick. I probably was at some point if I didn't remember basic stuff from sixth grade English, but that's not the point.

"Wait, I think I've read about this place," I said.

Greyson got a confused look on their face. "Like, in The Lightning Thief?" I nodded my head. "Woah." They laughed. "Not to be dramatic, but you should probably be dead. Let's head to the east."

Greyson began walking off towards what I assumed was the east, leaving me the opposite of "no thoughts, head empty."

I ran to catch up with them.

"By the time we're done it should be time for lunch, then I'll show you the other side after," they were saying.

"Sounds like a plan," I said.

We made our way along the creek towards the east woods. Greyson wasn't the best tour guide. We would pass by something and they'd randomly point out what it was. At least it wasn't a safari. I nearly giggled at the thought.

"Volleyball court. Art's and crafts. Hermes kids doing. . . something. Oh no, there's fire again."

I watched as a couple kids tried to stomp out a small flame in the grass.

"Again?" I asked.

"Yeah," said Greyson. "Come on."

They tried to strike up small talk. Unfortunately, both of us were quite bad at making conversation. Maybe it was best we weren't as good at striking things up as those Hermes kids.

I tried thinking of some icebreakers and introduction questions while we walked around.

"What are your pronouns?" I asked.

"They/them," Greyson said. "I'm genderfluid, but it's easier to use they/them pronouns than correcting people all the time. But if it really bothers me sometime I'll correct you, just a heads up."

"Cool. Thanks for letting me know."

More silence.

"Your pronouns are she/her, right?" they asked.

I nodded.

"So. . . where are you from?" Greyson asked after a bit more silence.

"Arizona," I answered.

"Oh, cool," they responded.

More silence.

"Where are you from?" I asked.

"Kansas."

Out of all the new and crazy info I'd gotten that day, that one won first place by far. "But I thought Kansas didn't exist?"

"What?"

I shrugged.

We made it to the rock wall. The heat emitting from it reminded me of Arizona summers. A girl dropped down nearby where we were standing.

"Beat ya!" she shouted up. She looked over at us. "Oh, hey Greyson. Who's this?"

The girl was short. Well, maybe short to me, I'm 5'8". She was maybe 5'4"? (Is that short?) She had dark brown skin and vitiligo. She also had brown eyes and dark brown coily hair.

"This is Ellie," Greyson said. "Do you think Kansas exists?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Do you think Kansas exists?" Greyson repeated.

"Yes, of course," the girl answered.

"Even before you met me?" they asked.

She paused, before answering, "Well, I hadn't given it much thought before."

"Damn, alright," Greyson said. "Ellie, this is Leila."

"Nice to meet you," I said.

Another girl dropped down from the wall. She had black hair with a split dye that was hot pink. Her hair was steaming, and her tan skin looked blistered in a couple spots. "You cheated!" She pointed at Leila accusingly.

"How do you cheat at a rock wall?" I asked.

"How can you think Kansas doesn't exist?!" Greyson asked me.

"Hold up, you didn't think Kansas existed?" the new girl asked me. "Wait, who are you?"

"I'm Ellie," I answered.

"Cool, I'm Chleo," she said. "Anyways, you thought Kansas didn't exist?"

"I thought it was made up for the plot of the Wizard of Oz!" I said. They all just looked at me. "How many people have you met that are from Kansas? What has ever happened in Kansas? What exists there?" I asked.

"Well, I know Greyson. . . ." Chleo said.

"The National World War I Museum is in Kansas City!" Greyson claimed. We all just stared at them. They put their hands up defensively.

"So. . . how do you cheat at rock wall climbing?" I asked again, hoping to drop the subject of Kansas.

"Oh I'm a daughter of Hecate," Leila said. She snapped her fingers and her and Chleo had switched places as Chleo went to rest her arm on Leila's shoulder. "The mist is easy to manipulate for me." She shrugged, ignoring Chleo on the ground.

"You bitch!" Chleo exclaimed from the floor. "Which also means, she cheated," Chleo said, getting up.

"No, I just used my resources!" said Leila. "They tell us to do that."

A horn sounded in the distance. "Come on Ellie, we have to line up for lunch," Greyson said. "We can go with the Hermes cabin, since they're here." He glanced above my head before walking towards a forming line of kids with mischievous looks on their faces, like I was told I had.

"Who's your godly parent?" I asked Greyson.

"My dad's Apollo," they said quietly. "We're not really supposed to talk in lines but lots of people do anyways."

We walked in silence to the dining pavilion. We went over the creek, passed by a huge arena, an archery range, the cabins. I knew there wouldn't be much left for Greyson to show me after lunch, but I knew continuing to let them show me around was better than to be friendless.

I was handed a plate of food and sat on the end of table eleven next to a kid with curly light brown hair and hazel eyes. He looked older than me.

"Oh, hey newbie!" he said. "I'm Austin."

"I'm Ellie," I said. "Nice to meet you Austin."

"Nice to meet you too Ellie," he said. "I'm the head of cabin eleven and one of the camp counselors this year. It doesn't matter too much, but I suppose it's good to know. Come on newbie, it's our turn at the fire." We all got up and walked over to the big bronze brazier in the middle of the pavilion.

I watched as Austin pushed a portion of his plate into the fire. "Hermes," he said.

I pushed a portion of brisket into the flames. "Hermes?" I said, though it came out as more of a question. Austin laughed and shook his head, and we went back to table eleven.

Back at the table I talked a bit more with Austin. He told me he has a twin sister, Kaite, and how he's from Michigan and moved to New Jersey a few years ago. He's turning nineteen this October and is really into crafting because he grew up doing it with his mother as a kid.

"What did you mean it didn't matter that you're head of cabin eleven?" I asked.

"Not that part, the part about being camp counselor," he said. "Camp counselors and cabin counselors are different. We call cabin counselors cabin heads to avoid confusion, but you'll hear both. Cabin heads just make sure none of their siblings are being absolutely stupid and lead them to their activities. Prep for inspection, all that. Camp counselors are more of like, the older sibling to everyone, they're all cabin heads, they do inspection, stuff like that. Kinda take charge. They're the people you go to if you need something. Some cabins have more than one counselor, by the way."

"What about Chiron?" I asked.

"Well, you'd go to him for super important stuff, like emergencies. A serious injury, an attack. Mr. D, well, just, never go D with an emergency. He'll most likely do nothing. Actually, he's good to go to if you have any questions regarding sexuality or gender identity." He paused for a moment, before continuing, "Camp leadership! Right!

"So once Percy and Annabeth -- you know who they are? -- Coolio, once they left everyone realized they forgot how to run the camp because they did everything and wars and all that jazz. Instead of trying to remember, they made new over-complicated systems to run the place. They work though. Until the older heroes came back. A couple summers ago the older campers came back to teach here." He pointed to the director's table. Along with Mr. D, I saw a few other adults chatting and eating. "Ever since they came back, us camp counselors have been kinda demoted. No one comes to us much anymore. Granted, they do know more, but it kinda sucks being demoted. Some of the cabin heads get replaced by the adults too, if they have an adult sibling here. But since they teach they're not around much for their cabin. It doesn't make too much sense." He shook his head.

"Maybe it's just that awkward telling a twenty year old what to do," I suggested. "Who are all the camp councelors?"

"There's me, Emma from the Aphrodite cabin, Ricky from the Apollo cabin, and Asia from the Iris cabin," Austin answered.

"You see? I just came to you for a question, you're not useless!" My words of encouragement didn't seem to make him all too much better. Though, I was never too good at encouraging others.

"I guess," he said. "That reminds me, after lunch is over I need to get you a copy of the Camp Half-Blood Confidential. And a shirt."

"The what now?"

"Years ago, after the last war, they were talking about what they would change about camp and all that, and Nico said the orientation video, which only he had seen. Everyone ended up watching it and they decided, 'Woah, this is terrible!' So they wrote a book."

They did what now? "That's stupid," I said. Who would write an important informational book for kids with dyslexia to read?

Austin looked at me questioningly. "What do-" He was cut off by a loud voice from elsewhere in the pavilion.

"Alright everyone," Mr. D stood up for announcements, "we have a new camper. Everyone say hi to Lizzy Henderson." There was a bit of hesitant applause before someone else from the director's table stood up.

"Maybe we should let her introduce herself," she said, giving a quick glare to Mr. D. He muttered something about how he did a fine job before the woman continued. Her gray eyes scanned the tables for the new face. "If you want to stand up so we can all see you..."

The blonde lady began to reminded me of a middle school English teacher. And I don't know how she didn't notice me, I was the only one not in bright orange. I should've stuck out like a sore thumb.

I stood and her eyes fell on me. Her smile wavered and she said something I couldn't make out to the man next to her, whose back was still facing me. She looked up again and continued, her smile returned. "How about you tell us your name, your age, and where you're from?" she asked.

Most eyes were on me, which bugged me because now I didn't know where to look. I decided to try keeping my eyes on the woman. "I'm Ellie Herman, I'm from Arizona, and I'm fifteen," I said.

I heard a few people start whispering around me. The lady furrowed her brows and looked back down at the man next to her, who then turned around to look at me. I noticed the man's black hair and sea green eyes, along with a nasty scar under his right eye, the same way I had imagined Luke's while reading the books. Then it hit me. The woman talking to me was Annabeth Chase, like, the Annabeth Chase.

"Do you know who your godly parent is yet?" Annabeth asked, sounding almost hopeful.

I shook my head. "No."

After a moment her smile returned. "Well, we're glad to have you here, Ellie." Annabeth turned to the rest of the campers. "Everyone welcome Ellie Herman, undetermined."

#s.chap.2

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bellarkefanfiction · 7 years

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suddenly i see (this is what i wanna be)

*click through to read on ao3

written by: Mel | @mellamymake

prompt: "You stepped on my glasses and now I'm pretty much blinded and you have to accompany me everywhere till I can get my new glasses" for anonymous

word count: 5178

"I can't believe you've managed to hide this for so long."

"To be fair, I wasn't hiding," Bellamy points out, a touch of colour rising in his cheeks. "I just don't like to wear them when I'm out. That's not hiding."

Or, the one where Clarke moves in with Bellamy and is shocked to discover that he wears glasses.

In Clarke's honest defence, she wasn't even aware that Bellamy wore glasses.

"What about beach week two years ago?" she demands, staring at the black frames balanced across his nose. "Did you have glasses then?"

He adjusts them with two fingers, peering at her through the lenses. "I think it's pretty safe to say I've had them ever since I got them, Clarke. Which is, oh, about fifteen years ago."

"But did you wear them?" she persists, her frown deepening. "I'm really sure I would have remembered you wearing them."

He pauses then, his brow furrowing. "Well. I always wear them at the end of the day. Like, right before going to bed. So..."

"So only in your room, then." At his nonchalant shrug, she throws her hands up into the air, huffing exasperatedly. "I can't believe you've managed to hide this for so long."

"To be fair, I wasn't hiding," he points out, a touch of colour rising in his cheeks. "I just don't like to wear them when I'm out. That's not hiding."

"You've been wearing contacts all these years," she mutters, shaking her head. "Those are contacts I've been looking at, all these years."

"It's not like I've been wearing a wig or something," he points out, looking vaguely offended. He pauses, looking at her. "Although, if you happen to come across a face mask made of something that looks a little like human skin—"

"Fuck you," she says easily, stretching her leg across the couch to kick lightly at his knee. Of all the jokes they've cracked between them over the last couple of weeks about moving in together to save on rent, this one definitely ranks near the bottom. "Okay, so why are you wearing the glasses now? Are you going to bed at—" she spares a quick glance at the clock in the corner of the news channel they're watching, "—eight forty-nine P.M.?"

He shifts, the flush returning to his cheeks. "Cute. And no, I'm not going to bed at eight forty-nine P.M. I ran out of contacts."

She raises a brow. "You what?"

He shrugs. "I ran out. I gotta get some more."

She stares at him, forehead crinkled with disbelief. "You've been successfully hiding behind your contacts for the last fifteen years, and all of a sudden you just… ran out?"

"Okay, again, I wasn't hiding," he says, pointing at her. "And, well, sometimes shit happens." At her questioning frown, he gives her another shrug. "Shit like, I don't know, when you accidentally throw out the contacts that were supposed to last you the rest of the year before you get a chance to pick up a new pair."

"You what?!"

He rolls his eyes, but the hue of his skin still looks distinctly redder than it usually does, even under the warmth of their living room lights. "I'll put in an order for new contacts tomorrow. Anyway, it's no big deal. They're just glasses."

Except it is kind of a big deal, for some inexplicable reason she can't quite put her finger on. Something the way those black frames sit squarely across his face just makes her stare, the angle of his jawline and the soft arch of his dark brows all suddenly ramped up to an eleven. Even his lips look fuller than usual, plumper and ever so slightly redder than she can remember them being.

It's like he's wearing the glasses, but she's the one seeing several times clearer all of a sudden.

"Yeah, okay," she mutters as nonchalantly as she can, settling back into the couch to pretend she's watching the news, instead of watching her roommate out of the corner of her eye.

She's just not accustomed to seeing him in glasses. That's all. It’s brand new information; she’s allowed an adjustment period.

Once she gets used to it, everything will go right back to normal.

“Coffee’s on the table,” is the first thing she hears when she flies into the kitchen, bag hanging off her arm and shirt still only half-buttoned.

She blows out a harried sigh of relief before flinging her bag into the table to free up her hands, one going straight for the steaming mug of coffee waiting for her, the other swiping up the piece of toast sitting beside it, already slathered with butter. "Have I told you you're my favourite roommate yet?" she says, trying to get in a sip of coffee through a mouthful of toast.

"Not lately, no," Bellamy says idly, squinting at her iPad as he flicks through Netflix. "You’ve got about twelve minutes to get to your meeting, by the way. Checked out traffic while you were in the shower — you're gonna wanna avoid 5th today."

"Fuck," she announces, not bothering to cover her toast-filled mouth. As quickly as she can without spilling everything down her front, she demolishes the rest of her toast within three bites and gulps down half her coffee.

"See you later!" she says, grabbing her bag off the table and dashing out of the kitchen.

"Shoes," he calls from the kitchen.

"I didn't forget," she calls back petulantly, even as she wheels around from the door to grab a pair of flats, stuffing her feet into them and whirling back to wrench the door open.

"Keys!" is all he says in response.

She does an abrupt double take, holding the door open with one foot as she twists round to snatch her keys off the side table. “Bye!” she yells, before slamming the door shut behind her.

meetings finally over! think i just booked 2 jobs :D

u eaten yet? want me to

pick up lunch omw home?

???

hello?????

[voice note from Bellamy]

uhhh all i hear is u sayin 'fuck. Fuck, shit' over

and over.. is that supposed to happen

why are u using voice notes that’s so weird

[1 image from Bellamy]

???????

i ask u if u want lunch and all i get is a

screenshot of oppenheimer's wiki page??

Om sajht def

ok u know what im just gonna

get ur usual from the diner

home in 20

Clarke kicks the apartment door shut with her foot, working her shoes off with her toes. "Okay, the diner was all out of chicken, so I got you beef instead," she calls, padding into the kitchen to set the large bag of food on the table. "You don't mind, do you?"

She sniggers to herself as she heads over to the tap for a drink of water, catching movement at the kitchen threshold as she turns. "Well, I don't actually care if you mind because beef is what you're getting." She swallows her first hasty gulp of cool water, swiping her hand across her mouth as she turns back around, glass in hand. "Hey, what was with the weird—"

She breaks off, taking in the way Bellamy's standing in the doorway, face all scrunched up as he blinks against the harsh fluorescent light of the kitchen. "What's going on with your face?"

His expression turns wry. "My face? Nothing. My eyes are a whole different story, though."

She frowns, taking two steps forward. "What's wrong with your eyes?"

He pauses, blinking hard. "Well. Actually, nothing. It's, uh— it's my glasses."

At first she's completely lost, brows furrowed in confusion. But then Bellamy extends a hand, his thick black frames sitting neatly in the flat of his large palm, and—

"Holy shit," she says, both brows shooting up high. "What did you do to it?"

One of the lenses is slightly cracked, a hairline fracture running along the side of it. The other one is practically shattered.

"I didn't do anything," Bellamy says dryly, stepping forward carefully. "Your bag, on the other hand..."

"My what? What are you—" All of a sudden, the memory of the way she'd all but slammed her bag onto the kitchen table earlier flashes up in her mind, including the stark realisation that she had been in far too much of a rush to bother checking that the coast was clear. "Oh. Oh, fuck. Did I do that? Shit, I'm sorry!"

Bellamy waves a dismissive hand, and she really shouldn't want to laugh, but the way he's focusing on her chin instead of her eyes is oddly endearing. "No, it's okay. About time I got a new pair, anyway."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure you weren't planning to smash up this pair before you got a new one." She watches as he reaches for the bag holding their lunch, fumbling slightly with pulling out the containers. "That explains the weird replies to my texts."

He pauses, looking up at her (well, sort of). "Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was trying to tell you that I can't see, but I don't know how successful those attempts were."

"You sent me a voice note. Along with what I think is the last photo saved in your camera roll," she informs him with a dry smile, fetching another glass of water for him.

He grimaces, sliding one of the containers across the table to her. "Fuck. How incriminating was it?"

"It was a screenshot of Oppenheimer's wiki page," she says, switching the containers so they're getting the right meals. "Very racy stuff."

"Juicy," he agrees, stabbing a plastic knife into his side salad.

She tries to smother the snigger that bubbles up, but it's a half-hearted attempt at best. "Fork's on your left," she offers helpfully, popping the plastic top off her own container.

"Don't laugh," he grumps good-naturedly, waving his knife at her. "I'm blind."

For the most part, Bellamy doesn't seem all that bothered by his temporary handicap.

All the same, Clarke feels too responsible for his predicament to just leave him be. She spends the rest of the afternoon reading his texts and emails to him, and narrating her way through their Netflix queue when he wants to change shows (he can't quite see what's going on, but his sense of hearing is sharp as ever. Plus, he can almost sort of make out what's going on when he squints at the TV, especially once she turns the screen brightness up).

At five o'clock, she drives them both to the mall so he can order a new set of glasses, taking his arm in hers so he doesn't walk into a pillar or a glass door.

Upon reaching the optical store, she halts in her tracks, groaning in dismay. "They're closed."

Bellamy stops obediently when she does, turning slightly towards her with her arm still looped around his. "I thought it looked a little dark, but then again, I figured I'm probably not the best judge of that right now. Does it say if they're open tomorrow?"

She peers at the notice on the glass front, shaking her head ruefully. "Nope, closed on Sundays. Can you call your order in, or email or something?"

He cocks his head thoughtfully. "I can try. But I'd still have to come in to show my prescription."

"Shit," she groans, squeezing at his bicep. "Fuck, I really am sorry."

His other hand comes up to cover hers. "It's okay, princess. It was an accident. You don't have to keep apologising for it."

She starts them towards the Dairy Queen kiosk that's just around the corner. "I feel like I have to. If I didn't totally crush your glasses, you wouldn't have walked right into the bathroom doorframe earlier."

"True," he agrees easily. She jabs her elbow into his ribs, and he laughs, tightening his arm against his side so that she's pressed even closer, her mobility limited. "It's fine, Clarke. Seriously. Plus, I've never had an escort before. S'kinda cool."

"For you," she pretends to grouch, digging into her bag with her free hand. "All right, come on. DQ Blizzards on me."

"This is new," Miller observes when they arrive at the bar three hours later, arm in arm.

"This is a necessary precaution," Clarke corrects wryly, guiding Bellamy into one side of the booth with a hand on his arm and one on his back before sliding in after him. "We've got some news, guys. Bellamy's blind."

Jasper practically spews beer nut fragments all over the table. "Bellamy's blind?!"

"I'm not blind," Bellamy says loudly, as a tidal chorus of what's and Oh my God's start surging up around the table. "I'm not— Jasper, I'm not blind! I just don't have any contacts in right now. Or glasses. Or any sort of seeing aides that, uh, you know. Aid me with seeing."

Raven frowns, raising an arched brow at him. "You wear glasses?"

Clarke throws out an exasperated hand at her, turning towards Bellamy. "Thank you! See how well you've hidden this little factoid?"

"Okay, again," Bellamy says, blinking hazily at her forehead, "not hiding."

"Wait," Monty interrupts, face pinched with confusion. "I don't get it. What happened to your glasses?"

Bellamy heaves a melodramatic sigh. "They put up a valiant fight, but ultimately, even they couldn't stand up to the weight of having Clarke for a roommate."

"It was an accident," Clarke says with a roll of her eyes, grinning despite herself. "There was a thing with my bag. Anyway, the point is that Bellamy's blind now."

"Not blind," he argues lightly. "Just very, very myopic."

Clarke ignores him, deliberately elbowing him aside as she leans forward. "So if you've ever wanted to make a rude face or gesture at him," she continues, "now would be the time, people."

Raven and Miller instantly both hold up two completely different hand signs, each one just as vulgar.

"I don't know what that is," Bellamy says warningly, pointing vaguely in their direction, "but I can tell exactly who it is that's doing that."

Jasper somehow produces a Sharpie out of thin air, already breathless with excitement. "When do we get to draw on his face?"

"He's blind, Jasper," Monty reminds helpfully. "Not passed out."

"I'm not—"

"You're not blind!" Miller finishes mockingly. "As for 'passed out', well. The night has only just begun, my friend."

"You're not passing out," Clarke tells him once Miller and Monty head off to the bar to fetch the first round of drinks. She turns in the booth to face him, leaning in so he can hear over the buzz of the bar and the sound of Jasper and Raven fighting over the last of the beer nuts across the table. "I can make sure you don't walk into lampposts. I cannot carry you home all by myself."

Bellamy grins, and just for a moment or two, they're close enough that he can focus in on her eyes properly, their gazes firmly locking on each other. "What a good escort."

She rolls her eyes, punching him lightly in the shoulder. There's practically no force to it at all, so she just ends up pressing her knuckles into his arm, their faces mere inches apart. "Yeah, well," she manages to say, "don't get used to it."

She hopes that the way her throat goes dry at the end isn't audible in her voice.

Bellamy merely smirks, his mouth curving in that crooked way that used to piss her off like nothing else back when they'd first met. "Wouldn't dream of it, princess."

The thing is, someone does get used to it.

Funnily enough, that someone is her.

For some reason, it feels far too natural to be this close to Bellamy, looping her arm in his every time they're on the move, leading him over to the bar, or the pool table (to trash talk Miller from the sidelines), or the darts corner (so he can squint at the board and pretend like his vision's 'not that bad, I think I can make out the general bull's-eye area' and then proceed to punch three tiny holes into the wall before hastily giving up).

When his friend Harper from work stops by the booth to say hi, it feels far too natural to get up with Bellamy and walk together over to the table where three more of their co-workers are situated, her arm staying loosely interlocked with his even as they come to a stop. (There's a slight snafu when he introduces her to his colleagues. One of the group — Murphy, she thinks it was — raises his brows before saying "Oh, so you're Clarke." She's about to ask exactly what he means, but then Harper interrupts to ask Bellamy something about a meeting on Monday, and the statement just kind of gets buried under the ensuing conversation.)

She even feels disappointed by the couple of times she's not able to walk with him to the bathroom, watching Miller and then Jasper guide him off with a faint but distinct throb of envy.

She's never enjoyed the walk home as much as she does later that night, one hand neatly tucked into the crook of his elbow, the other wrapped lightly around his forearm in what's practically an embrace.

It's just to be safe, of course. They've both had a few beers. They're not unsteady by any means, but she doesn't see any harm maintaining a little closer contact than usual, especially with his shortsightedness exacerbated by the darkness of night.

He's familiar enough with their apartment that he can handle a shower without supervision (not that she was expecting otherwise), but she can't resist checking in on him one last time before going to bed.

He's already under the covers, but he props himself up on his elbows, smiling tiredly at her. "Thanks for looking out for me today." A soft snort. "Literally."

"Funny," she deadpans, smiling back despite herself. "Goodnight, Bellamy."

"'Night, princess."

Clearly, being (almost) blind isn't enough to convince Bellamy to stay within the comfortable confines of home, because by lunchtime they're heading towards their favourite taco stand that's two streets over from their apartment, arm in arm once again.

"I mean, it's Sunday," Clarke pretends to grumble, pushing slightly into his side to avoid an oncoming passerby, a large German shepherd loping before him on a leash. "That should be more than enough reason to, you know. Stay home."

Bellamy steps slightly to his right and away from the dog-walker, pressing his arm in against his body to pull her even closer. "Exactly, it's Sunday.A.K.A., the best day for tacos." He shrugs, not bothering to relax his arms outward even after the dog and his owner are well behind them, keeping them pressed flush against each other from shoulder to elbow. "It's just science, okay? Why are you trying to argue with science?"

She snorts. "Science, right. More like your greedy gut." Twisting her arm slightly in his grip, she pokes her index finger at his middle through the soft cotton shirt he's wearing.

He laughs, releasing her arm completely to grab at her hand with his. "No, it's science. Trust me, I'm a teacher. I would know."

"You're a history teacher, " she says in disbelief, letting her fingers curl around his.

"Who's friends with science teachers," he says, slowly and clearly as if for her benefit. "Hence."

She shakes her head, shifting a little closer as they let their still-joined hands drop down to their sides. "Ridiculous."

Well. It's a nice change from having her arm half-raised like that, she supposes. Probably better for her blood circulation, or something.

He eventually caves into her nagging and calls in sick to work on Monday.

"Even though this really doesn't count as a sickness," he grouches for the twelfth time, getting up to pour himself more coffee.

She's already in front of him, grabbing the empty mug out of his hands as she pushes at his shoulder in a silent command to sit back down. "Yeah, because not being able to see definitely doesn't affect your job. Not like you need that to write on the board, or grade homework. Or, you know.Teach."

"All right, all right," he says as she sets his refilled mug in front of him. "Point taken."

Later that afternoon, they're at the mall putting in an order for Bellamy's new glasses when they run into Monty.

"What are you doing here!" Clarke says, surprised. "You're not at work today?"

For some reason, Monty seems a little… off. Fidgety, almost.

"Had a late lunch meeting with a client," he says. After a beat, he lifts his thumb, jabbing it over his shoulder in the direction of the food court. "We just… had lunch."

Bellamy seems completely unperturbed by the way Monty's shoulders are rigid, the shorter man practically bouncing his weight from one foot to the other. (Then again, his nonchalance probably has a lot to do with the fact that he can't actually see Monty.) "Oh, okay. Good meeting?"

"Yeah. Yeah, good." Monty seems downright on edge at this point, his gaze constantly shifting between them. "I should go!" he finally blurts out after an awkward pause. "See you guys!"

"What was that about?" she wonders aloud, tugging on Bellamy's hand to get him to start walking again.

He shifts his grip slightly so that their fingers are more comfortably entwined with each other's. "What was what about?"

"Monty. He was all… weird."

"Maybe he's just late getting back to the office or something."

"Yeah, maybe," Clarke says as she leads them into the optical store. "Okay, where's your prescription?"

On Tuesday, Bellamy goes back to work, but only after Clarke makes him promise he's not going to try to write or read anything.

"You heard the optician," she lectures on the drive to his workplace. "No straining your eyes. You're only going to make them worse."

"Yes, I know," he says dryly. "Might have slipped your mind, but I've been going to eye doctors for slightly longer than you have, princess." He pats his messenger bag, balanced securely on his lap. "Besides, I've got a good six or seven documentaries in here to keep all my students occupied for the day. Don't worry about it."

"Easier said than done," she mutters, but she can't help smiling when he laughs at that.

She arrives to pick him up at exactly ten minutes past two, undoing her seatbelt and dashing out of the car when she spots him and Murphy emerge from the front doors.

She shoves down on the surge of protective concern, swallowing down the barrage of worried questions already on the tip of her tongue. "No visible bruises, I see," she says instead, taking his arm in hers.

Murphy rocks lazily on his heels. "Wait till you get his shirt off tonight."

"He's kidding," Bellamy says, mistaking her arrested flinch for distress. "I only hit, like, one thing today. It was the trash can. And I only sort of hit it. With my foot."

"So you… kicked a trash can," she supplies dryly. "Well done."

"Yeah," Murphy intones. "Usually, it's a kid."

They drive straight to the mall to pick up his glasses and a small box of disposable contact lenses, for him to use while he's waiting on his regular soft contacts to arrive.

"Does anyone ever work here," she grumbles when they arrive at the optical store to find the lights off and a sign taped to the door, with the words 'Back in five!' scrawled across in thick blue marker.

He shrugs, tugging on her hand as if to stretch out the rigid set of her shoulders. "That's okay. We can go grab lunch first."

They end up choosing a small Thai restaurant that serves up a mean green curry, splitting a small dish of mango sticky rice for dessert. They linger for far longer than is really necessary, sharing an extra glass of iced sweet milk tea between them as they enjoy the easy conversation and the relative emptiness of the restaurant, given the awkward post-lunch, pre-dinner timing of their meal.

"This is it," he says when they're back in the store, waiting on the optician to fetch his order from the back room. "As soon as those glasses get on my face, this prince turns back into a frog."

"Joke's on you," she deadpans, elbowing him lightly. "You've been a frog all along."

He laughs, his hand tightening reflexively on hers. "Harsh, princess."

It's really not that big a deal, or any notable size of a deal at all, but she finds herself holding her breath when the glasses come out of their shiny new case. There's an extra minute or so where the optician gives them a last polish, prattling on and on about all the lens fit and the design of the frame, but then finally, he's handing them over to Bellamy, and—

"Whoa." Bellamy blinks, the dark brown of his eyes looking even glossier through the clear lenses. "Let there be light." He spreads both hands slightly, his inky black curls curling against the top of the thick frames. "Well? What do you think?"

There's a lump in her throat, and she has no idea how it got there. She swallows hard.

"Oh, yeah," she says, a little weakly. "Definitely still a frog."

They walk back to the car like they always do; separately, hands at their sides.

The next three days are oddly uncomfortable.

Everything goes right back to normal. She holes up in her home office to work on her projects, Bellamy goes to school, they have dinner on the couch every night, with a bubbly sitcom or a quirky dramedy playing on the TV.

Even though nothing's really changed, she can't help feeling like everything's been knocked slightly out of alignment. Like the lines and shapes and colours that make up the world around her suddenly aren't quite as clear or bright as they used to be.

"What?" Bellamy says when he notices her staring one night. He lifts a hand, touching his fingertips to his thick black frames. "Look that bad?"

He'd originally planned to wear the disposable ones for the rest of the week, but on the first day wearing them, he'd popped them out within the hour, complaining that they just don't fit like his usual pair.

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, yeah. Nowhere near as pretty as your other pair," she says with a grin. They're both fully aware that these new frames are more or less identical to his old ones.

He shakes his head, mouth curved with a wide smile. "Well, you can quit worrying about it. My contacts should get here tomorrow." He taps at his glasses. "Say bye to these."

She's struck by the sudden realisation that she doesn't want to do that. She likes the glasses. She likes how much softer they make his structured cheeks and jaw look, how much fluffier his hair seems to grow, how much more relaxed his entire body seems to become.

"We're having dinner with Raven and Miller tomorrow," she says instead. "Don't forget."

Dinner is a loud affair, even with Jasper and Monty passing so they can attend a mutual friend's housewarming party.

Clarke's not sure what it is exactly about the night that makes it so enjoyable, but something about Raven's sharp snark and Miller's lazy sarcasm just seems to turn everything about twelve shades funnier than usual. The little Mexican bistro Miller's chosen for dinner is relaxed and comfortable, with great food and even better drinks, and for the first time in three days, she feels herself loosening up, smiling easier and laughing harder than she has in a while.

She drinks slightly more sangria than she'd originally planned to, but the light giddiness that seeps into her system is definitely borne of genuine joy rather than any hint of drunkenness.

"Raven's funny," she says as she and Bellamy start on the walk back home. "Miller's funny, too. We should hang out with them more often."

He chuckles, his head tilting sideways as he looks over at her. "We hang out with them all the time."

"No, I mean, like, just them," she insists, grinning helplessly. "Without Jonty and Masper."

He squints at her, expression teasing. "You drunk, Clarke?"

She laughs, shaking her head. She really isn't. It just feels like an invisible weight's been lifted from her shoulders. It feels good. "No. Just… happy."

He nods, seeming to consider her answer more seriously than she'd expected. "Good. That's good, princess."

Now she's the one cocking her head, squinting at him. "Are you happy?"

He laughs, but there's an unfamiliar edge to the sound that rings distinctly bittersweet to her ears. "With you? Always."

On sheer impulse, she reaches out, slipping her hand into his. "Good."

It's only when his hand curls around hers, big and warm, that she really, properly gets what it is that she's doing. It's all fine and dandy to hold her roommate's hand for the purpose of guiding him about while his vision's impaired, but—

"Oh." Forcing herself to loosen her grip, she works up a tense laugh. "Sorry. Force of habit, I guess."

Never mind that it's been three whole days since she'd last held his hand. Never mind that they'd really only spent three days before that even holding hands at all, which is nowhere near long enough to form a legitimate habit.

Bellamy blinks, making no moves to let her hand slip from his. "No, it's— it's okay. I mean, I don't mind."

It's fucking embarrassing to admit, but her breath hitches in her throat — actually hitches. Like she's a character in a cheesy romance novel. "Oh. Okay. As long as you're sure."

She's expecting some sort of wry crack, or maybe a dry, deadpanned reassurance that 'I've survived Jasper and Monty's homemade moonshine, princess. Holding hands with you is hardly going to kill me'.

The last thing she's expecting is for Bellamy come to an abrupt stop, tug firmly on her hand to turn her towards him, bring his free hand up to cup her face and kiss her.

She's kissing him right back before she can even quite grasp what's happening, her free hand twisting into his shirt, the other shifting slightly in his to pull him even closer.

After a long, glorious minute, he pulls back, pressing his forehead to hers. She can't quite tell that fiery warmth blazing between the point of their contact is coming from his skin or hers.

"I'm sure, Clarke," he says, smiling against her lips. "I'm absolutely, completely sure."

"See, I told you I was sure!" Monty cries when they walk into the bar the next day, one of his fingers pointed right at their joined hands.

"Holy shit," Jasper says, eyes wide. "Are you guys for real dating now?!"

Clarke pauses, frowning slightly. "Well, we weren't— this is new, it didn't happen till—" She sighs, giving up as the entire table predictably erupts into cheers. "Yeah, okay," she says, grinning at Bellamy. "We are, all right?"

"Told you love was blind," Miller says, sloshing his beer dangerously when Jasper shoves him in excitement.

Bellamy groans. "For the last time, I'm not blind!"

#bellarke fanfiction #bffnet #bffwritingteam #a: mellamymake #wt: mel #title: suddenly i see (this is what i wanna be)#oneshots #modern au #roommates #friends to lovers #teacher!bellamy #fluff #humor

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dvddggs · 8 years

Text

To the Four of Us (Part Twenty)

spremise: modern AU chronicling the squad as they make their way through college and deal with general life things. soundtrack song: Satellite - All Time Low full soundtrack: x words: 2,485 warnings: nothin really except swearing?? i went easy on u guys a/n: IM REALLY TIRED SO IM NOT EDITING THIS WE DIE LIKE MEN HSDGKJDG ((I’ll prob edit it tomorrow but i wanted to get the chapter out all chapters: x

tags: @heythereitsloey @anitheunicorn @newyorkyoucanbeanew @lafbagxette @justafangirlwithanavy @iamgrayfox @ordinaryornate @schuylerjoon @angelica-peggy-eliza @trashyperson101 @crazydragon15 @but-if-you-had-to-choose @geespilots @marvelous-hamilfan @5p00kygh05t @panda-powers @and-maria @lafeyettegunsandships @schokoobananaa @allthegoodurlshavebeentaken @aphboi @hell-yes-puns-and-ships @aham-threw-his-shot-away @hesitantcat @nonstopspook @hamrevolution @writethewayout @passmethegoddamnball @allthegoodurlshavebeentaken @sun-tree @angelizaandpeggy

dedication: @schokoobananaa for their AMAZING PIECE THAT I AM IN LOVE WITH ((ive been thinking about it all day tbh))

When Alexander pulled the car into the driveway, there was a dim light on the horizon which indicated that the sun was going to rise soon. He checked the clock on the dashboard. It was nearly 5 o’clock in the morning. Yawning, Alexander shut off the engine and tapped John lightly on the shoulder. They had been sitting quietly together until around an hour earlier, when he dozed off with his cheek pressed against the window. As hard as it was for Alexander to keep entertained by himself, he let John sleep.

They had two weeks to discuss what happened.

“John,” Alexander whispered, running a thumb along his boyfriend’s cheek.

John slowly began to stir, eyelids fluttering. He mumbled something incoherent and smiled sleepily at Alexander from under his mop of unkempt curls.

“We’re home.”  John cocked his head to the side in confusion until Alexander pointed out the window at the sign at the end of the driveway. The Washington-Hamiltons.

“Your house?” John asked in wonder, eyes widening. Alexander suppressed a giggle—he was still so dopey. “This is where…you live?”

Alexander nodded and searched John’s eyes, getting lost in them for a moment. He was everything good in the world. He had been through so much—none of which he deserved. The hint of sun peeking out of the horizon lit up the freckles that peppered his face and made his eyes turn an intense moss green. He looked peaceful, which made Alexander happy. He knew that it wouldn’t last—that soon John would fully awaken and remember everything that was happening. But for now he deserved a moment of tranquility.

Charles’ shrill voice broke Alexander from his trance.

“We’re home?” he asked loudly, waking up Aaron and earning an annoyed glare from the three other members of the car.

Alexander unclipped his seatbelt, walked around the vehicle, and opened John’s door for him. John slowly pulled himself out of the seat using Alexander’s hand to hoist him up. Aaron and Charles watched them walk toward the front door in comfortable silence, Alexander with an arm tucked around John’s waist.

They hadn’t stopped touching since they found each other. When Alexander got to the train station, he’d jammed the transmission and thrown himself out of the car so fast that Aaron and Charles didn’t even have time to react—they were left alone in the idling car, hoping that Alexander would return with John eventually.

Alexander sped through the train station, cutting people off and even running into one woman who was half-asleep.

“Sorry,” he’d called breathlessly as he continued to follow the signs leading to where he thought John would be. When he ran down the stairs and opened the doors to the platform, he was met with a flood of people. How he was supposed to find John in all this he didn’t know…

He’d done two laps of the area before he had spotted him—sitting with his head in his hands, blinking hard, shoulders rising and falling quickly in time with his shallow breaths.

“John,” he’d murmured to himself, rushing towards his boyfriend. “JOHN!”

Relief washed over him when John looked up and smiled almost hysterically, jumping to his feet and running to close the gap between them. Alexander felt like crying as he held John, and they stayed locked in the close embrace for minutes on end, rocking back and forth.

“Are you okay?” Alexander had whispered, stroking John’s hair. John’s shoulders shook as he sobbed uncontrollable. He didn’t respond—he didn’t need to.

Alexander didn’t say anything else, he just held John until his breathing began to slow and his sniffles became less frequent.

“Alex—” John had choked, but Alexander shook his head.

“Let’s get you home, okay?”  John nodded and they broke apart, keeping their fingers locked as Alexander led John back to the car like a lost puppy.

When he opened his door and climbed in, Charles leaned forward with a goofy grin and said, “Hi, John! It’s nice to meet you—I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Charles!”

John sniffled and nodded with evident disinterest as Aaron glaringly punched Charles in the arm. Charles seemed to have gotten the message because that was the last time he’d spoken in the car.

John and Alexander held hands in silence, both staring out the front windshield as the road spread out in front of them. When Alexander stopped for gas, he asked John if he wanted anything—to which he responded with nothing but a small shake of the head. Alexander knew that John would need to talk eventually, but he didn’t want to press the issue—if John wanted to sit in silence, they would sit in silence.

Alexander led the way into his house to find George, Uncle John, and Abigail asleep on the couch, leaning against each other like fallen dominoes. When George heard the door open, his eyes flew open and he stood up on high alert.

“You’re back!” he said, rushing over to Alexander and hugging him. “How did it go? How are—oh—John, how are you? Are you okay? Can I get you something—coffee, tea, hot chocolate?—Yeah, hot chocolate sounds like a good idea—Alex, can you get the kettle out? Never mind, I’ll get it. You go get John some clean clothes. Or—well, do whatever you want. I’ll make some hot chocolate.”

George got to work immediately, causing Uncle John and Abigail to stir. Abigail immediately checked on Charles as they gathered their things and got ready to go home. Aaron stood by the front door without taking his shoes off, watching the scene as Alexander sat John down at the dining room table.

“I think I’m gonna head home, okay Alex?” Aaron said lightly. “It’s been kinda a long day.”

Alexander nodded. “Okay. Hey, Aaron? Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Alex; don’t be dumb…I hope you’re doing okay, John,” Aaron added in an undertone. “Oh, and by the way, you’re all Alex can ever goddamn talk about.”

John felt the slight flicker of a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth when Aaron said that. He nodded his thanks and watched Alexander’s childhood friend leave. He wanted to speak—to say thank you, to apologize, to do something other than cry—but he didn’t feel physically capable of it, so he opted for silence. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth that he would shatter into a million pieces and never be put back together.

He nodded gratefully when Alexander’s father put a steaming mug of hot chocolate on the table in front of him. He let his eyes flutter shut when Alexander pulled up a chair beside him and began to rub his back. He took a deep breath when Alexander asked how he was doing. But he did not speak.

It was nearing 6 AM when George peeked out of the living room to check on Alexander and John. When he found them in the same place, he announced that he was going to bed. Alexander nodded, standing up himself. He picked up John’s mug—which was still almost full—and put it on the counter.

“John,” he said gently. “Let’s go to sleep, okay? You need sleep…you’ll feel better.”

John nodded absentmindedly and let Alexander pull him to his feet, leading the way to a bed—whose it was, he had no idea. Folding back the sheets, Alexander climbed in behind John, who was still wearing his jeans from the day before. He wrapped his arms protectively around John and pulled him close, and the pair fell asleep almost instantly.

When John woke up, the bed was empty. Through the window opposite the bed he was in, he could tell that the sun was setting. Had he slept through an entire day? And, speaking of beds, whose was he in? Where was he?

He turned his head. To his right, a blue wall with a Columbia University pennant on it. To his left, a nightstand. On that was a stack of loose papers, some pens, an alarm clock (which told him that it was 4:30 PM), and a framed photo of Alexander and his father with their arms around each other, grinning at the camera in front of the White House.

He was in Alex’s room.

As John woke up, he took in all the details of the bedroom, trying to commit it to memory. The clothes that littered the grey carpet. The plaid duvet that was thrown over the unmade bed. The photos and memories that sat atop his dresser. An empty coffee mug with a broken handle made John actually smile; Alexander texted him right after he’d broken it last night because something Charles had said made him frustrated.

Charles.

Last night.

Suddenly, John’s smile was gone as it all flooded back to him.

“Alex?” he called. His voice was hoarse—that was the first time he’d spoken since the train station.

Footsteps thumped quickly through the hallway outside the bedroom door and Alexander burst into the room smiling. “Hey, sleepy-head,” he said.

“How long did I sleep?” John grumbled.

“Around ten hours…maybe more. I’ve been up since two.” John’s eyes widened a bit—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept that long. “How do you feel?”

John shrugged. “Better, I guess…not much.”  Just as he finished the sentence, Alexander’s laptop lit up with a Skype call.

“Oh—I told Laf and Herc what happened,” Alexander said gently. “They told me to tell them when you woke up…I guess this is why.”

Alexander answered the phone and instantly the screen was filled with a split-screen extreme close-up of Hercules’s face, and Lafayette’s left nostril.

“Back up, Laf,” Hercules snickered, pretending to pick his nose. Lafayette chuckled, readjusting his computer so his friends could see him.

“BONJOUR, MES AMIS,” Lafayette announced in a thicker-than-usual French accent.

“How’s Paris?” Alexander asked.

“It’s Auvergne. Fuck-toi,” Lafayette muttered. “John, oh my god, how are you?”

John took a deep breath and shrugged again. This was exactly why he never told people about his problems. Obviously he wasn’t okay, but how long could he keep telling people that before they got frustrated and stopped caring?

“I miss you,” he said honestly to Lafayette. He was the one person that John had gone to with his problems since the beginning—no judgement and no questions asked.

Lafayette pouted. “Do you want me to fly out? I can stay with you at Alex’s house. We can all share a bed.”

In spite of himself, John smiled. Lafayette always knew which jokes would make him laugh.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hercules asked, concern lacing his expression.

John shook his head. “Honestly, the last thing in the fucking world I want right now is to talk about it, okay? I’ll be fine…it’s just another bump in the road.” Hercules, Lafayette, and Alexander exchanged a skeptical glance as Alexander put a hand on John’s shoulder. “Seriously. I’ll get over it.”

“That’s not the point, John,” Alexander said quietly.

“Yeah, well…it’s a lot easier that way, trust me,” John muttered. “So—anyways, are you happy to be home, Laf? How much do you miss me?”

Lafayette, Hercules, and Alexander humoured John and changed the subject, but as soon as he got up to go to the bathroom, Alexander sat in front of the computer and watched his friends’ expressions change instantly to heavy concern.

“That was the first time he’s spoken in over twelve hours,” Alexander muttered.

“He looks exhausted,” Hercules replied. Lafayette nodded in agreement, sadness in his eyes.

“He’s fucking traumatized,” said Alexander helplessly. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Let him have a good Christmas, Alex,” Lafayette piped up. “He’s never, ever had one without it turning to shit. Give him tomorrow, okay? Then let him deal with this. But give him tomorrow.”

“That’s a good idea,” Hercules said, nodding his head in agreement. “Just enjoy the fact that he’s there.”

“For now,” Alexander said warily as John reentered the bedroom.

“My mom is—je parle avec mes amis, Maman!! JE M'EN VIENS. Oh mon dieu—I have to go. My mom. Love you all! Oh, and Herc, text me later.” Lafayette smiled apologetically and waved goodbye, ending his side of the phone call.

“Yeah,” Hercules said. “My brother just got here so I should probably go too. Merry Christmas, guys. Have fun with your little sleepover! Don’t be too loud with the festive sex tonight.”  

Hercules winked, making Alexander and John laugh. That had been the last thing on either of their minds.

“See ya, Herc.”

Once the Skype call ended, John put his hands on Alexander’s shoulders and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. When Alexander looked back at him, the smile he flashed was so large and so genuine that Alexander couldn’t help grinning back.

Lafayette had been right—he deserved a happy Christmas.

That night, despite Alexander’s insistence that it didn’t matter, George laid out milk and cookies for Santa, then they all sat down to watch a Christmas movie.

“Which one do you want to watch, John?” George asked politely.

John turned a shade of pink and shrugged. It truly didn’t matter to him—he was snuggled up to Alexander on the couch and they were holding hands under a blanket. George lay on the carpet below them looking through the DVDs.

“How about Home Alone?” Alexander suggested.

George found the DVD and popped it into the player before hopping up and shuffling into his bedroom excitedly. He emerged holding his and Alexander’s Christmas Eve tradition—the classic pyjama gift.

“Oh—John,” Alexander stammered. “I’m so sorry…I didn’t even think—”

He felt terrible that he and his father would be opening a gift and John would be excluded.

“Lex, it’s totally fine,” John scoffed. “Seriously, I would never expect—I mean, I barged in on you.”

George smiled and silently handed Alexander a poorly-wrapped gift, followed by handing an identical one to John, whose entire face lit up in shock. Alexander grinned, grateful to his father for his eternal thoughtfulness. He handed his father his gift and they all opened on “three,” and all pretended to be surprised that they’d received pyjamas (except John, who genuinely was surprised).

After they all put their new pyjamas on, John snuggled back up with Alexander under their fluffy blanket, more comfortable than he’d been in months, and struggled to keep his eyes open as he watched the movie.

“Hey,” George said after awhile. “It’s twelve-o-one; merry Christmas, guys.”

Alexander kissed John’s forehead.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured. “I love you.”

The glow of the fireplace warmed John’s face.

For a moment, everything was perfect.

#BYEEEEEEEEEEEEE HAVE SOME HAPPINESS A LITTLE #ttfou #to the four of us

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