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spyder-m · 5 years ago

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Shumako Week 2020, Day Five: Put Some Love Into It

@shumakoweek Day Five: Coffee / Cooking / Dinner Date.

AO3 / FF.net

Summary: When her sister spoke fondly of the coffee sold by a shop in Yongen, Makoto felt compelled to try it. AU

Makoto wasn't entirely sure what had brought her to the coffee shop in Yongen-jaya. The cafe had been out of her way, the complete opposite direction from both her apartment and the University campus.

It seemed like a lot of effort to go to for something she could have just as easily bought from a vending machine, or one of the many chain stores dotted around the city.

Yet, hearing her older sister speak so fondly of the store's coffee had piqued her interest.

Sae was a perfectionist. For the coffee to have left such a good impression on her, it must have been of the highest quality.

Seeing as she rarely stopped by their apartment, perhaps Makoto had also hoped they might run into each other there.

Leblanc was tucked away in a narrow alley, boasting its own hustle and bustle unique from the sprawling metropolis. There were smatterings of children, families and pets, moving about between the local businesses.

Bells chimed as Makoto stepped through the front door, her body enveloped by warmth and the permeating scent of cigarettes and the store's many roasts.

It drew her eyes to the shelf lined with a variety of beans and spices. Makoto considered herself quite capable in the culinary department, yet she never realised there were so many different blends of coffee to choose from.

The range was rather overwhelming.

"Oh, welcome."

A middle-aged man stooping over the counter set down his newspaper to greet her. He stood beside a contraption made of numerous bulbs and clasps, appearing more like something out of a laboratory than any machine she’d seen in cafes.

"What can I get for you?"

"I- I'm not quite sure." Makoto answered, eyes drawn to the menu board. "There certainly is a lot to choose from."

"A newbie, huh?" The owner chuckled, before turning and setting to work. "Hold on. I can make you something I think you'll enjoy."

Hesitant, the strap of Makoto's bag slipped from her shoulder as she seated herself at the counter.

A black cat sauntered down the stairs with a stretch of its limbs and a long, deep meow, sniffing at her feet, curious. Makoto eyed the animal. For many businesses, its mere presence would be an obvious health violation.

Did Leblanc also double as a cat cafe?

"Here you are." The man called, Makoto's focus shifting back the counter-top as a steaming cup was placed before her.

"Oh, thank you."

Coffee was something Makoto had developed a taste for in high school; the caffeine helping her concentrate during long study sessions. While, over the years, she'd found a tolerance for the bitter nectar, it was never really something she savoured or choose to drink for any purpose other than necessity.

She was, by no means, a connoisseur.

Yet, the care shown to this particular blend was apparent to her from the moment it settled on her tongue. No sooner had the first sip of rich, brown liquid trickled down her throat, that Makoto was struck by a realisation.

She had never truly drunk coffee before.

The city was crowded by people all in a hurry, rushing to make a train or their next meeting. They needed their coffee prepared as quickly as possible, the margin for quality wasn't quite as high.

Yet, in this shop, tucked away from the rush and demand, the owner had been afforded the time and luxury necessary to capture a roasts potential. Customers would wait patiently, sitting, engaged in relaxed conversation; almost an entirely different culture that Makoto had not been privy to.

Nursing her drink, Makoto began mentally mapping out alternate routes she could take to class; wondering if she could feasibly pass Leblanc on her way to University.

She would definitely be coming again.

The cafe provided a safe haven for Makoto when mid-terms rolled around.

Even having stayed at the top of her year and been entrenched in regular study sessions for as long as she could remember, the academic demands of University still gave Makoto challenge.

She was now competing against some of the best performing students from across the country, many of whom; like her; had scored the highest grades in elite prep schools. Makoto still held the coveted, number one spot but was having to work harder than she ever had before to maintain it.

Though normally favouring the library to study, Makoto had opted to avoid heading there for today. The facilities were packed out at this time of year, with students all trying desperately to fit in a last-minute binge of the term's curriculum, praying that the information would stick.

Finding a place to sit would be a nightmare.

The ambiance of Leblanc, however, would allow her the concentration necessary for one last refresher of notes for her next exam. As well as a much-needed shot of caffeine.

"Oh. Welcome."

The unfamiliar voice startled Makoto, drawing her to a person behind the counter she did not recognise. Dressed casually in a button-down shirt and jeans; he peered towards her, his dark, shaggy head masked by glasses.

He was young, much closer to her in age than Sakura-san; or any of the cafe's regular clientele, for that matter. Seeming out of place amidst the shop's rather rustic decor.

Makoto wondered, momentarily, if she had mistakenly stepped through the wrong door, the evening having coated the streets in darkness.

Yet her eyes carried over the familiar canisters of beans and spices, suddenly enveloping her again in that eerie, nervous energy she had felt before. This sense of being out of place that Makoto thought she had managed to dispel. As though, in this stranger’s presence, the safe haven she had sought was slowly slipping away, an alien replica forming in its place.

"H- hello," she ventured after a moment. "Is- Is Boss around?"

The man behind the counter shock his head, black waves of hair rustling slightly with the movement.

"He had to step out for a moment. Left me in charge to run the store."

"Oh."

While the young man seemed pleasant enough, any further thought of conversation was stifled by Makoto's struggle placing the young man before her.

From the apron, and his position behind the counter, it was obvious he was working here. Yet, Makoto found this confusing. She had thought Sakura-san ran a one-man operation. Leblanc didn't seem like it did the business to afford, or even warrant, other employees.

Still, no other possible explanation could come to her. The only family Boss had mentioned to her had been a daughter, so this couldn't have been relative of his.

As she usually stopped by in the morning, it made sense that she wouldn't have seen him, until now.

Conscious suddenly that she had been standing, silently pondering, for several seconds; the part-timer still watching her expectantly; Makoto flushed.

"W- well, in that case. May I have a cup of Jamaican Blue?"

It was the first blend Boss had made for her. In a way, the aroma and flavour that had forged her connection to the Cafe and Boss. Perhaps retracing that palette would remind her of the comfort this room had brought her, making her feel home in her own skin and extending an olive branch to the stranger before her.

Blossoming perhaps a similarly fruitful relationship.

"Sure thing," the barista saluted. "I can't promise my coffee will be as good as Boss', but I am learning."

Though she wouldn’t dare admit it aloud, his words held true. His coffee was not as refined as Boss’. Still, it was familiar in its care, in the depth of its flavour profile. As she sipped from the cup with a contented sigh, it was clear to Makoto that he had followed the man’s instructions closely and would bud into a fine protégé.

"So, what brings you here tonight?" The barista asked her between sips.

Normally such a conversation might bother Makoto, particularly when she had plans to study, but the man's easy smile and soothing timbre were welcome. Setting down her cup, she replied.

"I'm in the middle of exams at Tokyo University. I was hoping to get some last-minute revision in and needed the kick."

"Tokyo, huh? Isn't this kind out of your way? Or do you live around here?"

"No, I don’t. But the coffee is worth it. It's ruined me for anything else in the city."

"Really?" He chuckled. "Perhaps I could teach you then? That way you don't have to keep coming here."

Makoto smiled softly at the man's quip, but in all honesty she enjoyed coming here. Despite the laborious trips and extra train fare, sitting and savouring each finely prepared roast made it worthwhile. The store had a different atmosphere from anywhere else in the city.

"Oh, no. I couldn't trouble you. I don't have the equipment at home anyway."

She could only imagine how much she would need to save to be able to afford a proper coffee siphon like that. Nor where she could source beans the quality that Sakura-san used.

"Oh yeah, that's a problem." The part-timer nodded, scratching his head. "Still, it couldn't hurt to try."

Makoto's fingers stroked against her chin, weighing the temptation in her mind.

Though she had more pressing obligations, she couldn't deny her curiosity. She had watched Sakura-san prepare coffee many times and still hadn't been able to wrap her head around everything it involved.

"Are you sure it’s okay?"

"Why not?" The barista shrugged. "It's pretty much dead here, anyway."

Her books and plans to study momentarily forgotten, Makoto set her bag down; slipping on the apron that was handed to her in its place.

He led her meticulously through the process. Measuring out and grinding the coffee, using timers and thermometers to make sure everything was precise. Even breaking things down slowly, Makoto was a little overwhelmed.

To think that Sakura-san and his apprentice had to recall such an involved recipe off hand, all to make a single cup of coffee.

It was no wonder why they were of such quality. The love and effort that was devoted to each blend could not be substituted.

His tutoring was disrupted by bells tinkered as the front door opened. Heart catching in her throat, Makoto turned as Sakura-san took her in; apron and all; with a look of bewilderment.

“Niijima-san? What are you doing here?” His employee waved from beside her with a sheepish grin “And you?

As Makoto attempted to stammer out an explanation, Sakura-san’s eyes narrowed at the space between, a mischievous, knowing glimmer crossing his features.

"Oh. I’m sorry,” He said, voice suddenly devoid of any confusion. “I didn’t realise you had company.”

“Boss, I-” Makoto's head bowed, apprehensive to meet his gaze.

“Please, don’t leave on my account. This old man’ll get out of your hair. Just make sure you lock up, kid.”

Though she wasn’t looking directly towards him, from her periphery, she could’ve sworn she caught Boss winking behind the counter, in their direction.

Puzzled, she glanced over at the man beside her who shrugged, a breathless laugh trailing from his lips.

It struck her as odd that the part-timer didn’t seem at all concerned about being caught by Boss in such a manner.

“I’m sorry. I hope you aren’t in any trouble.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it.” His hand waved, non-plussed. “I doubt he’s gonna fire me flirting with a customer. If anything, he’s probably pleased.”

“Y- you were flirting with me?”

“Well, I guess it wasn’t the most conventional method, but...” He blushed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s what I was going for”

“Oh. I- I see.”

Though she hadn’t thought anything of it, in hindsight, it seemed a rather strange offer to make out of the blue. From the way they had been standing close to one another, his hands helping to guide her through each step. Now that he had clarified, it seemed obvious.

Shrinking in on herself from embarrassment, Makoto struggled to peel her gaze from the floor. The chain of events she had just endured leaving her mortified.

"It's uh... It's getting late. I might take this to go, if that’s alright.”

“Oh. Sure.”

Makoto wasn't even sure if Leblanc offered take-away drinks, typically, but the barista nonetheless retrieved a Styrofoam cup from behind the counter. Hands dipping into his pocket, he fished out a black marker and began to scrawl something on the side of the cup, pausing briefly to glance up at her.

“You know, I never caught your name.”

“Huh? Oh, it's Niijima. Niijima Makoto.”

Makoto frowned, wondering what reason he could possibly need her name for. She was the only one in the store, there wouldn't be any need for him to call it out.

“I'm Amamiya Ren.” He replied as he set the cup back down and began pouring out her coffee. “Pleased to meet you, Niijima-san. Seeing as you're a regular here, I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.”

Ren was careful to turn the cup away as he handed it over, shielding whatever he'd written from view. Bursting with curiosity, Makoto held off the urge to turn it around until she'd made it outside, beyond the reach of his gaze.

She was surprised to find printed there carefully was not her name but a series of digits – his number, presumably.

Rolling her eyes, a fond smile lifted Makoto's expression as she took another sip; the rich taste seeping tantalisingly between her lips.

She would definitely be coming back.

#persona 5 #p5 #shumako #shumakoweek #shumako week day 5 #fanfiction #au #makoto niijima

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dat-fandom-losertown · 6 years ago

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The Drift Between Us

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Chapter 3: I’ll Do Better

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Hank Anderson x Connor and Gavin Reed x RK900

Pacific Rim AU

Warnings: I think I’m just gonna stop putting swearing as a warning? Cause it’s in literally every single chapter Lmao, Arguments, a moment with PTSD and anxiety

Word Count: 8,739

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <~> Masterlist <~> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

“What’s got your panties in a twist this time?” Tina teases with her signature smirk as Gavin sits down next to her at their table.

“Fuck off, Tina.” Gavin shakes his head, knowing that his words don’t have the venom they would if he were to say them to anyone else.

“Aw, come on! You look even more bothered than usual and you’re not gonna tell me what happened?” The woman doesn’t give enough time for him to reply before continuing again. “I have ten bucks in my pocket that says it has to do with the new trainees roaming around.”

“That and Hank fuckin’ Anderson.” He begins around the food in his mouth, “Didn’t even know he could be awake at this hour anymore, let alone be sober enough to pull the ‘my old partner’s the current marshal’ card. I mean, he didn’t use it on me, but I heard him use it on one of the new fuckers.”

“One of the trainees? What’d they do?”

“For once in my life I was just mindin’ my own fuckin’ business, when two newbies come around the corner. Of course, I’m just trying to get to lunch, right? So I plan on just walking around them, but this kid fuckin’ tries to shoulder-check me! And when I didn’t budge he started acting like I started it!”

“So you picked a proper fight?” Tina’s turned towards him now, engrossed in Gavin’s story.

“No! Like I said, I just wanted some fuckin’ food! So I threatened the guy a bit and... gave a warning, you could say. I could immediately tell he had an ego larger than my ass, so I couldn’t just let him walk away, ya know?.”

Another woman’s voice pipes up, “Wait, you said there were two trainees. What about the other one?” Gavin doesn’t know when she got here, but now she’s sitting across from Tina.

“It was the same dude I saw daydreaming in the hall yesterday, and he kept trying to get the other dude to just walk away like the fuckin’ coward he is. He even got the shit beat outta him sometime after dinner yesterday. He was all bandaged up and limping a bit. Anderson rounded the corner before I could even start with him.”

“And you said he was awake, walking around, and sober earlier? Wow.” Tina leans back in her chair. “I’m impressed. That’s the second time this month he’s been sober and calm so early in the day.”

“You think he’s finally coming to terms with whatever happened to him?” Tina’s official partner– Angie? Allie? Amy? Who fuckin’ knows and who fuckin’ cares– asks, sounding genuinely hopeful for the washed up drunkard.

Gavin barks out a harsh laugh, “Nah, there’s no way. His hangover probably just woke him up earlier than normal.”

“What exactly do you have against him, Gav?” the same lady asks.

“What do you mean ‘what do I have against him’? He’s done nothing but sit around on his ass drunk as hell for the past couple of years and no one’s done anything about it because he’s the ‘oh so great Pilot Anderson’ and his fuckin’ bff is the one in charge of this shit hole!” Gavin leans back in his chair with crossed arms, his food already scarfed down and tray empty. “If any of us acted the way he has been for even a month we’d be kicked out of here before we could even pack our stuff! Besides, isn’t he too fuckin’ old to pilot anymore anyway? Why in the hell is he even still here?”

“He’s only barely in his forties you know,” Tina informs patiently, having heard this rant a hundred times over by now, “He started going grey in his early twenties, something about genetics. Can’t imagine the stress and grief helped at all, either.”

“Grief. What could have possibly happened to make him ‘grieve’ for this long? Like, don’t get me wrong, I get it, but it’s been fuckin’ years of this shit. He needs to get it together, ‘cause at this point he’s just dragging us down.”

Gavin lowers his head and averts his eyes, enviously thinking about how he wasn’t ever given the kind of treatment Anderson is given on a daily basis. His face must start looking softer because Tina looks at him with a sort of concern and confusion. He scowls at her and shakes his head with a huff in dismissal.

All throughout training, each pilot is taught that no one can hold back any memories from their partner while in the drift. While that fact was usually used to keep trainees in line since everything they do will be seen by another person eventually, it was true. Mostly. After certain things took place long ago, Gavin accidentally stumbled upon a way to keep memories from whoever was his partner. From the complaints he’s heard in the past, it’s just as uncomfortable for them as it is for him, if not more so. So far, only Tina and her new partner have been able to put up with it more than twice..

The whole point is, no one here truly knows his story. The people who did have either retired, or they were killed in action, or their name is Jeffery Fowler. No one knows what kind of life he had growing up, if he has siblings or not, how long he trained to be a pilot before arriving here; and nobody knows if Gavin’s “pissy, jackass attitude” is a result of something or if that’s just who he is.

Spoiler alert: it’s just how he’s fuckin’ been his entire damn life, and he has no intentions to change any time soon. Even if Gavin wanted to, he doesn’t think he could actually change enough for it to matter, anyway. So fuck it.

“You don’t know what happened!” Tina’s partner sounds thoroughly offended on Anderson’s behalf. She must be newer or more empathetic than he thought. “They said this started right after a particularly big battle with a kaiju, he probably lost family or something!”

“I lost my family and my home when I was 17, and no one’s ever seen me moping around, constantly high as fuck and unable to do my job! ‘Cause heaven knows I wouldn’t get drunk of all things to forget my problems, I still have some self-respect.”

He must have said something wrong because the looks on both women’s faces make him feel like he’s the main attraction of a pity party. He scowls again and is about to snarl out “what?” when Tina finally speaks, albeit softly, as if he, Gavin Reed, a man tougher and more stubborn than the most overcooked jerky, would break.

“You were only 17 when..?”

And just like that, it clicks.

“No, you fucks!” he exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, “I was kicked out by my bitch-ass mother. They haven’t died or anything like that. At least, I don’t think they have…”

Both women relax, Tina already going back to her almost finished meal as if nothing happened, knowing full well that they weren’t going to get anything else out of Gavin for the rest of the week. However, her partner seems a bit more adamant on knowing the story, if the look in her eye is anything to go by. Just as she’s about to open her mouth, Gavin abruptly stands up. It’s time to get the hell outta dodge.

“Well, as much as I’d like to say it was a pleasure talking to you asshats, I can’t.” Tina’s smirk is enough to let Gavin know that she knows he’s just messing around now. “Don’t have a sucky ass day, I guess. Or do, I’m not your fuckin’ parent.” He promptly turns with his empty tray in hand and leaves the food court area after putting everything in their designated places.

Whenever Gavin gets worked up, going to the gym usually helps. Growing up, the only way he learned to deal with his short temper was to let it out through physical exertion. When he was younger, that meant getting into fights and punching walls until he felt calm and safer to be around again. Now, though, it means going to the gym and showing anyone else who may be in there how it’s done. Not only does he feel better about himself– contrary to popular belief, punching the nearest person or thing had never done well for his conscience after all was said and done– he also gets some of the best scores in fighting skill from his admittedly excessive training. To be completely honest, those high scores are probably the only thing keeping him here at this point.

Gavin takes his sweet, precious time getting to the gym. He meanders through the endless, reinforced halls until he gets to his room. They placed him right across from Tina’s room since she’s the only one who can tolerate him and is the only one Gavin doesn’t regularly want to deck in the throat. Even though she has an official partner now, that girl’s still relatively new and Tina is a better match in the drift for Gavin than anyone else is. Now that he thinks about it, he may not be able to slack off like Anderson, but he can admit that the higher-ups of this place have done a lot more to keep him here than they likely would have for anyone else. Not even he had to do “intern work” for Fowler during his first week of training, and it’s that one assbag’s second day here and he’s already managed to fuck it up.

He changes into his work out clothes quickly and grabs the wraps for his hands. He puts them on expertly on the way, having gone through the wrapping process much more often than anyone he knows has. Gavin’s about to turn into the gym when he hears the voice of that daydreaming coward coming from around the corner.

“Connor, would you stop your whining. Do you want what happened today in class to happen again?”

Gavin quickly backtracks to hide behind one of the support beams on the wall. He wants to know what happened during their class, because he has a feeling it has to do with how fucked up the guy was this morning.

“No I don’t,” the same voice replies? Is he talking to himself? Is this another case of Fight Club? “But we just got told to lie down and relax today since our hands are too bruised to hold pens. I don’t think it’s wise to go in there in case–”

“–In case we’re found here while this injured, I know.” Well, it’s definitely not the same person, since there were clearly two voices talking over each other just then. “You’ve said that only a million times now. We’re allowed to be in here, we just won’t be using the equipment.”

Gavin takes a chance to lean his head out and look at whoever is talking. He immediately recognises daydreamer on the left by the light grey shirt he’s wearing, which means his identical twin is wearing the black shirt. The doppelganger– apparently named Connor– looks slightly worse off than his twin.

These pilot wannabes just got here recently, right? So they must have been paired up for the initial evaluation and roughed each other up good. Maybe the twink-looking asshole isn’t a coward at all. Maybe the dude is just confident that he could win in a fight against Gavin. Although, that doesn’t explain why he was so certain that Gavin could win against that other fucker– was it Alex?– in a brawl just earlier. Maybe it’s more of an “You can’t beat me, but you can win against him” kinda deal.

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum both enter the gym, still continuing on with their conversation about morals and finding loopholes within rules and orders, and Gavin takes that as his cue to follow them inside.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

“I still think we shouldn’t hold back around the instructors. They’re here to evaluate us, right?” Connor asks, still very much concerned about hiding things from the people who are above them in rank.

It’s just that, what if they get caught holding back and are punished for it? Connor doesn’t even want to think about the times that had happened while training with Amanda, let alone repeat it. He knows logically that Luther wouldn’t dream of doing something like that to his students, but the inconvenient part of Connor’s head is not letting him actually believe it. It’s better to expect the worst and get better results than assume decent results and get blindsided.

“Yes, but if we don’t hold back, then they’ll probably make us graduate much earlier, which means less time to find new partners.” Ritch hisses at him.

Connor just sighs, knowing he’s right but not liking to go behind instructors’ backs, even for something as important to them as this. Ritch likely knows what kind of war is going on in his head right now, which is probably why he’s being much more patient with him than usual today.

“I know you don’t like this, but it’s necessary.”

“I know. You’re right, as always.” Connor relents finally, sitting down in the far corner of the gym where it will be obvious that they’re just sitting there, watching everyone else train and work out. They need to get a feel for how much they should be holding back for now, and how fast they should progress throughout training.

A few minutes pass of silently watching a man on a treadmill, another at a punching bag, and a woman lifting weights before Connor leans over to speak into Ritch’s ear.

“Are we going to match their skill? Or are we going to try going weaker than them?”

“After the show we put on earlier, I don’t think we can pull off playing as much weaker or less skilled than these people without the others becoming suspicious.” he answers immediately, eyes never leaving the tiring man on the treadmill.

Connor nods silently, leaning back into his own space again. It isn’t long until Ritch is leaning over to whisper in his ear, this time.

“Do you see the guy at the punching bag?”

“Yes?” Connor confirms, watching the man go to town on the hanging bag.

His technique is very good, and he has a lot of power behind each punch. It’s obvious that he’s tougher and stronger than he looks, not unlike Ritch and himself. Connor wonders if Ritch is going to suggest matching with him. It wouldn’t be a good idea at all, seeing as how he seems to be at almost the same level as them. Plus, judging by the scars littered around his face and arms, he has real experience in combat, which gives him a leg up on the other trainees.

Actually… That might be Pilot–

“That’s Gavin Reed.” Ritch unknowingly confirms his thought. “He’s trouble, so just try your best to avoid and ignore him. I’ve already run into him twice and both times he’s tried to pick a fight with me.”

That wasn’t what Connor was expecting. He knew the rumors of Gavin Reed being testy and short-tempered, but he’s picking fights with Ritch of all people so soon after their arrival?

“Really? It hasn’t even been 24 hours yet.”

“Yea. The first time he shoulder checked me while I was walking on the correct half of the hallway while he was going the opposite way, and the second time happened just before lunch. Apparently Alex bumped into him but he–” he nods to Gavin “–was adamant on finishing what was started. Mr. Anderson had to come and diffuse the situation.”

Connor turns to face Ritch. “Mr. Anderson was there?”

“Yes.”

“Did he seem okay? He seemed to have a terrible hangover this morning at lunch, and I’m sure any yelling that was happening wasn’t helping.”

Now Ritch turns to him. “Why do you care? He hasn’t been in a jaeger in years. Unless you became much more attached to who he once was than I thought.”

Connor huffs out what could be considered a growl and turns back to Gavin, “Can’t a guy just care about someone else’s health?”

“Not you.” Ritch follows Connor’s gaze, “When you care about someone’s health, it’s one of the first signs that you’re getting attached to someone, and I really don’t believe that Mr. Anderson is someone you should be getting attached to.”

“Why do you think that?” Immediately defensive.

“People talk, and he isn’t–.”

“Just like how they used to talk about us?”

“This is different than us.”

“How so?”

Ritch sharply turns back to his twin, irritation causing his eyebrows to set even lower and his mouth to thin. “Look, I don’t give a damn about who you imprint on or whatever anymore. I am trying to help you out here, because unlike the times people have talked about us, what people are saying about Mr. Anderson are all factual and we’ve both seen the proof. You need to lay off of him because not everyone feels the incessant need to not be alone.”

Connor finally allows himself to snap back. “Maybe you’re wrong this time. Yes, he drinks and he’s a miserable human being who doesn’t like other people, but how do we know that just who he is? What if he’s just like how we were way back in the orphanage, where everyone treated us like glass or ruined goods all the time? What if he wants– needs someone to be fuckin’ normal around him for a change to bring him out of his pit, and no one is there?”

“If he wanted someone, he would have found someone. He had plenty of friends before he started this!” Ritch raises his voice from a whisper, and Connor can already tell that this isn’t going to end well, especially since he isn’t willing to roll over and surrender this time.

“We had plenty of friends too, but they just didn’t understand once they found out, huh? They ended up just making things worse until all we had was each other. And there’s the thing! We still had one other person who understood! We had each other! And we’ve never remembered whatever trauma we’ve been through! He remembers it probably like it was yesterday and he is completely alone!”

“This isn’t a fairy tale, Connor! This is real life, and in real life you can’t just swoop in and save the depressed, rumored suicidal alcoholic through the magical power of friendship!”

“I don’t plan on saving anyone!” Connor shouts. The entire room becomes silent all of a sudden. He takes that moment to take a breath and continue at a normal speaking volume, “This is what you and everyone else don’t understand. I don’t want to save or fix people! I just want them to realize that there’s still hope for a somewhat normal life after their entire world shifted on its axis!” Connor takes another breath, recognizing that the three people in the room are no longer hiding the fact that they’re listening to him.

“I know I’ve said before that people can’t ‘fix’ or ‘save’ other people. They can only ever offer hope and a sense of normality among the chaos and hope that person finds enough of their own strength to fix themselves. And go ahead and make fun of me for being ‘naive’ or whatever you want. This is what I’ve always thought and this is the one thing I will not let anyone change about me. Now, I’m going to go take a nap. Enjoy your people watching.”

With that, Connor calmly makes his way across the gym area, a contradiction to the anger showing on his face and burning in his chest. He needs to calm down, and the best way to do that is to curl up in a calm, quiet place. He nods a silent greeting to the supposed troublemaker, Gavin Reed, on his way towards the door. Mostly to spite Ritch, but also because the guy had a really good form and the strength to back it up, and that deserves some kind of acknowledgement in Connor’s opinion.

Connor vaguely hears his name being called by Ritch as he steps out of the gym area, and normally that would be enough to make him pause, which then gives him think over the argument. Nine times out of ten, during this process of thinking things over, his brain somehow convinces himself that the entire fight was his fault and the person won’t ever forgive him. This time, though, he doesn’t pause. He doesn’t give his messed up head a chance to twist things on him. Connor knows he’s right this time, and he’s not going to allow himself to bow down to Ritch about this topic. In this case, bowing down to Ritch would be the equivalent of bowing down to Amanda, and she isn’t here to control him anymore.

No matter how far Connor was pushed during training as punishments, he never let her think she brainwashed that part of him, and she had not gone easy on him whatsoever.

Call him naive, childish, innocent, too optimistic, whatever. He’s heard all of that and much more and much worse from countless people. He likes to give people the benefit of the doubt, he likes giving people second and sometimes third chances (but only if they truly deserve it, and never a fourth). He likes to think that most people in the world don’t mean to do harm, and if they do they have a reason behind it. This way of thinking is the only thing that keeps him going some days, and on the days he’d temporarily forgotten how to maintain that mindset were the days that not even threats and cruel promises from Amanda could get him out of his bed. Mr. Anderson may have been able to get away with staying in bed most days, but that’s because he was once a decorated jaeger pilot. Connor is barely an official trainee, he can’t afford any more missed time.

“Connor!”

The familiar, gruff voice snaps him out of his thoughts. It doesn’t sound like that’s the first time he’s tried calling Connor, either.

“I apologise Mr. Anderson,” He starts with, turning on his heel quickly to not keep the older man waiting for his full attention a moment longer, “I was a bit lost in my head there for a few moments. I won’t let it happen again.”

Mr. Anderson makes a face that falls between scowling and confusion, “Must’ve been deeper in there than you thought ‘cause this ain’t close to any place you’d be needed.”

Looking around, he’s right. Connor doesn’t recognise these walls at all. There are different pipes and the floors are a slightly different texture than the rougher, more worn down metal or concrete of the other places he’s seen. He’s definitely in a bunker area, though, just not anywhere he’s been before, which means he’s probably in the area meant for more experienced pilots. Their bunkers are placed closest to the jaeger loading docks for faster take off. Connor must have taken a wrong turn at some point, still not completely used to this place’s layout.

It was probably for the best, though, since the first place Ritch would surely check for him is their room (especially since he claimed that he was going to take a nap), and he doesn’t want a repeat of what happened in the gym nor a chance to apologize to his brother for the sake of ending the fight. Both options are equally possible at this moment, so plan “get back to the dorm to calm down in the quiet” changes to plan “avoid Ritch while finding a good place to calm down in”.

“Fucks sake, Connor!” Mr. Anderson calls again, once more sounding like that wasn’t the first thing he’s said to the younger man since he had zoned out.

Connor immediately tenses, not liking when people start raising their voices at him, and snaps out of his thoughts again. Here he is, causing problems and inconveniences for people again, just like the fuck up he’s been lately. He needs to find a calm, peaceful place to relax sooner rather than later; he can’t be in public any longer like this.

“I’m sorry,” Connor takes a step back, then another, all while curling into himself, “I must have taken a wrong turn, I apologize for taking up your time,” He takes a few more steps back, not lifting his gaze from the ground, “I’m sorry, I’ll leave now. Sorry again–” Connor finishes weakly and darts out of the area, giving Mr. Anderson no chance to say anything to him.

He tries to force his head to stay in the real world so he can actually register where is and find out where he’s going, but it’s slowly getting more difficult. He speed walks through the huge jaeger storage room, easily dodging all of the busy people moving about and doing their jobs. After a particular quick change in direction to avoid the woman with her nose in her clipboard, Connor is painfully aware that his leg is still throbbing from this morning, despite the painkillers he was given.

At the reminder of the training room, he quickly finds a safe spot to stand in then checks the time. He hadn’t realised how much time has passed since lunch, and he isn’t sure how long of the past hour and a half was spent in the gym people watching and how much of it was spent wandering around aimlessly. He supposes it doesn’t matter at the moment. What does matter is that the training room should be empty by now, since everyone should be taking the written part of the exam so they can get a break from the physical exertion.

Connor eventually makes it to the vacant room successfully. No one else tried to stop him or talk to him. No one else seemed to take any particular note of him at all. There was no sign of Mr. Anderson, Gavin Reed, or Ritch that he’d been able to find. He should be safe here.

The first thing he does when he enters the room is find the best spot to spend over an hour in. He decides to camp in the left corner of the room, leaning against the wall the doorway he entered from is on. A minute or so of sitting and bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers pass before Connor decides to do some stretching. Yoga has always been his guilty pleasure and one of the few things that calmed him down completely. Besides, Amanda never complained about him being more flexible during fights. She said it complimented Ritch’s more solid technique.

Why does every little thing bounce back to her? Stop that. She’s gone now, so stop thinking about her. Stop thinking…

He isn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he knows he’s been in the Child’s Pose for a fair amount of time, if the pin pricks in his calves and feet and the ache rising in his knees and lower back have anything to say about that. With a quiet grunt, he rolls onto his back and straightens out his body, trying to stretch out all of the aching joints and muscles. Connor doesn’t think it would be as bad if it was his entire body that ached, because then it would be easier to ignore it and move on.

“Oh shit. Connor, what are you doing in here?” North asks, making Connor jump.

Connor should have realized that he wasn’t alone in the room. With how tired he was, and still is, there’s no way he would have woken up on his own while the sun was still up.

Connor notes the random sounds of concern and confusion and the footsteps growing closer to him. He decides to go with sarcasm and humor, rather than the blunt truth. He’s already caused enough inconveniences today, and he knows this group well enough to know that they won’t somehow be offended by it.

“Oh, you know. Just doing yoga. I don’t recommend falling asleep in the middle of a pose though…” Connor fails to cover a groan as he sits up. His legs have gotten a bit better, but his back and ankles certainly haven’t yet. “Yea, definitely not the best position to fall asleep in.”

Markus offers a hand to lift him up to his feet, and Connor gladly takes it. “Why are you doing yoga in here of all places? If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

“I didn’t even know you did yoga,” Josh jumps in.

Connor elects to ignore Markus’ question for the time being, “It’s always been a guilty pleasure of mine, and once my… Once the person who was taking care of me and Ritch figured out I was doing yoga in my spare time instead of doing extra studying, she didn’t actively try to stop me.” He starts leaning and twisting his torso in different directions to try to stretch his back, grimacing at how it pulls at some of the bandages and injuries on his torso. “She actually said that my flexibility and fluidity in fights complimented Ritch’s more rigid and solid form.”

“Jesus,” Simon breathes out, “The way you and Ritch describe– Amanda was it?” Connor nods, “Makes it seem like she wasn’t your stepmother at all.”

One would think that Connor would learn to think before replying.

“That’s because she really wasn’t.” He finally straightens up for good, his back better, now. “I think she only adopted us because we said we wanted to become jaeger pilots when we grew up. Well, I did, anyway.” Connor adds that last part softly, massaging his left palm with his right thumb.

“Wait,” Josh blurts, “You said her name was Amanda?”

“Yes?” Why does Josh look like he’s found the missing last piece to a 500 part jigsaw puzzle?

“Amanda, as in, Amanda Stern? Do you share her last name?”

Seeing how everyone’s eyes light up confuses Connor even more. He’s definitely missing something here.

“Yes? Have you met her before or know somebody else who has?”

“Have we met her!?” North suddenly exclaims, “Are you kidding me!? Only a small group of people have met her, everyone else just knows of her and her work! She’s a fucking legend among the jaeger pilot and special forces trainers! She always trains the best fighters! No wonder you two are so far out of our league! Especially if you’ve been in her care for so long!”

“I didn’t realise she was popular.”

“She’s more than just popular. She’s downright famous within the jaeger and military community.” Simon corrects.

“I’m actually shocked you didn’t know. Did you never question what those gatherings were, as you and Ritch call them?” Josh asks.

“Uh, no? Asking particularly dumb questions usually meant more work the next day for us, so neither of us wanted to ask. We just knew that wealthy people came over for conversation and drinks and we had to stay out of the way unless sought out and spoken to.”

Markus seems to snap out of his silent contemplation then. “More work for asking dumb questions. A life wearing nothing but uniforms and sleepwear, little to no toys and electronics growing up despite her having the funds for more than enough. That mixed with how you guys are pretty much soldiers already and claim to have learned most of it on your own… She does not sound like someone who deserves the high praise she gets. It all sounds questionable at best.”

“I mean… I guess? But she was only trying to get us used to following orders and stuff so we wouldn’t get in trouble here.” Right? “I don’t think she wasn’t a bad person? She just liked having things a certain way and was very determined to get it that way. We just weren’t good enough pilots for her in the beginning, is all. She was very nice and pleasant to us when we did something right, and always was to other people, too.”

Whatever Markus is thinking, Simon catches on too. Maybe they have the telepathy thing that Connor and Ritch have, too. “Were you and Ritch holding back this morning?”

Connor doesn’t know where this is going, but he doesn’t like it.

“What do you mean? We were told to go all out so we could be evaluated properly.”

“That’s what you were told to do,” Markus puts a kind hand on his shoulder. It’s oddly and undeniably comforting. “But did you actually?”

“No. We held back.” Ritch’s voice says from the doorway, having just popped in, “We had to be at least a little more gentle than usual because we were on those thin mats, and not mud or thicker foam like we’re used to. But after seeing everyone else’s skill levels this morning, we decided it would be best to blend in and hold back more.”

“What happened to keeping that hidden? What if Luther and Chloe find out?” Connor steps towards his brother, causing Markus’ hand to fall from his shoulder.

“I see no reason to hide that from this group in particular.” Ritch remains as stoic and unbothered as always. “They’ve proven themselves to be trustworthy, and at least two of them had already figured it out. It’d be more effort to try to continue hiding it from them.” Connor goes to retort, but Ritch continues, “Why are you getting upset? I thought you wanted to come clean?”

Connor has to curl his hands into fists and clench his jaw to keep the angered words and growls from leaving his mouth. It doesn’t help in the slightest that he never got to properly calm down from the fight earlier. He just fell asleep on the floor.

“What brings you here, Ritch?” he asks calmly, instead.

He rolls his eyes– a thing he would have gotten smacked for if they were still under Amanda’s roof, Connor’s brain supplies. “Well, you kind of stormed out earlier.”

“That generally means that person doesn’t want to be in the other’s presence anymore.”

“Oh would you stop being a child for two seconds and come with me to eat dinner. You need to eat and we can finish talking then.”

Connor sharply looks to the side. “I’ll be there in a few. Go ahead without me.” He continues as Ritch opens his mouth to say something, “And if you just stay here and wait for me I will purposely skip dinner and breakfast tomorrow. And you know I’ve lasted longer without food before and it won’t faze me.”

“And you know it won’t faze me either.”

“Won’t it?” Connor usually lasted just over three days without food before giving in during Amanda’s “survival evaluations”. Ritch only lasted one and a half on average.

There’s a heavy, tense silence where Connor is painfully aware of the other four’s presence, and that they have no clue what to make of this or how to handle it. Thankfully, Ritch caves first with a sigh.

“Fine then, but I don’t want you near Mr. Anderson.”

Connor clenches his fists and law. “Good thing you’re not my guardian or superior then.”

“He is, though. Your superior.”

“And he hasn’t kicked me off of his table yet. And don’t even claim that he could be letting me stay just to be polite or whatever. We both know he isn’t like that.”

Another silence, less tense and much shorter this time, though. Yet it’s broken by Ritch’s sigh once more.

“Fine.” He snaps, shaking his head, “It’s your life, your downfall, your embarrassment, and your panic attack when he comes to dislike you.” He turns around and starts walking out of the room. He doesn’t pause as he calls over his shoulder, “Don’t come crying to me this time. This will be all your doing, and I am not your guardian.”

“Wasn’t going to.” the other half calls back.

Well that was a disaster. Well, not so much of a disaster as a wreckage of notable size. Here Connor was, thinking that it would be himself that would ruin his relationship with Markus, North, Josh, and Simon, but oh no. No, it was going to be Ritch that destroyed it in the end. That robotic asshat.

Well, time to do some damage control.

“I am so sorry you guys had to see that–”

“Are you two like this all the time?” Josh interrupts.

His question makes him freeze and stumble over his previous thought. Why would he care how he and Ritch act around one another?

“Yes and no? I mean, when we’re not talking business, we’re either doing our own thing and leaving each other alone or training together, but our arguments don’t usually last this long. It’s usually solved one way or another by now.” Connor takes a deep breath, and finally relaxes his fists and stature, not realizing he was tense for a fight. He turns to the group that is now cautious, not unlike treading on eggshells, but not treating him as if he were delicate or unpredictable. More like unsteady, if he was forced to choose a word. “You guys know how siblings are, after all. This will pass.”

No one says or indicates anything. Are siblings not usually like this?

Markus takes a step forward. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but were you and Ritch pitted against each other often?”

Connor almost considers leaving the room right then, making use of the out he was given. He’s been talking way too much today, anyway; he feels the way his throat is getting hoarse with how much he’s been using his voice. On top of that, he just doesn’t want to go into detail about their training. He doesn’t want their opinions of him or Ritch to change because of what they’ve done in the past. Although, if his twin didn’t feel like waiting until they were alone to continue their dispute, then why should Connor spare him of this?

“I was under the impression that everyone fought against their partner in order to train. It helps both trainees’ styles to be either complementary to one another or near identical, and it helps them think in similar or complementary ways during battles, too. Did you guys not spar against each other regularly?”

“There’s a difference between sparring against your partner and being pitted against them, Connor.” North responds this time, uncharacteristically subdued.

“Well, yes, I suppose so…” There are so many regrets right now. After this, he’s just not going to talk anymore. It’s not worth it.

Simon takes a slow step forward, watching his reaction, “Stop me if I’m going too far, but were you guys ever told to fight with the intentions to harm or subdue each other, rather than just to train? ‘Cause that is usually considered illeg–”

–hand in his hair, boot digging into his back. He can’t breathe, he may as well be drowning on the mud he’s being pushed into–

“No.” he says with a sharp shake of his head. Whether it’s an answer to Simon’s question or a reaction to his thoughts, not even Connor himself knows.

–he takes the knife from his leg, wincing and hissing as it tears through–

No.

–loses his grip, causing him to be pinned again. He can’t move his arm. Why can’t he move his arm?–

No, no no no no no–

–it’s cold in summer..? Why is my vision so blurry? Wait, why am I alone now? No, wait! Don’t leave me! Please! I’ll do better! I promise I’ll do bet–

“Connor?!”

Connor finally snaps out of it with a small gasp, realizing that his vision really is getting blurry, but for a different reason. Crying is extremely disgraceful and impolite, especially in front of others. You have to be on your best behavior in front of people, and crying and curling up on the ground is not good behavior. He straightens up and forcibly relaxes his posture, using a single knuckle to wipe the threatening tears in the corners of his eyes. It’s now that he realizes he was beginning to hyperventilate. He needs a minute to be alone and calm himself, but he doesn’t want to be left alone. He really doesn’t want to be left alone–

Ah, but he isn’t alone right now and they won’t be leaving him, he can distantly hear them telling him that right now. Maybe there’s a chance they won’t completely avoid him in the near future. Although, for now, he needs to be fine, and his small group of allies certainly don’t see him as fine right now. He needs to calm down. He’s making a fool of himself in front of them. He needs to reassure them that he’s fine. He’ll be fine. He’ll definitely be fine–

“Connor, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it wasn’t your fault. I apologize for the way I reacted just then.” Manners are key, especially when forced to cut a conversation short. He bows his head with practiced grace, “And to answer your question, no, we weren’t ever told to fight each other with such an intent. Honestly. It– ah– we weren’t technically against each other…” He looks up at the clock on the wall; it’s nearly dinner time. “Ah, you guys came in here earlier for a reason and I just keep getting in the way. My apologies.” Markus opens his mouth to speak, but Connor doesn’t give him time. “Thank you for keeping me company, though.”

“Connor, I’m sorry for asking–”

No no no. Can’t think of that. Don’t think. It never happened. It was just a bad dream. Just think of it as a bad dream. Ritch said it would help. Amanda may lie, but Ritch doesn’t. Does he?

“No no, you’re quite alright. You didn’t know, it wasn’t your fault. It’s natural for people to be curious, and it really wasn’t that bad. I simply have a habit of over reacting to things.” Connor tries to make his following laugh sound genuine, but falls short. “Well, I should go now. Dinner will be starting soon and you still have business to attend to. I’ll see you guys later if you’re interested.”

Connor finally manages to shuffle out of the room, but he never makes it to dinner that night, even if he told Ritch he would. Despite what he just claimed, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to talk to them again. People hate when others are large burdens, and that’s exactly what he’s becoming for them. He thought he could be better with fresh, new faces, but apparently it doesn’t work that way. It’s not how it works. It won’t ever be how it works, so it’s better to just leave them alone and let them have peace.

Ritch was right. He probably needs to start leaving Mr. Anderson alone. He understands now. Maybe he can still sit there to be alone? But why would he stay here at the base just to be alone? If he can’t even handle getting casual friends, how will he ever find a partner? And Connor’s replaceable in a way the ex-pilot is not, so they would not be nearly as patient with him.

Does that mean he needs to quit after all? What could he even do if not this? What would Ritch do? Connor’s the reason he’s even here in the first place. He’s the reason Ritch will be stuck in a life style he never particularly wanted growing up. Why can’t Connor ever do anything right? Everyone is right, he’s too naive, too childish, too quick to get too deep into things. It needs to stop. He’ll pack his things tomorrow and tell the instructors about all of this and he’ll be gone by tomorrow evening or the next morning, whenever Ritch isn’t around. If Ritch finds out he’ll definitely blame Connor and make him stay with him as payback or something. Connor can’t stay, though. He’s useless.

His room’s door opens with a creek, causing Connor to instinctively curl into himself, but he forces himself to relax and slow his breathing. If Ritch thinks he’s asleep when he gets back, he’ll leave him alone. With every footstep, adrenaline rushes through Connor. He’s distantly aware that he’s being like this because he’s afraid Ritch is going to pop out of nowhere and confront him, knowing he won’t have the energy to fight back now. They’ve been arguing all day and a good chunk of yesterday too, it’d only make sense for Ritch to try something like that.

Instead of doing so, though, Connor simply changes into sleeping clothes and climbs into bed. The main light was never turned on, so the room has been coated in darkness from the start. After some time of resting, though, there’s the creak of the door, then a click accompanied by a soft, yellow light flooding the room. It stays on for a long while before Connor hears Ritch shifting around again. This time, the other twin climbs out of the lower bunk and sounds like he’s about to put on his real clothes again, but pauses in the process.

“Connor.” The man in question can hear the stern frown in Ritch’s voice. He uses all of his self control to not stiffen because of it, but it apparently wasn’t good enough. “Connor, I know you’re up. Why didn’t you eat?” that same stern frown is likely still on his face.

Connor doesn’t move, hoping that if he keeps up the act and ignores his racing heart, Ritch will convince himself that he was just seeing things. He knows it’s not a realistic thing to hope for, but still.

“Connor, even if you weren’t up before, I know you would be by now. Why weren’t you in the food court? The others were.”

No response. He remembers what he said before in the training room, he doesn’t want to talk to anyone anymore. It just makes things worse. Besides, his throat is still a bit scratchy.

“Fine. Be a child. I don’t care. I’m not putting up with this shit anymore.”

No, wait, please don’t leave. I take it back, I’ll get better at talking so I can do it without messing up, like you can. I’ll teach myself how to respond better so I don’t have to worry about making things worse anymore. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want anyone to hate me. I don’t want to be alone again. Please–

“Connor?” Soft footsteps creep closer. “Are you crying?” If Connor didn’t know better, he’d almost say that Ritch sounded concerned.

Before responding, he takes a shaky breath so he can speak without too many tremors in his voice. “I’m not crying.” Another, shorter breath. “It’s impolite and childish, especially in front of people.” The next breath is shakier, and definitely a give away that he’s slowly failing his attempt at not crying. “I’m fine. You need rest.”

“Connor–”

“You’re not my guardian. You don’t need to babysit me. Just let me self destruct like you said you would. It’s not even anything serious. Goodnight.” Just because his sleep schedule is going to be completely ruined, doesn’t mean Ritch’s has to be as well.

“Connor…”

He doesn’t respond.

There’s a shuffle of Ritch sitting down on the bed as he asks, “Did they ask more questions?”

“Yes, but you were there for them.” Maybe he’ll let him go to sleep if he plays along.

“Was that the only thing they asked?”

Connor sighs, annoyed. “Yes.”

“What did they ask?”

Connor finally makes himself sit up. “Ritch, I just said–”

“Connor.” If a tone of voice could paralyze, Connor wouldn’t even be able to blink.

He sighs again, this time in defeat. “If I tell you, would you let me sleep?”

“Depends on if what I’m told and if it’s a lie or not.”

Connor hesitates.

“...if I promise to tell the truth, will you leave me alone?”

“Depends on what the truth is.”

“Then no.”

Ritch jumps up from where he sat on his lower bunk. “Connor! I swear to god–”

“They brought it up, okay? God, are you happy now?”

“Brought what up, Connor? Use your words–”

“It.” he snarls, “They asked a question that made me think of when it happened. And I know you aren’t as affected by it as I am, but I can’t handle anything like you can. I just can’t...” Connor finally lets himself fall back down on his bed in a desperate attempt to hide the silent tears that are finally falling.

This time, Ritch is the one that doesn’t have a response. Good. Let him think about when it happened. Let him suffer just like Connor was trying to avoid because he’s a nosy prick.

Ritch heaves a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. I can talk to them about it tomorrow, try to calm them down. They’re probably very worried about you or both of us now.”

Connor grunts. They probably should be worried, but he knows that leaving things as they are now would only make things worse for himself in the long run.

“Connor.” Another grunt. “Please try to eat something tomorrow. I’ll talk to Luther to see if you can take tomorrow off. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“I’m not a child anymore.” he grumbles.

“No, you’re not.” he agrees softly.

Another grunt, this time followed by a heavy sigh. He won’t be getting that break. Even if he did get it, the chances of him being put in the danger zone of being sent home are more likely than most of the other trainees. If he can’t even handle being here for two days without becoming so completely and utterly useless, then what business does he have trying to be a fully-fledged pilot? None, that’s the answer.

He is distantly aware that Ritch has started trying to talk to him again, but Connor really just wants to go to sleep and forget about today, and so he does. He assumes his twin goes to bed soon after he did, though, because when he tries to wake Connor up for breakfast the next morning, he appears to be well rested. No obvious dark circles or bags under his eyes, no sluggish movements, his eyes clear. That’s good. Ritch will do just fine here. He knows how to talk like a normal human being and responds to others well. He’ll definitely find a new partner in no time.

Ritch walks out the door. Connor almost tries to get up to get ready for class, then figures that if he’s actually going to quit soon, then he may as well just stay put. Therefore, he’s still in bed by the time breakfast ends and the first class begins. No one tries to come get him. He’s not surprised, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still sting. He tries to convince himself that it’s just because Ritch told everyone that he needs a day off, but, if anything, that makes the sting in his chest worse for some reason.

He’ll try going in after lunch, after he’s had some time to settle down a bit.

After deciding on that, he goes to his dresser drawer and pulls out the small bottle of strong sleeping essential oil that Ritch and Amanda have no clue he has, let alone needs often enough for it to maybe be unhealthy. Here, he has it stuffed in the back of his dresser-locker under some clothes. He rubs a bit of it onto his foot then pulls a sock on because he doesn’t want that horrendous smell getting all over his sheets. His head doesn’t even quite make it onto the pillow properly before he’s out like a light.

Sleeping means no thinking, and no thinking means no stressing, after all, and that oil does a damn good job at knocking people out.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <~> Masterlist <~> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry about the long wait! I promise future updates won’t take this long! I’m just in the middle of a move and life kinda bitch slapped me outta no where there for a hot minute, but I think things are going better now. The next update probably won’t be as soon as I want it to be, but y’all won’t have to wait four months again Lol. Thank you to anyone who stuck around this long, despite me being new Heheh 😄 Thank you for reading and I hoped y’all didn’t hate it!! I absolutely promise that next chapter will be filled with lots of comfort and fluff!! 😄💖💕

#reed900 #gavin reed x rk900 #reed900 fanfic #reed900 fanfiction #reed900 au #hankcon #hankcon fanfiction #hank x connor #hannor fanfic #hannor fanfiction #dbh #dbh fanfic #dbh fanfiction #hannor au #hankcon au #slow burn #pacific rim!au #The Drift Between Us #Chapter 3

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ebiyoru · 3 years ago

Text

22-0824

it’s my third day on my new job.

there is a general assembly for my dept starting from 1pm up until 3pm. it mostly consisted of safety precautions esp now that we have a typhoon in our area, a few speeches from our superiors from the US, an interview session with said superiors, intermission numbers (which turned out bad virtually bc of the sound system issues. it’s probs good irl), etc. there’s a part where they showed a video slideshow of the dept’s pictures taken in a recent event, i guess? im not too sure. then after that, they announced any promotions and recognitions for some of the members of the team, one of which is my previous (and now current) colleague (let’s call him J). oh btw, 4 of my colleagues are present in the office to attend the assembly in person.

it ended in time (with 15 minutes of time to spare) and we’re back to production. actually, in my case, i just had to review the documents given to me, try to understand and review it for an upcoming diagnostic exam (i asked for 30 more minutes to review) which i finished for 10 mins.

after that, i had 4 hours of free time. i wasn’t used to having this much free time at work so i was getting a little anxious thinking maybe i’m not involving myself enough into the team and initiating for anything to do. but then again, i’m afraid i’ll come off as a pretentious little newbie who mandates what i get to do and getting ahead of things. so i just asked a few things to my manager and she said they’ll explain the details tomorrow. so i just ended up, uhh, watching jjk

at 8 pm, i had a training for the first task i need to learn. it spanned 2 hours and my colleague who trained me explained it soooooo well. i especially liked the fact that he uses the technique where he encourages me to explain and kinda teach him what i just learned. i noticed it right away and mentally took note of it (in case i am in a similar situation).

i asked a few questions every time i’m asked if i have any (still keeping myself from being unconsciously pretentious and bida bida) and he answers them really well. i think for the following days, he will be able to teach me the course in a very effective way.

a few minutes later, we were joined by another one of my colleagues. she was mostly there to facilitate our learning session (and give insights whenever needed). she’s a tenure senior and she looks really nice and encouraging. so far, the people i’ve encountered in this team has been really warm and welcoming.

there’s this one question i pointed out that i didn’t realize would be a potential submission for process improvement. all i did was point out a thing i’m curious about, and my colleagues told me to suggest it to the PI team for a possible case to look into. i guess being pabibo can be beneficial sometimes.

in the end, they announced that i got a perfect score in the diagnostic exam i took. in my defense, the exam has like 10 items so it wasn’t particularly challenging. i guess i can’t say the same with the following exams ;u;

warm feelings filled me even after clocking out. so far, everything has been really interesting and nice.

i was still in time to join my sister and brother in dinner where i wolfed down a bowl full of noodles (which i was craving for the whole afternoon ;u;) nuggets and hungarian sausage while watching rupaul’s drag race.

i felt very warm (physically) and kinda felt dizzy bc of the cold weather i guess so i went to sleep earlier than usual and didn’t turn on my fan.

#nj #nj: 3

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spring-emerald · 8 years ago

Text

love is a contact sport

Summary: In which Iwaizumi asks for a spar and eventually finds himself in a compromising position.

Pairing: IwaDai

For the Daichi rare pair week Day 3: Sport Swap AU

AO3

Notes: Pre-Slash; littered with possibly inaccurate descriptions of karate moves; watch out for Iwaizumi’s colorful language

“Hey, spar with me.”

Daichi pauses at the sound of the gruff voice and looks up to the person it belongs to.

Iwaizumi was looking down on him with a disgruntled frown on his face, a thick white towel hanging around his neck.

“Like, right now?” Daichi asks, looking around the room, and seeing most of the members already preparing to leave. It’s almost the end of official club activities time, and it’s usually spent packing away the equipment used, especially for the ones on duty during that week.

Like what Daichi was diligently doing, before Iwaizumi interrupted him.

Instead of replying, Iwaizumi just raised an eyebrow that clearly says ‘duh’.

Daichi looks down on the club’s spare sparring gears he just finished tucking in their respective bags, then looks up again at Iwaizumi.

“Just when I finished packing them away?” He groans at the thought of having to get them and cleaning them up again.

Iwaizumi shrugs. “We don’t need it. It’s not like we’re beginners who’re scared of getting hit,” he says a matter-of-factly. “Unless of course you are.” He tilts his head and looks annoyingly challenging at Daichi.

Daichi only scoffs at the statement and rolls his eyes, not bothering to reply because they both knew the answer to that.

“You couldn’t have asked earlier, during free practice time? You know it’s the reason we have them, right, captain?” He says, standing up and dusting his pants. “Besides, we’re going to be unsupervised.”

Which truth be told, is not exactly a big of an issue. Their sensei doesn’t exactly have a strict rule about unsupervised sparring, and usually he trusts them (the seniors) enough to oversee things and not be reckless, should they go for it. But, Daichi’s tired, despite not having been active in sparring trainings, and just wants to go home.

Who knew gaining weight, even just a little, also takes a lot of hard work?

Iwaizumi snorts. “Yeah, but you were busy fattening yourself up. And you know as well as I do about unsupervised sparring matches, vice-captain.”

Daichi gives Iwaizumi a flat stare at the fattening yourself up comment, because that’s not what he’s been doing all along. Unlike some people who’s having the time of his life thrashing newbies around, he had to go back to basics, and relentlessly practice his kata, just so he could get used to it with his new, heavier weight.

Apparently, he’s taken too long to answer, because Iwaizumi is already rubbing the back of his head and is scowling at him.

“So, are you up for it or what?” He asks, impatiently.

Daichi raises an eyebrow at him. The other usually gets like this when something is bothering him, or he needed to let off some steam.

But instead of calling him out about it, Daichi raises his hands in a placating manner. “Alright, alright. No need to get testy.” He walks towards the middle of mats, while fixing his uniform and tightening his belt.

It’s a good thing he hasn’t changed out of his karategi yet. Because if he wasn’t excited about the prospect of sparring before, he’s definitely quite up for it now. Besides, it might be a good opportunity to check if his body has gotten accustomed to the added weight.

He turns just in time to see Iwaizumi throwing his towel to the general direction of his belongings, before he takes his place on the mat.

“I’m guessing standard rules apply then?” Daichi says, in which Iwaizumi only nods at.

They both did the customary bow and the unofficial practice match officially starts.

They both readied their stance, sizing each other up, before Iwaizumi got impatient again and closes the distance with one foot, while he swings the other, aiming at Daichi’s side. Daichi steps back in time, avoiding the attack. He hums to himself and gives Iwaizumi a look. He must really be stressed, if he started his attack like that.

Iwaizumi grunts and Daichi watches him find his stance, and readies himself to counter. He quickly gets into Iwaizumi’s space before the other does so, with a punch ready to target Iwaizumi’s midsection, but the other successfully blocked it with his own and pushes it down. The move left his head and face open and Daichi immediately leans to the other side, only narrowly evading the other’s fist before jumping away from Iwaizumi.

They continued to trade punches and kicks, with each of them managing to land a hit, once or twice, but if going by Daichi’s score count, he’s pretty sure Iwaizumi’s got more. Although, he couldn’t help but frown at the other.

They are currently maintaining a safe distance away from each other, making use of it to try and catch their breaths, which he’s also using to analyze Iwaizumi’s behavior for the past minutes that they’ve been sparring.

Daichi knew how reckless and impatient Iwaizumi could get, and most of the time, he could keep it under control, or it would be easy for him to tamper it again. But right now, Daichi can’t help but notice that Iwaizumi’s attacks, while still quick (his speed is superior to Daichi’s, after all), lacks the usual precision Daichi knew he is capable of.

And if anything, Iwaizumi is so tensed, and it was just so uncharacteristic of him, and it set off the warning bells in Daichi’s head. It’s clear that he’s not in the right state of mind to spar.

“Iwaizumi,” Daichi calls out. “Maybe we should stop this,” he says as he relaxes his form.

“Not yet, Sawamura.” Iwaizumi grits out. “I’m not done yet.” He swipes at the gathering sweat on his forehead, before gesturing a ‘come on’ to Daichi.

Daichi frowns at him and exhales loudly, but takes his form again.

This time, Iwaizumi doubled his attack, and even continuously keeps of dropping combos, forcing Daichi to focus on defense because Iwaizumi was not giving him a chance to even form a counter attack. Honestly, Daichi is slowly starting to get irritated, at how Iwaizumi’s acting. But it wouldn’t help them, if he lost his temper too, because clearly, he’s the one with the soundest judgment between the two of them.

So instead, he bides his time and waits for an opening. If Iwaizumi is careless like this, it wouldn’t be long before Daichi finds a hole.

His opportunity comes when Iwaizumi lunges at Daichi, but miscalculated their distance, which causes him to almost lose his balance. In an instant, Daichi grabs on the wrist and hold it down. Then he enters Iwaizumi’s space, bracing his arm around the other’s waist and a hooking his leg on Iwaizumi’s unstable one. Daichi promptly pulls his legs and bends Iwaizumi, while he pushes with his upper body.

Fortunately, it worked, and Iwaizumi completely loses his footing and starts falling down.

Unfortunately, Iwaizumi is so startled at being unbalanced, he grabbed at the most stable thing he could get his hands on, which happens to be Daichi.

They land on the mat and they both groan at the impact, with Iwaizumi sprawled under Daichi. Luckily, Daichi has had enough presence of mind and was able to maneuver their positions, so he landed in between Iwaizumi’s legs, but it wasn’t enough because his face planted on Iwaizumi’s chest.

He immediately lifts himself and braces his arms on both sides of Iwaizumi.

“Are you alright?” He asks, absolutely worried about Iwaizumi’s well-being, not caring about the compromising position they’re currently in. Sensei would kill them if they ever get even just the lightest of sprain. The tournament season is just a few weeks away and it wouldn’t do well for them to be injured.

Daichi notes Iwaizumi’s wide eyed expression, steadily reddening cheeks, and harsher breaths. He curses himself inwardly. He should’ve heeded the warning bells inside his head back then. He knew something like this was bound to happen.

“Iwaizumi, please,” he says, voice getting a little higher and tone taking a note of panic. He gets closer to the other’s face. “Did I hurt you? Did you break something?” He places a hand on the other’s chest and this seemed to break Iwaizumi’s trance.

“Argh, yes. Fuck, no, ugh, shit!” Iwaizumi yelps.

Daichi takes off his hands from his chest, in surprise and sits up straight. Iwaizumi scrambles to sit up, unsuccessfully, because he kept on slipping on his sleeves a few times, before he’s able to slide away from Daichi.

“Iwaizumi?”

“Yes, I’m alright. Nothing broken or damaged or whatever,” Iwaizumi exclaims in one breath, hiding his face with one arm, unable to look Daichi in the eyes.

Daichi heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank god.”

“You were distracted,” Daichi states, after a few beats of silence. “What’s wrong? What has got you worked up?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You know you can tell me,” Daichi says reassuringly. “Is it the competition?”

Iwaizumi looks at him, in disbelief and exasperation and Daichi just looks back at him in confusion, seemingly not understanding what’s wrong with his question. Seriously? They’ve been in this dojo for a long time, both starting at an early age. And yes, Iwaizumi had his fair share of jitters before competition, Daichi had seen that. He’s not amateur to feel such anymore.

If anything, the real source of his distraction is the very same man sitting in front of him right now. Iwaizumi was just over the edge. First, he already feels guilty that Daichi had to be the one to sacrifice, and gain weight. It was pretty pointless to enter tournaments together, and aim for gold, if they both belong in the same weight class. It’s just his luck that he’s quicker, is why he got to retain his spot.

But dammit. Daichi just approached it with such understanding, and even encouraged him not to feel bad. And don’t let Iwaizumi get started about how Daichi seemingly got more attractive, after he gained weight. Not that he wasn’t attractive before, but the muscles he gained helped define his shape more and how that happened or how was it possible, Iwaizumi doesn’t want to know.

All he knows is that his eyes have been straying Daichi’s way more often and he just can’t seem to get rid of this weird feeling in his stomach and his chest, whenever the other looks at him. It’s nothing compared to whenever he smiles, because then, Iwaizumi just wants to melt.

And just… goddammit!

He’s not ready for any of this. Not yet. He just recently (begrudgingly) admitted to himself that he might have a crush on his vice-captain, but he’s not ready to lay it all out there.

So he grits his teeth instead and says “Yes! Happy now?” before standing up, not without sending a heated glare at Daichi and his stupidly handsome face.

Just so he wait until he gets that gold, and he’ll be the one to have Daichi pinned underneath him.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#daichirarepairweek #iwadai #sawamura daichi #iwaizumi hajime #hq fanfic #day three #welp #sorry for the title and for the lame ending #*bows deeply*

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