#i did freeze up a bit when he said it as evidenced by the slightly awkward silence that followed but well

[taardisblue]

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[1994sunflower]

Hey! First of all, I love your story SO MUCH, you’re such an amazingly talented writer! Also, I was wondering if you could dig deeper into Micheal’s soft side (never get tired of it) in which maybe Y/N is sick, like she collapses for high fever or something, and he has to take care of her

thank you so much!! and ofc, I love exploring michael's soft side. he can be such a sweetheart when he wants to be (which is like never lol).

in which you’re sick

It would have been bearable if it was just exam week. You’d done that a million times. But the fact that you were also doing grad school applications along with your extracurriculars - suddenly you felt as if there was not enough hours in the day. In a week even.

Even with the sacrifices you’d made. You’d taken to forgetting food times. When you did remember, you’d have to eat during one of your other activities, usually studying and that just led to spills and half eaten food. It had only been about a week into these habits that you had gotten sick with a cold. It wasn’t a surprise, you were overworked, exhausted - no wonder your immune system was depleted. But it made your work and concentration that much more difficult, you’d cried more than once at the circumstances.

But maybe the hardest has been forgoing seeing your beloved boyfriend. It wasn’t that he was a nuisance, it was just that he was distracting and right then, you didn’t have to time to deal with distractions. Lest he succeed in distracting you like he so often does.

It’s been nearly two weeks since the last time you saw him. Something he agreed very begrudgingly to. But he knew how important your grades were so he agreed nonetheless. You texted him nearly hourly but still it felt nothing like having his comforting presence right next to you. It might have been the reason you caved and let him come visit you after he insisted. Not that he likely would have accepted your denial. He missed you just as much and he needed to see you, especially with how worried he was starting to become.

He used the excuse of bringing you lunch and you, weak and missing him, accepted it, knowing he would probably try to stay for much longer than just that.

But you could deal with that and him firmly when it came to that. He always listened to you.

You were at your desk, crumpled papers beside you, tissues, and about ten different tabs open on your computer, with the beginnings of one of your many application essays open on your tablet. You kept alternating between the two works and by the end of it, you almost felt a hysterical scream wanting to leave you. Nothing was good enough.

When you heard the keys clinking at the door, was the only time you had snapped out of your almost unhealthy focus on your work. By the time you realized just how awful you look, it was too late. Your hair was in a ponytail, different strands already falling out of the scrunch by how much you tugged at your hair in frustration. You wore no makeup and the bags under your eyes were more prominent than ever. The sick pallor to your face was probably so much more obvious, if the sniffles and occasional cough didn’t give your sickness away. Not to mention the pajamas that still adorned your body.

But Michael had already opened the door before you could even think of last minute changes to your appearances. All you could do was turn around in your chair to face him, clearing your throat in hopes of pushing back any coughs.

Just as it’d been nearly 2 weeks without seeing him, it’d been 2 weeks of you living this mentally drained lifestyle. And you looked it. Not that it mattered. Michael had never made you feel insecure or anything but the prettiest girl he’d ever laid his eyes on. He loved you, no matter how you looked.

And that was proven when he finally took you in after 2 weeks of not seeing you. His eyes shone with the same love they always held when he looked at you, now with also a sense of relief at finally being right with you. No hint of judgement.

There was a third emotion there too. Worry. But you didn’t have time to try to dissect it because you knew it would just lead him to get you to take a break and lose time you could be spending on working.

Normally you’d be the one who greeted him first, excitedly. But you were too tired to hold that same energy and you hadn’t used your voice for anything other than frustrated groans. All you could do was smile weakly when Michael lifted the bag of food in his hands. The action made you swoon just a bit, you knew it was likely his first time being so attentive to someone, going beside himself to make sure they’re fed and bring it to them. He never would have the same detail with anyone else.

“Got your favorite.” Michael gravely voice finally hit your ears and you had to close your eyes for a second. You’d missed him, much more than you had allowed yourself to think of.

Opening them back up took more effort than you wanted to think of. It seemed that now that you weren’t hyper focused on the work in front of you, the mental tiredness you had been ignoring was finally starting to seep in.

When you stood, you had meant to say a ‘thank you’ before walking over to serve your food but the moment you got to your feet, you felt a wave of dizziness overtake you. Your body swayed for a moment, only stopping when one of your feet that had almost lost its footing, stomped down and you took a hold of the back of the chair you just left. Eyes closed tightly to try to center yourself.

When you opened your eyes, Michael was staring at you with wide eyes, intense with the worry that had been there before much more prominent. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, coughing slightly despite yourself. “Yeah, sorry. I think I might just be hungry.” You tried for a giggle to lessen the mood but Michael didn’t smile or relax at all. His eyes just raked in your figure.

“Are you sick?” That would have been bad enough but if he knew you were sick and didn’t tell him so he could have made sure you were okay, all hell might break loose.

“Sorry I didn’t have time to make myself look better today, okay?” Your tone was a lot snappier than you intended for it to be and that he expected, as evidenced by him rearing back in surprise. You were just so tense. But instead of apologizing you just made your way over to him. No wobbling, no swaying. You were fine.

You didn’t want to deal with defending how you took care of yourself (or rather how you didn’t). You didn’t have time anyway. You’d barely have time to eat what he brought you but the least you could do was eat a bit of it.

“It smells great.” You sniffled. You tried to reach for your food but Michael moved the bag back. His eyes never left you, analyzing every little move you made. It was unnerving. You couldn’t imagine how others withstood his gaze whenever he was angry at them.

“Y/N-” You made an impatient sound. Every time he said your first name, he was serious. And somehow, right then, it made you defensive. “You said you only needed a few weeks to focus on your shit and that you’d be fine without me having to check on you.”

“I am fine.” You muttered yet you couldn’t quite meet his eyes when you said it.

“Yeah? Is that why you got dizzy just from fucking standing up?” His words were harsh and loud but you knew it was because he never really figured out how to show concern any other way. He was worried.

“I told you, I’m just hungry. I didn’t have breakfast today.” But maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say because you saw his eyes flare up with even more concern and anger. But right then, after spending days multitasking and still not even making a dent on the work you needed completed before your rapidly approaching deadline, you were able to match those emotions.

“Michael, I’m really not in the mood to argue with you today, okay? I’m busy and if I’d known you came here to judge everything I’m doing I would have told you not to come. I’m doing my best! Why is that….why…”

It was getting hotter in the room. You’d felt the warmth all day - week even - but as your anger and voice rose, so did the temperature. You barely had time to register the light headedness.

Your breath was shaky by the time you finished your rant and your eyes becoming suddenly distant as you looked around, confused, before you were falling backwards. You would’ve hit the ground if Michael hadn’t moved first and caught you in his arms.

You didn’t hear the frantic calls of your name, more scared than perhaps anyone had ever heard him, the apathetic man he was, sound. You didn’t feel the way Michael’s hands gripped your body, trying not to move you too much lest he do more damage. You didn’t feel the same dropping of his heart when he saw you go down and the freezing fear in his veins. The only thing you felt was his huge, shaky, sigh of relief when you opened your eyes a handful of seconds later.

With much effort, fluttering them to try to keep them open. You couldn’t really see what was in your line of vision, everything was so blurry. Eventually, it was too much effort and you kept them closed, but you felt yourself being picked up and carried. His heartbeat was fast, you felt as he carried you with your face pressed against his chest.

The first movement you made when he finally put you down on the soft bed was furrow your eyebrows, then your hand was rubbing your face. By the time you opened your eyes, confusion set in “What…?”

You didn’t finish when you looked beside you, seeing Michale on his knees next to the bed to be on your level. He looked paler than you’d ever seen him, eyes wide and watching you like a hawk.

It was then that it hit you that you didn’t really know how it ended up that he carried you into your room. You remember getting mad at him, the warmth that slowly overtook you, then the next thing you knew, you were in his arms.

Panic struck you next. How much time had you wasted? You had a final paper due by the end of the week. You had to submit an application in two days.

But when you attempted to sit up, much too fast if your dizzying head was anything to go by, Michael pushed you back down. No longer trying to negotiate with you. His eyes shown fiercely - letting it known that there was no room for compromise.

You couldn’t stop the four coughs that escaped you as you stared at him, pleadingly.

“Don’t.”

“But I have to-”

“You just fainted, Y/N.” Michael almost sounded mad but the waver in his voice gave away his true emotions. “You’re sick and your body’s exhausted, obviously. You’re not going to do shit. You’re going to rest and I’ll…handle it. Contact your professors or whatever so…don’t worry about deadlines or anything.”

His voice made it clear there was no point in fighting against him. Even though his relationships with professors was less than friendly and he never cared enough to ask for extensions for anything before in his life.

He took your hand in his big ones, dropping his head to rest his forehead on top of your fingers. As gentle as you’d ever seen him. “Why haven’t you been taking care of yourself?”

You didn’t answer for a long time and you were grateful that he wasn’t looking at you anymore so he couldn’t see the way your eyes filled with tears and your lip wobbled. You didn’t mean to scare him, or neglect yourself. But if you took the time to do anything else, you’d be behind. You were so tired.

“I d-don’t know.” You said as a few hot tears ran down your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

You felt his hands brush some of your hair from your face softly. “You scared me.” He admitted and somehow, you knew that for Michael, admitting that weakness was hard. But he didn’t mind being vulnerable in front of you.

His eyes bore into you, almost too intensely for you to be able to handle. Until his hand came up to your forehead and you found the excuse to close your eyes so you wouldn’t have to watch the worry in his.

“You have a fever.” He got up and you didn’t even get the chance for your sluggish brain to wonder where he went before he was already back, carrying a small bowl of water with a rectangular mini-towel on top. You weren’t sure how he knew exactly what to do for you, how he seemed so soft and tender in these actions that were so unlike him.

He put the cool, wet towel on your forehead as he sat next to your lying form on the bed. He was so close to you, leaning over you. You were scared he would get sick because of you but when you finally opened your mouth to speak again and told him so, he ignored you. As if that was the last thing he was worried about.

From the moment you collapsed, his attention had been on you and nothing else. Nothing else mattered in his mind. And that translated in every attentive action that made you feel so taken care of. This side of your brash boyfriend, the caring, delicate side at a time when you needed it most nearly brought tears in your eyes. It made it very obvious that despite what he might seem to everyone else, he was the perfect boyfriend, would make the perfect husband. For you. He made you feel supported and at home even when your body and energy seemed to be turning their backs on you.

“I’m hungry, Mikey.” You tugged at his sleeve. You weren’t sure if you were, really. You’d gotten used to the pulsing headache from the lack of food throughout the week. But judging by the heaviness of your eyelids, threatening to close and the weakness in your body, in your energy, if you didn’t eat, you might shut down again.

Your voice was croaky but he didn’t comment on it. His answer was almost automatic, “I’ll get the soup I brought you.”

You’d almost forgotten why he had been there in the first place. He’d insisted because he had missed you. And you missed him. He came to take care of you, going out of his way to do what he would never do for anyone else, just never imagining you were at your limit.

It was almost embarrassing. Being in your weakened state in front of him and having him tend to you like a child. Especially when, sitting up in your bed with a disorientation and a feeling of tiredness that seemed to be the only things you could truly feel at the moment. Plus the muted feeling of stress that never seemed to go away; it was screaming that you should be doing your work, that you’d fall behind.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on it before Michael came back with a bowl of warm soup in his hands and sat next to you again. Saving you even from your own thoughts without realizing it. He placed the soup on your nightstand and it wasn’t until he began to get a spoonful that you realized he meant to actually spoon feed you.

To think of your boyfriend doing anything so nurturing seemed almost unnatural. Yet here he was, without an ounce of hesitation or embarrassment. It was such as mismatch from his personality, his reputation and it melt your heart to think that he cared about you so much to throw all of that away for you and his worry for you.

You could only manage a feeble, “You don’t have to…”

Michael stared at you silently for a while, not a decipherable emotion seen in his face, before bringing the spoonful of soup up to your lips. “I want to.”

And while you knew Michael wasn’t a big talker, those three words dripped with sincerity. Matching the loving actions and gestures he was currently doing for you. It was clear, if it wasn’t already before, that nothing was more important than being there for you when you needed him the most.

He didn’t let you talk again until you finished the food, feeding you each sip. Until he was satisfied that you had eaten enough to compensate for your lack of nutrients the weeks he spent without you. This was just as new to him as it was for you to see, this side of him. Doing things that he never would have dreamed of doing for someone else. But it felt like second nature when he saw the woman he loved more than anything else in such a vulnerable state. He yearned to take care of you, to provide for you. To keep you happy and healthy. Especially with how often you take care of him.

“Was it good?” He asked. Though he knew you would’ve liked it. If not simply for the fact that you hadn't eaten much else then certainly for the fact that he went out of his way to go to your favorite restaurant and pick your favorite item from their menu. The one you got every time he took you there.

You nodded, “Thank you.”

You weren’t expecting it when Michael enveloped you into a hug. So tightly you couldn’t even hug him back even after you got over the shock. His face was buried in your tangled, messy hair. He breathed you in as if taking in the fact that you were okay, he mumbled into your hair, “I know how much you care about school and how hard you try because of that but….none of that shit matters compared to you.”

It was so hard for him to be without you for so long. But he did it for you, to give you the time you had asked for to focus on your work. It had never occurred to him the bad mental state the solitude could leave you in, what it would do to your physically. If he had known, he never would have let you be alone. He would’ve fought you tooth and nail if it was what it took but he would have checked up on you, been there for you. And that’s exactly what he’ll be doing from now on. He’ll be there for you.

“Get some rest,” He reluctantly let you go. “You need to sleep.”

When Michael got up, though you were objectively much too warm because of your fever, you felt a lonely cold. You didn’t want him to stay away so you could study and work anymore. You needed him and all the comfort he brought to your soul. And he didn’t want to leave you anymore either.

“Mikey!” You called to him as he switched off the light to your room. You heard him hum in answer. “Don’t leave, please.”

He didn’t answer you. But you felt him get into bed beside you, kicking off his shoes as if it wasn’t the middle of the day - as if he had nothing else he would rather do than sleep right then next to you. And by the way he put his entire day on hold the minute he saw your condition, you guessed he didn’t. You had an inkling that while you had every intention of not letting him distract you when he had first arrived, that he had already been planning on staying the entire day anyway.

You were glad he did. You wouldn’t have been able to keep going the way you were if he hadn’t forced you to confront your self-neglect and tended to you with such dedication and love.

Both of you were silent and you could feel your tired body begin to drift to sleep when your boyfriend spoke up from beside you. “Promise me you’ll start looking after yourself, no matter how stressed or how much stuff you have to do. Promise.”

You weren’t snuggled into him like you would want. But you could feel him on his side, staring at you in the dark. His voice was serious with a hint of desperation. He needed to hear you say it. To know that his loved one would never be put in such a mistreated circumstance ever again, you didn’t deserve it. Nothing deserved to have you feeling anything but cherished, healthy and confident. Not even yourself. Because he believed in you so completely.

Though he never planned on leaving your side, emotionally or physically, to have any negativity enter your thoughts or habits ever again. He was willing to carry the weight of the world if it meant you would feel the strength and happiness that had been beat out of you.

“I promise.” Your words were small but it was good enough. Michael took you in his arms then, again not caring for any risk he was running of getting sick himself.

The next time you spoke, it was mumbling against his shirt. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this. I must’ve looked so gross because I didn’t really get ready all week and I-”

“Shut up.” His words held absolutely no bite, they were whispered. “I don’t give a damn what you looked like today. You never look bad to me. I only cared about making sure you were okay. And I’ll keep being here to make sure, I’m never leaving you alone again. I promise. No matter what you say.”

Your heart felt so full at his sweet words, just for you.

Then it was back to the comfortable silence. Until you began coughing again, this time against his chest and you tried to pull away quickly, both scared for his health and embarrassed. “Michael, seriously, you’ll get sick.”

But Michael’s strong arms were like steel bracketing you to his body. Unmoving despite your protests. He only cared about finally keeping you to him, where he knew he could protect you and keep you close, especially after so long without you and having your health deteriorate because he wasn't around.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll get my own class extensions then if I do.” He said it seriously, and knowing his academic achievement, or lack thereof, you didn’t doubt he meant it.

But still, you couldn’t help but giggle at his words, knowing he was smiling right alongside you without even having to see it. It felt foreign, laughing after so long of your negative thoughts and stressed lifestyle but nice especially because of all those things. A positive, carefree spirit that filled you because of your loving boyfriend and being so cocooned in his protection right at that moment.

[ushidoux]

Be My Last - Iwaizumi x  Reader (Pt. 4)

Summary: You have trouble getting over a past relationship and it’s preventing you from moving forward. (~1.7 words)

Warnings: questionable fidelity, angst, but otherwise tame

A/N: There isn’t a lot of action in this chapter but a whole lot of feelings.

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

-

You awoke to the sound of Iwaizumi’s careful shuffles around your bedroom as he got dressed for the day. Rising slowly to a sitting position with a stretch and a yawn, you noticed he was a little more dressed up than usual, his usual polo shirt and khakis replaced with a pair of sharp trousers, a nicely pressed shirt and a tie.

“Good morning, baby,” you murmured, voice still heavy with slumber.

Iwaizumi’s eyes shifted from their focus adjusting the sleeves of his shirt and smiled as he watched you rub the sleep out of your eyes, walking around to your side of the bed to kiss you on the forehead - a soft brush of the lips.

“Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?”

The smell of a gentle cologne drove you forward, intending to lean your face against his chest, but he was already back to his side of the bed to gather his things before setting out for the morning.

“I did… I can make breakfast if you’re not in a hurry!” You offered, eyes following the young man as he quickly exited the room.

“I’m alright!” He called, voice distant now. You could tell he was already rummaging around in the kitchen, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted in your nostrils in sharp contrast to the toothpaste you were using to rid yourself of morning breath once you trailed behind him.

You glanced at the time on the wall clock, leaning against a wall opposite the inlet to the kitchen. He wasn’t exactly late for work, but he was rushing out faster than usual. 

“Is everything okay?” Your voice was muffled between spittle and mild concern.

He glanced at you, hesitating for a split second before smiling. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” he replied without answering your question, and then the door closed behind him.

There was a subtle sense of your blood cooling very slightly, a tinge of worry settling in your chest. Venturing back into the bathroom, you finished brushing your teeth, paying exquisite attention to your tired eyes in the mirror as though your reflection was the issue. 

Maybe you were overreacting. Things had been a little tense since your argument, but it was nothing that couldn’t be smoothed over. 

It was only after you’d settled back onto your side of the bed with your open laptop and your screen flickered on to display your ex’s Instagram page that your heart started to race.

You closed it shut again, wincing.

He didn’t see it. He couldn’t have. He would have said something. The argument would have started right up again. It wouldn’t have ended until one of you was sleeping on the couch or you were sleeping in each other’s arms.

You let out a deep breath, taking a few moments to let your self-defensive thoughts sink into your skin. It was nothing serious after all.

Overreaction after overreaction. The only thing that mattered right now was that you opened your laptop and spent your Friday off of work on getting ahead.

---

As luck would have it, Iwaizumi was stuck in traffic.  Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that he’d wanted to escape your apartment as soon as possible and make it out early. He’d actually intended to leave before you woke up. 

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was still angry. 

Not at you. Never at you. At himself.

He remembered the words he had said to you at the start of your relationship, what felt both like just yesterday and ages ago.

Use me if you need to.

He gripped the steering wheel and grit his teeth, trying to maintain composure despite the fact that he’d been in the same spot on the road for the past ten minutes and people were laying into their horns around him.

What kind of stupid shit was that?

It had sounded good to say it at the time, like most things a guy says to woo a pretty girl. Use him. You’d fall in love with him later, in due time. He believed it was true then.

He hated that he was starting to lose faith in that now.

He hated the idea that someone else, who really wasn’t doing anything but simply existing in proximity to you was doing such a number on him. He couldn’t fault him either. Ushijima had loved you first. 

Did it matter if Iwa loved you more?

---

You’d given yourself that you weren’t allowed to leave your apartment until you got your work done, lest you come up with another excuse not to finish, which meant by the time the clock neared six p.m., you had laid sprawled in nearly every corner of your apartment typing and by now were cross-legged on the kitchen counter, your laptop balanced on your knees.

But you were finally done.

You sighed with excitement. Now to put that behind you. 

Saving your work, you slipped off of the countertop and back into your pair of slippers, moving back to your bedroom to change into a just as comfortable but more presentable pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

You were running out of snacks, as evidenced by the frequent trips to the kitchen over the past eight hours. What better way to treat yourself for a job well done but with a walk down to the convenience store to stock up?

Maybe you’d grab Iwa a bag of his favorite chips as a peace offering on the way too. 

---

“We’re already out, young lady!” the cashier teased the moment you crossed the store entrance, setting off the bell. 

You pout but still glance over to the row of baked goods, where your precious melon bread is normally stacked neatly in clear packaging, waiting for you. It’s a little bit embarrassing that he knew you would never pass up on it, but you’d lived here long enough that it wasn’t inconceivable that it’d become your defining trait.

“I’m absolutely devastated, sir!” You called back dramatically, making your way to the back for ice cream instead. They had what your favorite in stock, plus a limited edition flavor so you had more than enough consolation.

Satisfied, you closed the freezer door after picking your selection only to meet eyes with Ushijima, whose hand closed tightly around the handle of a fridge door. He stood a good distance away, but his eyes had been on you and remained so; the very slight part of his lips betrayed the fact that he had been trying to come up with something to say for the past couple of minutes.

He did say your name, something like a greeting, out loud, and you reflexively looked away, heart pounding. Granted you didn’t own this corner of town, but what were the chances he’d only chosen to go here?

Quickly realizing you still weren’t interested in talking, Ushijima pulled out a large bottle of water and closed the fridge, deciding not to bother you further.

It was suddenly a good thing that a text message to you on his phone was in drafts only, him not having the heart to send it. It wasn’t for a lack of courage… it was more so due to shame. Even if he felt like he had to apologize, there wasn’t much he felt he could say that would make it better, not worse.

His shame and your discomfort only intensified as he ended up queueing up behind you. Timing was never on his or your side it seemed.

Ushijima watched you tense up ever so slightly, your shoulders hunched as your arms overflowed with snacks, including the freezing tub of ice cream. Normally he’d offer to help with your load, given that he wasn’t carrying much more than the water but again, boundaries.

He’d set that distance himself.

In reality, he probably should have chosen another running path to discharge energy after practice had ended early today. However, it had been long enough that alternative courses didn’t come immediately to memory and he’d been willing to take that chance.

And here you both were.

He hated this, the obvious residual feelings bubbling to the surface after having been repressed for so long, the fact that he couldn’t justify any of his actions, the fact that he hated older him.

The fact that you won’t even look at him. 

Just say something. Anything. 

Is closure every really needed, or is it just an excuse to refuse to move on?

He opened his mouth to speak, yet again, but you beat him to it.

You turned towards him, smiling, albeit a weak imitation of what you’d always offered him, back when you loved him recklessly, with your whole heart.

“I… um, don’t want it to be awkward,” you said in a small voice. The sound of your voice, directed finally to him, unprompted made his own beat speed up.

Was this an olive branch you were extending that he didn’t deserve? He pondered this, steeling himself for the worst.

You kept your friendly expression as steady as possible. You weren’t sure what you were trying to prove, to yourself and to Iwa.

You didn’t love him. And for that reason, you had no right to be bitter or cold. Right?

“It doesn’t have to be awkward,” you continued.

Ushijima was at a loss for words now, watching you carefully with his normally sharp, hawk-like eyes but now more like the hawk’s prey, assessing the threat before it. Could he get his hopes up? “We can be friends,” you decided.

It’ll only hurt for a short bit of time, you told yourself. And soon things will be back to normal. As they should be.

A part of Ushijima wanted to reply, I don’t want to be friends. He’d finally realized this, no matter how selfish of a thought it was. However, he was content to nod only and swallow that thought. 

“I��d appreciate it.”

He watched you pay for your items and leave, unsure of what friendship would entail.

---

As you dug into your tub of ice cream a couple hours later, you realized you weren’t so sure what that entailed either.

If only to make it worse, then came the buzz of your phone with a single message, I miss you.

[hes-writer]

Ruin

Summary: im not sure how to summarize this without spoiling the story

Warning: angst, bits of fluff here and there

Word Count; 4158 words

A/N: the long-awaited part 6 of the Tarnish series! A collab with @devilinbetweenthesheet-s. My attention span is short itself so I've decided to split it up into two parts.

UNEDITED

___

Harry tried to see the brighter side of the situation because it truly was something to look forward to. Having the chance to get to know Halo was something that he should be grateful for. As Y/N said, Harry did not deserve to be a part of her life, despite the fact that he was the father. And somewhere, somehow— he understood where she was coming from.

Harry honestly wouldn’t know what he would do if the roles were reversed; if Y/N were the one to have been cheating on him. He would not have a clue if Harry would be as kind to her as she was with him. If an outsider were to assess the situation between Harry and Y/N, they would definitely choose her side to be in favour of. So far, Harry still wasn’t able to pinpoint what exactly Y/N had done wrong for him to be swayed by an illicit affair. Was there even a moment in time that he could vividly see where he made the decision to just up and betrayed her trust? Because if there was; either his memory has gone to shit or Harry was more of a jerk than he served himself.

To put things into perspective, Y/N was the perfect partner and Harry had somehow lost sight of that by cheating on her. Don’t get him wrong; Camille was good, great, even. Yet Y/N was an amazing woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Coincidentally, those were the same type of things that Harry needed, too. As much as it pained him to say it, Camille’s rejection of their own little family made him rethink his decision-making process. Harry has learned more about himself in these past few months than he did in his entire lifetime.

For starters, he cleared it up that he had absolutely no excuse for cheating on Y/N except the fact that his retention span lasted a good few years before he was in search of something fresh; something new and exciting. Maybe it scared him just how serious she was in having a family in the future that his subconscious thought that Harry needed one last hurrah to get the infidelity out. Besides, divorces are more complicated when there are children involved.

Secondly, being with Camille was an infatuation that lasted for a long, three years—beginning while Harry was in a relationship with Y/N. Feelings were still there for sure, but he just didn’t know if it was enough to make him stay, especially when Y/N and baby Halo were right there waiting for him. They actually weren’t; Harry just liked to pretend that they were so that he could justify the consequences of his actions.

Camille was trying to make things work with him; Harry could see that. However, there were only so many things that she could do to improve their relationship before she had to change the choices that she had made years prior. Camille really didn’t want to say that she had refuted the idea of not having kids for the sake of making a relationship prosper, but maybe it was what she had to do to make him stay. She wanted a happy life with someone who wanted the same things as her. Harry wasn’t the man who shared a mutual agreement and she was pushed to question her options.

Nonetheless, Camille and Harry stuck with each other because they were all they knew for the past three and a half years. It was definitely ironic for Harry to say that he couldn’t just leave a three-year relationship behind for another woman; because he had done that before. Now, he was a hypocrite too? His ego cannot take it.

____

Connor wrapped his arms around Y/N’s middle as she washed the dishes in the sink. Their water heater was broken so the stream that came from the faucet sometimes teetered from freezing cold to extremely hot. Right now, she was scrubbing the sponge on the porcelain as quickly as possible while the water was at the right temperature.

Y/N turned her head to the side, pressing a kiss on Connor’s cheek. He rested his chin on her shoulder, bobbing up and down as she moved her arms.

“Is this really a good idea, baby?” Connor asked, staring at the way her lashes fluttered in a pregnant pause, taking a deep breath.

She nodded, reaching over slightly to rest the wet dish on the drying rack. “Halo deserves to at least know her real father,”

And it was true. What kind of mother would Y/N be if she kept a secret like that from her own daughter? The past two years was a constant ping-pong battle of reaching out to Harry and sharing the news to him; then, Y/N would be hit with a shot of realization, wondering if this would ruin his current lifestyle.

“I understand. What if he leaves again? Hate to remind you but Harry left you once before, don’t think he’ll hesitate to do so again,”

She froze at Connor’s words. Y/N was aware that he only said that in good faith, to remind her of how hurt she was at the time and just how long it took for her to be able to finally breathe again.

One side of Y/N urged to still defend Harry. She wanted to turn and around, yell at him because Connor doesn’t know Harry as she does. Harry wasn’t the type to build a child’s dreams up only for him to personally manhandle the heart and crush it in his fist. There was a reason why he was a godfather to so many kids; Ruby, Arlo and Jackson—because he was capable. Harry was a nurturing father who put himself on the back burner in favour of making sure that the little ones were safe and secured. He had no problem being third if it meant that the kids were first, then Y/N, then him.

It all sounded so good in Y/N’s head; so well-rehearsed and very well thought out. The monologue that had somehow stuck in the sides of her brain like a script taped to the wall, ready for the time it needed to be recited. The shredded pieces of paper also reminded her that Y/N might’ve known Harry before, but she certainly doesn’t anymore. In fact, she knew just as much as Connor did.

Just like Y/N had grown and evolved into a new person, Harry was not the same guy he once was when they were together.

“I told him the consequences if he did,”

Connor pulled back, stepping away from her. “But wouldn’t it be better if we didn’t take that chance? Who knows what he might do. . .” He trailed off, grabbing a dry rag to wipe the water dripping from the dish.

Y/N took a leap of faith in letting Harry in. He was a wild card. He could promise one thing but would mean another. Or he could recite a vow and completely annihilate the person as he did with her. Yet somehow, Y/N couldn’t resist the opportunity to give him one chance. Maybe it was because a small part of her craved to re-create a happy family that they had always wanted.

“It’s a risk. I know that” Y/N rinsed a cup, swirling the water in circles. She felt like that whenever Harry was around.

“So why are you still doing it?” Y/N opened her mouth to answer, “And tell me the truth this time, yeah?”

Her boyfriend stared at her with an unreadable emotion in his eyes, lips drew taut in a straight line and arms were crossed over his broad chest. The pressure was immense on Y/N’s shoulders. She was torn between admitting what she had buried deep below the sand or simply glossing over it like a figure skater. Nonetheless, Y/N was on thin ice.

For years, she had flicked away the remaining feelings that stayed with her. But they were persistent in sticking by her side. It wasn’t like Y/N could completely erase Harry from her life--from who she was. She still dressed like him, evidenced by the matching pair of Gucci loafers she chose not to wear for the night in fear that he would coincidentally be sporting the same footwear.

Furthermore, they had a child together! Halo was the spitting image of him. It was hard not to be reminded by a man she once loved when their little baby was both of them mixed in one. So did Y/N still love Harry? She couldn’t deny how much her heart fluttered seeing him stutter over his words at the park. Y/N just wasn’t sure if it was from anxiety and nervousness or excitement and anticipation.

Unbeknownst to the couple, Harry had sneakily closed a sleeping Halo’s bedroom door. His trek back to the kitchen was slow, slightly afraid of the awaiting talk he and Y/N--and possibly Connor-- have yet to have. Harry wanted to be there for Halo and for Y/N every step of the way, but he knew that Y/N would not allow him around if his intentions were to cater to a relationship with her. She was already tolerating him as is.

Standing behind the thin wall that acted as a partition from the hallway to the kitchen, Harry carefully placed his hands against the barrier to steady himself. He didn’t know if his legs could take whatever answer would spill from Y/N’s mouth. If she admitted her true feelings, he would stumble and melt into a puddle. He would be confused, but Harry wouldn’t be opposed to it; he was in a relationship after all. If she denied it--which was the more likely option--, his heart would break silently in his chest.

Harry numbed himself of the guilt raking at his ankles. He was well aware that this was a private conversation but hey; it was not his fault that he had ears straining to listen to Y/N’s reply.

“Do you still love him?” Connor followed up, voice grim. Almost fearful to find out the truth. Harry was, too.

Y/N paused her thoughts as well as her actions, flinching at the sudden intrusion of Connor’s question. She flinched, yelping a little and jumping backwards when the broken water heater subdued the filtering liquid into a burning hot splatter on her skin. Connor picked his feet up in alarm, grabbing at Y/N’s wrist to see the minor injury on the back of her palm.

“Ow!” Y/N whisper-shouted, soothing the ache by situating it between her thighs before shakily showing it to Connor; the doctor.

“Let me see, baby,”

Harry peeked his head around the corner, almost losing his cover with the way his feet instantaneously wanting to move towards a hurting Y/N. Good thing he caught himself. Surely they would put two and two together and realize that Harry was eavesdropping.

That decision came with a laceration to his heart. Harry got a first-class ticket to register that the couple was everything he and Y/N were. The pet names, the domesticity of their actions. The caring glances and constant check-ups.

Deciding to come out of hiding, Harry almost had a heart attack when he turned the corner and was met face to face with Connor. His brows had dipped in worry, face determined to grab some cream to apply to the burn from their first-aid kit in the bathroom. Harry guessed that his whizzing thoughts failed to hear the quiet instruction.

The man jolted in surprise, stopping quickly in his tracks, “Oh hey! Is Halo asleep?” Connor gave him a smile despite the confusion etching in his forehead. Harry nodded dumbly, lips pursing like a fish. “Y/N’s just burned her hand, nothing too serious though,”

He looked over his shoulder to see Y/N eyeing the both of them suspiciously, still clutching the burnt skin close to her. “Oh, I see,”

Connor smacked a firm hand on his shoulder, stepping around him to grab the cream. Harry walked towards Y/N, noticing that she was soothing the painful ache with ice wrapped in layers of tissue. She was softly hissing through her teeth once in a while.

“You okay?”

She tilted her head at him, appearing to be dazed out in her thoughts. “Yeah, uh, nothing too bad,”

Harry kept his distance, leaning on the other side of the counter. He started off by saying, “Thank you for giving me this chance,”

Y/N graced him with a smile, standing up straighter when Connor appeared with a tube in his hand. Harry watched as he unscrewed the cap, placing it beside her. He squeezed a bit of the cream unto his fingertip before applying it directly on Y/N’s skin. She winced, wanting to pull her wrist away from his grip but Connor didn’t let her, “It’s gonna be fine, baby,”

He pressed a kiss to her temple, continuing to rub circles on the burn until Y/N visibly relaxed through slouched shoulders and less shaky breaths.

Harry was staring at them like a kicked puppy. He was fussy and frustrated all in one. He wanted the attention that Y/N was giving Connor. He wanted to be Connor, but both of them were too wrapped up in their little love bubble to notice Harry’s squinted eyes and pinched brows.

He was frustrated because even if he wasn’t the direct cause of her pain, Harry had somehow found a way to continue hurting her and Connor was always there to pacify his wrongful actions. Harry hated that this was how fate had planned his life.

Harry cleared his throat, raising a fist to his mouth, “Think I should go,” His thumb pointed over his shoulder, “Uh thank you again,”

Y/N snapped her head to him, gaze lowering in a timid manner as if she forgot that he was even there in the first place. Connor was the first to reply, “Alright, man. See you whenever,” He capped the tub, shoving it in his back pocket to return to its place.

She leaned on her tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips, muttering something in his ear that had Connor teasingly wrapping his hands on her hips. Harry looked away, taking long strides to the entryway instead.

“Harry, wait!”

He shuddered at the memory of the words that had changed his life when Gemma told him the truth. Harry’s shoe was half-way one when he turned around. “Yeah?”

Y/N was holding a folded brochure, “Halo has a recital this weekend for her dance class,” She handed it to him, “Maybe you’d want to go? You can bring Camille if you want but I think it would be better if you didn’t. She’s still new to this and I don’t want her asking too many questions until she can unders--,”

“I’ll go,” Harry cut her off, unfolding the folded paper. The venue was about twenty minutes away from his place. It was only an hour-long considering the skill set of two-year-olds but it was a fun way for parents to cheer on their little ones. Harry’s previously sour mood was now replaced with giddiness at the sight of his daughter in a pretty pink tutu, twirling on her feet. He was sure that Halo was born to become a performer like him.

She sighed in relief, puffing her cheeks out cutely, “It’s a private dance class. Pretty high end so the security should be okay,”

And there it was again. The constant reminder that Harry was otherworldly to some people. As much as he loved living his lifestyle, he sometimes wished that he was a normie. That was a lot to ask for considering his current situation with his daughter, but a man can dream.

“Got it,”

Y/N leaned over to show him the back of the leaflet, “Just show them this ticket and security should let you in. Halo wanted me to give that to you because she was too shy earlier. I know it’s short notice but I guess she was comfortable enough to ask you,”

Harry blushed at the admittance, mentally patting himself at the back for making his daughter feel at ease in a short amount of time.

“I’ll be there,” He pushed his heel to adorn his sneakers. Y/N bit her lip, she looked hesitant, “It’s okay if you don’t want to go, by the way. I can explain that you’re busy. She’ll probably understand,”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. Harry wasn’t going to ruin his progressive relationship with his daughter on ‘probably’. “Y/N, s’alright. No problem, yeah? I’ll be there,”

___

Where was he?

It was two days after the dinner and Harry’s promise of attending Halo’s recital was vanishing with each passing second. Every time the hand of the clock ticked to indicate that another minute had elapsed. Harry still wasn’t jogging through the carpeted middle of the small theatre to where Connor and Y/N were seated. Two empty seats were left at the end of the aisle to aid Harry--and possibly Camille--a smooth arrival without creating any distractions.

There were only five minutes left before the stage crew were to dim the spotlights illuminating the room. Y/N was checking her watch what felt like every second, clicking her phone on and off once in a while worried that something may have happened to Harry. Maybe security wouldn’t let him in. The gnawing feeling at the pit of her stomach suggested that Harry just forgot the event tonight but Y/N would cross the bridge when they got to it. Regardless, her nerves were left unsettled as swallowing proved to be more difficult with the way a sip of her water had her gulping audibly. Connor wasn’t there to lend a soft hand on her upper back to help her breathe.

Speaking of, Connor had taken the initiative to visit Halo backstage. The ballet teacher was growing weary of the way the little dancer ran out from beside the stage to stop in front of her parents, asking, “Where’s Hawwy?”.

Halo had done it three times in hopes of receiving an answer aside from, “He’s not here yet,” Y/N tucked a fallen strand of hair from the otherwise sleek bun from beside her cheeks. Her daughter’s form slouching as her pretty eyes watered slightly, “He’s not coming? You told me he was coming, mama,”

Y/N glanced at Connor nervously, being met with an ‘I-told-you-so’ look which didn’t really help the situation. Luckily, the teacher had approached them with a clipboard on hand, searching for the ballerina. The teacher had suggested that one of them stay with her behind the curtain until the show began. Connor volunteered.

“Better hope he comes or else we’ll have to deal with the consequences. I really don’t want to see her heartbroken before of a promise he couldn’t keep,” Connor muttered, following the woman but not before thumbing circles on Y/N’s flushed cheek.

Y/N knew that he meant well. She also didn’t want to comfort a heartbroken Halo because Harry failed to show up where he promised he would be. And now, with a little less than two minutes before showtime, Connor was sent back beside her. Parents were being ushered to find their seats before the lights dimmed and it would be difficult to maneuver through knees and legs.

“Is he here?” Connor questioned, draping a hand on her shaking knee. Y/N shook her head, casting another glance at the auditorium doors. He waved at Halo who peeked her head between the silk curtains, wandering eyes looking at the empty seat beside Y/N.

“No. Hasn’t texted or answered his phone either,” Y/N was about to dial Harry’s contact once more in a desperate attempt to reach him. However, the dimming lights indicated that it was too late. Connor laced their fingers together, offering apologetic eyes and a tight-lipped smile; they would have to nurse a broken heart later tonight.

_____

Harry was in the middle of buttoning his patterned shirt, staring at his reflection in the mirror to silently judge his fashion choice for the night. Was it too much for a kids’ ballet recital? He deemed that it was, stretching his arms to remove the fabric adorning his chest, moving to grab the pink, flamingo patterned shirt instead. He took his time, granted that he had about an hour before the recital started.

He smoothed the fabric over his broad shoulders, pausing when Camille walked in. Harry locked his green eyes at her through the mirror as she walked to their shared bed, sitting at the foot of it.

“What d’ya think?”

She hummed in response, absentmindedly nodding in agreement when Harry asked if it was good. Both Camille and Harry had talked about his relationship with Halo as soon as she landed at the airport. He didn’t want to keep any secrets from her. Fortunately, Camille was very understanding of his situation, offering him support and encouragement to build a bond with his daughter.

What Camille didn’t reveal was that she was a bit antsy of Harry’s relationship with Y/N. She meant everything she had said to him, but it was no guarantee that Harry would ignite another connection with his ex-girlfriend. Not that Camille didn’t trust him. It was just a bit concerning because she believed that how a relationship starts is how it will end. Harry certainly had a history of straying away from his present partner.

Harry was currently in their walk-in closet, finding a pair of slacks that weren't too formal or casual. Camille mulled the thoughts in her head. She loved Harry dearly and would do anything for him. Well, anything except having children of their own. He had mostly accepted her decision, only wincing a little when the topic of a family was brought up by mutual friends and family once in a while.

Truth to be told, Camille was scared. She was afraid that Harry would leave for Y/N because she had Halo. They were the family that he had always wanted and although Camille wasn’t too keen on giving him the same; she was debating on it.

“How’s this, Cam?” Harry retreated with two pairs of pants. On one hand was a pair of straight-leg skinny jeans that he hadn’t worn in years. The other held brown, corduroy, striped slacks. “Or this one?”

She bit her lip, standing up slowly, walking over to him. “What do I think?”

He nodded, innocently jutting his bottom lip at her as he looked back and forth.

Camille swathed her hands on his shoulders, ghosting her mouth over his ear, “I think I like you better without them,” Her finger traced his collarbone, swirling at the dip of his throat. “Without anything,”

Harry gulped harshly. He felt Camille unbuttoning his shirt, gliding her palms downwards until she was cupping his bulge, “Camille, wait,” He flicked his watch to check the time. It took twenty minutes to get there, maybe even more with traffic and parking.

She dragged him to the bed by the ends of his opened shirt, locking her lips with his plush ones. He rested a knee on the mattress, his hands at the back of her head as Camille continued to pull him down.

Pulling away, Harry panted, “What are you doin’?” He laid his creased forehead on hers.

Camille supported herself on her hands, moving her face back until she was able to get a clear view of his perplexed expression, “I was thinking that maybe we could. . . try having a baby, H,” Her voice was soft, almost timid and she was doing her best not to break eye contact to show her sincerity.

Harry gasped in surprise, “Wha--? Really? Are you serious?” His tone gained a pitch as excitement enthralled his senses. The smile on his face was wide and reached his bright eyes. “Baby, are you sure?”

Camille nodded, grinning softly. “Yes,’

“Oh my--this is. . .,” Harry pulled at the locks of his hair, pacing around the room. “This is great! Our own family. Jesus. I can’t believe it,” Tears sprung on his corneas.

He kneeled between her legs, taking her wrist and pressing a gentle kiss on her skin, murmuring ‘I love you’ repeatedly.

“Are you going to keep doing that?” Camille asked, spreading her legs rhetorically. Harry observed her position, nodding enthusiastically.

Another glance at his watch indicated that Harry was absolutely pushing it with being late to Halo’s recital. Yet one enchanting kiss from Camille wiped his thoughts clean. He was getting what he wanted; a family of his own.

___

Let us know what you thought! The seventh part of the Tarnish series will be uploaded on Patreon on Sept 29!

___

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[phantom-curve]

Congrats on the follower milestone!! You deserve it!! 💜 I am going to request Juke + hiraeth (a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past)!

thank you!💕 also every time you send in a slightly angsty prompt my brain just goes: coney island juke Coney Island Juke CONEY ISLAND JUKE so here is Luke's POV from the first chapter of did I shatter you?

hiraeth - a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

Luke had forgotten how cold it could be during December in New York City. The wind blowing in from the blackened ocean along the boardwalk sent icy tentacles crawling beneath his old plaid jacket, the winter air sneaking into all of the empty spaces living in his soul to freeze him from the inside out. He shivered slightly, adjusting the beanie on his head until it was pulled farther down over his ears. It felt like a fitting punishment to be here, alone, slowly trudging his way along the weathered planks of Coney Island as if he was doing penance for the last time he had been here. As if his suffering would ever make up for the things he had said and done, the way he had let Julie walk away without a second glance, taking most of his heart and soul with her when she disappeared.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he had come here. He hadn’t seen Julie in almost a year. The hollow spot in his chest where his heart used to live ached at the thought of her. Being here, beneath the stormy night sky with the neon lights of the carnival muted by the snow that was beginning to fall, felt like a desperate attempt to claw his way back inside a home that no longer existed. A painful reminder of the better times they had once shared. The family they had built together, the love that had flowed easier than breath itself, the best days of his life, all tied back into Coney Island and New York City. The tabloids had thought their love story originated in LA, but he knew that it had always been this place that birthed the beginning of what was supposed to have been their forever. He hunched his shoulders, protecting himself from the wind as much as he was attempting to soothe the raging sea of sadness that always threatened to drown him when he thought about Julie.

Reggie and Alex hadn’t been awake to talk him out of buying the one-way ticket cross country at three o’clock that morning. He had fallen asleep only to be awoken after a distressing dream involving Julie and more heartbreak than his unconscious mind was able to handle, and something had compelled him to book the first ticket he could find from LAX to JFK. His skin had been itchy the entire five-and-a-half-hour fight, his feet tapping out a restless rhythm and his journal a mess of scribbled pages where he somehow managed to write too many words that said nothing at all. His legs had taken him on a path through the terminal, leading him onto the AirTrain and then the train headed for Far Rockaway before he transferred to the Q and finally staggered off at the Coney Island stop, confused as to how he had gotten there, yet not surprised to find that this was the place he had been drawn to. None of his trip had been controlled by rational thought, pure gut instinct driving every decision he had made so far. He hadn’t even brought the right kind of clothes with him, as evidenced by the fact that he was freezing his ass off, snow slowly beginning to seep in through his tattered Vans to soak his socks.

The quiet of the night seemed to haunt him. Echoes of memories waited around every corner: Julie’s laugh, Julie’s voice, the sight of her curls glowing beneath neon lights, eyes shining with nothing but pure love for him. She had offered him the best home, one made out of her adoration and devotion, devoid of judgement or pain, the most vulnerable spot she could find within her heart to carve out a space for him to live. He had found a kind of peace there that felt holy and endless, as if Julie alone could patch up every broken piece of his heart, heal him and complete him and make him whole once more. And then he had destroyed the entire thing bit by bit until all it took was one final blow to demolish it beyond repair.

He still remembered the yawning abyss of loss that had opened within his soul when he got the call from Andi that Julie had ditched their contract and gone solo. The way his heart had eaten itself alive when he had seen those paparazzi pictures of her with Nick’s arms around her waist, his lips pressed against the top of her head, taking Luke’s rightful spot at her side. The keen sense of homelessness when Alex and Reggie had returned from a visit to their old house with all of Luke’s things in neatly packaged boxes, Julie’s clear, looping handwriting labeling each and every one. It felt like he had lost a piece of himself when he lost her. He was a boat without a port to return to, cursed to an eternity of being lost at sea.

Luke turned his head away from the boardwalk around him, focusing on his feet as they kicked up clumps of the freshly fallen snow with each step. As if looking away would keep the visions from crowding his head, ghosts of him and Julie so young and so happy, taunting him with the inevitability of their eventual downfall. What he wouldn’t give to turn back the clock, go back to his younger self and explain that Bobby meant nothing while Julie meant everything. Losing sight of that was his greatest regret. There was nothing he wanted more than to see her one last time. Have one last chance to atone for all of his mistakes, throw himself to the ground and beg for her forgiveness. Promise her a new beginning, one where he would never again allow his demons to poison him against her. But wishes were for kids whose dreams hadn’t yet been crushed. Luke had been given the greatest gift in the universe, and he then he had allowed himself to let it slip through his fingers, falling to shatter like glass against hardwood floor.

And then, like a phantom come to life, he heard her voice. Not the pale imitation that his mind liked to taunt him with, but her actual real-life voice, the sweetest melody he could imagine.

“Luke?”

[c4pricornc4ts]

Who Would Ever Want to be King? Chapter Two

Read chapter one on tumblr here or read both chapters on ao3 here!

Tubbo meets a moobloom, Tommy is kind of an asshole. 

At some point Eret must've dozed off because he wakes up to Tubbo almost on top of him and poking him gently, blue eyes framed by messy brown hair looking down at him.

“Good morning?” He laughs before leaning forward to check on a still sleeping Tommy. The sunrise was starting to fill the room with golden light, he hoped it wouldn’t wake the injured boy. Head injuries always lingered, at least the side effects do.

He replaces the bandages on Tommy’s forehead while Tubbo watches apprehensively. He was bouncing slightly which was shaking the bed.

“That can’t be good for Tommy” Eret murmurs, before deciding he needs to get Tubbo to stop. “What’s on your mind?”

The boy stops bouncing, he freezes like a deer in headlights. “I don’t know?” He tilts his head and looks apologetic about it.

“What do you think about breakfast?”

“What about Tommy?”

“We’ll make him some too.” The king walks over to the door, turning to wait on Tubbo to climb down the bed and join him. Both were still in their pajamas, but that could be fixed later.

They decide on pancakes, Tubbo insisting on getting all the ingredients out himself. Except the eggs. Eret didn’t want to clean up a dropped egg right now. Or ever really.

Tubbo’s watching Eret mix everything together, his head pressed against the wood and his arm laying across the table as far as he could reach. “Where do you get all this? It’s not exactly like you have a market around here.”

“I farm for myself. It’s not too difficult to feed one person.” He puts another pancake on the stack and pours one more.

“Will we make it difficult?” He whispers.

“Not if I put you two to work.” He waits for Tubbo to complain at even the mention of work but the boy seems completely nonchalant and just plays with his sleeve.

By ‘work’ Eret means feeding the cows and collecting eggs from the chickens. And even though the definition of ‘work’ for a kid raised in the middle of a war must be a lot more dangerous and draining, Tubbo doesn’t argue at all.

“I don’t think Tommy can do much yet.” He sits up in his chair as Eret brings over two plates of pancakes and a jar of syrup.

“You’re right. Which is why me and you will go out today, Tommy needs to rest.”

“What will we do?” He’s eating very messily but he supposes they could talk about manners a different day. For now he just hands him a dish towel.

“How do you feel about mooblooms?”

Tubbo drops his fork and yells with excitement. Eret flinches at the noise but smiles nonetheless.

After Tubbo brings Tommy a slightly smaller portion of breakfast, (As Eret was fairly confident he wasn’t going to be up for eating today and just didn’t want to tell Tubbo no to giving his friend something.) They head through the wooden door that leads to the courtyard.

He calls it a courtyard but really it’s much bigger than a courtyard and houses a lot of animals and plants. He tries to keep it at least a little nice, evidenced by the hyacinth hanging from the columns. They were all the same deep blue color, and everywhere he could hang them he did.

Tubbo walks right up to the cows who have free range of the yard. Eret lets him play around with the dandelion covered cow as he knows that she wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“What’s her name?” Tubbo calls to him from where he’s getting water out of the well.

He picks up the bucket, pouring the contents into the watering can. “They don’t have names Tubbo.” He doesn’t mean to sound so blunt but he’s pretty inexperienced with people.

“Well I think she looks like Daisy. Can we name her that? Please? I think she’d really appreciate it if she had a name.” He has his arms wrapped around the cow’s neck, and his head is buried in her side while she eats grass like nothing is happening at all.

Eret decides not to comment on the fact that it’s a bit silly to name a cow covered in dandelions a different flower name. It didn’t matter that much anyways, and he’s gotta admit, she does look like a Daisy. “Sure, I like it, ‘Daisy the Moobloom’. Now can you go get some hay for them? She and her friends need to eat too.”

He points to the bales of hay in the back of the cow’s shelter and Tubbo hurries to get some. Eret finishes watering all the flowers and is moving on to the crops and Tubbo is laughing as all the cows surround him trying to get some hay when they’re interrupted by a door opening.

“What are you two doing without me? I don’t want to be alone anymore. It's really, really boring.” Eret looks up to see Tommy leaning over his bedroom balcony, his blond hair covering most of his face as he looks down.

“Tommy, you fell! You’re supposed to be bored because if something exciting happens and then your head will hurt again!” Tubbo shouts up at him, on his tiptoes as if that’ll help his voice carry.

Eret thinks Tubbo’s voice didn’t need any help, the boy was very polite but he was also very loud. He’s thankful the boy is though, or Eret might not have found them in the woods.

“My head is fine!” He whines dramatically.

“I really don’t think it is Tommy, you were bleeding and shit.”

“Language!”

“Sorry Eret! You were bleeding and STUFF.” He corrects himself.

Tommy runs back inside and moments later is out in the courtyard himself. Eret’s impressed he found the door that quickly, but who knows, maybe Tubbo had explored the castle after Eret went to bed last night.

“You really should rest Tommy, you were out cold last night.”

“I don’t need another adult in my life telling me what to do. If I wanted that I would be with Wilbur still.” He brushes past Eret pointedly knocking into his shoulder.

“Well, if your head starts hurting again you tell me okay?”

“Whatever.” Tommy dismisses him before going and trying to jump the chicken fence, keyword trying. The blond seems to go still and doesn’t even try to finish pulling himself over. Eret drops the watering can and rushes over to catch him.

“Alright that’s it you’re going back to bed.” Eret drags him to his feet and leans over to support the boy’s weight.

“No I-I’m fucking fine y-you bitch.” The king bites back a smile at the boy’s weak attempt at an insult while concussed. He supposes he should be more upset with all the attitude he’s been shown but really, it’s worth having some company.

They keep walking towards the doors back inside, and Tommy keeps digging his heels in the grass and trying to turn back. Looking at Tubbo like he’ll never see the other again. Eret sighs, he wasn’t heartless enough to separate them if Tommy was going to look that broken about it.

“Tubbo, I’ll finish up out here. Can you go sit with Tommy for a bit?” The boy looks so happy with the animals he really hates taking him back inside. But he had a feeling Tommy wasn’t going to stay in the bedroom unless Tubbo’s there too.

He passes Tommy to Tubbo carefully since Tommy was a bit taller than his friend. “I don’t need to go inside. You’re being ridiculous.” He argues the whole way but never once tries to stop Tubbo physically. Eret supposes the arguing was more of a defensive thing.

Eret finishes up with the animals and spends the rest of the day checking the castle over after the storm last night. He goes in before dinner and prepares the room next to the one Tommy and Tubbo have taken over. The whole time he doesn’t hear a word from the other room. Hopefully they’re both resting and haven’t just run off.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s done that. And Eret can’t really think of why people do, he’s really just trying to help.

He washes their clothes and tries not to fall asleep when he hangs everything up to dry. The sun had been mostly covered by clouds, making the whole castle overcast. Maybe he should go out and buy some lights. The problem is that would mean finding a market, which means finding a village and villages well, those have people. More people than the king wants to be around.

He starts a fire under the stove, it’s perhaps a little early to start dinner but who’s counting? He reaches for the steak he has stored away but pauses when he remembers how enamored Tubbo was with the mooblooms.

Chicken it is then.

“Don’t you ever get tired of only blue flowers?” Eret jumps and turns around, holding out a wooden spoon. He sets it down on the counter next to him when he sees it’s just Tubbo. He had to get used to extra people. Or Tubbo had to stop coming up behind him. They both make a mental note to work on it.

He turns back around, stirring the contents in the pot. “Do you think they look bad?”

“Well, they look nice really they do! It just feels… sad.”

He wants to just tell the boy that’s the point, they’re supposed to be sad. But he can’t bring himself to talk about it.

“I saw pink flowers in the woods, I could plant them here if you want.” Tubbo sounds hopeful, trying to pass off wanting pink flowers as something for Eret only.

“I’d love that Tubbo. But not tonight alright? If Tommy sees you out there he’ll want to go too.” Tubbo makes an excited noise behind him and climbs the counter to Eret’s right. Leaning over the pot to look inside. Flinching when the steam hits his face.

Eret covers the pot and nudges Tubbo away, worried his hands would get burned. “It’s chicken and vegetables, I hope that’s alright.”

Tubbo nods quickly, and sits further back on the counter. Content to be near the stove fire as it gets colder in the castle. And the king is perfectly happy to have company. Even if said company almost falls off the counter several times before the soup is done.

Tubbo keeps talking about what he wants to name every cow as Eret pulls out a ladle and dishes out three bowls of the chicken soup. Placing them on a plastic tray before interrupting Tubbo’s rant. “We’re going to eat with Tommy, I need you to knock for me okay? My hands are... “ He tilts his head towards the tray in both his hands. “full.”

“Can we eat on the bed?”

Eret nods and laughs and starts walking up the castle steps towards the bedroom. Tubbo knocks on the wooden door. “Tommy? We brought dinner, are you awake?”

“Go away.”

Tubbo exchanges a confused look with Eret and tries to open the door. After a few attempts, they realize it’s locked. Eret didn’t even know his door still did that.

“Tommy please? What about me?” Tubbo sounds a little hurt that his friend would treat him so harshly especially without any reason.

The door unlocks with a click and is opened just enough for tiny hands to grab Tubbo by the collar of his shirt and yank him in the room. Tubbo squeaks in surprise and the door slams right in Eret’s face.

Eret keeps staring at the door, confused at what just happened when the door opens yet again and Tommy grabs two of the bowls before dashing back inside. He hears Tubbo whisper through the door. “He said he doesn’t wanna eat with a grownup. I’m sorry Eret but you fit that criteria I think.”

Well, he guesses he’ll go eat alone. Not like he hasn’t done that before.

Neither boy comes out of the room the rest of the night, so Eret tells them he’s next door before just settling in for the night. His books we’re all in the occupied room so he opts to just go to bed early.

For the second night in a row, he’s woken up by a scream. He watches as someone throws his door open and then slams it closed, leaning their whole body against it and panting heavily. The king sits up and tries to wake up enough for his eyesight to clear. “Tommy?”

“P-please don’t let Wilbur take me. I’m sorry I’m such a-an asshole.” The boy’s voice wobbles, and he sounds like he’s about to cry.

The words prompt Eret to jump out of bed and go pull Tommy away from the door. He wants to say it’s a bad dream but if the blond was this scared, maybe Wilbur really was here.

He remembers Wilbur being a good man, a leader who always had photos of his son and talked about his brothers from a different realm often. He never thought anyone would be closing doors in his face. Though, he never thought he’d betray his country either.

He sets Tommy on his bed and checks the hallway. There’s no one out there. It must have been a nightmare. He feels his arm being grabbed and turns back towards the bedroom to a very nervous Tommy trying to get him back in the room.

He obliges and closes the door, figuring out how to lock it tiredly while Tommy clung to him.

“Tommy, no ones out there. And even if there was, you’re safe here. I wouldn’t let anyone take you.” He’s holding the boy, surprised that he’s not being pushed away or sworn at.

“What about Tubbo?”

“I'll protect him too.” He confirms, gently carding his hands through the boy’s messy hair. Something he remembers people doing to him long ago.

“I’m sorry.” He says between sobs, and Eret just keeps whispering “It’s okay.” back.

They stay standing together like that till Eret is too tired to hold them both up and sits up against the headboard with some difficulty since Tommy does not want to let go.

Tommy is only occasionally sniffling when Eret starts to drift off. Barely even noticing the bed dip when Tubbo goes and curls up next to the pair.

Eret wraps an arm around Tubbo too before finally going back to sleep.

[rent-day-blues]

I don't know if you're still doing prompts, but if are... Injured John? Maybe he gets clipped by a car or something on his way to a shift and has to call it in and his brother(s) arrive to help him? Thanks!

now! I know you haven’t asked for a rewrite of S1E08 in the RDB verse, but i’m afraid that’s precisely what you’re getting.

“

“My brother knows how to jump out a window. From at least a couple storeys up, or so he says, anyway. I remember telling you that story. I’ve never seen him do it, I’ve only heard about it afterward. Apparently he didn’t do it right; sprained his ankle. Gordon gave him hell.”

John informs the cat at the far end of the branch of this fact, nonchalant, as though the pair of them aren’t about fourteen feet in the air, which is further than John would like to jump, even if he had the first idea of how to stick the landing. Falling is the easy part.

The dispatch office backs up onto the river that cuts through town, though not one of the nicer parts of the river. There’s still a little scrubby bit of embankment behind the complex, a few haphazard picnic tables on the top of the bank, and a handful of trees trailing down the slope, doing their best and failing, as evidenced by their scraggling grey limbs—which hadn’t looked that hard to climb. And hadn’t been, to be fair. As he and Eos have mutually discovered, it’s not the climbing that’s the tricky part. It’s all getting rather philosophical up here.

“When people call me about cats up trees, I send the fire department to prevent them from going up any trees after any cats. That’s a secret about my job. It’s easier to get cats out of trees than people. You know, if you have a fire truck. Or even just a ladder. Or have climbed a tree more recently than like fifteen years ago and can still remember how to get down.” John pauses, rueful, and then adds, “I always wondered what sort of moron goes up a tree after a cat. That’s the other secret—about 90% of the time, you get your own damn selves back down.”

Of course, the most sensible thing to do, even if one has already blown the chance to do what was formerly the most sensible thing to do, and climbed a tree in pursuit of a cat, would be to call the appropriate authorities in order to safely get back down. And even if he’ll never hear the end of it from whatever coworker he calls or whichever branch of the emergency service is summoned to his rescue, John still absolutely would call 911—if his phone hadn’t fallen out of his pocket in the process of climbing the stupid tree, in pursuit of the stupid cat.

The screen’s cracked (that’s not new) and turned off, and staring forlornly up at him from where it’s nestled amidst the gnarly roots of the stubborn old tree. Even if he can’t tell the time for sure, he knows it’s past the beginning of his shift. He hopes they start to wonder where he is, and sooner rather than later, though they’ll probably call before they come looking. And even if they came looking, no one’s likely to look around the back of the building. He’s been up here for nearly fifteen minutes by this point. His had been the earliest shift, and so it’s right around dawn. By the lightness creeping into the sky, he can tell that morning’s nearer than he’d prefer, and sighs to himself.

“I’m late for work now. When I don’t check in, they’ll know something’s wrong,” he informs Eos, because of course it’s Eos. There are plenty of alley cats around the office, but the stupid black shorthair with the white smudges on her face and paws is the only one he’d climb a stupid tree for. She’s the only one around to hear it when he laments, “I only stopped to feed you. I only meant to look for a couple minutes when I couldn’t find you. I didn’t think you’d have gone up a tree of all places. What’s with that? You’re an alley cat. This is not your area. I’m very disappointed.”

Usually he sees her on his way into the communications center. Today he hadn’t, and that wouldn’t normally have been that far out of the normal. Normally John would’ve let her be and looked for her on his lunchbreak, but he’d had a can of tuna in his bag that he’d wanted to put on offer, especially since he’d had a few days off, and thus it had been a few days since he’d seen her last. He’s watched her grow from tiny kitten to smallish cat, and despite his equal measure of certainty that she can take care of herself, since he’s at least partly responsible for her continued existence, he feels it’s his duty to look out for her. As much as he can, at least.

“I’m never gonna hear the end of this,” he tells her aloud, conversationally. She hasn’t even done him the credit of coming any closer from where she perches towards the skinnier end of the branch he’s perched upon, trying to coax her closer. He’d been about to climb back down, about to head inside and call someone better suited to de-treeing a cat—when he’d discovered that, no, actually, that wasn’t quite possible. Actually it’s quite a lot further down than it had looked from the ground, and with the way the embankment falls away and drops steeply towards the river, failing to keep his feet after even a good(unlikely) landing, would probably send him tumbling down the riverbank.

But he can’t just stay up a tree all day. He’s running out of options and is uncomfortably aware of the fact.

“You wouldn’t get spooked and fall if I started yelling, right?” he asks, though it’s been lurking in his mind as possibility, and it’s the reason he hasn’t, yet. “You’re tough. You’re a mean old—well, okay, young—and I mean, not even that mean actually—but you’re an alley cat, anyway. You’re tough. You wouldn’t get startled and fall out of the tree if I yelled for help. And even if you did, probably you’d land on your feet anyway. With better odds than me. I’ve read the statistics for accidental high falls. I’ll be honest, I don’t like my chances.”

As though seeking her permission, John reaches slowly, cautiously towards her, and is rewarded with a flattening of her ears and a bristling of her tail, and the sort of warning, moaning growl that immediately precedes a hiss of pure loathing. When he pauses for a moment, and then doesn’t give up on reaching for her, she goes so far as to take a swipe at him, though the movement destabilizes her already precarious perch, such that she clings with every available claw to the bark of the tree, and his reflexive retreat makes the branch tremor slightly, enough that he freezes and tightens his grip around the trunk. He feels the spike of his heartrate as his pulse pounds in his ears, and the scare is enough to change his mind about the risk of shouting.

“Wow! You’re kind of a brat. And if I didn’t like you so much, I’d—”

In the aftermath, he’ll never be sure if the sharp crack that lingers in his memory belonged to the branch, breaking; or the back of his skull, hitting the ground. The whole incident is a muddle of disconnected sensations that he’ll only recall piecemeal, and won’t be able to connect together. The swoop of vertigo as he’d lost his balance and toppled backward, too startled even to shout about his shock at falling. The way his knee had caught for a moment where it had been hooked around the branch, arresting his fall for only a fragment of a second, before gravity won the way it was always going to. The blur of black and a pair of green eyes staring down at him, from even higher up the tree than he’d found himself. And trying to push himself up from the ground. And then then sudden sharp shock of agony from some badly broken something being enough to plunge the sky above him into inky blackness.

John’s luckier than Virgil was, when Virgil had jumped out of a window, because he gets Scott, not Gordon. Although all Gordon had offered was his usual blistering sarcasm, and coming groggily back to consciousness to find Scott looking grim and mildly terrified, kneeling at his side makes John wonder if maybe Virgil got off easy The fear lurking in his big brother’s expression might be worse than anything Gordon could’ve said.

“Don’t move,” Scott orders immediately, with the sort of authority that must make criminals quake in their ill-gotten boots, and the hand he’s got braced against John’s shoulder is enough to prevent any attempt, though John doesn’t even begin to make one. “Ambulance is on the way.”

John blinks up at him, confused and still in pursuit of context for what he’s doing, staring “…Am I under arrest?” he asks, dazed and dizzy and damned if he can remember what the hell’s just happened.

“If I could figure out how to arrest you for being a stupid fucking idiot, you absolutely fucking would be. What the hell were you doing up a goddamn tree?”

Scott’s mad, which is a good sign. John still doesn’t move, but he has to think for a minute to answer the question, which makes his head ache horribly. Almost worse than the rest of them. “Cat,” he supplies eventually, and hopes this is helpful, because it’s the only detail his brain offers. Scott’s a cop. Could probably make detective if he wanted. John’s pretty sure he can figure it out.

“Cat? What…why—you’re not a cat!” Scott’s outrage at this explanation, admittedly rather light on the details, seems to run contrary to John’s assumption that his brother could make detective, if he just put the effort in. John blinks at him, bemused that he’s gotten it so wrong.

“…does one of us have a concussion?”

Scott just glares. “One of us absolutely has a fucking concussion.”

“…me?” If he doesn’t try to think too hard, his head doesn’t actually seem so bad. John’s back hurts, and he winces slightly, not moving, but wondering aloud, “…I think I’m lying on my phone.”

If John were working this call, he would be reassured by the fact that the victim was conversant, and alert enough to notice details like that. Scott just seems exasperated. “If you’re lying on your phone, it’s because you landed on your phone, which you emphatically haven’t used to call anybody about this.”

“…did somebody call about me?”

Scott’s glare becomes a glower. “Well, we didn’t get a call about a stupid idiot lying unconcious at the foot of a tree, we got a call—from your office—about a cat screaming behind the building like it was being skinned alive. Non-emergency, even! Dispatch only threw it my way because I was in the area and I owe Animal Control a favour. I said we’d make sure it wasn’t a false alarm.”

“I hate false alarms,” John agrees, and closes his eyes. Just for a moment. The sky’s getting properly bright overhead, and the dawn for which he’d named a friend starts to spread properly across the sky. It makes his head hurt, even if it reminds him of her. And despite everything, somehow he isn’t mad. “I like cats, though.”

Scott’s only mad because he’s frightened. John probably hasn’t helped, but somehow his last statement seems to be enough to get his brother to crack a grin, weary and worried though it is. “Well. Hope this one was worth it.”

“Yeah.” John smiles to himself and closes his eyes again, as he hears the distant sound of an approaching siren. Usually he hears it from the other end of a phoneline. He wonders if it’s scared Eos. Then he wonders if she’s nearby, watching, and feels certain that probably she is, actually. After all—

“She’s my friend.”

[queen-scribbles]

Not Worth Trading

@pillarspromptsweekly fill 51: Regret

If there was one thing Adela’s companions learned quickly about her, it was that she preferred reading to any other recreational activity. Cards, drinks, whatever it was, she’d pass on all of them in favor of a good book. They still asked, of course; it was the polite thing to do, and on the rare occasions she didn’t have a book to read or new spells to learn, she was very fun company. Still, it was largely just habit to ask, her ‘No, thank you’ all but expected.

Which was probably why Hiravias’ jaw nearly hit the floor when she thumped her grimoire closed and answered a grinning, “I’d love to!”

His eye widened. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” Adela twirled the end of her braid, grin widening at his surprise. “if I have to stare at Arkemyr’s instructions for capricious hex five more seconds, I will go crazy. I dunno why Aloth likes that one so much; it’s so tricky to cast it’s almost as great a risk to the caster as the target. What’re we playing?”

“Kith’s Grace,” Hiravias replied as he tugged her toward the table where Edér and Kana already sat. “You ever played?”

“A few times,” she shrugged. “One of the merchants in the caravan out taught me.”

“Ah, a newbie!” the druid crowed, clapping her enthusiastically on the back. “This should be fun. You any good?”

Adela bit her lip and shrugged again. “I mean... I won a few times? But I kind of feel like he maybe let me win some of them? So I wouldn’t get discouraged, I guess.” But she didn’t really want to dwell on that, and they’d reached the table anyway. “So, are we playing with money or...?”

“Naw, money’s too easy, ‘specially now,” Edér chuckled, pushing out a seat for her with his foot. “Glad you could join us, Adi.”

“Me, too, I think,” she said as she took her seat. “So if you don’t bet money, what do you use?”

“The winner gets to ask a question,” Kana answered. “Whoever lost by the most has to answer.”

“Oooh, that’s good,” Adela grinned. “Clever.”

“You ready then, boss?” Hiravias asked, nudging a stack of tiles toward her.

“Yep.” She pulled the stack close, ears twitching at the challenge in his voice.  “Who’s dealing?”

“First hand would be me.” He reached out and placed a tile in the center of the table. “Like I said, this should be fun.”

Adela craned her neck slightly to see the number, then bit the inside of her cheek. Ten. That was going to be tricky.... She shuffled through the tiles in her hand, trying to figure the most prudent one to play. There were still two more matches to this hand, after all. “What if,” she began, fiddling with her three tile and trying to buy time. “we each win a match?”

“Oh, a tie?” Hiravias grinned, running one finger under the strap for his eyepatch to adjust it. “If there’s a tie, dealer asks and you all have to answer.”

“Sounds fair.” With a sigh--Hope I don’t regret this--Adela played her six instead of the three. She was committed now.

-o-

Seven hands later, she was indeed regretting this. Her handful of lessons around a campfire were no match for the years’ experience the others all had. She’d coughed up the story of her first kiss to Hiravias, worst nightmare--”Not countin’ the Watcher dreams”--to Edér, and both her favorite and least favorite books and why to Kana. It could’ve been worse; she had won a hand--learned the worst prank Edér ever played on Woden--and her other loss, said farmer lost by more so she’d been spared spilling her guts that time. Hiravias and Kana were both very good at Kith’s Grace.

Hiravias at least knew it, too, as evidenced by his smirk as he slapped down a one to win match and hand both. “Three in a row,” he gloated. “Let’s see now, Adi, what do I wanna know this time...”

Adela growled softly at his theatrics. “Very funny.”

“I think it is,” Edér said cheekily, winking as he played with his leftover tiles.

“Didn’t ask you,” she grumbled, propping her chin on one hand. “Not my fault I got lousy tiles that hand...”

“Happens to everyone sometimes,” Kana chipped in with a sympathetic smile.

“Got it,” Hiravias snapped his fingers. “Oh, wise Watcher, Lady of Caed Nua and arbiter of disputes, what’s your biggest regret?”

Adela snorted. “Aside from joining this game?” She bit her lip and fiddled with her tiles as she mulled the question over, glancing around the room for inspiration. “When I was younger, fifteen or sixteen, I was invited to study for a year at an academy in the Vailian Republics. It was a huge honor to be invited so young and from so far away.” She spun a tile on its corners between her fingertip and the tabletop. “I said no.”

“Why would you-?” Kana blushed and coughed sheepishly in the wake of his outburst.  “Sorry.”

“No, that was about my family’s reaction, too.” She smirked. “Well, except Isi and Zac, but they were six and two respectively, so they didn’t understand the importance.”

“Why’d ya say no, if it was such a big deal?” Edér asked, taking a swig of his drink.

Adela shrugged. “The younger boys kept relapsing some damned persistent  illness, and my older siblings had all started their own lives, so couldn’t help as much. I knew Mama felt overwhelmed with the thought of just Tia for help, so I didn’t feel right about leaving. Even though she told me to go.” She smiled wryly. “Two months after I sent my ‘Thank you for the consideration, I’m honored but regretfully must decline’, the boys got over whatever had been ailing them and were fine. On my parents’ urging I checked to see if the spot was still open, but of course it had been filled. I’m not sorry for putting my family first, but I do regret the missed opportunity. I’d probably be a completely different person if I’d gone, had vastly different experiences. Definitely wouldn’t have been in a position to join Odema’s caravan, so wouldn’t be Watcher, and wouldn’t have met any of you.”

“See, it turned out for the best,” Hiravias teased, raking the played tiles into a heap for the next hand. “Think how boring your life would be if you were surrounded by books rather than us.”

She raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Do you... not know me at all? Even after all our time traveling together? At least books don’t pry for my secrets.”

He winked. “On that note, ready to cough up another one, boss?”

Adela shot him a mock-glare as she dropped her remaining tiles into the carrying pouch. Part of her was having fun, and it was good to de-stress after how long she’d spent staring at that stupid spell, but a slowly growing sliver couldn’t help hoping for a polite out.

Almost as if he’d read her mind, Aloth picked that moment to look up from his grimoire and interject, “Actually, Adela, if you wouldn’t mind, I could use your help with something.”

She shot him a look, one eyebrow arched, and he returned a barely perceptible shrug. It’s an excuse, if you want it. Maybe he did read your mind. “I think they can manage without me.”

“Sure, but it’s nice to not be th’ biggest loser for once,” Edér joked.

“Sorry.” Adela pushed away from the table with an apologetic smile and tried not to obviously hurry across the room to join Aloth. “Do you really need my help, or was that for my benefit?”

“Both, actually,” Aloth said with a wry smile. “I figured you might want an means of escape, and I could use your assistance with this spell.” He shifted position on the bed so she could sit next to him, his grimoire open in front of them. “You’re much better at Kalakoth’s creations than I am.”

Adela’s face warmed at the compliment. “Thank you. Which one were you trying to learn?” 

In answer, he simply tapped the grimoire’s page. Both of her eyebrows rose toward her bangs as she scanned the symbols.

“Freezing rake? Aloth, I’ve only known that one for a week myself, I don’t know how much help I can be,” she protested. She curled the end of her braid around one finger, crimping it tight.

“That’s a week’s experience you have on me,” he pointed out, tucking his hair behind one ear. “I’m not expecting to master it immediately, Adela, I just want input on how you grasped it, to see if that helps me do the same.”

“Well, alright.” She grinned, tugging on her braid as she studied the portion of the spell he’d inscribed in his grimoire. “Least I can do for you helping me escape the clutches of Kith’s Grace without looking like a coward.”

Aloth chuckled, watching her absently pick at one nail as she read. “That’s what friends are for, yes?” He was quiet for a moment, then, “Which academy?”

Adela blinked, mentally switching gears to figure out what he was talking about, vaguely surprised he was curious enough to pry. “Oh, um, Selona.” She picked at the nail harder when he visibly swallowed a comment. “I know, I know. I do occasionally kick myself for not going. Mama swore she and Tia would be alright, could ask the neighbors for help if they needed it.” She sighed. “I think... I was scared. I was a teenager and it was so far from home and I did feel guilty about leaving when the boys were sick, but... I think I used that as an excuse. Regretted it even before the boys got better,” she babbled. It had taken years to admit that to herself; telling a friend was even more cathartic. “That’s part of why I’m so adventurous now; I don’t wanna let another opportunity like that pass me by.”

“I can understand that,” Aloth nodded, running one finger along the page edge.  “It fits what I know of you quite well.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked up from the grimoire. “Are you implying I’m predictable?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps a little, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.  It means you’re dependable.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.” Adela pushed back loose wisps of hair and turned her attention back to the spell. “I can live with that. Now, what you wanna do with this spell...”

As she plunged into a detailed and enthusiastic description of her process for learning that particular incantation, she mentally conceded Hiravias had been right: Much as she might regret the missed opportunity and wonder who she’d be if she’d taken that more scholarly path, she would be absent several wonderful friends it would be a shame not to know.

I’m still saying no to Kith’s Grace in the future and sticking with my books, she thought wryly, correcting part of a symbol that had smudged slightly. 

Her secrets would be safer that way, mundane as they might be.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Surprise, surprise, another of my characters has picked Aloth as her bff. It’s totally not obvious who my favorite character is, is it? /cough

 Kith’s Grace is basically an Eoran version of blackjack(or pazaak/quasar, to use more nerdy references :P), but I haven’t put much thought into it beyond that for rules and such.