#don’t think I even shared these thoughts aside from my doodles/sketches.. uh-

[cloudsrust]

I know I talk a lot about Helob and Sozo but I’ll be damned if I don’t have thoughts about Ratau, Narinder and the Fox too-

Oh and Plimbo.. but honestly in his case I’m just rotating him in my brain trying to figure out what the hell he is.

[boredroo]

A Messenger pt. 4

Summary: The Council has heard of the names that have reigned down London; the Frye twins have evidently brought upon a change for the better good against the Templar’s tyranny, but order must still be kept.

You have been sent by the Council to evaluate the two sibling assassins, report what is must and maintain control where it must be maintained.

Pairing: Jacob Frye x Reader

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3

[][][][][][][][]

The sun filtering through the glass window feels warm, but not too warmly as it must be if you were actually outside. You’re rather content, really, spending many hours in the moving train, interviewing and interrogating the people residing, or just resting within. Sometimes you are poring over notes of the Piece of Eden Evie has been so very devoted in searching for as well.

You’ve talked to the Assassins’ contacts who can be found from time to time lingering around the compartments, aside from Frederick Abberline who is of the Scotland Yard, so understandably he won’t spend much time here as the others. 

Ned Wynert, for example, is an amiable fellow who doesn’t ever mind your company and is always happy to answer whatever inquiries you have. Then, there’s Clara O’Dea, the child that has taken upon herself to lead other unfortunate children of the streets. And with her, truthfully, you find it more... difficult to even keep any sort of eye contact with. She has noticed this, the intelligent one she is, and has decided for both of your sake to stay away from you as long as she could help it—You remain indifferent to this, perhaps even relieved.

...She reminds you too much of a certain someone after all. And you refuse to have that familiarity, that... pain hold you back from your responsibilities.

But now, you focus on a different second party of yours; Henry Green smiles politely, kindly at every question you have. He is rather helpful for your part, having made observations and notes of his own on the Frye twins, though you can’t help but notice that...

“...Mr. Green, are you afraid of me?” you ask after a moment of consideration. He never looks you in the eye, you’ve noted.

Henry startles at this. “Uh, w-well...” He recollects himself, smiling a strained one. “You are a rather... authoritative person, I must admit. But I mean no disrespect, of course-”

You nod. “Not at all. But I do worry how you’re taken to Evie if you possibly find her intimidating as well.” The Frye sister is a definite nightmare to those who cross her, and so you can’t help but be curious.

Henry splutters in shock. “(Y/N)...! What are you saying?!”

His cry comes to you as a surprise. “I apologise, I didn’t mean to offend-”

“You’ll have to excuse me, (Y/N),” he rushes, walking past you in a manner of someone escaping from getting caught red-handed.

...Did you say something wrong? You never expected that Henry, someone as collected and professional as himself could ever put up such a display, and yet-

You hear a small laughter from behind.

Turning around, your notebook in hand...

“Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Frye.”

“And to you as well,” he winks as he tips his hat slightly, leaning comfortably against the wall not far from where you stand. Has he been there long? 

You’ve come to a realisation not long before this—that, as of late, you sometimes discover him in the periphery, watching you, your interactions, your routines, and only announcing himself quite later than what is appropriate. If not, he would be out there, surely setting fires to carts and carriages and doing the complete opposite of what his smart sister is doing.

“Very smooth there, what you did with Henry. Very subtle,” he smirks, coming to stand near you.

You purse your lips. “I didn’t mean any harm-”

“Of course you didn’t,” he’s come to stand nearer, having you look up to him, to that unchanging confident smile of his. “Just forget about Greenie, he’ll get over himself.”

“Greenie...” you couldn’t restrain an amused smile of your own, though you manage to avert your eyes away before you’re caught. You never notice the curious grin Jacob wears towards you.

“So, (Y/N),” Jacob rests his hand on your shoulder—you can’t help but freeze at the sudden, almost intimate gesture. “How are your reports so far? Surely you’ve seen just how much I am capable, and might I say, quite handsome?” He leans in playfully, complacently grinning.

You make a show of attentively going through your book with a hard, serious gaze, before forcefully snapping it shut. “Not a single bit,” you deadpan.

Rather than retaliating, he only stares, and laughs lightly right after, looking away delicately. His rather... gentle reaction has you frowning in confusion, but you cough the thought away.

“On a more serious note, I do think you of a capable assassin. You’re better than me, and many others I’ve known, that is obvious,” he looks briefly surprised at that. “But a little pinch of wisdom and careful planning would carry you even further. Alike to your sister and father.”

There, he groans.

“I’m telling the truth,” you insist, but he waves his hand in disinterest. 

“Okay, let’s not ruin the moment, yes?” he sighs exasperatedly. ...What moment?

You’re tempted to ask, sate your puzzlement but at his seemingly soured mood, you barely manage to hold your tongue.

“I was actually going to ask, (Y/N), if you wanted to tag along with me today,” Jacob says.

“Doing what?”

“Just a bit of extermination work, you know...” he snickers. “From those pests.”

He’s inviting you to work in the field with him?

You cock an eyebrow, hesitant. “Why?”

“Why not?”

You couldn’t prepare a ready answer for that, and Jacob grins in satisfaction in response.

“This is more of an opportunity for you to evaluate me, wouldn’t it?” He emphasises the ‘evaluate’ part, making you fidget in reluctance. Heat as if sears through where his hand is still touching your shoulder, and you feel your stomach churn for no good reason. Could he be using some sort of a... fear tactic on you?

“That is true, Mr. Frye,” you begin diplomatically, “But I never expected you to actually want to be evaluated. I admit, my reports on you are quite diminutive compared to your sister’s.”

His voice then sounds much closer than you expect, smooth and almost soft, like a whisper into your ear, “Then there’s no reason to say no, am I right?”

You look towards him, juggling the bundle of tangled words you have no idea how to string coherently. His eyes are bright as they lay against yours, and you suppress the urge to gulp.

“...Very well.”

The change is immediate; he pulls away briskly and slaps the small of your back. You’re almost hurled forward from his eager strength.

“Splendid! It’s a date then,” he beams, already making way towards the exit of the train.

“I-It is?” You mutter incredulously under your breath.

He doesn’t deign to answer, only catching your attention to show the meeting place on the map on the wall, along with sharing with you the designated time.

“Why aren’t we going together?” you ask before he could leap out.

Jacob scoffs. “Now, now, shouldn’t we take this slowly and steadily?”

You’re close to pulling your hair out and scream in frustration. What does that even mean?!

With a cheery wink, he removes his hat in bidding farewell, before leaving the train entirely.

...You really don’t understand the work which is Jacob Frye, and you aren’t sure whether you will ever, to be frank.

***

Meow.

You look up from your sketch in black ink, frowning at the cat sitting in front of your crouched self.

“Did you change positions again?” You grimace at the feline, refraining a weary sigh. She blinks blankly in response, and naturally goes to bathe herself, not exactly requiring any privacy from your eyes.

Your forehead scrunched up in dismay, you flip to the next page, beginning to doodle from scratch yet again, simply because the damned adorable cat refuses to stand still and let you bask in all her glory without giving you such a hard time. You suppose you’re drawing a cat licking her underside now, if that’s what she wants...

“...Now that’s what I call a masterpiece,” a voice comes from right behind you, and you scream.

As you scramble to stand upright, your notebook and pen slip out of your grasp and you’re a hot fumbling mess trying to catch them multiple times. And when you have, you whirl around, gaping to see Jacob standing there. You quickly brush down your clothes in a desperate act to appear... anything that you weren’t just seconds ago.

The hard twitch of Jacob’s lips brings you despair. You’d prefer if he’d just laugh all he wants, but instead his attempt of suppressing a surely wide smile is a gigantic blow you have to take to your pride and honour.

There’s a pause, just briefly as he seems to look you up and down, arms against his chest, until...

“Hello,” he slowly greets, the single word tinged with so much hidden meaning, so much mockery and amusement that you might as well have taken damage just from that.

“...Hello, Mr. Frye,” you answer, quieter. His smile cracks for just a second before he promptly nods, putting up a serious face, but failing utterly.

You really can’t take this any second longer. “You were late,” you say, almost accusingly. “You were late, so excuse me if I had to-”

“Woah there, settle down,” he says, raising his hands mid-air as if in surrender, “Not my business, yeah?”

“Indeed,” you almost sag in relief. “Thank you for understanding-”

But then he snatches your book out of your hands, immediately flipping through to land right where your horrible doodles are. Panic rams into you like a horse.

“F-Frye!”

“Wow, look at this one,” Jacob is now laughing without control, more than enjoying your masterpieces. “Art imitates life, as they say.”

“Frye, come on!” You struggle against him to take your book back, but he avoids you deftly. You’re not an artist at all, you were simply trying to fill the time, time that he himself made for coming later than the appointment you’ve decided on, but now he’s being childish! And you’re really just embarrassed about all of this...!

“Hey, that’s you, see?” He even shows the cat what you’ve drawn, which the latter finds interest only momentarily, too self-absorbed to care.

“Jacob!” You demand, and finally you’re able to get your hands back on your book after what feels like an hour of struggle. Jacob takes a step back, admitting defeat, but that stupid grin of his still won’t go away.

You’re huffing begrudgingly as you shove your items into your satchel, that when you’re done, you don’t allow Jacob to speak at all and instead push a finger against his chest, making him recline another step back.

“You’re insufferable!” You shout in frustration. He seems unfazed, and so you do it again, pushing him with your whole hand this time.

But he catches it with his own, holding onto your wrist, that when you try to retract back your hand, he doesn’t let you. You grit your teeth, snapping up angrily, only to fall back—almost fall back when you catch sight of his expression.

...Why is he looking so endearingly at you like that?

You frown, so furious, so... confused. You don’t understand what it is he’s trying to do, what he wants from you.

...It feels too long before the... strange atmosphere finally fades. He doesn’t let you go still, but he does slip something into your hand.

“Here,” he says, voice abnormally quieter than usual.

“Huh?”

In your grasp now, is something you’ve seen before. In fact, you recognise it immediately—

“This is... a grappling hook?” You question, looking over it at the same time. Jacob hums in confirmation.

“Thought you’d need one if you’re going to stay with us, really helps out in the long run if you’re not planning to scale every single building in the city,” he elaborates.

...He expects you to stay long with them?

The grappling hook, or the rope launcher as you can identify it both ways, is a tool specific for the use of the twins, and only the twins. Even Henry doesn’t own one, if you recall correctly. At least, not one that was specifically asked to be made, not like this one that Jacob is giving you.

“...Is this why you came late?” You ask. Jacob shrugs nonchalantly.

“Might’ve. I would’ve brought you to see Aleck as well, but mad scientists are busy men, it seems,” he says with a chuckle. “Perhaps next time.”

“...Thank you,” you barely manage to say, still a bit too caught off guard, and honestly, winded after that... silly, unprofessional little interaction between the two of you—You didn’t exactly expect this at all.

“Really, thank you,” you repeat, more genuinely this time. You look up to him, wanting to say more; Thank you for thinking of me, you try to say. ...But you can’t, you aren’t able to.

He doesn’t respond immediately, simply staring back at you in silence. But he breaks into a smile afterwards, then casually pats your arm.

“Don’t mention it,” he starts, and with a more mischievous smile, “Take it as... compensation. For laughing at your beautiful drawings.”

Your face falls. “I don’t usually draw, alright?! Like I said, you were late and I was bored-”

“Yes, yes,” he chuckles, his tone as if consoling a child. You’re still trying to prove whatever the point it is you’re making as he urges you to walk, both of you walking side by side to your next destination.

“No, really. If anything, those were impressive works considering I never pick up drawing or painting.”

“Of course, (Y/N). And I’m sure those cats will prove helpful for your reports to the Council.”

...And at that, you could only fall silent.

——

Aaaaaaaahhhh I think the relationship moved a bit too fast in this one but I kinda can’t help it :’) It’s supposed to be longer, but had to cut it here and save the follow-up for the next part. Thanks for reading, really appreciate the likes guys! 💖💖💖

[regrettablewritings]

Soulmate AU: Soulmates Get Reincarnated with Their Memories Usually Intact

P/N = Previous Life’s Name

The images were usually very fragmented and fuzzy for you but if you focused hard enough and just long enough, you could make them out.

It was the 70s, you were in a hospital bed, and you could see his silhouette. He was tall yet the furthest thing from intimidating, even as he stood over you, saying something. You could never really make out exactly what the words were, but judging by the tone of concern that surrounded them, you could tell that they were words of worry. Maybe even a light scolding. You felt his hands cup your face and his lips pressed to your forehead. If you looked down, you'd see that your leg was in a large cast.

In another segment, you were in a workshop. One made in a garage, judging by how small it seemed to be. You were sitting on something (a bench, probably) and his silhouette was visibly shaking it's head as he placed stuff on your cheeks -- band aids. Once again, words just as fuzzy as his appearance were uttered. And, once again, they seemed to be anchored in your memory as concerned.

The final set of memories was your favorite, though, so you always made sure to focus extra hard for it: You were both lying down on the couch, you on top of him and his arms wrapped around you back. One hand was playing with your hair, the other was gently rubbing your back. As if he were trying to soothe you.

He probably was.

Because you often put a higher amount of effort into detailing this memory, you could pick up a better feel of how you'd experienced that moment. It felt heavy, suffocating almost. It felt tired and lost. The only reason you liked this memory was because he was in it, braving through whatever it was, with you. It was also the only one you had where you could recall anything he said: "(Something something) Not giving (something something)."

And . . . that was it. That was all you could remember him saying, and that was all you could remember of him entirely!

It apparently wasn't unheard of or even necessarily uncommon for a person to potentially have loose fragments of memories of their previous lives, but it certainly didn't mean you weren't going to receive pitiful acknowledgements about your condition. That just meant your ability to relocate your soulmate was going to be even harder. Whereas most people, with complete memories of their past lives, could potentially piece together a meeting place or shared interest that would place them in the direct path of where they’d likely relocate their match, you only had a hospital, a garage, and a snug living room.

At first, you'd tried to keep positive: Some people didn't have any memories of their past lives at all! But the more you thought about it, the more maddening it became to realize you were simultaneously so close to at least pinpointing your other match's appearance, yet distanced due to the fact that "so close" just wasn't enough. It was like winning second place in a competition: so close, but not close enough.

You eventually began to wonder if it was better to be eternally teased with the notion of who your soulmate was, or if it would be better to be metaphorically put out of your misery by just not having any at all.

You didn’t like the idea of deciding; deciding meant giving it an essence of finality. As such, you went with a third option: distracting yourself. Sometimes it meant pouring yourself into your studies, other times it meant delving into creative or scientific-type hobbies. But on the rare occasion, it meant traveling. This summer distraction took the form of a trip to San Fransokyo, a gift from your parents as a reward for your hard work in your most recent semester. You were beyond thrilled the moment you stepped a toe off the plane: San Fransokyo was gorgeous! There were so many sights to see, places to be, sounds to hear, food to eat -- Speaking of which, that smell coming from the cafe across the street is divine! you thought. Your stomach appeared to agree, throwing in a gurgle of approval. A sure sign that now was the time to stop sight-seeing for a moment and grab a bite to eat. As you got closer, you could see that the structure, a cute little home business, was called the Lucky Cat Cafe. You had to fight the urge to create a goofy smile over how cute the company’s name and appearance were. Adding on to the cuteness, however, were the two people working at the counter. There was a brunette woman going back and forth between the display cases and a door that appeared to lead into the kitchen (not that this stopped her from flashing you a hurried but nevertheless warm smile and greeting), and a young Asian boy who couldn’t have been older than 13 or 14 manning the register. He appeared to look bored for a moment, distracting himself with doodles on a small notepad in front of him, until the brunette lady hissed at him to pay attention. You once again found yourself fighting the urge to express how adorable this entire building was when the world’s most adorable cashier, in a flustered and frantic manner, swiped his sketch aside and flashed a coy, gap-toothed smile and asked for your order. Once the transaction was complete, you took a seat by a window and took the opportunity to bask in the atmosphere. The smell of coffee, the warm and welcoming environment, the charm of a business made in a home, and an appeal that, judging by the decent number of people present, had made a name for itself in this part of the neighborhood. You smiled lightly, becoming engrossed in your mulling: This would be a great place to bring my soulmate . . . You rarely allowed yourself to get romantic about the “s” word, at least you didn’t nowadays. But there was just something about the environment that made your heart feel at ease. To become lax and mellowed and optimistic. To feel as though in spite of your condition, your lack of memories, everything was going to be all right -- CRASH The noise, loud and sudden, attacked your thoughts and dragged them right back into reality. Back in reality, you no longer felt the secure feeling of peace; instead, you just felt confusion before slipping into slight disappointment: Your lunch, which you were sure had been pristine before, now lay on the ground, ruined. “Tadashi, what gives!?” you heard a voice demand. You recognized it as it being the voice of the little boy who’d taken your order before, causing you to internally wonder, “Yeah, Tadashi, what gives!?” It was only when you lifted your gaze upwards that you were met not with the horrified and embarrassed face of someone who’d made a mistake (and a loud one at that), but with one that expressed an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Wide eyes, mouth slightly agape, head cocked so slightly that it was barely noticeable. Quiet, barely there breathing. Hands fallen limp to his sides. Tadashi, came to find, was a young Japanese man, broad-shouldered, pretty brown eyes.  He was also, you determined instantly, very cute. Cute enough to almost make whatever expression he was casting not as too terribly awkward as it actually was. Almost. But Tadashi didn’t respond with an explanation of “what gave”; he only responded with a name: “(P/N).” It was whispered but due to how quiet the cafe had become in response to his dropping of your plate, a handful could hear it. You, especially. Granted, you were clearly confused. “Uh . . .” you stammered. You quickly glanced around, assuring that he couldn’t have been referring to somebody else. You looked behind yourself, through the window, in case he saw this (P/N) person outside on the street. But you knew it was a bit ridiculous to do so: Tadashi was, without a doubt, staring at you. “I-I’m sorry,” you finally offered. “I’m (Y/N); I mean, I guess I have one of those faces but --” “No, you’re (P/N). Well, you were,” Tadashi said with growing excitement. His previous wide-eyed expression lapsed into that of a smile complete with twinkling eyes. (This, you noted, completed your previous conclusion that everything in the Lucky Cat Cafe was adorable.) “I’d know you anywhere!” Well, this was awkward. You fidgeted with your shirt hem. “I . . .” Your voice dropped into a slight whisper. “I’m afraid I don’t think we’ve met . . .” The smile became slightly tensed. “Come on, (P/N), we don’t see each other for years and this is how you’re gonna greet me?” Your eyes flickered about the restaurant. Everyone else had gone back to their own business. Was this a prank? You could almost feel Tadashi studying your features. And judging by how genuine the perplexity in them were, it only took a few seconds for him to determine that you weren’t joking; you really didn’t know this man whatsoever. The resulting look that appeared on Tadashi’s face hurt you. It was like sadness and confusion morphed into disappointment. His shoulders slumped. “You’re . . . You’re serious?” he questioned. He placed a hand on his chest. “It’s me: Daniel. Your --” Tadashi stopped himself short, unsure as to whether or not the word he was about to say was appropriate, given the situation. He realized that there was no other word he could use that wouldn’t result in the same impact. “--soulmate.” The word sounded strange when he used it. Maybe it was because it sounded tense. Maybe it was because of the hint of awkwardness with which he said it. But perhaps it just sounded strange because of you: That you were hearing it in relation to you, that he said he was yours. Your soulmate. The word buzzed around in your head, getting drowned out by a million thoughts: Was this for real? Is that all you needed to do to find him -- travel? Was this a prank? You struggled to find the proper response. After all, what does one say in this situation? What does one say when they meet a soulmate whom they only remember in silhouette form? “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” you demanded. You didn’t mean to come off in a too assertive manner, but what choice did you have in such a questionable position. Tadashi didn’t seem to mind your tone, however, appearing to still be much more put off by the fact that you didn’t remember him. “Uh . . . Well . . .” He sheepishly brought a hand to the back of his head, scratching it in thought and frustration. As much as a part of you, the more suspecting part, argued against it, your more compassionate part decided the next move. “I don’t have many memories of my soulmate,” you explained. “Just three. And they’re all foggy, so I can’t tell what my soulmate looked like.” Tadashi’s shoulders drooped even further, as if your words were manifesting as weights upon his body. “But they’re specific,” you threw in, unable to keep seeing him appear so hurt. “If you can get even one of them right, then I’ll believe you.” Relief, you determined, as his posture improved. But only slightly. “Okay . . .” he agreed quietly. A few seconds later, he snapped his posture into one of stern determination. “Okay!” he repeated, louder and with a hint of ambition. “I got one: The duck pond. You remember that, right?” He crossed his arms, certain that he’d won out. Before you could deny this, he added in, “It was maybe our third date – you wandered too close to the edge and fell in the duck pond at Varimont Park and I had to take you back to my place to get you cleaned up. It was the first time you’d ever been over!”

As awkward (and like you) as it sounded, it wasn’t one of your memories. You made yourself shake your head, catching Tadashi off guard. But only for a second.

“No? Uh . . . Okay. How about that time I taught you how to juggle eggs in the kitchen?”

“Nope.”

“That time I found a stray cat and brought it home and hid it from you for an entire day.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Painting our first place tangerine on accident?”

“Good God!”

“. . . Huh.”

You weren’t sure how much time had passed. It’s hard to pay attention to time when you’ve found yourself intrigued by something. You didn’t recall any of the things Tadashi had brought up, but you certainly wanted to: They all sounded so interesting and cute; surrounded by an aura of love and admiration regardless of how obdurate their respective situations had been. You were also learning quite a lot about Tadashi’s past life as Daniel, as well as his current life: That he used to drive a motorcycle (now driving a Vespa, he added); that you two had supposedly once taken a dance class that resulted in him twisting his ankle; that you’d met while taking a required lab course at your university (which, according to Tadashi, you both wound up passing because you made “such a great team”).

You’d also begun to learn about who you supposedly were – or who his soulmate supposedly was. Or whomever that lucky person was. Whomever they were, they were blessed to have been matched with someone like Daniel/Tadashi: They would cook together, go out dancing together even though neither could really maintain much more than the most basic of rhythms. They liked dipping their fries in ice cream and even once forced him to eat it, making him realize it wasn’t all that bad. Little things but things that held a sense of importance and endearment regardless. You couldn’t help but place yourself into their shoes, a twinge of jealousy and self-indulging clouding your thoughts. You were never guaranteed a meeting with your soulmate. You therefore could never be certain if anyone would speak such lovely and intimate things with you in mind. It was only natural to want to live in the shoes of somebody who eventually would, even if only briefly and with an underlying understanding of the pain of it all.

You wondered if Tadashi (who had taken a seat across from you a while ago) was growing agitated through all this. He certainly looked fatigued by it all: Eyes drooping slightly with exhaustion, the failure to pinpoint even one memory in an hour starting to take a toll. He even perched a cheek on his hand, though less out of influence by the romanticism of reliving important memories and more out of habit for finding whatever it was he could still offer to you.

You felt bad. These were his memories that were important to him and the person he was really with – you were practically exploiting them both right now, weren’t you? You inwardly decided that yes, you were, causing you to cast your eyes downward, ashamed. Tadashi took notice.

“ – and then the neighbors called animal control because the swan wasn’t leaving and – hey. Are you okay?” The look of exasperation immediately gave way to one of concern. It made you feel wanted, but it also twisted the knife further: This man you didn’t know was giving all his attention and care to you when he should be saving it for his soulmate.

“I . . . You can stop . . . It’s okay, you tried, but . . .” you murmured as you shrugged somberly. “I just don’t think that what you think this is is real. And it’s not fair to keep you going like this. I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

The man’s brows furrowed. “Take my . . .? You’re not taking my time. I want to do this. And I want to because I know I’m right. And I know this because I know you’re (P/N) – were (P/N). And even if (Y/N) doesn’t remember me, that doesn’t mean I should just up and quit. I don’t think I even could if I wanted to.”

You couldn’t help but sigh, the feeling of guilt washing over your gut. What a wonderful person this Tadashi was, to express so much devotion to the idea of his soulmate. Someone who had forgotten him, who probably wasn’t even his match at all, did not deserve such dedication. You kept your eyes down, focusing them on your fidgeting thumbs. You couldn’t accept this concept.

This, too, did not go unnoticed by Tadashi. His expression and posture fell somber. He, too, looked down, looking for the words to say as if they lay somewhere before him on the small café table. Supposedly they were, as not even a moment later did he pick his head back up. His smile wasn’t the confident one he’d sported before or even the excited one.

It was calmer, warmer. Patient. A smile that, when you finally gathered the courage to look at it, told you that it was going to be alright. And even if the smile didn’t assure such, the words he’d finally collected did.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “It’s okay. I promise. I know who you are, that’s enough for me even if you don’t know who I am. And even if it means I have to bring up a memory every day for the rest of our lives until I hit one of them, I’m gonna do it.” He shrugged very lightly. Barely noticeable. “Because I’m not giving up on you.”

There. That last sentence. Why did it feel as though a lighter had clicked on within you?

If hearts had arms to reach with and hands to hold with, your heart was stretching them forward, pressed against your ribcage as if begging to be released so that it could embrace the speaker of those words.

It didn’t occur to you that a small shiver had traveled up your spine. Nothing much occurred to you in that fragment of a minute. Those words had acted as words of spell, one that had cast you into a world inside of yourself where you searched desperately for answers. Without mindfulness, you just barely caught yourself from letting words tumble out of your slackening mouth.

“That . . . Those words . . .” You paused before tensing, finding the portal back to reality. “They, uh. They were sweet,” you confirmed. The assuring smile on Tadashi’s face spread a little further.

“I was hoping you’d think they were – I used to tell you that all the time. You know, back when you were (P/N).” He bit his lip slightly as if unsure whether to continue this segment of the conversation before decision to do exactly that. You needed a cool down moment. Something to hold on to.

“(Y/N), when you were (P/N) you got . . . hurt. A lot. I know I made jokes and told stories about my injuries, but really, they were nothing compared to you. You used to fall down a lot. You’d get back up, of course, but usually only after sustaining a scratch. Or a bruise. Or a broken bone. You’d make jokes about how I needed to stay away from you or else your bad luck – er, crash luck – would influence me. So I’d tell you that I wouldn’t give up on you.”

You smiled. Tadashi did, too. But only for a moment: His expression became serious at this point. Yours followed suit out of confusion.

“But . . . Then you started acting differently. You got . . . quieter. Started sleeping a lot, but at odd hours. Sometimes you felt cold when it was warm out, other times you’d just start tearing up . . . Came to find out you had depression. And you were terrified and mad about it because you were scared about what would happen.” He sighed and shrugged once more. “You didn’t want to go to an asylum or rehab center. But you also didn’t like the idea of taking drugs to feel more like yourself again. We took that option in the end anyway because there was only so much that could be done but . . . I kind of lost you for a bit . . .”

You didn’t know what to say. “ ‘Lost’ ?”

The young man nodded. “You tried to distance yourself. Started feeling as though you were a burden to me. You never were, and all I ever wanted to do was help and support you. One day you just had a complete breakdown and couldn’t stop crying and blaming yourself and I couldn’t take it anymore. So I wound up taking you into my arms and holding you on top of me and we just laid there on the couch – ”

Wait . . .

“ – and I started playing with your hair and patting your back to calm you down. Eventually it worked,” Tadashi continued, voice lapsing into a dewy tone that suggested reminiscing on a level deeper, more intimate than he had with the previous recollections.

Something about this –

“And once you got calm enough, I told you – ”

“ ‘Remember, I’m not giving up on you,’ ” you whispered. It was delivered in an exhale, a frail yet somehow weighted breath. And, just like that, the lighter that clicked to life within you flared into a thousand candles. Your eyes widened with realization, as if the visibility of the truth had truly opened them for the first time.

Your heart, arms outstretched and hands grabbing, made contact with Tadashi’s own.

And for all the passionate feelings that transpired in the fraction of a second, the only thing Tadashi’s brother and aunt (who’d been watching from the counter) could see was the two of you, staring wordlessly at each other, an expression of understanding and growing relief present on either face.

Epilogue:

“Trust me, you’re gonna love it!” Tadashi insisted for the fifth time. You didn’t mind, however, too taken in by his adorable, puppyish nature even as he sped up the stairs, stopping only on a brief occasion to make sure that you were keeping up with him. The entire way up, when he wasn’t insisting yet again that you were going to love “it” (whatever “it” was), he was offering explanations.

“So that memory of me putting band-aids on you in the garage? That was my workshop! I got along great doing some mechanic work. But when I got reborn as Tadashi, I couldn’t help but think about how as Daniel, I could only do so much whenever you got hurt or felt depressed. And I wanted to change that – I wanted to be prepared!”

(You tried not to giggle at his eagerness.)

“So then I realized, ‘I have all this technology and my smarts – I should make something that’s going to help not only (P/N), but a lot of other people.’ So I made this!” He practically leapt up the final step and toward his side of the room he and his brother, Hiro, shared. As much as you wanted to take a glance around and get a better feel of your soulmate by observing his environment, his excitement (as well as the hand grabbing yours towards him) didn’t allow for it. Instead, what you wound up observing was what looked like a red, chubby gnome sculpture. That is, if Tadashi had taken some liberties with the face and left it white with a thin line. You sure hoped that art wasn’t something else he was pursuing.

And if it was, was this the “it” he was going on about you loving? Based on the proud smile plastered on Tadashi’s face, it was.

“Wow, it’s, um . . . Sure is red,” you offered clumsily.

“Glad you like it. But that’s not the best part.”

“What’s the best par – ow! What the heck, Tadashi?” You rubbed the small patch of your head where your soulmate had plucked a single strand. Immediately, however, you stopped glaring to turn your attention to the source of a sudden beeping noise. You glanced down: the sculpture.

At least, what had been a sculpture – the red parts fell away in a swift, mechanical manner to reveal a white blob. The blob itself then inflated until it took the form of a large, marshmallow-like . . . thing.

You decided, immediately, that you loved this puffy, marshmallow-like thing, and Tadashi could tell.

“(Y/N), meet Baymax,” he introduced, chest puffed.

You watched with silent enthusiasm as Baymax slowly waddled over to you, a squeak produced by every step of his short, vinyl legs. As he stood in front of you, you couldn’t help but feel as though you were a small child in front of a meetable character at a theme park.

“Hello. I am Baymax,” he repeated in an even voice. “Your personal healthcare companion. I was alerted to the need for medical attention when you said, ‘Ow.’ ”

Oh my god, he’s so puffy –

“I equipped him with knowledge of over 10,000 medical procedures!” Tadashi explained. The marshmallow awaited your response.

“Oh, uh. Yeah. Tadashi plucked a hair off my head. Nothing to worry about,” you sheepishly insisted.

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your pain?” Baymax questioned.

“1, I guess. Though, at this point, it doesn’t hurt anymore . . .” You pressed your fingers together as you continued to observe the nursing bot. So . . . puffy – !!

This however, did not stop the procedure as you’d somewhat hoped.

“I will scan you now,” the marshmallow confirmed.

“Wait, scan? Oh, no, you really don’t have to do – ”

“Scan complete. I have detected high levels of dopamine and cortisol, as well as a decrease in serotonin. In other words, you are infatuated.”

“I – ”

“I have also detected increased heart rate. Judging by these features, you appear to be suffering from,” he paused to compute, “heart disease.”

“Wait, what!? No, I think it’s just – ” You caught yourself, feeling your face begin to burn. “It – it’s an infatuation. I guess,” you muttered, looking anywhere but at Tadashi.

You heard the quiet whirring of Baymax “blinking” before he responded evenly, “Infatuation. Infatuation can have many treatments, including hugging, kissing, bonding, or – ”

“Hugging is fine!” you cut off, a little too high in tone. You didn’t want to know what else this bot could say that might tarnish his beautiful, pure appearance. You heard Tadashi snicker from his place next to you before turning fully to you, arms held open. When you looked at him with a blush-burned face, he chortled.

“You heard the medical expert,” he teased. It was only when you looked back and forth between himself and Baymax, before shoving yourself into the soft, huggable torso of the latter, that Tadashi’s arms dropped and his face contained complete disbelief.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, watching you contently rub your face against Baymax’s tummy. Still, he couldn’t help but smirk in the end; he did make Baymax for you, after all. So seeing his hard work and dedication to you pay off in the form of you hugging his magnum opus? He could accept that. For now. So long as you remembered to give him a hug right after.