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wackpainterkid · 5 years

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things change (1/1)

A/N: So I did it, I finished my first Liv x Noah fic! I based this one of my favorite OG Skam scenes (aka Noora’s article breakdown) and changed it to fit Noah and Liv’s relationship. It’s a lil bit sad and a lil bit happy because that’s how I roll. It’s kinda long too because that’s also how I roll. I hope you enjoy it because I really enjoyed writing it!

Rating: T (no mention of that other cause of the breakdown in here)

5200 words

also on ao3

Noah hadn’t heard from Liv in a couple of hours.

That wasn’t unusual really. She loved to keep him on read and only answer a few hours later, it was her way of telling him that he wasn’t the center of her life and she had other important things to do. It was the last of her defiance towards him remaining, specifically crafted to test his own patience, to keep him on his toes. Who was he kidding, though, this girl was driving him mad in the best way. And he couldn’t get enough of her.

So no, not hearing anything from her for a couple of hours didn’t set off any alarms. He had sent her multiple texts though, starting with a question of how she’d slept and ending with a link to some indie concert happening tonight with the message that it made him think of her and whether she’d would want to go. He didn’t really need an answer to his first text but to receive a response to the latter would be nice.

-/-

Noah hadn’t heard from Liv in a day.

The concert had come and gone and neither he or Liv had been there; he had stayed home alternating between painting and staring at his phone awaiting a last minute call where she’d apologize and tell him her phone had died or that she’d had so much fun with her friends or maybe with Ralph and Esra that she completely forgot to check it. But his bedroom remained absolutely void of duck sounds—maybe it was time to consider another ringtone—and the worry, in turn, was prevalent.

Noah: Liv, is everything okay?

All he needed was a simple yes, a thumbs up even. Anything to negate that little voice inside his head whispering that something was wrong, the feeling that sat uneasy in his gut that that she wasn’t okay.

God, he shouldn’t be freaking out like this because his girlfriend hadn’t been on her phone for twenty-three hours.

The checks remained grey.

Maybe he should simply go and see her. He was allowed to go her apartment, He’d even gone there when she still hated him and he was trying to get in her good graces, though admittedly that wasn’t his best move. Things had changed now, however, it was almost his second home by now, most of their time together was spent either in her room if they wanted privacy, or in the living room if they felt like being entertained by Liv’s roommates and their antics. Hotel Overvecht had quickly become one of his favorite places filled with his favorite people. And his favorite person wasn’t answering her phone so going there was the only option.

Noah grabbed his coat, his keys, his bus card and hastened to the stop nearest to his house. Her apartment was on the outskirts of the city and that meant that it was quite the commute from his house in the city center. He didn’t mind though; it wasn’t all that bad. The anticipation of seeing her again normally occupied his thoughts and made the trip accelerate. Usually. Not today. Today, the concern made the trip drag, made it slow, made every extra minute too much.

There wasn’t much of his cool demeanor left as he rushed along the hallway to the elevator– going up six flights of stairs would do him no good. He checked his phone one last time as the elevator was on its way to him, but his inbox remained painfully empty. The device disappeared back into the pocket of his terracotta colored coat. He bit the nail of his thumb, still a hint of black—or was it blue—remaining from his nail polish, as he stood in the elevator that brought him closer to her.

It took him nineteen steps starting from the elevator before he was standing in front of her door. The doorbell rang and he nervously fiddled with the rings on his finger as he waited for some sign of life. What would he even do if she wasn’t home? Maybe call her friends to ask if they knew where she was?

The door swung open in the middle of Noah’s pondering and his eyes shot up from the floor to the entrance now revealing Ralph. Liv’s roommate placed his hand along his chest before speaking: “Noah, oh thank god you’re here. I was close to calling you myself.”

That definitely didn’t help to assuage his worry. Ralph let him inside—rather forcefully pulled him in—the apartment and quickly closed the door. Noah’s eyes scanned the living room in search of that set of curls he was so fond of, but the search came up empty. He looked back at Ralph, who seemed to understand the question in his gaze. “She hasn’t been out of her room for almost two days,” Ralph told him with a low voice, his eyes moving to the closed bedroom door. “I’ve knocked and knocked but it either remains dead silent or she tells me to leave her alone.”

Noah frowned as he processed the information. So, it wasn’t just him that she was giving the silent treatment. What on earth could cause Liv to act this way? “Do you know what’s wrong?”

Ralph shook his platinum blonde hair. “I have no idea. She’s been acting a little bit distant—no, not distant. Distant is too negative,” he corrected himself, “She’s been distracted all week. I thought it might’ve been a school thing, but it only got worse on Friday. She snapped and yelled at me and I haven’t seen her ever since.”

Ralph’s face distorted with hurt and Noah felt sorry for him. He could sense the anguish radiating off of him, something he had never seen happen before. His bubbly personality was always the dominating one. And although Liv often took on the role of the grown up in here—cooking and cleaning and making sure the bills got paid—Ralph was Liv’s big brother for all intents and purposes. He could manage to make Liv lighten up and show her there was nothing wrong with goofiness instead of being serious all the time. But apparently it hadn’t worked this time.

“I’ll try and go talk to her,” Noah said, both disclosing his approach and making an unspoken promise to Ralph to try and get to bottom of the situation and maybe see if he could help solve it. To be honest, he’d already be happy if Liv would just show her face.

He moved towards her door and went to gently knock. The knock, however, was louder than he intended, his ring got in the way, and Noah grimaced. Not a very gentle approach .

“Ralph, go away!” Liv yelled.

Breathing went slightly easier now that he at last had some sign she was indeed still alive, even if it wasn’t the reception he was hoping to get.

He cleared his throat before speaking. “It’s not Ralph, it’s me.” He paused and then continued. “Noah,” he clarified.

He pricked up his ears to discern any reply coming from her room but was only met by silence.

Hesitantly, he spoke again. “Liv?”

It didn’t take as long for her to answer this time.

“Why are you here?” Her voice sounded way smaller from when she ordered Ralph to leave, but closer too, as if she stood opposite of him with only the door as a barrier between them. Noah placed his hand on the door as if that would allow him to get closer to her and make her perceive that he was there for her.

“Because you’re not answering your phone and I got worried. It seems I had reason to be,” he later added in a tone only meant for himself.

“I’m fine.” But her words couldn’t convince him, they were unsure, tremorous, like she knew herself she wouldn’t be able to convince him of their authenticity.

God, he needed to see her, look into her eyes and see what troubles lay behind them, whether the skin under her eyes was ever so slightly discolored, whether the creases between her eyebrows seemed deeper than before.

“Can you open the door?”

“Noah, I’m fine, just go home.”

Ralph and he shared a look of disappointment and of despair. Noah raked his hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

He wouldn’t give up this quickly.

“Liv, let me in. Please,” he whispered against the wood of her door, wishing, hoping she had caught the emphasis of his words, what lay beneath them, what he was truly asking her.

She had.

The sound of deliverance reached him as there was first a click and then a creak, before the door opened just the tiniest bit. A wave of relief engulfed his being as he slipped inside her room.

Instead of her normal clean and tidy room, it seemed like a whirlwind had travelled through her bedroom; there was paper scattered everywhere—the floor, her desk, even some on her bed. Her small piano was set on the floor, a couple of her albums carelessly thrown around it. Noah was the messy one in their relationship and even he saw no logic in the chaos.

But he wasn’t here to analyze the contents of her room, he was here for her.

Liv stood quite far from him, fidgeting as she looked at him. She was wearing a white shirt and a pair of sweats; her hair was pulled into a loose bun.

She looked exactly like the time they went on their date. Noah wanted to smile at the realization and felt both happy and content. Sad because of what circumstances it had ended and content because look at how far they had gotten since then. Since she was so closed off and angry with him. Now she liked—dare he say loved—him. Now she had let him in.

Some things hadn’t changed, though. She still called him a weirdo on a daily basis, she still rolled her eyes at him but now she couldn’t pretend it truly annoyed her because he could see the spark in her eyes. The way it always got accompanied by a smile.

But there was no subtle smile to be found right now, nothing that made him optimistic about how she was doing. Because quite frankly, he could see that she was doing terribly.

“Hi,” he said.

He didn’t go over to her to kiss her like he usually did as he was very aware of the situation they found themselves in. She didn’t have to let him in, could’ve left him standing outside begging but she didn’t. She had genuinely debated it, though, so pushing her boundaries was not something he wanted to do, not now.

She didn’t reply.

As Noah took her in, all of his mental boxes got checked. Troubled, check. Tired, check. Sorrowful, check. He was right to worry about her.

“What’s going on?”

Liv’s brown eyes looked at him before moving to the corner of her room. Her body slumped in a profound sigh and she rubbed her forehead.

He was expecting even more silence, even more deflecting, even more pretending that nothing was wrong while they both knew differently but she surprised him by answering truthfully.

“I’m supposed to be on my way to Amsterdam in less than two hours with two brand new songs to go sing live at some label. But I’ve got nothing. I’ve tried and tried but everything that comes out is absolute shit and I can’t even think anymore because all I can hear is my dad saying that maybe we should try again and again and again.”

“Liv–” he carefully tried to intervene as he carefully stepped closer to her.

She didn’t pay attention to him.

“People are just demanding that I sing here and sing there because who cares about what I want, whether I want to sing?”

“Liv–”

He continued to come closer, step by step for it not to feel like an invasion of her personal space. The last thing he wanted was for her to shut him out again.

“Who cares that I can’t hear anymore that I’m too young and too inexperienced, who cares that I cannot find a moment of peace, that being rejected over and over has made me so exhausted but that I still can’t sleep at night?”

He cared but he hadn’t known. How didn’t he know about all of this? They were together and he didn’t realize things weren’t okay with her? She’d managed to guess what he needed when his mom had died, why hadn’t he been able to do the same? Noah stopped himself from going down that slippery slope; it wasn’t about him, right now. It was about her being okay, about her calming down.

“Liv, it’s okay,” he attempted to reassure her. He gently took ahold of her hand to give her a lifeline, something tangible to hold on to. It seemed to help for a couple of heartbeats but then she abruptly yanked her hand out of his grip and distanced herself from him again.

“No,” she refuted. “No, it’s not okay. I have nothing… Oh god my dad is going to be so angry. My career is done before it has even started. I have to–” She never finished her sentence. Instead, she shook her head and was in search of something in the chaos of her room.

Noah could see her going frantic, more and more distraught with every second that passed. His hesitant approach wasn’t working, so it was time for determination.

He grabbed her face between his two hands forcing her to stand still and look at him, his thumbs traced circles on her skin in an attempt to soothe her, to calm her down, to give her something to focus on her spiraling thoughts. He brushed over her eyebrows, followed the curve of her nose, circled her lips.

“Liv, you don’t have to do anything,” he told her. She only stared back at him. “Except for breathing, I do need you to breathe,” he quickly added when she was standing slightly too still.

In response, she took a deep and slightly shaky breath after which her eyes fell shut. As she opened them again, tears sprung in her eyes. She looked away as the presence of tears became more and more persistent and overwhelming right up until a tear broke loose and ran down her cheek. Noah’s thumb was quick to catch it and wipe it away from existence.

To no avail because two more followed suit.

“It’ll be okay.”

He let go of her face and enveloped her, wrapping his arms tightly around her. Her tears continued for a while, gathering in a wet patch on his T-shirt. He kept on placing kisses on the top of her head, and he could feel her slowly relax and melt into his body. Her arms copied his.

The room stayed quiet for a while with their breaths as the only sound. Noah was going to let her be the one to break the silence if she felt like it or keep it if she preferred it. She eventually picked the former.

“He only cares about me becoming famous.” True exhaustion colored her words. “He doesn’t call or text except for when it’s to discuss music. He didn’t even ask me if I wanted to do this, if I wanted to go to Amsterdam. The stupid label meeting is his dream, not mine. I don’t even like making music anymore.”

“Do you want to go to Amsterdam?”

He felt her shaking her head against his chest. “Not like this, not this… forced. I’m seventeen, I shouldn’t be worrying about all of this. I should be worrying about school and stupid stuff. This is not what I want.”

“What do you want, Liv?” He had an inkling of what that might be, but he needed to hear it from her lips. He couldn’t make assumptions and decisions for her, not when it was exactly that that had caused the situation they were now in.

“Honestly?”

A corner of Noah’s lips lightly went up. “When haven’t you been honest with me? Brutally so even,” he said in an attempt to make her think back to the moment that was currently replaying in his mind and perhaps make her smile.

It didn’t work.

“I just want to sleep and not think about songs or lyrics or labels or my dad.”

“Then we’ll do exactly that.” She looked up at him with disbelief in her eyes. “Noah, I can’t sleep right now, it’s the middle of the day.”

“Sure you can.” He nodded. “I’m doing it too.”

Noah let her go and quickly toed off his shoes. He watched her and silently asked her if she would join him to which Liv simply nodded in the end.

They each claimed a pillow and faced each other in bed. They only looked at each other for the first few minutes or so, cataloguing every detail of each other’s faces as if they didn’t already know the placement of every freckle and of every eyelash. Noah tucked a stray curl behind her ear and Liv adjusted his chain a little bit.

“I don’t think my dad even loves me,” she suddenly whispered so quietly Noah wasn’t completely sure he was supposed to hear it or even respond to it. But he had to, because he loved her too much to let her think something like that.

“Liv.” He looked her in the eyes. “It’s impossible for someone not to love you.”

Tears flooded her eyes again and she sniffed. Liv crawled closer, wrapping her arm around his waist and when he went to lay on his back, she placed her head on his chest.

“Thank you,” she mumbled against his shirt.

“Try sleeping now, okay?” Noah said as he smoothed her hair and occasionally placed a kiss against her soft skin.

He wasn’t truly planning on sleeping; it was more a harmless lie to get her to agree to rest but the anxiety had taken a toll on him too and perhaps his own sleep hadn’t been so great either last night. Right now, he felt completely at peace, at home even so close to her, with the smell of her coconut shampoo lingering in her curls and so he dozed off for a bit too with his head buried in her hair.

His sleep didn’t last long, though, it wasn’t more than an hour or so before he woke up again, but it had been enough to make him feel rejuvenated.

Her phone vibrated on her nightstand, but he ignored it.

Noah spent some time laying there just watching her, taking note of the composition she was lying in: her pillows spread around her, some stray pieces of paper still in the bed, her brown skin in contrast to the white sheets. His sketchbook was already filled to the brim with sketches of her and still he wanted to draw her, capture her essence and beauty on paper.

He kissed her forehead one last time before getting out of her bed, he straightened his shirt and ran his hand through his hair to model it again.

Again, her phone buzzed.

Her room was still a mess and if he were to wake up to it, it definitely wouldn’t help with the anxiety, so Noah began to tidy a bit. He threw all of the crushed pieces of paper in the paper basket, he picked up all of her albums and ranged them back into their alphabetical order, her piano got put back on her desk. He saw a little book lying open that he recognized as her journal and went to grab it. Liv wouldn’t want all of her private thoughts in the open like that, so he closed it and neatly placed it on the edge of her desk.

He smiled in contentment with the tidied room and sat down in one of her chairs. He always carried a book with him so he removed it from his tote bag and opened it on the page he last read. He’d read until she woke up and then let her decide what they’d do next.

Her phone kept on getting notifications, echoing the persistence of their sender, first only a simple buzz but then growing into sounds of a minute total, it went from texts to calling. It was distracting to say the least. He glanced over to Liv, but she was still sleeping soundly. Noah sighed and laid down his book. He got out of the chair and grabbed her phone, going through the notifications on her lock screen.

Dad: Have you arrived in A’dam yet? We should just meet at the label, will be more convenient.

Dad: Don’t forget we’re supposed to be at the label in half an hour!

Dad: Missed call

Dad: Honey, where are you? I’m waiting outside.

Dad: Missed call (2)

Dad: Liv, I’m looking like a fool right now, I hope you have a good excuse.

Dad: Missed call (3)

Noah wanted to tell him to fuck off, to leave Liv alone, inform him of how his daughter suffered under his pressure, of everything she had told him earlier with tears in her eyes. He didn’t. He just swiped one of the notifications to the left, pressed reply and quickly composed a text.

Liv will not be coming today, thank you for understanding

Noah muted her phone, turned it around and returned to his book.

He was able to read an additional chapter before a soft knock on the door interrupted his reading again. He stood up and opened the door.

“Hey,” Ralph said softly. “How is she?” His dark eyebrows were stuck in a frown.

Noah decided to simply show him instead of telling him and widened the door opening to allow Ralph to take peek at the room and Liv sleeping.

“Oh good,” Ralph replied, some of the tension leaving his body, “I’m sure she needed that.” His eyes left Liv and focused back on Noah. “Have you eaten yet?”

Noah shook his head.

“Do you want something? Esra made me some soup and it’s really good.”

He was getting quite hungry, the three bites of apple he took this morning definitely hadn’t been enough to satisfy his stomach for breakfast and it was well past lunch time right now. Looking over his shoulder, Noah cast a look at Liv but she seemed like she had entered a deep sleep and like she wouldn’t wake up very soon.

“Sure.”

After quietly shutting the door behind him, Noah followed Ralph into the kitchen and went to sit at the kitchen table.

Ralph stirred in a big pot and grabbed a ladle to transfer the green soup into two smaller bowls.

“It’s still a little hot,” he said as he set one of the bowls in front of Noah, who shot him a grateful smile as he carefully pulled the soup closer.

Ralph went to sit down but immediately jumped back up causing some amusement with Noah.

“Oh! Spoons!” The drawer shot open, a rattling of cutlery following, and he removed two spoons, handing one to Noah.

“Thanks.”

With care, he tried a spoonful of the soup. It was quite hot but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. “Can you tell Esra that her soup is delicious?”

“I sure can.” Ralph beamed with the compliment, even if it wasn’t even meant for him but

They ate in silence for quite some time, both simply savoring the rich flavor of the soup with each spoonful.

Ralph placed his head on his palm and watched Noah as he took a sip of his water. “Have I told you how happy I am she has you?”

Noah looked up but stayed quiet.

“She doesn’t trust easily and I know she keeps things from me, not like major secrets or anything but how she really feels. She puts up a front.”

He felt like interfering and reassuring Ralph that that wasn’t the case but then he’d be lying. That was how Liv was, he’d noticed that pretty early one and he—they— had worked on getting down those walls ever since. They were still there, today was a testimony of that, but they had lowered at least, they didn’t entrap her anymore.

“I’m just glad she doesn’t do that with you, that she trusts you,” he continued. “I’m not saying she isn’t sincere with me; Liv has always been wonderful and I love her to bits but she’s always so focused on making others happy that she tends to forget about herself. But you remind her she needs to think about herself too. So, thank you.”

“No thanks needed. It’s completely my pleasure.” His lips curved slightly. “I’d do anything for her.”

“That makes two of us.” Ralph squeezed Noah’s arm. “Though she did ask me to stop taking so many selfies of myself and I don’t know if I’m truly ready for that.”

Noah chuckled, a deep and genuine laughter coming from him. “One step at a time, I would say to that.”

The rest of the conversation was lighter, more trivial about their favorite nail polish brands and Ralph asking whether he couldn’t paint a life-size portrait of him, which Noah politely declined, at least for now.

The bowl was completely empty, and his stomach was sated again. Noah decided to return to Liv’s room. He was quite certain Liv would continue to sleep for a while longer, but he still wanted to go back; in the unlikely case that she did wake up early, he didn’t want it to be to an empty room.

In the end, she slept for almost another two hours and Noah was close to finishing his book when Liv took a deep breath and stirred. Noah’s eyes left his page and shifted to her, checking if everything was okay. She moved even more, and he saw a brown eye appear and then another one signaling that Liv had woken up.

“What time is it?” she croaked as her eyes were slits as they grew used to the sunlight flooding her room. Her hand went to rub her face.

He closed his book, placed it on her desk behind him and went to fish his phone out of his pocket before clicking it to life.

He walked towards the bed and crouched next to it. “It’s 4:30 p.m. You slept for almost five hours,” he said, a hint of pride and delight in his voice.

Still not a proper amount of sleep but it was a good start.

“Five hours?!” She shot up, removing her blanket and jumping out of bed. “The meeting was three hours ago! Noah! Why didn’t you wake me?”

Noah rose again and walked to her.

“Because you said you didn’t want to go. So, I didn’t think it was worth it to interrupt the only sleep you’ve gotten in a long time,” he explained.

Her face softened in understanding and a sigh escaped her lips. “Still, my dad must be so worried.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her. “I sent him a text so he wouldn’t worry.”

She looked a bit lost, the stress and expectations had been the only thing that had kept her running and now that they was no longer needed, now that they had partly disappeared, it seemed like Liv didn’t know what to do anymore, it seemed like she was now aimless. She cleared her throat.

“You want some tea?” He motioned to the teapot that was standing on the desk, an empty cup and an almost empty one next to it. “Ralph made us tea.”

She nodded. He walked over to the table and filled her cup after which he added some more to his. With a cup in each hand he approached her again and handed her one.

“Let’s sit,” he proposed and gestured towards her bed again. She seemingly didn’t have anything against it and followed him, the both of them slightly sinking into the mattress as they sat.

Liv cradled the tea between her hands, absorbing the heat that was emitted through the ceramic while she stared into the distance.

“Sorry,” she said, eyes still focused on nothing in particular.

“For what?”

“Making you worry.” She took a sip from the warm drink.

Noah shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s not like I haven’t done it to you before.”

He had done it when his mom had died, had maybe even given Liv more reason to worry than she had given him today.

“Not the same.” Her head shook softly. “I’ll try to be better and to not shut anyone out. Especially you.”

“Liv, all I’d like is that you don’t lock yourself in anymore, both figuratively and literally, so that we can at least help. It doesn’t even have to be me: Isa, Ralph; they’re all options, you just have to let someone in. I don’t want you to drown in those thoughts of yours.”

She bit her lip as she considered what he said to her and her eyes suddenly traveled to her bedroom door. “I should probably go apologize to Ralph,” she said as she drank absentmindedly.

“Perhaps, though I’m sure all he truly needs is to just see that you’re okay.”

She hummed.

Noah took her in again. She looked less troubled, less tired. Her hair was slightly messier, she was still wearing the white T-shirt and grey pair of sweatpants.

“Maybe I should clean up a bit, I look like a mess,” she said, suddenly aware of how she looked as well.

“Seeing that this is actually exactly what you wore to our date, I think you’re fine.”

She stared daggers at him. “Fuck you.”

He smirked in response and it elicited a hint of a smile on her face. And while the sadness had not yet completely gone, it had begun to recede, slowly but surely, leaving room for the light to return.

Her cup got placed on the ground and she turned towards him, leaving Noah curious as to what she was planning to do. She placed both of her palms on his cheeks, apparently it was now her turn to cradle his face. The act of affection caused him to smile and her thumbs immediately went to trace the dimples that appeared.

“I love you, Noah Boom.”

And while he had suspected it for a while now, he had not been prepared to hear the actual words coming out of her mouth. He was quite sure he looked ridiculous as he was trying to contain his shock because a quiet giggle emerged from the person who had caused this reaction.

She kissed him before he could truly get a grip on himself and respond.

“But you’re still a weirdo,” she said, once they broke apart again, with her own smirk on her lips.

Like he said, some things hadn’t changed.

But others had.

#skam nl #skamnl #noliv #liv x noah #boomers #linoah #noah x liv #skam ff #liv reijners #noah boom #written words

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naopao · 6 years

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Hanakotoba 花言葉

My entry for @genyattazine, featuring art by @heronfoot! Pre-orders are still available, so please consider purchasing! All proceeds go to charity. :)

He laughs as he cradles the flower in his hands. He cups it to his power core, several degrees hotter than his system’s recommended temperature.

Before the weight of the tiny, fragile bloom colors everything that is to come, Zenyatta’s heart soars.

Or, a Genyatta hanahaki fic.

99 percent.

Zenyatta has never seen the ocean before. The others follow Winston through the huge, salt-worn door into the watch point, but Zenyatta excuses himself to walk the cliffs.

His sensors register the mild chill (13.2 degrees Celsius) and gentle breeze (16.7 kilometers an hour), a data set, one of an endless sea that fails to account for the experience of them. The humidity (73.5 percent), dampness along his chassis, the salt in the air from the waves below (33 parts per thousand) against the sensors of his intake chamber.

“It’s so beautiful here.”

Deep, modulated, tinny from his respirator. The sound soothes Zenyatta, and the awe, the appreciation in each word, makes him fond.

“Truly.” Zenyatta replies. “You have not been here in many years. How do you feel?”

Genji falls in step next to him. Known variables: the shape of his shadow, the hues he casts, the gentle hum of his machinery, many times more advanced than Zenyatta’s own. Between one journey and the next, in the minutiae of lessons and koan and sparring matches, Zenyatta has come to find comfort in them.

“I am not sure nostalgia is the word. Being at this watch point again…” The silence between Genji’s thoughts, his mindfulness, Zenyatta also cherishes. “...is bittersweet. I was not in the right place to appreciate its beauty before.”

“What is most important is that you have a chance to experience it now.” Zenyatta hums.

“You are right as always, Master.”

The cheekiness of his tone is not lost on the omnic, who laughs.

“Not always.”

Genji steps closer to the edge of the cliff. Zenyatta turns to him as a quiet hiss muffles the distant crash of waves. Genji’s eyes are closed, his posture loose, comfortable; his chest expands as he takes in the cool, salted air, free of his respirator.

He has seen Genji many times without his helmet. It is the first time he sees him in the glow of the late afternoon sun, wind fluttering his matted hair, black with a tinge of gray. The first time he exists for a precious few seconds in the moment, without the weight of his burdens balanced on his soul.

It is a whisper. A hiccup. A gentle, blooming twist, so deep within Zenyatta he cannot identify its cause. It is not the golden warmth of the Iris, though it is warm: small, but powerful, concentrated in a drop of pure energy. It pulses like a tiny overload, one too many data sets, one too many amperes.

Only later, in the privacy of his own room, does he notice it in the mirror.

Just above his power core, nestled between the top two pistons, is a hint of bright pink. Zenyatta shifts with great care, curiosity overriding what should be fear, unease, trepidation. With gentle maneuvering, he works the obstruction from his chassis. His orbs, which had been rotating in a smooth circle around his head, still.

Grasped carefully between servos and smaller than the circle on his palm is a lotus bloom, mostly closed, petals tinged green with youth.

Zenyatta stares for several cycles. Its composition, its measurement, its fragrance, reveal nothing of its purpose. Then, as if he has skipped forward in time, he returns to himself, orbs resuming their slow orbit before settling around his throat.

He laughs as he cradles the flower in his hands. He cups it to his power core, several degrees hotter than his system’s recommended temperature.

Before the weight of the tiny, fragile bloom colors everything that is to come, Zenyatta’s heart soars.

87 percent.

Be it luck or fate, Zenyatta’s room has a balcony. It is modestly sized, outfitted with a small table and two rust-flecked chairs.

The blooms within his body are rooted deep, and even with dexterous hands, he cannot remove them from their source. Each time they are different species of flora, and Zenyatta finds a gentle, curious joy in identifying them. Lotus. Bluebells. Gardenias when Genji had fallen asleep next to him, his gentle snores rousing Zenyatta from meditation. Cactus blossoms after a morning of sparring, when Genji had removed his helmet and sweat glistened down the skin of his throat. His fans still quicken when Zenyatta remembers it, the deep-seated pulse of warmth that had no outlet—alien, terrifying, and desperately coveted. Jesse hailed to Genji right as it happened, and Zenyatta had never been more grateful for the man’s boisterous salutations than when it allowed him a quiet escape.

Each flower after the first, which he had pressed flat and preserved in the pages of his oldest and fondest book, he transplants. They should languish, struggle in the climate, some out of season, other rooted in improper soil. Yet, each prospers in whatever environment Zenyatta gives it, sustained, perhaps, on something that cannot be measured. First in cans and old crates, whatever he could find, then in terracotta pots, brought back from missions when his companions had discovered his hobby.

It should terrify him when the plants multiply, each overgrown leaf and petal warm with fragrance, and maybe it does, somewhere far off, ripples that finally kiss the shore. Closer to his heart is amusement, the pleasant grip of affection. His brother had been right, more so than he thought. Born. Created. Raised. Programmed. Both produced physical manifestations of their emotions. Suffering.

Love.

63 percent.

Dr. Ziegler requests his assistance in the med bay.

She had managed all support operations in the early days of the recall, but as her duties increased with each new member, Zenyatta helps however he can. He often catalogued her findings and corroborated medical treatments, and during extended shifts, when the doctor stared unseeing into the cold glow of her holopad, he brewed her coffee sweetened with ten milliliters of honey.

Today, however, his sensors record a second voice as the door slides open.

The conversation dies to the sound of Genji’s respirator reattaching. He sits next to Angela near her desk, empty besides a holopad and a tiny vial of muted orange. It shouldn’t surprise him; they are close now, appreciation replacing the old bitter, anger that had soured their relationship a decade prior.

Her hand, steadily balanced on his knee, tightens once before letting go.

Genji does not look at him.

“Zenyatta, thank you for coming. We were just finishing up,” she says.

“Of course.”

Zenyatta hovers in the doorway, uninvited in all but word. A tinge of discord as familiar as his own chassis brushes against him.

“Is something troubling you, my student?”

The tightness around his eyes says what Genji will not.

“I do not wish to discuss it.”

Genji walks past him at 1.3 times his normal gait, hurrying with a vestige of calm. The door hisses shut. Angela sighs.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. He came in suddenly with an urgent matter.”

She pockets the vial while studying her holopad.

“My apologies as well. I did not mean to interrupt.”

Genji had not looked, had not felt like that in several months, not since before they had left the monastery. Had he been the cause? Interrupted a moment years in the making—

“Zenyatta.”

He meets her bright eyes. Only then does he notice what holds her attention.

Zenyatta tilts his head down, watching the steady crawl of vines, thorned and nicking delicate circuitry. From them, tiny buds of shocking yellow bloom against the tired gray of his chest. It hurts in a distant way, pinched like something caught between nodes, too deep to fix.

Her face is milk white, though her voice is steady.

“I have never seen an omnic with this before.”

Zenyatta nods. He lifts his servos, catching a finger beneath an unfurled rose. Small enough to rip away, to hide before anyone could see.

“It is still early in its progression,” he offers.

“Let me take a look at you.”

Zenyatta climbs onto the examination table.

She tells him what he already knows: potentially deadly, cured in one of two ways.

“I do not know omnic physiology well enough to perform the operation. Brigitte may.” Angela shakes her head. “Though I have the feeling that you will not be making an appointment regardless.”

“You know me well, Dr. Ziegler.”

“Well enough to make me worry.” She smiles though the pinch in her brow doesn’t ease. “What happens here is confidential. However, I would advise action. Whoever it is, they would not wish to watch you waste away.”

“I appreciate your concern.”

Her palm is warm on his shoulder, rougher than her unlined face suggests.

“Please take care of yourself.”

34 percent.

Zenyatta taps the last of the hibiscus into dark loam. The pot is large this time, proportional to the flower, a pleasing contrast to the more delicate plants in his collection. Soil clings to the joints of his fingers, but unlike the twist of roots within his body, it is easily removed.

“Wow. It is really coming along.”

A beat. A shudder.

“It is.”

32 percent.

Zenyatta stands with terracotta clutched in his hands, joints tight, slow. They are always such now. Mid morning sun brightens the garden into an ever-shifting kaleidoscope. Surrounded by the manifestation of his feelings while their cause stands scarcely a foot behind him serves as a surreal experience.

“I, uh, brought you something.”

The path of his orbs jumbles for a moment. It had been a several days since he had seen his student. Their last meeting reverberates silently between them, a topic not yet breached, not when Zenyatta struggles to protect the relationship they have.

Zenyatta steels himself, then turns to face Genji.

Clasped between the white and gray of his student’s hands is a potted, unbloomed tulip.

“Not as impressive as these exotic breeds, but it should thrive in this climate.”

“I did not know you were knowledgeable about gardening.” Zenyatta’s array brightens. Oh, how he forgets himself, unable to tamp down the swell of joy as Genji places it among the others.

“I’m afraid I’m not. I had to ask around the city.” Genji smiles softly as he glances back at him. “It should not surprise me that you are able to encourage the flowers themselves to try their hardest.”

29 percent.

There is no crawl. No twinge. The flowers burst from his chassis with near staggering force.

21 percent. He freezes only a moment, core trembling, but Genji is turned toward the balcony, admiring the blooms.

Zenyatta nearly trips as his hover module offlines. He knows there will be questions, but he cannot answer, not yet. He does not have the words. The time is wrong, wrong—

Genji calls after him, but Zenyatta doesn’t look back, cannot for fear of exposing himself. His feet clatter against the dark, metal hallways of the watch point, but luckily (unluckily), Genji does not pursue.

15 percent.

He does not avoid Genji. Not on purpose. Zenyatta does not eat, so he steers clear of the mess hall. Dr. Zeigler had banned him from active duty, watch point operations included, so Zenyatta spends most days in his garden. He tends it even as his power dwindles, mindful contemplation replaced with daydreams of half-baked confessions.

His gaze falls to the tulip that Genji had given him. It had struggled at first, a few cold nights throwing its health into uncertainty. Zenyatta had brought it inside, the added warmth giving it the chance it needed to bloom into a beautiful, glossy red that stands out among the rest.

The truth...

The truth is he is afraid. Could he really face Genji, soft eyes softer with pity for the old, scuffed omnic who had helped him when he was at his lowest? Genji would be kind. Maybe he would even humor him, and that would be the worst of all, a bandage over an infected wound that needed to be lanced and scraped clean.

But selfishness battles just as hotly. To look at Genji and feel nothing.

He would die from that too.

11 percent.

It has come time to talk.

Zenyatta expects hesitance, but as always, Genji surprises him. He arrives within minutes, wordlessly sits next to him on the tattered rug lining the center of the balcony. The flowers whisper, the garden bright and overflowing, gems, grand and small, glittering in the afternoon sun.

“I know you have been troubled these past weeks. My hesitance has caused you undue suffering.”

Genji doesn’t move.

“Often we assume that our feelings are known and cherished. A touch. A token. That action alone is sufficient.”

Zenyatta wants to laugh; of everything they have been through, this is where his resolve stumbles.

“We forget that it is necessary to voice these feelings aloud.”

The sea wind catches the flora, the heavy, overgrown leaves shuddering in the tepid air.

“Words are limited. They are fickle. An expression of them will never come close to articulating the feelings of the soul.”

Ten percent. The vines crawl and twist around his core. His synth glitches.

“Master—”

“Please, Genji.”

He clutches his chest, staggered by the not quite pain of energy rerouting. The scent of his garden revives him, each one catalogued, remembered, relived.

Nine percent.

Zenyatta looks at his orbs, deactivated and nestled within the nooks of the planters. He hasn’t possessed the power to control them in a fortnight.

“You have come far. Changed so much. You possess a strength that could save this world.” His core trembles as he speaks. “If something were to keep you from it...from finding happiness and purpose...I could not bear it.”

“I fear I may be such an obstacle.” Yet, he must press on, cling foolishly to hope.

Had he not been so close to shutdown, perhaps he would’ve known then. The shifting emotional energy from those nearby is lost to him in his final hours.

“It is impossible to describe how much I—”

Genji’s only give is his fingers sinking into his thighs. His student snaps forward, folding in on himself.

The sounds freeze Zenyatta’s words in his synth.

Loud, wet coughs rasp through Genji’s respirator, so painful it makes the vines around his core seize, makes Zenyatta ache.

He moves with what little energy he has left, hands flattening to Genji’s spasming back. A pathetic trickle of harmony warms his palms. His array powers off for a few, horrifying seconds. Not yet. Not now, with Genji injured—

Five percent.

The impulse strikes, the last, bent match in the book.

“I love you.”

His voice breaks hard over the word, doubling its syllables, mimicking an embarrassed stutter rather than an expulsion of the last of his power.

Everything is quiet. Still. Like being in the center of the monastery cloisters, where the howl of the wind and the sounds of life fade, the hum of his own systems muted within its immensity.

For a moment, he wonders if his audial receptors have failed.

Six percent.

The immobilizing tightness in his body eases, a fist slowly but surely unfurling. His servos slide off Genji’s back as he straightens. He registers a familiar hiss.

His array fizzles, then powers online in stages, monochromes to vivid color.

Genji’s looking at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. He wipes at his mouth, drawing Zenyatta’s attention.

The bright blue of petals smears over his lips.

“Zenyatta,” he breathes, awe warming into a smile that brightens his whole face. “The color suits you.”

Genji’s hand closes the distance between them, settling between his top two pistons.

The same petals coating Genji’s lips bloom along his metal. A swan song, it seems, as they wither and shrivel before his array.

“Forget-me-nots,” Genji says, then his smile grows mischievous. “You led me to believe you were a green thumb. Cheater.”

Zenyatta does not have the energy to laugh, but he cannot resist the cautious joy that manifests in his bugging synth.

“A lie of omission. No one had asked,” he murmurs.

Genji’s hand shifts higher, the lightest touch against the gold chrome of his faceplate. There is no teasing lilt, no sheepishness. Quiet but clear.

“I love you, too.”

Zenyatta settles his hand over Genji’s, squeezing, leaning into his touch. They draw close, the smooth whisper of the garden reduced to the dry rattling of fall.

Just before their faces touch, Zenyatta speaks.

“You may find my french kiss lacking.”

Genji laughs against his chrome, heat and softness settling over the seam of his mouth.

“Whatever will we do?” he whispers, kissing him once more.

In the following days, after Zenyatta recuperates under Brigitte’s care (and many stern lectures), Genji helps him clean the balcony. They compost the decomposing remnants of the flowers, and repurpose them as a base for a new garden.

It is meticulous work, but rewarding. With the sun just beneath the horizon, they survey their progress. Planters line the ancient railings, each filled with properly spaced seeds hidden just beneath the surface. Local flora that would survive readily above the sea.

The only mark of color within is the tulip, fully bloomed, a promise of what’s to come.

#genyatta #genyattazine #hanahaki #genji #zenyatta #nao fic #overwatch fic

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